Inch by inch, step by step, slowly I turned....
Becky stalked away from Celestine's trailer, blushing furiously.

That son of a bitch. She had half a mind to take off her belt and make him take her seriously. She knew how. Daddy had given her lots of lessons. Give the good doctor a few welts to remember her by, something to sizzle and twitch when he sat down and remind him of all the things she could make him feel, whenever she wanted...

She stopped, clenching her fists at her sides, glaring down at the sawdust and straw with watery eyes. But she refused to cry. No. That's not right. That's just Daddy, still trying to fuck up her life. Becky took a deep breath, forcing her hands to relax. That wasn't her. Well, maybe, once in a while, just for fun... But she didn't have to be like that all the time.

"Hey, goil! C'mere!" She looked up, into a drifting cloud of straw. The big black crows, Heckle and Jeckle, were flapping furiously, carrying their pet scarecrow over the canvas wall between the trailers and the midway. The scarecrow, the puppet the birds plied with supernatural ability, had seen better days. It was torn wide open, and straw was drifting out with each breeze. They landed next to her, and one of them hopped down and began clumsily gathering straw. The other hopped onto the dummy's head, glaring at her. "Yeah, youse with da thumbs! C'mere and help out, whydoncha?" She smiled.

"What happened?" She knelt, and the two crows fluttered about while she scooped the dummy's filling back inside.

"Dunno, exackly." groused Heckle.

"It was that abominable child, that's wot." Jeckle's oh-so-British accent always made Becky smile. The two birds were eerily similar in appearance, but their voices, one accented with Brooklyn, the other pure London, were worlds apart. "Lit'le bahsturd. Came up to the scarecrow, right, like it wanted to give 'im a hug, he did."

"Only then, see, instead'a huggin, the little shit took a big old bite right outta his chest!"

"We took to the air right off, we did, and even then I think the wee monster tried to eat one of 'is feet!"

"Sounds like an awful child!"

"Yeah, yeah. And you wanna know what's really weird? The kid was gray. Like, all over. Gray. I tell ya, kids dese days."

Becky was tugging at the ragged edges of the scarecrow's shirt. The kid had taken a bite out of it? That would explain why she couldn't quite get it to close. "I'm going to need to get my sewing kit out of my trailer to fix this. It needs another patch." Each bird took a firm grip on the dummy, and flapping and swearing, they dragged it along behind her as they made their way. She loved the birds. They were her favorite carnies, even more than Shaggy and his big elderly great dane. They always had time for her, telling her jokes and stories and making their scarecrow dance for her. She'd long since forgotten how astonished she'd been to hear them talk that first time... When had that been? Long time ago. It didn't matter.

They avoided the public areas, moving around behind the concessions and booths. Becky knew the layout like the back of her hand, the shortcuts and quiet hidey-holes amidst the chaos and noise of the Carnival. They were just cutting around behind the Hall of Mirrors, when the birds dropped the scarecrow. "Hold it, goil!" Heckle snapped. She stopped, turning to see both birds carefully peering around the corner.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Shhhh!" they hissed in tandem, their feathers ruffled.

She peeked around, and saw Dana in the alley between her Hall and the Ring Toss. The Lady was whispering with a burly young man, who had a mechanical arm! That was new. "...very important that I find him," he said.

"I am sorry, but I cannot let you in," she replied. Becky could see right through her, and as always was a little jealous of the graceful way Dana's feet almost never touched the ground when she moved. "Your ticket has already been here."

"But I don't have a ticket!" he insisted.

"You do, let me assure you. Maybe you don't have a paper ticket, but you have the gold, I insist. And it's gold that has already crossed my threshold."

"Who's that?" Becky whispered. One of the birds glared up at her.

"Then what would you suggest?"

"For you? The easiest way to find him?" Dana considered. She crossed her arms, tapping her chin while she thought and walked around him in a small circle, eyeing him. She passed right through one of the ropes supporting the canvas walls of her Hall, but the man with the mechanical arm simply stood there, patiently. A small hiss of steam vented from his elbow. "The Labyrinth. I sense almost no turmoil in you. You are a man at peace. It should be your best route."

"Where is it?"

"Go. Wander. It will find you." Becky saw the strange man look through Dana, right at her. He didn't wink, or acknowledge her in any way. But he did see her, she knew it. She withdrew, and the birds went back to their positions holding the dummy.

"Who was that?" she repeated.

"Couldn't say, dear girl. But he is a prophet, that much is clear."

"Prophets," snorted Heckle, sinking his claws into the scarecrow's crotch. "Tricksy ones, those. Youse just keep your distance, if ya know what's good for ya. They're dangerous."

"I thought prophets were just, you know, preachers?"

"Who told ya that?" Both birds looked up at her, incredulous. "Prophets make Gods, Becks. They tell them what they to be." She laughed.

Jeckle sputtered, sending little black feathers flying. "Moses. Buddha. Mohammed. Even the Christ. Any of these names ring a bell, my peach? Sound, oh, a tech familiar? Prophets shape a god, gods shape the world."

"I think you have that backwards. They tell people about God, not the other way around."

The crows looked at each other, and back up at the girl, beady little eyes dead serious. "That's right, poppet. Heckle and I are just a pair of deluded avians. What would we know about Gods?" They went on their way, the girl happily ignoring the grousing birds, the birds carelessly birdhandling their burden along.

When they had gone, Dana stepped out through the back wall of the Hall. She eyed the trail of straw, and looked around the corner, at the alley where she and Thunk had been talking. "Hunin!" she called. "Munin! I know you're near, stormcrows! Come out!" But the birds did not show themselves, and, before she could follow the trail of straw, she felt someone summoning her at the entrance. Frowning, she faded from sight.

******************************************

The wolf cub scampered. Normally, he'd lope, to show his sire and dam how grown-up he'd become, but he was having too much fun and besides, they weren't anywhere around. There were hoomens, lots of them, but none of them paid him any attention. Already he'd found hot dogs, and cotton candy, and pastries and cups with beer still at the bottoms. His little tummy bulged, he'd eaten so much, but every time he rounded another corner, he found another trash bin overflowing with treats and tastes he'd never even dreamed of.

He'd snacked on that female's fingers, before, even though he knew his dam wouldn't approve. And why not? She didn't need them anymore, and he'd always wanted to try hooman meat. It'd been okay. Not great, but not bad. And when he'd run off some distance so he could eat the fingers undisturbed, he'd seen the Carnival down in the valley below. It had been just glowing, and all sorts of smells had come wafting up to him. He'd finally gotten to eat hooman, and here was a host of new smells, new maybe-tasty things to try! How could he not have run down here to try them?

The little wolf cub was half-hidden under a flap of tent, gnawing on half a pretzel covered in the most delicious yellow stuff, all sweet and spicy at the same time, when something grabbed him. He was hoisted up into the air, held by wicked claws in his ruff as a beast glared into his eyes. A beast with yellow eyes, like some great cat! A predator, and huge! "What have we here?" it rumbled, its voice a silken growl. The cub, with a hunk of paper-wrapped prezel still held in its mouth, peed. It roared, outraged, and the cub whimpered. Oh, well. It had been fun while it lasted.

******************************************

The crowd screamed and dispersed, as Stevens summoned a gout of fire along the length of his cane at the Ticketmastyr. Oily black smoke roiled into the sky, and Dave, the gates, and the ticketbooth were engulfed in the blaze. Vincente stared, horrified. What the fuck was going on here?

A triplicate roar emerged from the fireball, and Vincente spun around, uncoiling his whip and bellowing at the crowd to move. The few stragglers and gawkers left behind cringed away from the cracking lash in their faces, and hauled ass deeper into the Carnival. Stevens bellowed "I manage this crippled excuse for a goddamned circus! Me! You're just the fucking doorman! So do your fucking job, doorman, and open that damned gate right fucking now!" For emphasis, he pointed the cane at the sky, and called down half a dozen blasts of lightning. The light and noise staggered the beastmaster. He felt the shockwaves as thunder rolled over him like jackhammers, and blinked eyes blinded by the incandescent strikes.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he screamed, but his voice was lost in the din. Dav strolled out of the blaze, seeming untouched by fire or lightning. He scowled, and Vincente saw his brow sloping, his jawline more pronounced. It gave the pale man a simian aspect, one that was exaggerated when he flexed, and his shoulders moved farther and farther apart from each other.

"Mine is the gate, and mine the only key. By my grace these doors open or close and mine alone. I have sworn to the Celestine to seal or part by his wish, and your desires mean little. Little to me, hollow magus, and less to the Celestine." Even Dav's voice had changed, becoming deep and booming, resounding with an almost musical echo. "Whose might is cast against me? Thine? For it seems that Celestine's hand bestowed the fury you wield so cavalier. Power he bestowed for another purpose, lest I mistake! Faithless servant, to squander such a gift! Were it mine, 'twould not be wasted so!"

"Take it, then, you allegorical animal!" screamed the old man in the mustard-and-lilac plaid suit. He dropped the cane, and clapped his hands. The shockwave blasted out, bowling Vincente ass-over-teakettle even though he'd been standing behind the Ringmaster. Much, much more of the force slammed into Dav, leveling the ticketbooth and smashing a hot dog cart into splinters and mangled steel. But the canvas and chain-link gates didn't so much as ripple, and while Dave's clothes were torn to tattered shreds, he didn't move an inch.

Two more heads rose, flanking the ticketmaster's golden gorilla face. The rightmost head was an emerald goat, with golden horns and eyes, a mouth full of fanged teeth, and a gold ring adorning a long, curly goatee. The leftmost head was a white lion, with red eyes, teeth of blackened stone, and a pink ribbon in its mane evocative of a certain Japanese feline icon. All three heads roared, their voices spanning from masculine to feminine and harmonizing in ways that made Vincente's ears hurt, and he saw honey-colored wings spreading, revealing how little of the ticketmastyr's bulk had been fat.

This had gone too far! The whip lashed out, scoring a bloody slash across the chimera's chest. Stevens laughed, only to receive the next whiplash on his forehead. Both combatants staggered back, and Vincente placed himself between them, whip twitching to and fro like an angry serpent. "Enough!" he bellowed. Stevens had fallen on his ass, momentarily blinded by the blood in his eyes. The blood smoldered and smoked, and was probably really uncomfortable. Good. He focused on Dav.

The goatface was snarling at him, leaning forward and drooling acid that sputtered and smoked where it landed on the sawdust. The leonine face was twisted into a snarl of defiance, black smoke curling past the wickedly sharp teeth. The center face, though, had smoothed and had lost some of its simian fur, looking more like Dav usually looked. "What was that for?" he/it said, sounding genuinely hurt and confused, making Vincente feel like he'd just lashed a kindergartener.

"Look at yourself, man! Look at Stevens! What are you doing?" The leftmost head lunged forward, but Vincente cracked the whip and barked "No!" The lance of bluish white flame came nowhere near him, and Dav absently reached up and flicked the lion-face on the nose.

"Bad kitty." he said, and the two other heads began to fade and recede, the wings folding around the barrel chest. A white labcoat seemed to fade into existence again, cloaking his bulk as his face returned to normal. Stevens lurched to his feet, a ball of fire forming in his fist and Vincente twitched his lash forcefully, coiling it tightly around the older man's throat.

"Stevens. Things are going on here, and your power is needed to protect all the customers. Waste another drop of it, and I swear I'll finish you here and now." The two of them glared at each other, and Vincente knew this game. Four eyes locked, two on two. One pair enraged, angry enough to kill, the other pair cold, dominant and patient, but plainly ready to mete out punishment. It was a test of wills, beast and tamer, and one he had never, ever lost.

"Hey, my booth!" Dave squealed. "My stuff!" He scrambled in the wreckage, wailing and clutching a shredded Hello Kitty doll to his breast. Stevens broke first, laughing at the spectacle. Vincente allowed himself a smile, before drawing the lash taut once more.

The tension in the bullwhip cut Stevens' laugh off short, and he was suddenly focused only on Vincente again, looking positively horrified. "Are we cool, old man?" He nodded.

Vincente did something with his wrist, and the whip dropped away from the ringmaster's throat. From off to one side, quiet applause sounded, and the two of them glanced over, both of them recoiling in horror at the sight of Tiffany standing against an electrical pole, clapping and beaming at them. "Guys, that was amazing. Really, really good stuff. I'm impressed, really."

Stevens and Vincente glanced at each other, and looked back at the clown, the ball of fire and the lash ready again. From the wreckage of the booth, Dave was moaning "Sweet limited edition autographed animation cell number 10034739, never did you harm another, and now, your lovely smile destroyed, your frail cellulose rent asunder... Oh, were 'twas me!"

The other three glanced at him. "Is he gonna be okay?" Tiffany asked.

"Oh, no, cruel fate! Not my first-run storybook casettes! Oh, the tragedy, the useless pointless shame!" He looked up at the others, holding the shattered plastic remains to his bosom. "I say sooth, on mine honor, they were mint in box."

Stevens refocused back on Tiffany. "What do you care?"

"Not a lot, I'll give you that. Look, which way did Violent Clay go? Is he around?"

Vincente began, cautiously, recoiling his whip. "If he were, don't you think he'd have jumped into the fun?"

She looked surprised. "I don't know, would he have? Does that mean I should have? Sorry, this is all pretty new to me. Look, I've got a couple of things on my plate, here, and if you boys are done playing, it'd be great if you could help me out." She looked off to one side, shaking her finger at nothing. "And you mind your own business, beeyotch." She flicked her wrist dismissively. "Shoo." Tiffany strolled over, pulling a string of scarves out of her sleeve and offering one to Stevens. He took it, and dabbed at his forehead wound, while she continued to pull out scarves. They were piling at his feet. "I've gotta find V.C. cause the boss thinks he's going to need a hand. I think it's pretty serious. But I'm also supposed to help keep the peace around here, and I'm halfway sure that the demon thing that used to be on the bigtop needs some attention." She pulled a hand grenade out, attached to the string of scarves. "That's where that went. Cool." She tugged it free of the silk, and tucked it back up her sleeve, giving the end of the string to Stevens, who looked down at the pile of scarves he was standing knee-deep in, holding both ends.

"Yeah, the big top demon moved. That's what I was coming here to tell you," Vincente grumbled, unwilling to take his eyes off the clown.

"Moved?" Stevens mumbled.

"Not moved," Tiffany offered helpfully. "Gone. It came down while you guys were playing mine-is-bigger." Vincente spun around, and sure enough, the demon was gone.

"It can't have gone, the gates are shut. That means it's loose, with the customers!" Stevens hopped gracelessly out of the pile of scarves. "I will find Celestine. Vincente, send your scouts out, find the demon!"

"I'll find Violent Clay, and help hurt stuff!" Tiffany volunteered, clapping her hands.

"Um." Stevens said. "Actually, that's not a bad idea. You do that. Incidentally, when you said 'boss,' earlier...?"

"Mister James, natch!" She called back over her shoulder, as she was already sprinting away.

Vincente and Stevens took a moment to digest that. Dav, for his part, found the pulverized remains of his Hello Hummel Figurine set and once again burst into tears. "Is that bad?" the beast tamer asked, quietly.

"I don't know! Flip a fucking coin! Heads, it's great news!" snarled Stevens as he stalked away. "And keep an eye out for my clipboard! I've got to go tell Celestine to put his damned pants back on!"

********************************************

Envy swirled gently away, following the taste of the woman, Black Alice. Immaterial, invisible, her body a shapless cloud of pale lime, with green eyes creased in thought, she followed the trail leading toward the Freak Show.

Interesting, that. The she-clown could see her, and more, seemed immune. The creature was dead, and soulless, and totally focused on her tasks to the exclusion of anything else. That boded poorly; BB would have to be told about this addition to the gambler's arsenal.

Oh, how BB had wanted the woman in leather, the one with the missing fingers and the gaping hole full of need where her soul had used to be. Only his resentment at what Bloody Mary had had, and he did not, had been stronger. Stronger, perhaps, because Envy had been near. She wondered what would have happened at the gate if he'd brought Greed instead? The Alice creature was another, one like BB. Did she bring avatars of her own? Was she here to usurp the Freakshow? Would she kill BB, and free the Sins to come into themselves?

These were, sadly, purely academic questions. Envy had her task. Follow Alice. Prevent the other carnies from taking her. BB wanted her for himself. It hadn't been easy to provoke the gatekeeper, but Stevens had been much, much simpler. And once he had gone over the edge, Dav hadn't been too hard. Their weakness had been like fine wine, and Envy hoped others would try for Alice, too. Perhaps Masque, yes, lots to work with there. Lots to use, to fan into flame. She would be so sweet...

The trail stopped behind the supply tent. A small collection of bones lay strewn about, marked with tiny toothmarks. Shreds of clothing lay here and there, and even the sawdust was gone in a rough circle around the bones. What was this... Envy wafted over and through the bones, tasting. Gluttony had been here, but hadn't eaten... There would be no bones left. Something else, something... other. But hungry, bottomless aching hunger and a longing for pain, for blood... Envy reared up, her unseen yes flashing.

Had Gluttony become? Had she spawned avatars of her own? Couldn't be! And yet...

Remembering herself, she flailed about, seeking the trail again... but it was gone. Whatever had feasted here, had eaten bone and muscle, cloth and sinew, and had devoured the very auras of everything in the area. There was no trail to follow. Oh, that was bad.

***************************************************

Brick sat down in the beer tent. Yesterday had sucked. People dead in the parking lot. Those teenagers, that poor cop, and no matter how strong he was, how powerful, he'd been unable to stop any of it. He'd been too slow, too late. He really, really, really hated feeling helpless. He still wasn't sure what exactly had happened out there. Everyone he talked to about it had a different story, each more wild and unlikely than the last. Nonsense, all of it. He idly crushed a stone in his left hand, grinding it into sand, and then into dust as he waved at the bartender with his right.

Yesterday had sucked.

Today, there was going to be alcohol, and lots of it. Enough of it, and today would be a blur. And then, tomorrow, there'd be a nice comfortable blur between him and the clusterfuck in the parking lot. Maybe tomorrow would be a blur, too. And if he was really, really lucky, the blur would stretch back and wipe out the whole damn parking lot fiasco. "Usual, Brick?" Callahan asked.

"Leave the bottle." He looked sharply up, and added "And don't ask."