"Terrance, for heaven's sake, that's not what I'm asking. Is there any substantive reason they want the circus out?" Mayor Grant inquired, gesticulating for emphasis.

  "Animal abuse," Terrance responded promptly.

  "I get that," the mayor retorted. "I'm asking on what grounds do they believe the circus should be charged? Even without evidence, can they specify their exact grievance?"

  Terrance shrugged. "To be frank, no one has engaged them directly. Ms. Green is known for being a bit...excessive when speaking."

  Mayor Grant felt the onset of a headache. "What are you implying?"

  "She has a tendency to spit when she gets passionate or disagrees," Terrance elaborated. "She spits quite frequently."

  "That's assault!"

  "She's faced charges for it twice, but our current police head is—"

  "Bryce Greene," Mayor Grant interjected with a heavy sigh. "This situation is a mess. Can we simply avoid it? The circus will be gone in a few days. Why not let them be?"

  "And ignore the allegations?" Terrance questioned. "I'd advise against that. It might tarnish your reputation in the upcoming elections, which are mere months away. Spring is approaching fast."

  "Just handle it," Mayor Grant said dismissively with a wave of his hand.

  Terrance looked taken aback. "Me?"

  "Yes, investigate it. Determine if their claims hold any water, and then report back to me. I want a resolution by day's end. I can't handle their protests anymore."

  Terrance might have contested if he felt he had a chance, but the piercing glare from the mayor had him promptly exiting the room. Just then, Layla ended the voyeur spell she had been using to observe the exchange.

  “Alright, fine,” Layla conceded, trailing her fingers through the water to dissolve the spell. She shook her hand, casting away the water. “You have a point. This is a nuisance. The circus needs an audience. We can't be hindered by this protest.”

  Madame Myst remained silent, standing at the trailer's entrance. Both her hands tightly gripped the polished onyx topper of her cane.

  Layla sighed, drying her hands on her ruffled red velvet skirt. “You never bring good news, do you? Can't you drop by with something pleasant for a change? Talk about admirers, hint at a good haul of souls, or provide news that doesn't create more tasks for me?”

  “All I can share is what's foreseen,” Madame Myst replied.

  “I’m aware of your routine,” Layla retorted, sounding exasperated. “Just return to your tent. I'll manage this.”

  “As you command, Mistress Layla.” With a dramatic sweep of her cloak, the fortune teller departed, leaving the door ajar.

  With a swift motion, Layla closed the door, massaging her temples. “There's always another issue.”

  It wasn't the first instance of protests against Phantom Circus. People heard about their big-cat act and instantly raised objections. Of course, no one realized that their lion was a spirit bound into a feline form--with a penchant for blood.

  Nobody acknowledged that their two-headed snake could drain someone's life if not for its cage, or that the vulture in Freak Show Alley was, in reality, an imprisoned harpy from years ago.

  The spirits in the circus, even if captured, were treated with respect.

  Usually, Layla would summon one of her more docile spirits to charm the mayor or protestors into submission. However, this situation could be an ideal test for her new protégé.

  With a budding idea, Layla retrieved Jester's container. Opening the lid, she smiled as the captivatingly grotesque spirit materialized, her deep red drapery entangled around her multiple limbs.

  “Awoken so soon?” Jester uttered, her voice a melodic whisper. She was entrancing unless one gazed too deeply into her eyes. Fortunately, during their interactions, Jester's eyes were mostly concealed.

  “I have another assignment for you,” Layla said, approaching the spirit and caressing her smooth head. “I need you to relay a message to our dear Anya.”

  “Your wish is my command,” Jester purred, leaning into the affection. “What message do you want delivered?”

  Layla grinned, bent down, and whispered her instructions into Jester's ear.

  Forgotten Realms

  In the bleak twilight of existence, Jester rarely found herself summoned to the same forlorn town twice. She secretly yearned for more evocative landscapes; coastal realms shrouded in mist, where pearls and abalone shells whispered forgotten sea tales, or the sprawling urban labyrinths, where decadent, haunting lights danced like phantom souls.

  Alas, it was this place.

  A void.

  An abyss.

  And more grievously, her quest was to seek the same child as before. A pallid, insipid creature that paled in comparison to the vibrant allure of her past hunts. Oh, how Jester ached to indulge her predatory nature, to augment her grotesque collection. She envisioned selecting a visage as mesmerizing and darkly ethereal as her Mistress Layla.

  Yet, fate commanded her to the archaic edifice they called a high school. Despite her spectral chains, Jester's knowledge of the mortal realm was vast. She couldn’t serve Layla’s whims as her primeval messenger if she remained tethered to bygone days.

  Layla ensured Jester ventured forth periodically, witnessing the ever-shifting world. And her sinister hunt of humanity stretched further back. She discerned too well the banal, caged essence of this brick monstrosity: ungainly fledglings on the brink of adulthood.

  Some spirits might revel in the tantalizing innocence of youth, savoring their tender flesh, pure souls, and effervescent emotions. And, perhaps, such beliefs held some truth.

  However, for Jester, the allure lay in the elegance of her quarry. And human adolescents were woefully bereft of such beauty.

  It took her a shadowed orbit around the fortress to find an entrance, slipping silently past a disheveled mortal in worn janitorial garb, who stepped out, wreathing himself in the smoky embrace of his vice--Jester found cigarettes revolting. The interior loomed, cold and cavernous.

  Drawing a deep, otherworldly breath, she sought the girl's unique essence.

  There. A faint echo.

  Stealthily, Jester scaled the wall, morphing into an eerily graceful silhouette against the ceiling. From this vantage point, she glided above, free from the chaos of the oblivious below. Her multifaceted limbs carried her swiftly, her spine flowing like dark water.

  The school day's mournful dirge was nearing its end. Anya stood before her metal vault, arranging her tomes. How serendipitous.

  Jester skulked closer until she hovered menacingly above the unsuspecting prey. In a nightmarish ballet, she descended, suspending herself just above the girl. Her grotesque arms ensnared Anya’s face, compelling her to meet her chilling gaze.

  Before the maiden could grasp the chilling reality of her situation, Jester had ensnared their gazes, a web of dark enchantment spun between them. Anya’s pupils contracted, drowning in the depths of Jester's sorcery. Manifesting within Jester’s own abyssal eyes, a vision unfurled—the radiant glow of the circus and the silhouette of Layla, beckoning with a haunting allure.

  A subsequent vision portrayed Anya approaching the circus gates, bypassing the aged ticket booth and stepping into its otherworldly embrace. The directive, in Jester’s estimation, was unambiguously clear.

  A mere flutter of her eyelashes, and the conjuration was severed. Anya reeled back into the bustling throng but soon surged forward, a plea in her voice. “Wait!”

  Jester was bound by her apparitional limitations. Her presence was either concealed from every human or visible to all. Yet, she lent an attentive ear, intrigued.

  “It’s you, isn’t it? The entity from that night?” Anya murmured, her voice barely audible amid the hallway's murmurs. “Perhaps you’re long gone, but if your essence still lingers... I owe you my gratitude.”

  A chuckle rippled from Jester, a sound evanescent to mortal ears.

  “You’ve illuminated my path to...to a place I belong,” Anya whispered. “For that, I thank you.”

  “Oh, fragile mortal.” Regardless of any eavesdroppers, some sentiments demanded voice. “You’ve not discovered sanctuary, but a beguiling prison. Though it gleams enticingly now, you’ll soon discern the gold is mere illusion, revealing naught but corroding iron beneath.”

  Delicately, Jester caressed the strands of Anya’s lackluster brown locks. A bewildered glint shone in the human’s eyes, magnified grotesquely by her spectacles. They fixed upon the vast expanse overhead.

  “Still, I shall cherish your words, however misguided,” Jester mused. “Their veracity matters not. Their mellifluous nature suffices.”

  She withdrew her touch, leaving an ethereal chill in its wake.

  Visibly shaken, Anya hastily secured her locker, adjusted the leather strap of her antiqued satchel, and melted away into the undulating sea of students.

  Jester's dark errand was complete. She was bound not to ensure Anya’s attendance, but merely to relay the sinister invitation. And so she had.

  Now, she yearned to depart this grotesque edifice and its ungainly denizens. Perhaps Mistress Layla might, this time, bestow upon Jester a morsel of cherished companionship.

  Circus Deviance

  Sneaking out of the house, making blood pacts, skipping school: there was something almost thrilling about being a little deviant. Anya had never acted out this much in her entire life.

  The circus wasn’t in full swing when she arrived. It was too early in the day. It began in the late afternoon and ran into the wee hours of the night. Feeling giddy about her newfound freedom, Anya bypassed the deserted ticket booth and started making her way toward Mistress Layla’s trailer.

  The grounds felt entirely different during the early afternoon compared to her nighttime explorations. It was even different from her previous visit with Savannah. No guests were milling around, but plenty of the circus's unique performers, crew members, and acts were bustling.

  Martha was assisting a small, wiry man in setting up one of the rides. The train, designed for toddlers or petite children, ran throughout the circus grounds. Occasionally, an adult might squeeze themselves into one of the compact red carts to comfort a tearful toddler. The front of the train was fashioned to resemble a grotesque jester's head, adorned with a tri-pointed hat.

  Its grin was disconcerting--menacing even. The jester's pitch-black painted face made it appear more demonic than amiable, with pronounced triangles beneath each eye and vivid red swirls around its gaping mouth. Martha, with her impressive strength, held the cart upright, while the shorter man attended to its underside with a wrench.

  Upon noticing Anya, Martha's expression darkened, her brows knitting together in a scowl. She tapped the man's shoulder, nearly causing him to topple. He steadied himself and directed his gaze at Anya. Disturbingly, his mouth seemed sewn shut with bright red thread.

  Unnerved, Anya turned, choosing a different path through the circus grounds. Layla’s trailer soon loomed ahead. However, before she could approach it, raucous laughter echoed, followed by a warning: “Watch it, watch it!”

  A colossal ball emerged from a tent, atop which balanced a lithe, barefooted woman. Her leotard, a blend of burgundy and black, was accentuated with gold fabric draping her waist. A pair of crimson horns peeked out from her sleek black hair.

  “Once you start, you can't stop! Don’t end up underfoot!” she giggled.

  “Dammit, Susanna! What did I tell you about using that?” An older man, his hands shimmering with bright red glitter—or perhaps it was paint—stepped out, frustration evident. Closer inspection revealed the glitter thinned near his elbows, contrasting with the rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt, fastened with gold, skull-shaped buttons. “It’s not fucking ready!”

  “It's mine now,” Susanna retorted, her laughter airy. With impeccable balance, she propelled the ball forward, arms extended gracefully. “Should've held onto it tighter, witch-bitch.”

  “I'm going to get a better grip on you,” the man muttered, pursuing her.

  Anya felt drawn to the tent they had just exited. It seemed implausibly small to have housed the giant ball and its two recent occupants. As her fingers brushed the fabric's edge, Layla's voice sliced through the air: “Oh, you are a nosy little thing, aren't you?”

  Anya whirled around, startled. “I'm not nosy,” she defended, adjusting her glasses. “I'm curious.”

  “Is that how you see it? Well, darling, remember what they say: Curiosity killed the cat,” Layla replied. As always, she looked stunning with her makeup perfectly applied and her hair styled in an elaborate updo. “Come with me.”

  “That spirit you sent after me,” Anya began, hesitatingly retreating from the tent. “Why couldn't I see it that time?”

  “Because Jester didn't want to incite chaos at the school.”

  “Jester?”

  “I know, it’s a somewhat pedantic name,” Layla admitted. “But she's so entertaining. How could I resist?”

  “So, you named her?”

  “I renamed her. A binding name,” Layla elaborated. “With spirits, controlling their name is as crucial as controlling their form.”

  Anya quirked an eyebrow. “Isn’t that how fairies work in fairytales?”

  “What do you believe fairies are, Anya?” Layla retorted with a hint of amusement. She waved her hand dismissively as they navigated the labyrinth of tents and stalls. “Humans rarely come up with wholly original ideas. At some point, a mortal encountered a benign-looking spirit, and stories evolved over time.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “I rarely jest, especially not in earnest. When I do, it’s merely part of the act, dear,” Layla said, a hint of reproof in her voice. She approached her trailer and entered. “Moreover, I wouldn't mislead you as you're still familiarizing yourself with all this. That would be unduly harsh.”

  Anya trailed behind, stepping into the familiar trailer interior. “Why did you summon me? If it's regarding the sacrifices, I'll have them by tonight, as promised.”

  “It's not about the sacrifices,” Layla clarified with a tsk. “It's about an issue the circus is confronting. Some locals aren't pleased with our arrival. Have you heard about them?”

  “I’m not allowed to watch TV most of the time,” admitted Anya. “I wouldn't have known about the circus if a flyer hadn’t appeared at school.”

  “That’s…pitiable, really.” Layla studied Anya, a searching look in her eyes. Whether she found what she was looking for remained unclear. She turned away, her expression thoughtful. “Regardless, it's not surprising or crucial. They seem to object to our inclusion of animals in the act.”

  “Oh, that's Sally Leek,” Anya said. “Everyone at school knows about her. She's pretty weird. She's an animal enthusiast, but she's one of those radical activists who believes animals shouldn't be pets. She even campaigned for releasing parakeets into the wild a few months ago. She's kind of out there.”

  Layla responded, “She's a problem. We can't have any distractions keeping people from the circus. This needs to be resolved before we open.”

  Anxiety surged in Anya’s stomach. “Resolved as in…you want someone to kill her?”

  “No, that would cause an uproar,” Layla said. “If she's protesting our circus and then suddenly dies, won't suspicion immediately fall on us? The solution is simpler. You'll go to the mayor’s office, and you'll persuade him to issue a public statement supporting us--today.”

  “But how? No offense, but I’m just a high school student. What influence would I have?”

  Layla smirked. “To him, you won't be. Here.” She picked up a necklace from the counter. Its gleaming silver chain appeared valuable, but the centerpiece was a weighty scarab pendant. A delicate gold framework depicted the insect, while its body was crafted from polished onyx.

  Reverently, Anya took the necklace. She held it up, examining its craftsmanship. “You're letting me wear this?”

  “You'll be donning more than just that, darling. Now, put it on. Time's ticking by as we speak.” Layla looked at her with impatience.

  Anya slipped on the necklace. As soon as the back of the scarab touched her skin, a subtle shimmer seemed to fill the air. Nothing appeared altered, but there was a feeling of transformation.

  “I don't understand,” Anya murmured, inspecting her hands. They looked unchanged. “What happened?”

  With a firm grip, Layla led Anya toward an ornate full-length mirror on the trailer's wall, pushing aside several stylish overcoats. Reflected in the glass was Layla, radiant as ever, but not with the familiar, lanky teenager that Anya was accustomed to seeing. Instead, Layla's hands rested on the shoulders of a sophisticated-looking woman, possibly in her late thirties, with brown hair neatly tied in a bun and no glasses in sight.

  She was the woman Anya had always aspired to be, down to the knee-length pencil skirt in a rich, deep red, the silky black blouse, and, of course, the necklace.

  Anya reached up to touch her face, and her reflection mirrored her movement. “This is…”

  “This is a glimpse of the power you could possess,” Layla whispered directly into Anya's ear. “All you need to do is listen, behave, and assist. That's the price of being the heart of the circus.”

  “How is this possible? I don’t feel any different.”

  “You aren’t different, not physically. It’s a glamour, similar to the one I wear. But you can't craft your own yet, so I’ve provided something to aid in its projection.” Layla wrapped an arm around Anya, letting a finger trace the scarab pendant. “As long as you wear this, the glamour will remain.”

  Swiftly, Layla retreated, gracefully settling into her chair as if she’d found the perfect sunlit perch.

  Still absorbing her transformed reflection, Anya asked, “Alright, this will make them perceive me as an adult. But how should I approach the mayor?”