The first opening night in a new town on the Midway was always the most exciting. Rides that went up like mysterious, sleepy relics from some forgotten time overnight; only to roar to life once the sun went down brought its own kind of buzz to the city.

There was something about a Carnival. A unique sensory wonderland that kindled the inner child in everyone. The lights that beckoned and dazzled, the games that were played; risk measured and taken with a deep breath and a proper taunt of the ego only a true Carny could master. The smell of cotton candy, popcorn, the adrenaline thick in the air amidst the squeals of sheer delight and terror.

Or maybe it was the allure of the expanded view of one's own city from the top of a Ferris Wheel or Roller Coaster that gave one a different perspective. Lingering for a few seconds just a little closer to the stars before plummeting back down to earth; a dizzying contrast of of highs and lows.

Whatever it was, Fia loved it. She thrived on the freedom and heightened energy a Carnival brought to a sleepy town that was aching to shake some dust from its wings. This was her kingdom and this collection of oddballs, seekers, drifters, grifters and misfits were her family.

The Carousel Queen walked amidst the sleeping rides of the Midway in knee length studded black boots, frayed denim shorts, a ribbed white cotton tank layered beneath a well-worn, black motorcycle jacket that looked like it had seen better days.Though a late Spring chill had set in overnight, Fia didn't seem to notice. She radiated her own inner heat that remained unaffected by the temperature around her.

Thick waves of mahogany and chestnut were brushed back as she produced a hand rolled cigarette from behind her ear. Her own blend that flared to life the moment it touched her lips, without the appearance of a lighter. A trail of tobacco, cardamom, and clove passing in her wake like a lingering dream, warming the air with its spice and its tell-tale stories if one were to watch the smoke closely before the Spring air swept it away.

Her mismatched gaze panned over the lot. Born with a condition known as Heterochromia, one eye was a vivid peridot green and the other a burnt amber. Her Mother had always told her that she was born with a foot in both worlds and her eyes struck the balance between the two.

Thick lashes swept low to provide shade from the afternoon sun. Her hand lifted for another slow drag as she watched a group of boys riding their bikes beyond the fence that surrounded the fairgrounds. Squawking and gawking away like a swarm of seagulls to watch the rides go up; pointing out which ones they were going to ride once the sun went down.

The carnival lay out was in the shape of a horseshoe designed to not only entice revelers with a gradual progression of unique experiences, but also to maximize spending. The crowd would enter the open end and by natural instinct, would usually proceed up the right side. The Games would be the first attraction along the right side of the horseshoe. Rides were located down the center, with the Carousel always being the first attraction as a sort of visual centerpiece for its universal, ageless appeal. Followed by the Ferris Wheel, Tilt-a Whirl, Zipper, Dragon Coaster and so on. After the games and rides, the crowd would find more kid friendly rides coming down the left side of the horseshoe and of course, concessions .

The men were busy at work setting up the rides. Fia gave an upnod to Boz who ran the Tilt a Whirl, or what the Carny folk called the "Iron Bitch." Both for its sheer size and strength and the fact that it was a bitch to set up.

"Hey Boz," Fia shot a hand up to the heavily tatooed man. "The Bitch bite ya today?"

Boz shook his shaved head from atop the ride, looking every bit the warrior who had slain a beast. The wicked scar running up the left side of his face from his mouth to temple a monument to another time—another war. He never talked about it and no one ever asked. That was the nice thing about a Carnival family. No one ever asked about your scars or judged you for them, so you never had to explain unless you elected to tell the tale.

"Nah. I'll give you half my cut tonight if you do, Fia." Shouted back without missing a beat, a waggle of a well chewed cigar between his teeth. "Just you know...without the third degree burns."

Fia gave a snort of amusement and a snap of her teeth at Boz. Still bleary-eyed from the long night of travel and not exactly awake without the benefit of some good,strong coffee.

"Yeah' Thought you blew most of your take on that townie." Mouse shouted up to Boz from the coffee cart. Mouse was less than half of Boz's size, a slim man with a jester's grin and sharp eyes that could spot a mark a mile away.

"What's that you said?" Boz half-growled around his cigar. He'd give Mouse half a chance to shut his mouth.

Mouse was particularly verbal. Whip-smart with a book always tucked under his arm and one of the best "talkers" of The Midway. He sat in the Dunk Tank, often referred to as the "Dunk Bozo" and prided himself on taunting the local townies to fork over their dough to spend and throw. Any townie within his radius was fair game for humiliation since the insults were announced over a loudspeaker.

"You know, that redhead with the bad dye job that cleaned you out and left you passed out with your pants around your ankles underneath my trailer?" Mouse wandered over with a cup for himself and for Fia. "Hey Queenie. Drink up. Y'slept the day away. Boss Man's gonna be pissed."

Fia issued a grateful murmur-kiss to Mouse's cheek for the coffee, cupping it between her hands and savoring its warmth as she sipped before cutting him a sideways look for his comment. "He's been pissed for a week. Not my problem." She took another drag.

Mouse gave Fia a long, considering look. "You gettin' those headaches again? They any worse than before?"

Fia shrugged, cheating her chin towards her shoulder before exhaling slowly, suddenly very interested in the story the smoke was telling as it curled around her shoulders.

"Took a lot of heat in that last city, Fia. He covered for you with that Mayor."

"I know." She tensed, shoulders stiffening before she whipped her head around and hissed low. "Mouse, you know better than anyone. I can't always control what it shows them. It's not my..."

Mouse chuckled. "Oh I know you don't control it darlin', and it's not your fault. But you open the door....and Consideration," He tapped the book under his arm, "Like an angel, came and whipped the offending Adam out of him. Leaving his body as a paradise" He dropped the book in her lap, a beat up bandana stuffed between the pages serving as a makeshift bookmark. "Henry V. Some good shit...and you never answered me."

Fia stared at the book in her lap as if she'd find the answers to his question in its pages. "You on a Shakespeare kick now?" She countered his question with a question, a bit sullen and defensive. A hand came up to shield her gaze from the sun that was peeking through the haze of cloud cover to shine down over the Midway. "I'm just tired."

Mouse tugged the bandana from the spot he had saved in the book and placed it over Fia's mismatched eyes to shield them from the sun.

"Fortune is depicted as blind, with a scarf over her eyes, to signify that she is blind. And she is depicted with a wheel to signify"this is the point"that she is turning and inconstant, and all about change and variation. And her foot, see, is planted on a spherical stone that rolls and rolls and rolls."

Fia was silent for a long moment. For a Dunk Bozo, though he played the part, Mouse was no fool. She tugged the bandana down from her eyes. "I hate it when you quote that shit and it starts making sense."

"Man's gotta pass his time on the road somehow, Queenie. Besides, it infuriates the townies that are too stupid to get the insults." He paused. "Don't worry about it. Boss man'll get over it. He's just pissed about not making the nut this week. Speakin' a not makin' yer nut," Mouse whirled around and yelled upwards." Boz I didn't forget you sweetheart. I know you're heartbroken up there over your tragically short-lived towie romance. Yo Jingles! Throw a tune out here for Boz! Like the walking dead out here for chrissakes."

As if on cue, "Gold Digger" started blaring from the speakers. Jingles was the Carnival's resident "Juice man." He was not only responsible for keeping the music piping, but ran all the generators and collected fees from each ride operator for "cut in" to the power supply. Had his tongue cut out while he was serving a nickel in prison and ever since, mostly spoke his mind through his music.

A bunch of the crew started laughing as the song piped out over The Midway. This was a common ritual as the men took their afternoon break. The labor was hard and they'd be working well on into the night once the sun went down. Good coffee, music, a few smokes and a decent meal got them through the late-afternoon slump. Boss had strict rules about no booze during set-up. Kept the injury count down.

Andre's voice boomed down from atop The Zipper, the ride jockey wiping the sweat from his face with a rag he dragged from his pocket. "She take my Money! When I'm in need..Yeaaaah she's a triflin' friend indeed......."

" F*&^ off man...yeah...funny. Let's all have a good laugh." Boz jumped down. "Y'aint in the cage yet, Mouse. Give it a rest." He growled and chewed the hell out of his cigar, giving Mouse a murderous look before flipping off Jingles up in the booth for good measure. "You've all had your fun. I gotta piss...."

"Aw Boz...c'mon. Now I ain't sayin' she a gold digger..."Mouse started joggin' back in time to the music to match Boz's lumbering steps. "Fia, I'll catch you later, girl. Get down girl, go head get down."

Fia gave a soft chuckle as she watched the two move off, tossing the last of her cigarette she headed back towards her Carousel. She always made sure all of the figures made it through the travel day and off the trailer okay without any damage. If there was, she did the touch-ups and repairs herself.

Jumping up on the platform, Fia curled a hand around one of the brass poles before she stroked her palm lovingly along the flank of one of the horses. A soft hum in her throat, pitched low as a familiar warmth pulsed against her hand. There was a distinct energy to each of these beautiful creatures.

Unlike other carousels, this one was mixture of various animals both standard and mythical in nature. Not only horses of every color, but a myriad of other creatures such as wolves, ravens, foxes, swans (black and white), unicorns, lions, tigers, pegasus, dragons, serpents, mermaids, and even a phoenix. Each figure was unique, not one of the figures was carved alike or duplicated. Each meticulously crafted from a different kind of wood from all over the world with its own unique properties. The Dragon was carved from the Alder Tree, the Wolf of African Blackwood, the Lion from Lignum Vitae, The Unicorn from American Holly and so on.

For those who chose to sit during the ride, they would find themselves seated not on mere makeshift benches, but on golden chariots carved with angels.

When one of the new owners suggested they replace some of the figures with the newer fiberglass versions for maintenance and practicality reasons, Fia's initial instinct was to to burn his house down with him inside. However, restraint prevailed and she suggested the owner taken a ride on the carousel first before making the final decision. No one really knew what changed the man's mind that day, but after taking a ride on Fia's Carousel, the suggestion was never brought up again.

Fia eased herself into one of the chariots to enjoy the rest of her coffee. She enjoyed this time to herself when things were still quiet. It allowed her to get a feel for the fairgrounds and the town. In between sips she listened. Not just to the music that Jingles had piping over the Midway, but something else entirely. Her head tipped as if the little Cherubs were whispering to her from their carved perches upon the chariot. There was work to be done and in a few mere hours, The Midway would come alive and shake the dust off this town's dreams.

"Hey! Hey! Did you see me?" As the Carousel had reached its final turn and the rider's began to exit the platform, Jimmy burst through a between a couple that had just about to link hands. He whirled around to nearly slam into his Father. "It was real, Dad. The Dragon! I could feel him, Dad! We were really flying! Really! And the fire was real. I could feel it. And he talked Dad! He talked! "

The boy's Father looked dazed, tugged along by his son, he tried to register what he was saying while still processing what he had seen himself. "That's...that's great, Jimmy."

"But Dad....did you see?"

Fia eyed the Father closely from her usual lean against ticket box as she lifted the camera in a little wave.

"I....sure saw....something," the man answered. Still trying to get his own bearings and was at a loss in the moment of what to say to his son.

"And what?s that, Daddio?" Fia tipped her head as she drew closer to the two and handed the father back his camera. A quirk of her mouth that skirted on the edge of a smile. "Got a few in there I think'll be fit to frame."

"You didn't lie." Jimmy looked up at her in awe. "It was real. Like you said."

"I do many things, kiddo. Lying ain't one of 'em." She leaned down to speak to the boy. "Y'remember what he told you now,hm' And no more whining. No one likes a whiner, kid." Her gaze lifted to his Father.

"And you..." She pitched her voice low so only he could hear. "Would do well to remember that it wasn't your fault. What happened...it was her choice." She touched his arm briefly, feather-light..

Jimmy's Father looked at her and ran his hands over his face to mask the shock there, his voice barely above a murmur as a shaky laugh ended in a constriction of his vocal chords to strangle the emotion bubbling up there. "I feel like I'm losing my mind right now." He whispered to Fia. I don't know how any of this...is possible."

Fia nodded but said nothing. She knew his mind was working overtime to find purchase on something to get a handle on. Something it could process and control based on the input it was used to.

"Jimmy, you tell Dixie over at Candyland that Queenie said you and your Dad can have whatever you like. It's on me."

"Cool! Thanks! C'mon, Dad." He was pulling his Father along as if what he had just experienced was the most natural thing in the world. "Hey Dad, can I bring those pictures to show and tell?"

Fia chuckled as she watched his Father's shocked expression. "Kids are better with acceptance than we are." A faint shrug. "Take yer cue from him, Daddio. That boy's stronger than you think. And so are you."

She gave a wave to the two as they said their goodbyes and moved off, her attention shifting to he sound of w retching nearby.

The drunken man staggered to the railing and grabbed it with both hands as if it were a life line. He tried to steady his legs but couldn't and vomited over the railing and into the matted grass of well-worn path.

"Must not do well with the spinning," one passer by said to his wife.

"Ugh"that's why you don't drink and ride, man." Another said with a laugh as they took a wide berth of Albert's second salvo of gorge.

Albert looked up to give a retort but the world was a spinning kaleidoscope of blurred colors that seemed to move of their own accord, pulsing and pounding in tune with the sounds of the carnival, wrapping and merging to assault his senses.

He went to close his eyes but his mind screamed no. The beating waves of spinning sound and blinding colors were one thing, but other things crept behind his eyes. He'd seen them while he rode that accursed carousel. Shadowy things with beating wings swirling high above him; their wings buffeting him relentlessly while undulating shapes moved in and out of the darkness. Sinister serpent like beasts with guttural growls which issued forth from beyond the gloom of his consciousness. Predatory things that seemed content to wait. As if they knew their time to feast would come soon enough.

"Don't close your eyes," The man said to himself. The dark things were waiting. "God what?s happening to me?" He asked and shuffled down the railing, refusing to let go with either white knuckled hand as if the rail was a tether which kept him from what he'd seen.

He swallowed hard, a sour taste in his mouth which Albert felt was not from the vomit. A strong smell of sulfur hung low in his nostrils.

The colors and sounds continued to swirl and warp around him like water tumbling down a drain. He tried to look away and looked over his shoulder to see the woman standing against her podium and staring intently back at him, head cocked just so as if she knew.

As if she had seen.

She knows, the man thought as he stared back, unable to move. His feet stayed rooted to the ground for some time as he just stared back at her before he doubled over as if he had been punched. One hand slamming into the ground before he went to his knees.

Fia watched the man for a long time, allowing him to get his bearings before finally strolled over and lit up another cigarette, looking down at the mess of a man at her feet before crouching down to get right on his level like she was approaching a wounded animal.

He shrank back from her, crab walking back on his hands till he hit the edge of the fence. "G-get away from me. W-what did you d-do to me?" The tremors shot up through his spine and shook through his large frame, and he looked at his hands as if he didn't recognize them.

Fia examined the end of her cigarette. "I didn't do anything darlin'. It's all within you, y'know," Her tone was casual, conversation-like.

"Y-yer a damn witch or somethin." He pointed an accusing finger at her. "Y-y'ou did some voodoo *&^* on me."

"Hard to face your demons isn't it' Easier to shift the blame on someone else." She held up her hands innocently. "I'm not, judge, jury or executioner darlin'. Nothing was shown to you that your consciousness was not ready to accept. In fact," she tipped her head. "Your soul insisted. But cheer up. We're only shown what we need. Could be a turning point for you." Tongue in cheek.

She paid no attention to the man doubling over and vomiting again, the shaking of his body suddenly violent as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "M-make it stop. P-please."

"Only you can do that I'm afraid. Not my department." She said softly, not entirely void of compassion. "How long the release happens is up to you. The more you resist, the worse it will be."

The man groaned and fell into the fetal position.

"You know where the meaning of the word Carousel comes from?" She continued on. Matter of fact, as if they were two friends discussing trivia together over a beer.

The man kept shaking his head from side to side. Trying to stave off the visions that lingered in the periphery of his consciousness.

"I'll take that as a no' It's from the Italian word carosello, meaning 'little war'" Fia eyed the man a long moment, before she leaned in close to whisper. "I'll let you in on a little secret. The war is inside you. And it looks to me like you've lost quite a few battles. So why don't you go on home tonight darlin' and think long and hard about whether or not you wanna lose the war."

Flicking her cigarette over the fence she rose to her feet and moved back towards the line cuing up again at the ticket box. A glance over her shoulder at the man, her eyes tracking him as he stumbled towards the exit and Mouse's words from earlier came drifting back to her again.

And Consideration, like an angel, came and whipped the offending Adam out of him. Leaving his body as a paradise.

"I mean, what does he want from me?" Lucille, the 5'10" snake charmer and reptile handler leaned against Fia's Carousel. Somehow managing to gesture wildly with the hand that held her cigarette, and not spill her coffee in the other. The redhead was a throwback to the pin-up girls of the 40's in both her classic beauty and style.

"He was so bitchy after the travel day, I thought he wanted to eat, right' No, he didn't want that. Then he was so restless last night, I didn't even want him in bed with me, but of course he insisted as he always does. He doesn't know how good he has it. Does he even realize where he'd be if it weren't for me" I swear, I need a new male in my life. If he doesn't shape up, I'm going to kick his ass to the curb or dump him in a river somewhere. "

"You know you don't mean that," Fia mused. Mismatched gaze of green and amber glanced up from her paint job to her friend. She was currently touching up the paint on one of the Pegasus wings that had chipped during travel.

Her hair was tied back in a ponytail to keep it off her face while she worked, denim shorts were covered in paint splotches here and there as well as her legs. She paused to take a sip of her own coffee. "You know you'll kiss and make up before the end of the night. You two always do." Fia eyed the end of Lucille's cigarette warily as the redhead gesticulated wildly, adding as an afterthought,"Don't ash on my handiwork, Cilles."

To the casual observer listening in on the girl talk, one might think that Lucille was referring to a boyfriend or a lover. But in fact, Lucille was referring to a 700 pound Alligator named Rufus who was part of her act. Lucille was in charge of all manner reptiles including various snakes and lizards that intrigued the public, but Rufus was the star. The two had a rather love/hate relationship at times.

Lucille huffed out an exasperated sigh as she exhaled the cigarette smoke from her lungs. "Travel days are stressful enough without him being a diva. Like I need that sh*&t." She waved a hand as if dismissing the subject all together. "By the end of this day I'm going to need Andre to hook me up with some of that good s*&t he has in his trailer."

There was an easy, comfortable silence that fell between the two women as they enjoyed their coffee that could only be born from two friends that knew each other well enough to negate the need to fill the silence between them. Fia and Lucille had been on the road together for two years now and in that short time, they had developed a certain bond between them.

After a few moments of watching Fia paint, Lucille inevitably turned the conversation to gossip which she knew Fia disliked as a general rule, but the redhead just couldn't help herself.

"You hear about Bells quitting?" A brow quirked to Fia.

Fia nodded in affirmation to Lucille's question. "Saw her stomp out of here earlier. Mad as hell." A brief shrug of her shoulders, but her eyes remained fixed on her work. The gossip not interesting enough for her to pull her attention.

"Mouse was crushed of course. Pissed as hell at Isaac." Lucille continued on. The topic too juicy to let go of just yet. At least not until her coffee was finished. "Think he was kinda sweet on her. So now he's on a rampage. Went in to bitch to Benny about him not helping with set up."

Fia set down her brush for a moment to enjoy her coffee. "Being on the road constantly was tough for her. Days were real long. I think she had a different image in her mind of what it as going to be like. Pretty thing like Bells feels more at home on a velvet cushion somewhere." Another shrug. It was just how Fia saw it.

Lucille's voice suddenly fell to a whisper. "Word is Isaac nearly turned her into a pin cushion last night."

"Cilles...."Fia rolled her eyes at the redhead. "Spare me the drama, please. You gotta stop talkin' to Dixie. She stirs that stuff up more than the cotton candy.

Lucille held up her hands, as if in a state of innocent surrender. All wide blues and thick, curled, pin up lashes even at 8am. "What' I'm just sayin' there is a reason he can never hold an assistant. And then I always end up covering for the latest Show Ho because you absolutely refuse every time Isaac asks you. Stubborn bitch that you are." Added with a quirk of her mouth that held lingering affection there for the Carousel Queen.

Fia laughed and shook her head slowly. "I made Isaac a deal. He knows what it is. He rides my Carousel, I'll be his assistant. So far he has yet to agree." It was an ongoing battle of wills between the two.

"Can you blame him' I've seen people come off this thing white as a sheet, Fia." Lucille ashed her cigarette off of the side of the platform, careful not to get it on the Carousel to avoid Fia going apesh*#t.

"What's so scary?" As if she didn't know. "You had a positive experience last time you rode," Fia reminded her as she finished the last of her coffee and took up her brush again.

"Yes." Lucille sighed almost dreamily, touching her hand just above her breast as if she were getting choked up by the memory. "That's how I was guided to my poor Rufus. It was Isaac who helped me bust him out of that horrible Circus, y'know. You should've seen the conditions they had him in, Fia." The memory of it had her nearly as red as her hair. "I wanted to tell Isaac to skewer them."

"He probably would have. You know how he is with animals." Fia looked up at Lucille from her seated position a hand coming up to block her eyes from the sun on her face. "Move to the left a little, will ya darlin'" Sun's gettin' in my eyes and I gotta finish this so it has time to dry."

"C'mon Fia," Lucille pleaded, stepping to the left to block the sun. "Help a girl out. I don't know what went on with Bells or the others, but I've done it before and he's been nothin' but a gentleman with me, Gods honest." She crossed her heart. "It's that whole Southern manners thing and whatnot. You can get someone to cover the Carousel for a night. I got my hands full with Rufus."

"Nope. Besides, he kinda creeps me out. He's always watching me with this look like I'm some kinda ticking time bomb or something." Fia said and shot Lucille an easy grin and shrugged. "Guess Rufus is just gonna have to deal with his jealousy. Besides, you and Isaac get along alright. He's always hangin' around by your tent after all."

"We share a love for the reptiles and music from the forties." Lucille shrugged. "For that reason alone I think he tolerates me. Rufus absolutely loves him and he has this mighty fine collection of Benny Goodman records that he plays while he practices that I am seriously thinking stealing if I wasn't afraid he'd cut me." Added before tossing the last of her cigarette off to the side. She eyed Fia for a long moment.

"You know Fia...might be a good lead in to get you back into doing shows again. We still have all your costumes in storage. You should get back into doing the fire show...or the pyromancy thing. It's been a year...since...everything." She hedged. "You were good. Real good. What happened...it was an accident you know" You can't let that shut you down, girl. I think it would be good for you to get back into it. You have a gift."

Fia stiffened, slowly lowering the paint brush as her hand was beginning to shake. "Benny put you up to this" I don't want to talk about it Cilles. I'm not over it. I can't risk that happening again. Ever."

She still had nightmares about it. The burns, the man's face, the people screaming and running from the tent."

"It wasn't your fault. The townie was the one who got violent first cause he didn't like what you saw in the flames." Lucille defended, fiercely loyal to her Carnival sister. "Throwing stuff and cussin', causing a huge fuss. You were defending yourself. Besides, Benny's Advance Man worked out a deal with the Fixer and took care of everything. Free and clear with no heat to worry about."

Fia shook her head. "Free and clear" I still have to live with it. I lost control. I don't know how to control it." Fia said quietly, smoothing her shaking hand along denim as if she were smoothing out her nerves before looking back at Lucille.

"It'd help put a little more jingle in your pocket too." Lucille added. "You know how Benny is always going on about the nut and how we're not off it yet." Lucille gently reminded Fia, who had a"less than congenial relationship with the Big Boss. "More attractions, more shows, more money less having to talk to him." Lucille presented it as a win-win for everybody involved. "It'd be fun to see you do it again. Just think about it, ok?"

"I can control the Carousel a lot better, and it's better for me. Because they don't know I'm...you know..doing anything. Mostly they pass it off as a bad trip from too much beer, or a bad corn dog or something. The Pyromancy is different. It's more personal." There was a finality in her tone that suggested this conversation was over.

Lucille knew better than to press her friend further. The wall had gone up and if she knew her well enough to know she'd get burned if she pushed her any further. Perhaps literally.

"Well I suppose I'll have to cover for Bells tonight myself....again. Just hope he doesn't turn me into a pin cushion or something. If he does, I'll come back and haunt your ass and this Carousel, Fia, I swear. He's a strange duck, Isaac. I can't tell if I want to f^*& him or run from him half the time. It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for. That's what they say about all the serial killers. But he was so quiet. Kept to himself that one did."

Fia laughed, appreciating Lucille's humor and the moment of levity. Even if she was comparing Isaac to a serial killer. She felt the tension slowly ease from her body, her fingers relaxing from their clenched state as she pulled a hand rolled cigarette from behind her ear; suddenly needing the fix. It flared to life in moments. No lighter necessary as she touched it to her lips. "You're terrible," murmuring around the cigarette before exhaling lazily. Her mismatched gaze admiring the cloudless, wide open blue of the sky that fed her gypsy heart.

Fia was nervously fidgeting with the peridot necklace she wore around her neck. "Pele's tears," her mother had called the stone. The necklace had been given to her by her mother on the day of her birth, for she had seen the fire at once in her child's eyes. A striking combination of peridot green and burnt amber. And so she had named her Fiametta, or her "Little Flame" for her fiercely independent spirit. In her infancy, she did not even have a crib for her mother claimed that she had melted it and that, "No bars will ever cage her."

She gazed at the moon, vibrant and bright outside the small window of her trailer. It always seemed to heighten everything in her sphere. This full Harvest Moon was already pulling at the raging tides within her. She vaguely remembered an old gypsy telling her once that the veils between between worlds were at their thinnest on nights like these. Her temples throbbed. Her resistance was making the pain worse, she knew, but she was not going to risk losing control again.

Rusalka's "Song to the Moon" played on the vintage record player next to her bed; somehow, it soothed her. Her Mother had been an Italian opera singer of limited fame or notoriety, but possessed a purity of heart and voice that were unparalleled.

Fia had not taken well to any type of schooling and to this day, had enormous difficulties reading that went beyond any vague, limiting label of a "learning disability." Letters seemed to rearrange themselves on the page before her, forming their own messages that had nothing to do with the story within. Yet she yearned for stories from a young age and so her Mother had read them to her since she could not read them herself. "You read the flames my darling..and you read people. That is your gift."

That is my curse. Fia had thought, but she never spoke the words aloud to her Mother. She could never explain the ache she had within her to be able to one day read herself. She had a love for beauty, knowledge and truth in a way that she could not fully articulate in the limited language of her learned tongue. It sang like a Phoenix song in her bones, a battle-cry for destruction to burn away all that was false in a world that had felt too far too limiting for the wanderlust in her soul.

And so, for most of Fia's youth and until her Mother's death, the world would be her schoolroom. The two had traveled together to various small venues in the manner of two gypsies wanting to savor all the sensual pleasures the world had to offer. The same said pleasures eventually took their toll on her Mother's life.

Pacing in her trailer, she knew something felt off before she even set foot on The Midway. Perhaps it was the moon. Mismatched gaze of peridot and amber avoided the flickering flame from the candle on the table, beckoning her with its own gypsy's dance. Eventually, her gaze was pulled magnetically to the blue heart of the flame. The message came right away.

Why are you afraid to lift the veil" Why do you run from what you are"

Fia strode over to the table and blew out the flame, then turned to yank the needle off the record. Her fingers twitched and burned as she did so, nearly melting the vinyl.

"My Little Runaway..." A voice whispered in the darkness of the trailer.

Later that evening...

The night at the carnival felt like any other night. The rides clanked and caroused around hair pin turns, the shouts of excited townies drifted from one part of the Carnival to another; mixing and competing with the strident calls of the barkers as they sought to round up impressive crowds for tented attractions. Everything seemed normal"

But everything wasn't normal.

Fia eyed the Harvest Moon off on the horizon; the orange tinged disk hung low in the sky and served as a cosmic marker for the seasonal transition upon the land. Summer was giving way to autumn and the moon served as the vanguard to the coming change and reordering of things; a primordial cycle as old as the Earth and Moon itself.

Fia noted a few townies commenting on the moon here and there as they queued up before the carousel, but its significance went largely unnoticed save for its color and fullness.

But something felt off. The usual ease and banter that Fia had as a ride operator was missing. Even the guiding hand of the Carousel felt distant, a song on the radio just as you drove out of range of the station. The vibration and frequency muddled somehow.

Fia suddenly became aware of a high frequency buzzing sound. The kind of sound that cut through conscious thought to drill right through skin and bone to pierce deep within the mind. Heterochromatic eyes tried to blink away the sensation, to look and see if others heard it as well. But all appeared normal; to everyone save the Little Flame.

Trying to ignore it, Fia suggested this animal and that for the chosen riders and moved back to the control dais. A moment's hesitation stayed her finger as it hovered over the start button. A little warning, a shadowy thought fluttering like birds" wings and then it was gone and the button was pushed. She took a lean against the podium, elbow against the worn wood with chin resting on the palm to watch"

And that was when Fia knew something was definitely off. The Carousel seemed to accelerate out of control as it spun faster and faster, ethereal lines of lights and colors trailed behind their source like a photograph of high speed traffic. Sounds multiplied and echoed weirdly as they blended with the phantastic sights assaulted her eyes. Everything moved, danced, and chased itself in that never ending cycle"except the faces of the riders. They merely stared at Fia with each revolution, a distant interest on their expression as if they were watching and waiting for something climatic to happen.

Fia felt herself pitch forward, falling towards the enveloping darkness of unconsciousness. The last thing she remembered seeing was the burning disk of the Harvest Moon, an all seeing eye of the being she was about to meet.

It was a golden light that flooded through her completely first, warm as the Sun, and the voice that follow had a similar effect. Its vibration more beautiful than any symphony ever composed by mortal or angel.

"It is time now, dear one. For your name to be cleared. For the truth to be brought to light. You are a Catalyst."

"Why did you bring me here" You're cheating and you know it." She ground out. "This is entrapment."

"No. This is what we call necessary intervention. A rift has occurred, the veil is thin this evening and you have been resisting.You refused to look into the flames for the messages. You cannot hide forever."

"Semantics. And I prefer to look at it as selective participation."

"Why are you so hesitant, my Nasreen?"

"Because they demonized me." Literally. "Not that you would know what that is like. You were always the golden boy" Fia spoke with thinly veiled venom.

"Their ignorance and perversion of the truth is not your concern. The truth may be repressed, perhaps for thousands of years, but all will be brought to light. Stop running.They have vilified you for long enough. It is time now. No more hiding. All will be brought to light. All that must be revealed, shall be...in its proper time. The shadows can no longer hide or repress the truth. It is part of the expansion that is taking place. We all must do our part."

"Who the f*#k wants to look at their shadows" Yeah. That's going to go over well. " She still wasn't buying it. It was in her very DNA to question everything...even him.

"Their soul will choose. If not, their journey will just take longer. I am nothing else if not patient. You know this. Your job is to open the door. Whether they choose to face it and walk through the fire, is their choice."

"Do you know how isolating this is?" She snapped."People either think you're a freak, insane, a damn witch, or trying to con them. Hell, I'm my own walking sideshow. Who needs the Carnival?"

"It is the rare person that wants to face his shadows. Nevertheless, the only way out is through. One can not recognize their light without first acknowledging their shadow-self. It is the order of things....And when have you ever cared what others thought' Dear one, you are my original rebel after all. He had no idea what he had in store with free will when it came to you." There was amusement in his voice now, a warmth and fondness that melted some of her meticulously constructed wall. It was his capacity for humility that had always brought it down and humbled her to her core.

"I miss you." She admitted, the words catching in her throat. The vulnerability of the statement like a ribbon that had her slowly unraveling. "You saw me. You never judged me or tried to control me. It's awful on this God forsaken rock without you."

"There has never been separation between us. Only the one you have created with your mind and your resistance. I need you here now. I need your abilities for this purpose. Will you do this for me?" "Do I have a choice?" Her voice wavered as she spoke.

"You know you do. I would never force you.I have always loved you. You were with me to the end."

"I know. I hated him for that too. What they did to you."

"It was my journey. I chose it. As you have yours."

"What do I do now?"

"You Wake up."

"Fia! Fia can you hear me" Fia...."

Fia slowly opened her eyes to the sound of Isaac's slow drawl and his face leaning over her.

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

I am Lilith, Grandmother of Mary Magdalene

I am Lilith, whose sexual fire was too hot for God.

I am Lilith, the First Woman, who chose the rage of exile over the cancer

Of servitude.

I am Lilith, Mother to the Mother-less.

I am Lilith, whose blood covers the moon.

I am Lilith, standing on owl's claws at a woman's crossroads.

I am Lilith, the Whore in the gateway of the Temple.

I am Lilith, whose serpentine tongue caused Eve to laugh, and pick the

apple!

I am Lilith, Revolving Sword of Flame " scorching hypocrisy from truth's

white bones.

I am Lilith, free-moving in the Wilderness.

I am Lilith, spirit of night and air.

I am Lilith, in whose dark caves transgressors find sanctuary.

I am Salome.

I am Morgan le Faye.

I am the Queen of Sheba "

My hair is black, and I am 'dark but comely",

(Solomon sang my song!).

I am Eve's big sister.

I am Lilith, Mother to the motherless.

I am Lilith, whose sexual fire was too hot for God.

I am Lilith, living in the Shadow.

Waiting. For you.

-Cosi Fabian

Carnival breakfasts were a tradition dating back nearly a century now. A chance for the various workers and acts to congregate at the cook house around a common meal to share tales of the previous night's ups and downs, the takes, the scores, the rubes and everything in between. Often an arena of bragging as well as good natured shaming for the previous night's wins and losses; the long tables under Buford "Cookie" Bullis" tent provided a communal place to eat and inevitably the arrangement fell along professional lines. The Agents who worked the games all sat relatively close together, the Roughies, the Ride Jocks, the Talkers and so forth all fell into their long established and hierarchal places. Eschewing such proximity, Isaac and Boomer had claimed a spot towards the end of a row. Close enough that an uninitiated eye would consider him part of the group though in reality Isaac ensured a level of detachment which he privately considered wholly separate. Isaac tore a piece of bacon in half and dropped one half to Boomer while chewing on the other. He noted almost everyone had arrived by now though there were always a few late risers from a long night spent working hard for those last few dollars or turning out just a few more rides and shows. "Good today eh?" Slow drawl drug out around a full mouth as he watched Boomer all but inhale his half. Isaac chuckled as the scarred stump of a tail was set to wagging; the mutt clearly wanting more. "Gonna make yourself fat." Isaac chided even as he broke off another strip to Boomer's delight. Mason jar of sweet tea was picked up which sent cubes clinking against the glass. Steel grey gaze moved unseen over the assembled group as Isaac's hawk like attention took flight to circle around the various conversations. Riding the verbal thermals, his attention went unnoticed while he merely ate and listened to the various back and forths before him. "I tells ya"I nearly blew my pipes trying to get em over to me." An agent was saying while shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. "All night just yellin and yelling, tellin em how I could guess their age, their number of kids, their weight'didn't matter shit to me what it was. Thought by the end of the night I was gonna end up like Jingles." This brought a chorus of nervous laughs for the reference. The Carnival's resident juice man had lost his tongue while doing a stint in Sing Sing, or so the story went, and hadn't spoken a word of his own since, but any man who had endured as much was a man to be wary of. Isaac gave a squint down the table and placed the owner of the raspy voice as man named Beans. It took a moment to place what game he ran as Isaac rarely associated or even spoke to the agents. As a showman (and a working act at that) he rightly considered himself on the higher end of that particular carny social division. Isaac did remember that Beans was the carnival's A&S man and spent the nights guessing peoples age or guessing their weight. Isaac was pretty sure he constantly underestimated women's age and weight so as to come off as a charming and sensitive agent. Didn't matter either way, the A&S was a hanky pank"Isaac knew Beans charged more for each play than the overhead of his prizes so a few well-placed losses here and there coupled with some personality probably helped him to come out ahead. Growing bored with the Agents table, Isaac shifted that slate colored gaze about, looking for something of interest while scratching behind Boomer's ear. Another conversation finally caught that hawk like attention and so it circled over a group of ride Jocks listening to Boz retell his story from the night before . "So there she was'smoking hot blonde. I'm telling you guys she was easily a 7"on a bad day." Boz spoke with a barbarian growl that easily matched his scarred visage and muscled physique. "She be more of a tree, if we be tellin' tru, Boz-mon. Maybe she make 'er way up ta four o' five depending on how many Red Stripes we bein drinkin." Andre's Caribbean accent bouncing in and interrupting Boz while he waffled his hand from side to side in the classic maybe-maybe not gesture. "She"was"a'seven." Boz pointedly reiterated while shoving Andre back over to his seat with a laugh and a good natured elbow. "Smokin Seven. Long blonde air, Daisy Duke shorts and fuckin tits out to here man." Boz gesturing with his hands to indicate the endowment of last night's angel. "So I'm hanging outta the dog house of the Bitch hollerin down at her. I know we're about to drop the awning for the night so I gotta get it in quick ya know?" He paused to tear into a biscuit. "Prolly a lot lizard." Mouse chimed into the silence brought on by Boz's chewing. "You lose your take to another professional lady of the night?" A quick duck by the Terrible Taunt saved him from Boz's gravy slathered biscuit turned missile though he came back up undaunted. Show Ho' Shownuff." "You gonna ever come up with new stuff?" Boz grumbled, less and less amused with Mouse and the similar style of his jokes. "When it stops being funny or you stop falling for it every night." Mouse cracked back unforgivingly like a whip lash. "It's what I do." A bit of pride puffing those words as Mouse's dunk tank was one of the first attractions people saw upon entering the arch and remained consistently popular. "Won't be laughing when I drown you in your Bozo tank?" Back and forth banter was a mainstay of the Carny breakfast ritual and plenty of it abounded along the tables. Isaac could tune in and out of such jokes as if changing grooves on a record and never miss a beat. The drifting arc of lazy attention circled round the assembled carnys in search of a more succulent prey. A few moments of silent studying until it lighted upon a topic of more seriousness. He pulled a biscuit in two and sightlessly offered the first half to Boomer who gobbled it happily while Isaac watched Benny converse with the carnival's middle management team consisting of Frankie, the twins Don and Dave and Twitch. "Well it's going to make a difference, Benny. If we got a different owner that's going to influence how I deal with the cops. I mean," Frankie paused to spit tobacco across the dirt and turn his skinny frame away from most of the carnys at breakfast, "it might influence how much patch money I got to make deals. Might not be a big deal to you if we got troopers crawlin round"but it might to them," a half nod over his shoulder to indicate the assembled group. "It's just a rumor." Benny said while wiping a hand down his face. "Still on the nut and we gotta deal with these rumors. We hear this all the time." Spoken in a tone of projected confidence meant to put the other men at ease though Benny, himself, heard the words ring hollow. "They just rumors, Benny?" Twitch asked as he crossed arms over his spindly chest and rocked back and forth on his toes. "You still even gonna be Boss" Cause I aint gonna work for some forty miler who aint never been part o no carnival." Twitch continued while his left eye constantly moved and bounced thus giving rise to his name while also making it difficult for Benny to concentrate with his answer. "I'm on the show." Benny finally answered with a definitive jab of his cigar, indicating he was a serious part of the carnival. That fat cigar was then shoved between plump lips for a chew. "Aint gonna happen. Business as usual. We got a strong show and we aint for sale." He gave a glance to the Twins. "Dave, stay on top of the concessions. I don't want to hear about another joint running out of something. Same goes for the checkup, Don. If one more agent comes and bitches to me about his money I'll start praying for a change of scenery. And don't let me catch any of you talking about this with the others"else you'll be the one getting the change of scenery." Isaac pulled away from the conversation as he dropped a piece of ice down for Boomer to crunch into. As he glanced back up, intent to quietly observe the continuation of breakfast and contemplate the ramifications of a potential ownership change, he noted Lucille heading down to his end of the table. The red-headed pin up glided past the invisible barrier to invade his overly large though well-crafted personal space to sit alongside him. Boomer popped his head up, stubbed tail wagging a mile a minute at the advent of new stimulus while Isaac subtly recoiled from the intrusion and leaned back in his chair to recreate some of that disturbed distance. "Good morning, Isaac." Saccharine sweet smile as Lucille bit into a wedge of breakfast melon. "Good night the other night?" Isaac stared back at Lucille. Gun metal gray blinked a few times during that passage of time while he placed that sing song lilt of her voice to a school yard where one child knew something the others did not and reveled in that secret knowledge. "Bout like any other." He finally offered, that slow drawl deflecting the direct shot of her question. Lucille gave a victorious little smile as she lit her first and favorite cigarette of the day. Cerulean gaze narrowed into disbelieving slits as she eyed the knife thrower. "Bout like any other, huh?" She repeated; enjoying how Isaac's recalcitrant nature all but snapped her good natured trap closed. "Well"that's not what I've heard." Isaac's brows slid upwards at the obvious challenge laid down by the snake charmer but his face remained an impassive mask; the path of his thoughts as difficult to navigate as Minos" famed Labyrinth. A slow sip from the Mason jar was coupled with a chicken playing stare leveled at Lucille. "Guess you heard wrong." "Mm. Doubtful." Lucille gave a waggle of brows in answer to that dour expression and turned to look down the rows of tables. "Hey fellas?" In a loud voice sure to attract attention. "Guess who went into town the other night and actually hung out in a bar?" Called out while pantomiming a finger pointing gesture at Isaac. The words had no sooner left Lucille's mouth than conversations started to stall out and end completely. Like dominoes falling in a row, Lucille's little announcement rippled throughout the tables until most everyone was staring down at the pair. Isaac gave Lucille a cautionary look before slouching back into his chair with arms crossed over his chest. He so rarely took part in the banter that he never expected himself to become the target of it"besides"most thought better of it if the desire even existed. "Funny." Single word voiced as he looked back at dozens of faces staring at him as if they all expected him to give a speech about it. He passed the awkward moment by producing a pack of Lucky's and packed the box against the base of his palm several times over. "I thought so." Lucille confirmed as shoulders bobbed in hardly concealed mirth. She took another bite of her melon held daintily between two fingers and waved her little finger at him. "Gotcha." "Mm. Would appear you did." Isaac conceded while slowly exhaling a chest full of smoke into the morning breeze. "How'd you?" The question going unfinished as a certain name bloomed behind his gray gaze. "Dixie." Said knowingly as soon as the name materialized. She was the carnival's candy flosser and reigning gossip queen. "Dixie." Lucille confirmed with a laugh and a scratch behind Boomer's ear for good measure. "She does more than just sell cotton candy ya know." "Bullshit." Boz calling out Lucille's accusation. "I don't believe a word of it." "I dunno mon, dat moon be a crazy ting"making all kinds of disbelievin happenin." Jamaican patois signifying Andre had taken his turn. "Could be makin' even a Mime a Mockingbird. "Wait?" Mouse chimed in. "Isaac went to a bar" You talk to anybody?" Mouse asked, ready to answer his own question and provide the punch line before Isaac could speak. "Cause we all know you don't talk to anything that ain't got four legs." Spoken to a round of laughter. It was rare that Isaac became a target as opposed to throwing at them so the other carnys got their laughs in while they could. "They let Boomer in?" Mouse continued as he would have had he been sitting in the tank. "Lemme guess"you told them he was your seeing eye dog or something right?" Mouse holding up a hand to his ear. "What's that boy' Isaac's at a bar and wants a sweet tea?" Imitating an episode of Lassie to the amusement of those around him. "But he never talks so how's he going to order one" OH"you did it for him' Well that's a good boy." Isaac listened to the barbs and riposted with silence and a stare; letting those who wished to make a few cracks at his expense have their moment. That was the ritual and fighting against it was like chumming the waters"only made things worse and attracted more attention. Far better to endure in silence and let it die a natural death. Filter clamped between fore and middle fingers, Isaac held the cigarette out to the side to knock the ash free of the rolled paper. It had been an odd night. He wasn't quite sure what possessed him, what with him being suddenly and inexplicably social. Perhaps Andre had been on to something with the moon affecting his blades, the dunk tank and Fia's carousel. Maybe that"whatever it was"had extended to him giving humanity a whimsical chance. Though when Mouse kept digging and then targeted Boomer Isaac had had enough. Mouse had a practiced way of getting through the thickest skin. It's what made him such a great Dunk Bozo and no one was permanently immune. "What're you?new?" Isaac finally asked when Mouse was done. The use of that particular question, asking if Mouse was new, brought a quick silence to the other carnys. Implying that Mouse was inexperienced or displaying bad judgment, calling someone "new" was a serious accusation in the Carnival family. "You know, I think being in that cage does things to you, Mouse." Isaac finished and tossed the last of a biscuit down to Boomer. "You should really learn when to turn it off." He paused, ashing his cigarette and giving Mouse a long considering glance. "Or maybe you can't. Maybe you're terrified of what you'd hear in the silence." That lazy drawl had a way of cutting even deeper as the words tumbled slowly and steadily from Isaac's lips. Not just skilled in throwing knives with his hands; he could hurl their verbal equivalent with practiced ease as well. Most carnys were an observational sort though Isaac's reserved nature and stage performances made him especially adept at reading between the grimy gutters of humanity. A sudden chill fell over the breakfast tent as the other Carnys suddenly became very interested in their food. "Just makin jokes. Way to kill the vibe, man." Mouse continued to chew his breakfast with a sullen grind to his jaw. Something about what Isaac said sticking him in the ribs more than he'd like to admit and the blade was wedged deep. He picked up his well-worn and weather beaten copy of The Scarlett Letter. "I'm off to hang with more evolved company." The sudden change saw sarcasm creeping back into Mouse's tones even while he flashed a good natured grin. Nothing could ever keep him down for long. He paused to fill a mug with coffee before heading off towards the trailers. Isaac blew the held smoke from lips and nose while leaning back in his chair, tipping it back onto his back legs. A pat to his thigh had Boomer hopping up for a rub. The Stray that was Isaac's personality loped back out to the perimeter of the group as his attentions once again retreated inward and detached himself from the group dynamic. He was there and not there all over again. "Yo Queenie! Up and at em." Mouse called while banging on the screen door of Fia's trailer. The sonic assault rattled like shaken sheet metal as he banged again. "Carpe that f*&#n' coffee." Syllables stretched out and pitched skyward as he tried to entice Fia from her humble abode. "The sun himself is weak when he first rises, and gathers strength and courage as the day gets on." Said with another nerve rattling knock on the door. "If it's good enough for Dickens, it's good enough for me and you!"

?"ngele Dei, qui custos es mei, me, tibi comm'ssum piet"te sup"rna, ill"mina, cust'di, rege et gub"rna. Amen." The chanted prayer reverberated within the cavernous halls of the church as the priest guided his flock with the ancient language. The prayer was echoed back by the congregation, stilted words stumbling as new born tongues struggled with the antique language of Kings. Marble glistened wetly in the glow of candle light while sunlight streamed through stained panes on high. Angelic statues with silver swords gleaming stood sentry over venerated saints while altar boys flanked the priest on bended knee. The entire building, procession and ritual bespoke of awesome power while reiterating messages of meek humbleness. Of shackled servitude. Such an incongruity amused the figure sitting in a pew towards the back of the large hall. Chartreuse colored eyes swept round the assembled parishioners and noted with a certain satisfaction that the pews were sparsely filled, attendance slowly waning as the years drug on. And who could blame them' The flock would scatter without a shepherd to tend to them, and this absentee shepherd had been gone for some time. Perhaps someone else would tend to their needs" The thought and the potential contained within brought a momentary hedonic smile to his lips. Eyes were, however, inevitably drawn to the crucified Christ above the priest, His eyes cast upwards beneath a thorny crown, agony mingled with forgiveness upon his handsome face. The medieval iconography pulled a frown from the man's generous mouth. A certain anger revealed at the expression though tinged with regret for what could have been; the lie which had flown round the world on winged words would soon be revealed and expunged. One leg was shifted over the other in a gentlemanly cross as he reclined against the hard wood of the pew. The faint smell of lemon wood polish tainted the air as it mixed with that of incense. Frankincense and Myrrh gifted the air with their perfume while dusty paper of little read books littered the pews. Less the bitter scent of decay; more the quiet smell of opportunity. Fallow fields and idle hands becoming a checkered chessboard of pieces to play with. A newly arrived smell competed and ultimately dominated that of books and wood thus drawing his attention away from such mundane things. Light and airy, the soft fragrance of lavender bolstered by a base of vanilla heralded her arrival. He turned his head as the late arrival quickly genuflected while making the sign of the cross and hurried along his row. "Pater noster, qui es in c"lis, sanctificetur nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tuum; fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra?" The Lord's Prayer droned onward in the background of his attention as leonine eyes watched her approach with the lazy interest of a coiled viper. Her white dress, so unlike the black threads of his ruthlessly tailored suit, hugged her sylphlike body and revealed all the danger held within her curves. He assessed her as the type of woman who knew she was beautiful and was unafraid of enjoying it'revealing it. She offered an apologetic smile as she approached, such a visible lateness creating the urge for contact and the desire to blend in amongst a group in order to lose the stigma. "You mind?" She whispered as she nodded to the space next to him. He returned the smile, covetous mouth twisting upward as he nodded and plucked his cane from the space alongside him. The silver wolf's head glinted as it passed through a shaft of light before he set it against the pew in front of him. "Hardly." Dulcet tones inviting her to sit alongside him while watching how her tiny golden crucifix settled upon the hollow of her throat. "Can't believe I'm so late." She confessed in a whisper as she settled, painted nails tugging her skirt towards her knees before putting a proper cross of heels at her ankles. "My husband"he doesn't believe." A glance down'the sorrow within that simple phrase revealing the entirety of her marriage. "How fortunate." Throaty purr of hypnotic tenor as he angled his lithe frame towards her, placing her and not the godly devotion proceeding at the altar at the center of his attention. "For me." Clarified with a disarming smile as she lifted her eyes to his in question. She took the compliment for what it was, a coquettish curve of her secretive mouth forming despite the impossibility to grasp the layered meaning of his words. Blue eyes with an inner halo of gold lingered upon the golden green magnetism within his for an improper moment or two longer than necessary and then shifted to watch and listen to the priest. His attention, however, lingered upon her. The mass droned on around them, winding down to its conclusion while he watched without staring, admired without leering, caressed without touching and uncaring when she noticed. He had placed her and her alone at the center of his attention, her occasional glances and demure curve of painted lips confirming that she enjoyed the visual pedestal he had placed her on. Forward fingertips danced like raindrops across her bared shoulders, a certain naked wantonness to his touch along heated flesh. Her jump not one of shock and outrage, but of enjoyed surprise as he gave her the slimmest of tastes of what worship alongside her husband could feel like. Head canted to the side, leonine eyes watched as she nervously turned the golden band upon her finger; physical symptom of the beginnings of doubt and desire. The final amen was spoken and the congregation began to stand, slivers of separate conversations rising to the rafters as the viper uncoiled to lean towards the little mouse caught within its gaze. A whisper brushed lips against the shell of her ear, lascivious words corrupting sacred vows with his pleasurable venom while causing a blush to flare upon her cheeks. Her scent lingered within his senses as he withdrew, a hand falling to squeeze the smoothness of her thigh as he stood. He held her gaze a moment longer before leaving her to catch her breath. He plucked his cane from the pew and strode towards the front of the church without a look back to the woman who could do nothing but watch his departure. No longer his house, the interloper tingled with the anticipatory sensation of a thief when they crept where they did not belong. "Hello brother." Flippant greeting as he strode by a statue, gleaming sword held high, to stand along before the crucified figure nailed to a wall. "Once again I find myself standing beneath you. The King of Kings." Defiant and unbending stance as he stared upon the tortured figure. Words embittered with remorse for all that had happened. "I respected you once, a long time ago. Agreed with your vision, shared your faith." Ebony cane tapping, almost nervously upon the marble floor. For all his arrogance and sophistication, he still felt naked standing before Him. "Yet you allowed yourself to simply surrender and be nailed to a cross and still had the temerity to forgive." A disbelieving shake of his head, free hand smoothing locks of jet back from his brow before sliding over darkening stubble which appeared as if no amount of shaving could ever lighten.

"I know you have been talking to her...trying to reach her. Perhaps she's even convinced herself that she still loves you. After all"you gave her such a special place at your side." His mouth flat lined at the thought. "Did you think you could hide her from me forever and I wouldn't find her" My shadows whisper to me that she has refused to forgive your..." He paused, his mouth hooking in a cruel sickle of mockery before delivering the word in bastardized bow, "Master."

He leaned in to whisper as if he didn't want the Angels that flanked them to hear. "I know her much better. I know what still stirs and licks upon the ladder of her spine. You made one tragic mistake when you cast out the seven from her and left the one. Did you think you could sway my Queen to your side" That she would have ultimately forgiven that original slight when he cast her out so cruelly?" A soft snort. "That woman was not built to play pawn and puppet."

He paused, taking a moment to turn a ring upon his finger. "We are not so different you and I. We admire her spirit. Is that why you left my beloved within her soul when you cast out the Seven" Because you respected her strength and independence?" A dry curve of his mouth. "Ah Yeshua. The original feminist. Thought you could heal her within your little Magdalena?" A slow forming smile cruelly split his lips as no answer appeared to be forthcoming. "Our love for her cannot coexist. She will choose. My shadows are ever present and no matter how fast your light travels, I will have arrive there first." A grim promise as pulled a vestige of another time from his pocket and placed it upon the rail before the Cross, a reminder of what had and will happen again. "Why won't you answer me?" Almost pleading for just a single word of Grace after all this time"though upon the silence handsome features hardened to that of granite denial. "She will turn from you?I will see to it." Spat with the venom of ancient hatred as he turned his back on suffering visage to nearly collide with an approaching priest. "My son"your soul seems heavily burdened." The aging priest spoke with gentleness, wizened eyes taking in the black clad figure before him through his spectacles. "Perhaps you would care to confess your sins to Him?" A nod back towards the Cross. He glanced back towards the Cross, noting the fig he had placed upon the rail with smug satisfaction before turning back to the priest. Oh how he appreciated the arrogance of the belief that one could not speak directly with their God. "Very well intercessory." Cool composure returning as the anger of silence faded, the moment of vulnerability hardening into another plate of armor to be stacked upon the rest. "Perhaps you are right." The priest nodded, a faint smile borne from unease at the way the man had called him intercessory sprouting upon his elderly features. He could sense something off-putting roiling from this one's frame. Confession would definitely do him good. "This way." A hand offered in the direction of the confessional. "Forgive me father for I have sinned?" Hollow words beginning the man-made ritual. "Immensely." The pleasurable exhale from the memories spilled forth into the darkened room, the crimson curtain obscuring the lackadaisical posture from view. One of his favorite past times had long been corruption of the clergy. "And what are these sins?" The soft voice of the priest coming through the screened window as he listened to that pleasurable sigh and shivered despite the warmth within the church. "They are too numerable to name. You have neither the time nor I the inclination for enumeration." Lacquered prose bored as he admired the iron ring encircling the middle finger of his left hand. Etched deep into its surface was a scorpion, eyes set as twin tiny rubies shimmering in the faint light of the confessional. "But I have enjoyed each and every one." "Why do you find such enjoyment in these sins?" The priest asked, silently crossing himself while wondering just who and what sat on the other side of the flimsy confessional screen. Eyes lingered on the scorpion for a moment longer, the figure shrugged before leonine gaze peered through the screen. "It is in my nature." Amused, offhanded answer from the Scorpion while he inspected the blackness of his jacket, a moue of distaste pursing his lips as he pulled a single misplaced thread from his sleeve. He curled it between fingers and cast its imperfection away from his body. "Now tell me of your sins, Father." Purred as fingers knocked softly on the dividing wall between priest and confessor. "My sins?" The priest asked, clearly confused. "Mm. Indeed. Is not all man fallible" Are they not all capable and committers of sin?" Spoken as he uncoiled from that uncaring lean and pressed his ear against the wall to better hear the uncomfortable breathing of the priest, lapping up the sudden discomfort as thirsty beasts do water. "Indeed we all sin, however this is your confession." The priest spoke and leaned further away from the dividing wall and screen. In his long service he had never had a confessional go like this. "And who do you confess to, Father" Do you speak directly to Him' Or another priest perhaps" It must be so hard," voice greasy with oily sympathy, "to hear the burdens of others while never alleviating your own. Where does this tangled chain end, hm?" Asked while fingers continued to tap against the wall, a metronome of conscience while lips pressed directly against the screen. "Tell me." Whispered words promising forgiveness, understanding and acceptance. There was no compulsion in his tone, just the assurance that it was okay, that it was needed. "Tell me and embrace that which we are taught to deny." Amusement nearly cackled forth as he heard the sucking in of the priest's breath, the sound of hands rubbing the face and that delectable sound of temptation taking action. He listened while the priest confessed; the smile which formed born of a malignant joy when the priest confessed the lies he had been living, the shame and sadness. Attention divided, the silver wolf's head of his cane parted the curtain a fraction revealing the woman in white waiting for him. She had made her choice as had the priest. There were rules to the game after all"their choice could not be compelled any more than his has been. The smile turned slick with desire as leonine eyes noted the absence of a golden band. He stood and fastidiously adjusted both suit and hair until they appeared perfect. "Very good father"you sound relieved." Spoken with the knowledge that he had crippled a man's faith, as uncaring as he would be when he corrupted other vows this morning. "You've set your stones down today"which is good because I have another, equally enjoyable confession to attend to.? Stepping forth from the confessional booth and leaving the priest alone with silent tears. It was in the Scorpion's nature to tempt as much as it was in man's to give in. Just moving pieces around the eternal board.

I am always here. Your choices have caused you to stray and so my voice grows faint in your ears. You need only to choose to return and I will welcome you home for in choice lies the opportunity for salvation. The whispered words emanating from the behind the altar of the church going unheard as the Scorpion escorted the woman away.

Continued From Above

The Hallowmas crept forward into its third day as the debauchery of a corrupted All Hallows Eve gave way to genuflection on All Saints Day before the celebration of All Souls Day. The triduum would conclude with the day's celebration and remembrances of those souls toiling until purgatorial stones could one day be cast off. The day being important to the faithful flock of the universal church; the Hedonist gave the day his special attention as well. Given the late hour of the evening, the mass was just concluding, large pockets of humanity spilled out onto the street; their good deed done for the day.

Such a shame that a Holy Day of Obligation followed All Hallows Eve so closely, the Scorpion mused as he moved opposite the streaming crowd exiting the church. How like Him to give with one hand and then take away with the other. But then that had been the 5000 year irony of His creation: stacking the rules of the game against the pieces upon the board.

The smell of cloves clung to both suit and skin as he exhaled; the smoke trailing behind the steam engine of sinful desire as he continued towards the church. Rawboned body was propelled forward with the lazy gait of one who had recently overindulged. So many souls begging for a release to agonizing denial, so many faces hidden behind masks allowing latent ego a shameless escape while so many roles played themselves out if only for a single night"that was the deliciousness of All Hallows Eve. He was simply too much an epicure not to partake on a perversion of pagan rituals.

Idle hands had suddenly been very busy with so many pawns cast out upon the board. Whispered promises had positioned some, lies and half-truths fed the egos of others while still others required another, special, kind of coaxing. The Hedonist eschewed the concept that busy led to barrenness"quite the opposite when one peddled his unique wares.

Covetous lips spread round the hand rolled clove in a sickle shaped smile for the ease of the night"just give them permission, voice the excuse on their behalf and they would commit.

The Scorpion's progress towards the church became stymied as chartreuse stained eyes drifted through the growing darkness to note diminutive buds of light scattered throughout the cemetery behind the church. The small space provided for a nest of headstones, some much older than the current church, lying twisted and sprawling; the desiccated bodies beneath forgotten and long ago rotten beyond recognition. Small clusters of souls huddled round alabaster crosses or traditional curved headstones in order to pay homage to their dearly departed with both flowers and flame.

A bare hand strayed to the side, prurient fingertips caressing across the wrought iron bars of cemetery fencing; the carefree gesture of one unburdened by miserable regret and denial. "Dedicatio Sanctae Mariae ad Martyres," whispered in that primeval tongue as the scorpion branded ring of iron sang a siren's note with every impact to a bar. "How quaint."

A caliginous narrowing of eyes as he watched a woman light a candle and place it with the others amongst a collection of stones. Steps finally arrested by the sight, a hand lifted to grip the bars as if they were a prison gate. Golden green smear of eyes peered at the incarcerated beyond with a satirical smirk of incongruous pity upon the comely planes of his face.

Imprisoned by their belief, locked down by their narrow views they had sentenced themselves to spiritual death row. He would become their last second reprieve and pardon their deprived spirits. After all, the only way to resist temptation was to yield to it.

A brisk wind stirred, flickered the flames which stared back from the darkness of the cemetery like Medusa's petrifying serpent gaze. The chill pulled the Hedonist from his musings and aided in the resistance of bantam flames. Something about that leaf whirling wind gave him a shiver as it defeated the flimsy barrier of suited sable; the biting chill portending more than just the coming winter.

The diluvian flow of humanity from the church had dwindled to a feeble trickle of ones and twos and eased the Scorpion's walk towards its front fa"ade. Contrarian path forced those he approached to fork to either side of his body like a river round a stone; the gentlemanly tapping of his cane warding off those who wandered too close.

With their sins freshly washed and their hearts full of saintly devotion, the lingering people provoked little interest from the Hedonist. He would strike when the iron was hot with desire, when their mouths were desert dry from pleasure deferred and gratification denied.

The Hedonist paused before the western fa"ade of the church. Leonine eyes prowled up the length of the accompanying campanile. White washed stones of limestone matched the bell tower to the church in both color and style as they soared past the roof of the church proper. Heavy bells toiled to and fro as they rang to announce the holy day to the masses.

Oh how they clung to their past even as the world powered and progressed right by them, such an antiquated way of looking upon a modern world"and all in the name of tradition and history.

"Such a waste." Spoken amidst a final exhale, words brimming with compunction as he contemplated the time and money dedicated to erecting such a thing. What else could have been done with that time" What earthly pleasures enjoyed in lieu of heavenly devotion'

The unanswerable question sped from his thoughts when muscles suddenly stiffened, jerked taught by a primordial responsiveness to a long lost sensation. The Hedonist's head snapped raptor like over a shoulder to retrace an invisible path leading away from the church.

"You've come home, hm?" serpentine whisper or words uncoiling from between lips parted by pleasurable surprise. The question voiced to the empty space about his body as he turned, eyes prowling along the previously taken path towards the heavy bronze doors of the church.

"Was it faith or doubt which guided your runaway steps?" The upward curling of lips fought against the pull by fingers stroking over his stubble strewn jaw; the question would be answered soon enough.

A fastidious tug to the sleeves of his jacket reset the line of his suit before he moved towards the steps of the church. Everything was just as it had been upon the previous Sunday. The travertine floor, a checkered pattern of peacock green and coral red, glistened in the soft glow of burning candles. The choir looked resplendent in their angelic white gowns shot through with an inverted lambda of yellow, the arms of the V wrapping over their shoulders as they continued their musical devotion from the chancel.

Everything the same and yet something deliciously different.

The Scorpion watched from the shadows of the vestibule, comfortable in the servitude of darkness while eyes prowled about the relatively empty nave in search for his little runaway. Never one to hurry, the Hedonist remained content to catalogue those who remained within the walls of the church before eyes set upon her. "Ah"there you are." Words purred as smooth as anointing oil when eyes fell upon her standing before the votive candles.

He curled round the back of a fluted marble pillar, fingertips trailing along the ridges a hair behind his progress as he turned to advance down the central aisle. With no need to rush, he took the moments to watch her from a distance. She was different then when he'd last seen her though he instantly recognized the certain spark within, the spark which had eluded him for some time now. But no longer.

How ironic that he approached the ancient and rejected first bride down an aisle which had seen countless weddings before the image of the one who had rejected her. Perhaps he would claim her in the same fashion, turn the agonized image upon the cross into a witness of their dark union upon His altar. Such thoughts provoked a triumphant smile upon his face, the expression remaining as he looked to the crucified Christ upon the wall.

I wonder"is it beyond you to trick" For surely you cannot expect me to believe it would be this easy' Or have you merely just given up your millennial long game of hide and seek" Voiceless thoughts directed to the silent figure upon the wall before turning both gait and eyes away from Him in order to fully appreciate his quarry.

Upon close inspection he felt the magnetic pull from within threaten to turn him inside out as the insatiable desire to possess what had once been his tempted movement within straining muscles. Impossible to be completely immune for she had been his equal in many regards, he struggled to resist the dance of his mahogany haired Samodiva as she beckoned across the ages.

"It is said prayer is quite powerful"whom do you empower?" Susurrant words breaking the silence and thus the allure of what promised his destruction if he relented too early as he came up alongside her, aristocratic features half illuminated within the flickering glow of the candles burning beneath them. He gave no indication or care that such a question might interrupt, eyes flicking downward to winsome fingers tracing around the circular edge of a prayer candle's glass cup.

(Taken from live play. My thanks to Fiametta's player for patience during the past couple of crazy months.)

The revelation of mismatched geometry of the woman before him nearly caused him to falter, though the Hedonist had long grown accustomed to last minute changes and weathered the crosswinds of her look with a slow forming smile. While others would see a simple genetic trait, he understood the sacred symbolism within the opposing colors of her eyes; translated their meaning even before the brushed away strands of mahogany and chestnut settled.

"I would not know." Voice slick with rapacious desire as he glanced up from the tiers of votive candles set before them both. "I have never felt the weight of such a cloak nor have I burdened my legs with the chains of regret." Not exactly a lie, for his original betrayal had been borne from pride and thus been twisted into justification.

She was more than what he sought. Proximity allowed him to sense the dual presence within; the object of ancient desire linked inexorably to another, equally misunderstood, entity. Unexpected though not disappointing, the Hedonist's smile shone as he worked out the twisting of souls, the twining of fates. What had first been seen as yet another obstacle turned into yet another opportunity for reprisal. Oh the enjoyable irony of what stood before him, of what would become his. "Guilt, like its cousin regret, is no more or less a child of choice." The Hedonist elaborated while continuing to trace the circumference of the crimson glass of the votive holder. "Souls like that one?" a nod to the praying woman who now fought the stiffness of servitude as she tried to stand, "are victims of the beliefs and rituals you speak of. But it is their choice and so it can be undone with choice." Fingers wafted through the heat of the flames, a wan smile forming as he influenced the markers of prayers as easily as he did those who had uttered them.

"She prays for the life of a husband she does not love who is as of this moment, withering away in a hospital bed." Whispered words violated the sacrosanct privacy without compunction. "Her heart has long belonged to another," he continued as chartreuse eyes drifted back towards the woman as she sat upon the first pew. "She would be happy in his arms, but forbids herself such joys because of her?" a pause as the Scorpion ringed forefinger pointed skyward, "Vows. I see a husk of a woman, so desperate for a drought ending soak that she is no longer capable of realizing she denies herself that which she so desperately seeks."

Shadows whispered all around him, his dutiful servants conveying countless truths, lies, sins and salvation. The cacophony of such things a whirling dervish of chaos that would shred the minds of the uninitiated into ribbons; reducing the sane to a catatonic and worthless existence.

He knew the truth of the woman's crisis. The false prayers for life when death was secretly desired; the illicit love of a lifetime stamped out beneath the jackbooted vows of a marriage gone horribly wrong. Contemptuous glance to the crucified figure on the wall as if to ask if He was truly glorified by such false piety. "I see kneeling there the bastard child of doubt's liaison with fear. She prays for fear of embracing that which she truly desires, because the foundation of this house demands debasement of human desires." Shoulders lifted in a pitying shrug, angling back towards Fia with both hands wrapped round the lupine head of his cane. He continued as he turned fully to face her once more. "Such a life of misplaced servitude will only yield unhappiness in the end. You must know this to be true." Hinting at certain past events, at reproachful conversations held amidst candlelight, an inability to forgive; building blocks for his idle hands. "Regret is a far heavier garment than guilt ever can be. Guilt diminishes over time while regret grows ever heavier, bends and contorts the spine with its remorseless wonderings of what might have been." His chartreuse gaze drifted back towards the woman; watched as she finished her prayer and then struggled to regain her feet from the stiffness such a subservient posture created. "That is not guilt which weighs her down, it is regret. Regret at misplaced devotion"at honoring Him when she should have honored herself. "

"But that is her. What of you?" His question dismissing the woman without another thought as words pried past the slim armor of leather to get at that tender vulnerability in order to lay her completely open before him. "What do you regret hm' What guilt burdens your delicate soul?" He knew many of the answers, though there was much time unaccounted for. He had been close several times before, his queen always spirited away, his advance blocked by a multitude of pawns of the other side. But no longer. Fia would leave the half-truths and sticky white lies to the tireless spiders which enjoyed spinning webs. Though their patterns were intricate, even beautifully woven, they were ultimately predictable. Tender traps that she'd long since tired of through the ages. She'd just as soon burn through them all. The fire within her craved something bold enough to burn true. Lying tongues were cloaked in too much residue to produce anything to truly move her. The choir, which had just concluded the chant, fell silent for a moment before picking up the next selected work. The Scorpion pulled back from his lean upon the votive counter as the choir shifted from one song to another; the first mournful notes of Henryk G'reckI's Symphony of Sorrowful Songs wafting through the near empty nave. He tugged at his sleeves, resetting the line of his jacket before lifting eyes to hers once more, watching her carefully. The mournful voice of the sole soprano that stepped forward to sing the Virgin Mary's lamentations causing the Hedonist to cock his head and listen. Ever a lover of music, that single voice seemed to fly through the cavernous church on angel's wings.

"What of me?" Fia echoed his words, her response poised upon her tongue before she heard the first notes of the song. Fia's head whipped around towards the altar as if yanked by an invisible chain that connected to the very essence of her being. Color drained from her face as she stood frozen, arrested in disbelief as the woman began to sing.

"Is something wrong?" Purred words slick with the unctuous quality of half-expectation. The Hedonist turned to fully capture that mismatched gaze within his covetous eyes; preferring to focus on the fiery and untameable amber side. His side. "The song?"She began, her voice barely above a whisper, the weight of grief pressing against her chest was almost paralyzing. "Was the last piece my Mother performed before she died." "How tragic." Sympathy oozed from every syllable from the Hedonists tongue. As he moved to walk behind her to her other side. "How old were you?"

"Seventeen." She answered as if on auto-pilot. As the woman sang, she continued, her jaw setting itself hard against what wanted to seep in. "My Mother wanted me to hear her perform it before she told me the words. You see I struggle with?" A shake of her head as she cut off the thought. "She told me the words did not matter. We tend to attach our own perceptions around words. She asked me what the song made me feel." "And what was that?" He watched the setting of her jaw as it locked into place, committing every nuance of her face to memory. She was working so hard to keep it back. He could see it swimming so close to the surface.

The words caught in Fia's throat, a hard knot she had yet to unravel, to be able to find peace, and yet refused to be swallowed down; not this time. "Sorrow. The unbearable pain of loss." It washed over her in waves, so much so that her hand gripped a pew for support.

"Such a lovely piece. I've heard it before, though the translation fails me. What are the words?" Another lie, carefully woven into the rests between the transcendent spell the music was weaving. He kept his tone soft, this maestro careful not to let his voice be the dissonant note to disrupt or intrude on the carefully composed moment he sought to exploit. "My Son, My Beloved?" She began a loose translation of what her Mother had shared with her. "Share your wounds with your Mother. And because my dearest son, I have you always in my heart, and will always serve you lovingly, speak to me your Mother, and make her happy. Alas, alas, I know you are already being taken away"my dear hope?" Her breath hitched, her gaze finally lifting as if compelled to the crucified figure above the altar. She dared not utter another sound, for the delicate pane separating her and a soul shattering memory replaying within her subconscious was already starting to crack. Another word and she felt that the barrier would shatter. "So cruel," He murmured, so close to her ear. "To experience such a deep love and to then have it torn from you. One has to wonder why such an injustice is necessary." His hand slithered round to take her hip to turn her as if to embrace her into a dance. Fia's hands curled into fists, nails digging into palms hard enough to draw blood. As he stepped forward to take her hip, she was torn from the riptide of memory into the present.

She pivoted in easily out of his reach. Steps that would mark the beginning of a different kind of dance to evaluate the man standing before her. She moved like a muse of Balanchine, an oddly divided swan queen. Danger within grace, Odile in a pas de deaux with Odette. Though he felt familiar, she could not place where she knew him. The reverberation from his touch was intense, but the root of its remained hidden from her. Words flashed before her that had jumped out from the pages of the book Mouse had tried to get her to read. The book she had reduced to ash. Threat"Secret"Tell"React"Her Test. Like a photograph not fully developed in her mind's eye. She felt an intense flash of heat above her brows, a burning sensation in the middle of her forehead. She touched her finger to the spot as if singed, she stepped back, her vision suddenly blurred; a curtain drawn. She was so close to knowing him. The Hedonist had felt the heat of that serpentine ignition; watched as it slithered round the mercurial caduceus of her spine and traveled upwards towards the wings of her shoulders. Mouth had gone desert dry as he waited for its release, posture tilted forward with the anticipation of the faithful about to receive the transmutation of flesh and blood. It had been too long since his last communion with her; body vibrating at the prospect of such a sinful reunion. "It is only partially open. If you would permit me, I can give you extra help to that particular line of sight." A finger was raised to the center of her forehead to do just as he intended. He felt the barrier even as he crossed it, should have expected it though his own temptation had clouded his judgment. A brow arched as his hand slowed its trek towards her brow, fingers tightening in a resistance that was not his own. It happened so quickly, she did not know what hit her. The impact and sheer force of the energy so powerful it rocked her backwards after it entered through the crown of her head. A pure, blue light radiated from her as her hand lifted seemingly on its own. The hand felt foreign from her own, as if another had been placed over hers, larger and almost masculine in nature, with a strength that vibrated through ever cell of her body. When he reached to touch the center of her forehead, the pulse sent the shockwave of brilliant blue from her and straight into the sphere of the man before her. The Hedonist winced and screwed his eyes shut against the sudden intrusion of such undiluted light. Long accustomed to shadows and darkness, such brilliance forced a recoiling step away from Fia. A moment later shadows gathered and roiled forward like a storm surge upon a low lying beach intent on extinguishing such a powerful flare. But now was not the time, such hallowed ground not the place and so the shadows drained back to the corners and recesses of the nave. "Ah, Michael." The Hedonist sighed with recognized disappointment and a chartreuse glance skyward. He pulled his hand from her face to look upon the watch wrapped round his wrist. Its many hands ticked and spun at different speeds, tracked many kinds of time while the celestial zodiacs moved round the perimeter of the face. "Ever the clock watcher and over achiever." A spark of poisonous resentment staining the timbre of his voice; the Hedonist speaking to no one in particular. "But it is not yet time. You know the rules as well as I. A bit overprotective aren't we" Is it fear which forces you to overstep your place" Fear that she will enjoy what I reveal?" The prescient smile which slowly formed upon aristocratic features borne of surety in the face of silence. Eyes drifted downward to find the mismatched gaze of his absent queen, a whimsical smile upon his face. A long, considering glance given to the lovely little channel that stood before him. Wavering somewhere between admiration and annoyance. "You must be?very strong to be able to channel his energy. My old friend was giving me a warning that I am not allowed to open it for you." A tip of his head. "The door that which will bridge the gap between us. Or perhaps he's a tad jealous." A smirk was thrown over a shoulder to the winged statue behind him that held his sword aloft, though the warning was heeded"for now. The Hedonist kept a wary eye on the powerhouse of a woman before him, intrigued that she remained almost unaware of the dormant power warring just beneath the surface. "You have powerful allies. You have long been a favorite of his. Though they will hinder far more than they help." Admitted while he produced a cigarette from a silver case. His equilibrium returned, the Hedonist made no move to elaborate on his revelation. The tip of the cigarette caught in the tiny flame of the prayer candle, the Hedonist paused to exhale a twisting column of calamus scented smoke. "I look forward to seeing you break such chains." Harkening back to their previous conversation. His generous mouth split in a wry smile before extinguishing the bantam flame with an exhale from between pursed lips. Eyes remained on the tiny wisp of smoke as both prayer and light were snuffed out with a single breath. "Perhaps you will show you me your carousel in the meantime." Spoken as movement returned to latent limbs, a promised meeting in the near future voiced more as an absolute than question. He allowed fingers to navigate the dangerous curves of her hips as he pressed past her. He'd leave her to figure out how he knew of her whereabouts. The touch was fleeting though heavy with a promised insinuation of more. It was, after all, in his nature. Her hands were still vibrating, she had not expected what had just transpired between them. The aftershocks of the energy were still coursing through her. The sensation far from unpleasant, though her body took a moment to adjust. His words barely registered in her conscious mind, though a higher consciousness had taken in every word he had spoken. Fia noticed the pain in her forehead had vanished the moment he stepped from the building. She glanced up to the statue of Michael, his sword held high, a question forming on her tongue when her gaze fell to the smoke from the prayer candle that he had extinguished in his wake. She glanced around her before her hand lifted to re-light the flame so that it burned anew. Hope was a flame that should never be extinguished. A final glance to the altar before she stepped from the doors of the church, oblivious to the soft sound of wings fluttering in the rafters, or the white dove that followed her home.

(If interested in the song please click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKk-w_0SpSw )

The walk out of the carnival had been a cathartic one for Isaac. Away from the sickly strands which connected so much of humanity together, away from the incessant chattering of Mouse and away from people in general. For a man who had never really called any place home, out here in the untainted stretches beyond the reach of concrete and glass"this was the closest thing to home.

The several mile walk had eaten up most of the morning though in that time the temperature had climbed enough to put just enough warmth in the air that the constrictor hanging in its burlap sack from Isaac's shoulder had recently begun to stir. Isaac enjoyed these moments of newly realized freedom the most.

He'd walked until he had found a suitable environment for the constrictor to be released into. Not native to these parts, Isaac had settled on marshy area which provided plenty of cover from predators as well as ample prey opportunities. Isaac set the sack down on the ground and pulled the heavy constrictor free of the last confines it would hopefully ever know.

"This look like a good spot?" Isaac asked while holding the constrictor. He stepped several feet out into the muddy water of the marsh before bending his knees and crouched down. He gently uncoiled the snake from his arm and set it down in the shallow water. Ever a capable swimmer, the constrictor remained motionless for a moment, undoubtedly gaining a sense of its new surroundings, before it slithered away through the water.

Isaac watched until the body of the snake disappeared amongst a tangle of roots and the ripples of its passing died away to be replaced by the stillness of the marsh. He washed his hands off in the water, Mouse's words still echoing within his head about Rufus. The waters of the marsh so similar to the ones where he and Lucille had found Rufus"

Over a year ago"

"Come on"come on"come on?" Lacquered nails tapped out a nervous tune upon the cracked and worn steering wheel as Lucille waited for Isaac to return. "Where are you?" She asked the night air, thick with humid expectation while brewing a thunderstorm of fear and apprehension. All around her the denizens of the night sounded their existence upon the warm air, each creature adding its own unique notes to the symphony of a slowly dying ecosystem. Denim eyes shot to the rear view mirror of the beat up 54 Ford before looking over her shoulder as if she didn't trust the reflection in the rearview. "Come on Isaac." Lucille silently pleaded to the inky darkness of the surrounding swamp.

Hands squeezed the wheel repeatedly in a vain exorcism of edgy energy. She knew this was the right place; seen it in faded Polaroid snap shots of the carousel's images from her first and only ride. The forked cypress towering into the night at the turn off, the hard packed single lane road along with the pocked and dented red and white air boat tied up alongside the rickety dock advertising "Billy's Gator Tours." Each scene a one for one reproduction of the sights the carousel had first produced.

Lucille gave a covetous look to the pack of cigarettes perched tantalizingly close upon the dash. "Screw it." She hissed to herself and snatched the pack from its perch. He'd cautioned her not to smoke, the light and smell could give them away, but Lucille couldn't resist the need to try and calm her nerves. The flare of the lighter momentarily scorched her night vision though that first scratching bite of nicotine carved out a small island of serenity in an otherwise precarious position.

"I told you no." The hushed drawl suddenly accompanied by the looming shadow at the driver's side door. A snakebite thrust of a hand through the open window snatched the cigarette from her lips to pitch it into the murky waters waiting just a step or two beyond the one lane track of road.

"Jesus Isaac." Lucille hissed as she swallowed hard in a doomed effort to force her heart back down into her chest. Cerulean eyes ticked over his lithe frame as her night vision slowly resurfaced. He was spattered with mud and the evidence of difficult labor married to the stress of the night dripped from his temples and jaw. "What did you see?" Curiosity tinged with equal slices of hope and dread; the hope springing from the desire that they were at the right place, the dread that the visions had been correct and they'd been guided to a place of suffering.

"You were right." Isaac confirmed as he glanced back towards the tourist trap. The tip of his tongue sawed back and forth along an incisor, Isaac lost in momentary thought. "Lots of sick animals, hurt ones too." Slate swung back to Lucille, the grim expression partially occluded by the nebulous shadows cast by ancient cypress trunks.

"What can we do?" The carousel had given her the vision though she'd given over the execution to Isaac once he'd been enlisted by description of the place, its dreadful conditions and the possibility of ailing wildness. She felt suddenly impotent as if the task before them was too great to be accomplished, azure eyes flagging as the first thoughts of defeat crept forth. Her insides were a Gordian knot of tension as she feared she had misinterpreted the carousel's promise.

"Hey." Speech subdued beneath an easy whisper, calloused hand possessing the smooth line of her jaw and chin in order to give her face a resilient lift. The softness of the gesture belying the tempest within; the last bit of gentle calm before the unleashed storm. "We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you." Reassuring her, he tucked a finger beneath her chin as he released her, the moment gone in a flash as gray met blue and found a common cause. "Back the truck up close as you can to the pen." Plantation prose giving purpose and direction to their reasons.

"Okay." Lucille gave a nod, the gritty heat of his touch taking a long moment to evaporate from her cheek. Resolve replaced defeat as she dropped the truck into reverse while Isaac stepped onto the running board for the ride.

"How many of those bastards are here?" Lucille snarled as they passed several empty paddocks obviously too small to contain anything older than a juvenile. Even then the fences made it impossible to get to the water beneath a roasting summer sun.

"Here's good." Isaac held up a staying hand and hopped from the truck.

"Best guess is three. All inside and a handful of beers into their evening." Words a crushed whisper of drawled velvet now that their truck was only a stone's throw from the dilapidated house which served as home base for Billy and his crew. As if to confirm the lack of action the only man made sounds which cut through the night were a gas powered generator and hollow noise of a television projected through a screened in window. Though distance distorted the noise, it sounded like a baseball game"bottom of the sixth.

"Gimme one of your knives and I'll go in and cut a bitch." Lucille growled while heaving the driver's side door open and stalked forward. Isaac hastily slid his lithe frame in front of her, blocked her with his body and stymied her progress with a hand anchored to her hip and shoulder.

"Easy girl." The beginning vowel elongated beyond the normal boundaries of accented speech as Isaac seized the dominant role, overcoming and inhuming her will beneath his. He pressed his body against her before walking her back a step, could feel the visceral vibrations of anger rippling along her warm flesh. The awareness elicited a savage sensation within him, gave rise to the genetic desire to defend and protect as if she were kin; a desire present within creatures like him since prehistoric times. The light gray of granite joined the calming words, injecting an unspoken forcefulness which fused itself to the press of hands. "You aint cutting anyone in those heels." Wit desert dry as he sat her back down on the driver's seat. Lips twisted in the darkness, a ghosting twitch of a smirk for her sudden and fierce outburst.

Lucille had been surprised at the strength contained within Isaac's willowy frame and though she hungered to exact any form of revenge she found herself suddenly bending to his words and wishes. She pushed back as arms crossed defensively over her chest, chin jutting out in a pin up pout. "I'm not just going to stay with the car." Defiant words blunted beneath the whisper.

"You aren't going to get yourself hurt neither." Prideful tone the calling card of a southern gentleman living out the cavalier code of the defunct gentry class. He'd tangled with the drunken good ole boy type before and wouldn't allow Lucille to fall within their crosshairs. Isaac stole a glance over his shoulder to the house before nodding towards the bed of the truck. "He's a big boy"no way we can lift him. Get the boards down and make a ramp." Crisp instructions before he slipped around the hood of the truck, sure Lucille would do as she was told.

"I would have too." Lucille muttered a promise to herself, stabbing at the air as she moved towards the tail gate.

Isaac arced out around the diffused curve of artificial light. Hunched frame that of a wild thing as it loped towards the alligator pen and vaulted over the rail. Boots landed lightly and sank into the mud along the edge of the swamp. He prowled forward, footfalls landing toe to heel to shackle any noise which might give away his presence. The surrounding calls of cicadas, the croaks of bullfrogs along with the entire host of biology did not skip a note in their nightly sounds. The advent of Isaac, used to prowling through such settings since boyhood raised nary a notice from the surrounding wildlife.

That other, equally dangerous creatures already knew he was there was not lost upon Isaac. They announced their presence as he crept through their pen, one by one turning predatory eyes upon him. A sound akin to a handful of pebbles thrown upon the water crept forth from unseen darkness, the alligator declaring its dominance and territory through its water dance. The eerie, disembodied sound continued for several moments, dominating the senses and blotting out the surrounding natural sounds of the swamp.

From another direction an intermittent, deep toned roar of a second alligator answered the water dance of the first, a showy and vocal dance for domination playing itself out as a soundtrack for Isaac's trek. Isaac saw the cotton mouth of an open and waiting maw to one side and continued to move to the far end of the pen, footfalls fearlessly placed in front of one another. He was no threat to these apex predators and trusted that they would respond accordingly.

The pen was too small for so many gators. Isaac knew that Billy and his coworkers performed such acts, polluted the swamps to take other would be thrill seekers into nature's jagged jaws for a few dollars so that the tourists could tell a tall tale of facing down the glades. And when they'd served their usefulness, they'd be unceremoniously shot and skinned, their hides going to some Fifth Avenue boutique in the form of a purse or a pair of boots. Isaac approached the far side where the largest alligator lay, its once proud body now listing despondently to the side. By natural rights this one should have been the dominant one of the bunch. Instead he was malnourished, cast to the side and only able to snatch what few scraps the others left. Eons of evolutionary perfection undone by capture and captivity.

He made no move nor signaled any sign that he noted Isaac's approach.

As Isaac knelt in front of the massive head and noted the tangled nest of numerous protruding teeth, he saw the reason for the beast's lethargy. Where the left eye should have been a gnarled, knotted tendon colored scar protruded and glistened beneath the milky sheen of moonlight. Isaac saw that the wound was too fine to have come from a grand battle for a mate"no"this one had lost his eye to passing prop on a boat or some other unnatural cause.

The two predators locked eyes for several moments. Had this contest of will, this quest for a show and acceptance of dominance occurred in the wild Isaac would have been dragged to the deep, churned in a death roll and become part of the food chain. Instead the large alligator blinked and looked away, quickly accepting defeat and exposing its neck for a merciful killing blow in the process. Fingers curled into white knuckled fists at such a showing, blood pumping like lava through the quickly mounting Krakatoa of Isaac's temper. In taking the gator's eye, in caging him for cell phone photographs Billy and his ilk had robbed this alligator of its pride, of its natural role within the wild and of its very will to thrive and survive. Such a cost demanded a repayment in kind.

Isaac shifted, locking eyes with the alligator again. Once sure that the alligator understood his intent, Isaac slowly reached out to place his hand upon the beast's snout. The alligator gave a rumble of approval going so far as to lift its mighty head from the sand and give a quiet exhale.

"Mmmhmm?" Isaac growled back. "You haven't forgotten who you are. Cmon boy." Isaac whispered, rubbing the palm of his hand against the alligator's nose and then along the side of its dangerous mouth. Had it been so inclined, the alligator could have splintered Isaac's arm with enough foot pounds of force to lift a moving van.

"Rufus." Lucille blurted out as Isaac materialized from the gloom of the swamp, the 700 pound alligator trotting in front of him, its belly off the ground and head swaying side to side as it moved towards the truck. She had no idea where the name had come from only that it fit perfectly upon first sight of the alligator.

Rufus climbed up the wooden ramp as if trained or guided to accomplish such a feat, the bed of the pick-up truck sagging dangerously low with the added weight. Lucille threw her arms around the suddenly surprised Isaac who patted her back before extricating himself from her entangling arms.

"Thank me when we're all free." Isaac grunted as he pushed the tail gate shut on the truck and motioned for Lucille to get behind the wheel. "Go on and get out of here." Isaac ordering while tarrying at the tail end of the truck.

"What?" Lucille asked, steps faltering as Isaac indicated he wouldn't be coming with. "We've got to get out of here"they could come out at any?" Lucille's words trailed off as she saw the look upon Isaac's face.

Granite tumbled down the sheer cliff of sharp features, the hardened expression conveying a silent message. Isaac had no intention of leaving unfinished business in the echo of the rearview mirror. "Just going to take a walk, clear my head." Serpentine lies coiling themselves within a mask of honesty. Chief among the reasons he appreciated such creatures as Rufus is that they were incapable of guile, incapable of cruelty. He himself fell short on both qualities. "Go on now." Stern advisement for Lucille's questioning look as she inched towards the driver's side door.

She needn't say another word, willing to take Isaac at his word considering the other alternative of why he wished to stay behind was too grizzly to contemplate. "Be safe." Lucille offered as she started the truck engine, depressed the brake and dropped the pick-up into drive.

Isaac had already turned by the time the brake lights illuminated. Shackles of reservation falling away as the time approached for the controlled, civilized and quiet half of him to recede to the shadows and be replaced by the brutal and uncontrolled savage. As the brake lights momentarily shone they revealed within their wrathful flare the wickedly edged hunting knife held within skilled hands which now had purpose.

* * * * * * *

The single exposed bulb barely illuminated the industrial sized plastic sink behind Buford's carnival kitchen. It twisted and swung on the breeze, cast wild shadows which splintered and warped, reformed and grew in a never ending dance above the sink. Isaac stood beneath the bulb; arms plunged to the elbows into the deep sink, freshly calloused hands splashing water along stained forearms.

"I'm telling ya we're pulling stakes soon." Boz's barbarian brogue tumbled from around the corner, the sound growing louder as he approached.

"Boss mon be makin too much profit to move, Boz-mon." Andre's deep, easy going Caribbean tongue clashing with the strident sound of Boz. The two Ride Jocks returning from enjoying a few adult beverages at the cook tent with a few of the other carneys after they'd shut down for the night.

The pair rounded the corner behind the kitchen and saw Isaac methodically washing his hands and arms at the sink. The two shared a look, their previous conversation forgotten as were their bunks at the curious sight of the resident knife thrower washing something"a lot of something off his arms at such a late hour.

"Isaac-mon"you been tinking we going to be moving to a new horizon anytime soon?" Andre asked and then finished off his Red Strip bottle. Benign question tossed out to Isaac's unmoving back.

"Is that blood?" Boz asked, scarred face twisting in confusion at the crimson stains along the top and back of the sink.

"You be hurt Isaac?" Andre asked, Boz's question keying him on the fact that something was quite off. The evening had been warm, soaked in humidity with little turning air for comfort which caused Andre to blink away dripping sweat from his eyes.

"Aint mine." Isaac finally spoke, the sound of rushing water competing with that lazy drawl. At once confirming that it was in fact blood and that it belonged to something or someone else. Hands continued to slide down forearms, washing the coppery streaks and congealing masses from his flesh.

"Then who's?"

Both men, much larger than Isaac, stepped back in unison as Isaac pulled the carbonized blade from the edge of the sink, its razor's edge cast downward to cut the air as he spoke. "It aint my blood." Repeated words measured as a miser would his gold with somnolent speech drawled out at a do it tomorrow pace. A menacing flash glinted within liquid pools of quicksilver as the primordial within stared back at the two ride operators.

Boz" question dying in his throat as he realized the ramifications. Isaac wasn't known for killing animals. "Aint your blood." The warrior Boz confirmed, hands up in surrender as he suddenly wanted no piece of Isaac. Winner of hundreds of fights along life's crooked path, Boz was backing away as he spoke.

"Dat blood be gotten an evil tint, Isaac-mon. Don't be leaving no drops nowhere round you." Andre advised, equally taken aback at the sight, mind trying and failing to divine the journey which bloodied Isaac and placed that burning light within his eyes.

Andre's prescient words were received with a sibylline smirk. Hands and arms mopped up with a towel before the hunting knife was tucked away at the small of his back. "Any more questions, gentlemen?? The rhetorical query tossed away alongside the towel as Isaac pressed forward to cleave a path between the pair en route to his tent.

The sun was setting on Big Sky Country, that burning disk of fire throwing up a brilliant and desperate firework show of gold and crimson as it inexorably dipped behind the distant purple mountain range which served as the spine of a continent. Ever since the carnival shuttered its doors for the off season, Isaac had been working at a horse ranch in Montana. Finding work had never been difficult"Isaac worked for cheap and that unsettling quietness about him meant he didn't cause trouble with gossip or questions.

The Stone Creek Ranch had recently been bought by a New York surgeon who had cashed in his practice and traded the urban jungle of Midtown Manhattan for the open plains and romanticism of a bye gone era. Hired on as a hand, Isaac had known at once that no amount of denim, leather and feathered cowboy hats would ever fully replace the taint of the Upper East Side. But none of that really mattered"Doc Friedman was trying and had a respect and love for the horses. That was enough for Isaac.

Isaac could just see the lights of what passed for the nearest town on the horizon as he walked along the shoulder of an old two lane highway. Long ago done in by the advent of the expressway, the black ribbon of asphalt was showing its age with cracks through fading double yellow lines and a few weeds poking up along the edges of the white striped boundary. Give nature enough time, Isaac mused, and she'd never color within the lines. Every now and then one of those big tractor trailer trucks would come barreling down the road and give a blow to its horn. The Doppler Effect would stretch the sound till long after the truck blew by; its wake causing a buffeting torrent of wind which tugged at Isaac's clothes and sent road side pebbles scattering like buckshot across hard packed earth.

"Maybe tomorrow we'll take the Doc up on his offer of a ride." That lazy drawl directed downward to Boomer, after one such truck made its pass. The mutt gave a wag to his stubby tail which ended up shaking his entire rump back and forth and gave a look as if he'd heard such before.

A long day behind him with another on the horizon, Isaac enjoyed the three mile walk to and from the ranch. Routinely turning down offers unless the snow was blowing, he walked alone with his thoughts'disconnected from a world sprinting wildly towards the complete opposite. Like the road he walked, Isaac was as an outlier"an example of a time that had come and gone.

"C"mon boy." Spoken to Boomer as he shrugged off that slow southern pace and moved just a bit faster to put a little warmth into his lithe frame. His breath was beginning to fog, a sure sign of another cold night. Probably be frost on the ground if not a crystalline layer of snow. Maybe he should have taken that job down in Tulsa after all.

Home for Isaac and Boomer was one of those long stay motels. The kind of place where the recently divorced, traveling sales types and the near destitute could gather like coins in a child's bank and hope for a better tomorrow. Almost completely vacant, Isaac and Boomer walked beneath the ghostly green of the neon sign advertising as much just about the time Isaac's shadow was fading into the murky background of twilight. Passing by the abandoned swimming pool, its once blue concrete bleached white like whale bones and its chain link rusted and worn down, Isaac made a turn to the left and slid the key into the lock of room number 108.

Greeted with that musty, stale smell of age as soon as the door opened, Boomer rushed in ahead and went right to his water bowl. Isaac followed and used the heel of his boot to close the door behind him. The lock tumbled into place and the extra security chain drawn to; Isaac immediately switched on the heat on the underpowered and overworked window unit. The ancient motor clicked and groaned before stubbornly resisting its age and began to push out warm air. It still carried that stale, burning dust particle kind of smell"but to Isaac, a son of Savannah, Georgia, the smell was tolerable"being cold was downright sinful.

Eyes the color of a distant thunderstorm glanced about the place. Used to living in the open air of a carnival tent, the walls felt like those of an old sanitarium"like they conspired with one other to creep in a few inches every day while Isaac was at the ranch. Typical motel artwork hung above the bed, some random scene of pheasants roosting alongside a more western themed one of men on horseback. The paint was faded, the frames worn and a timeless layer of dust covered everything that failed to pass an everyday use test.

Yesterday's leftovers became Boomer's dinner, Isaac scraping the plate clean as the mutt wormed his way between Isaac's legs to get at the bowl. "Easy now." Isaac's antebellum accent drawling out those syllables as he gave a scratch behind the ears to the feasting Boomer.

A glance of slate down to his hands revealed a caked in layer of dirt which blackened the lines of his palms and highlighted the swirls of fingerprints. Hard work was rarely clean"perhaps that's why it was hard. Isaac moved into the bathroom and squinted against the glare of a single bulb reflecting off pink tile. One of those mismatches of style that had no explanation. Maybe the original owners had thought it was a relaxing color"or maybe the general contractor let his wife pick.

Isaac gave a twist to the four spoke knob of the bath and a moment later a few spurts of water choked and gagged its way out the faucet before finally sputtering into a decent flow. He then began the delicate balancing act of hot and cold to find a suitably warm temperature just this side of scalding. As he waited for the water to warm, he peeled his work clothes off and tossed them into a pile on the floor while placing his knife nearby on the back of the toilet. Using a hand to test the warmth, Isaac stepped into a much needed shower.

The cool aid made a fine environment for steam to accumulate, the small mirror fogging up quickly as the hot water did its job on Isaac's well worked body. He snagged the towel off the flimsy shower rod, killed the flow of water with a twist to the knobs and drew the towel about slender hips. Boomer suddenly began barking up a storm and running to and fro through the motel room. Having been around the mutt long enough, Isaac could tell by the sound that Boomer seemed happy about something and not threatened. Perhaps the mutt saw someone walk by the window or heard a rat in the wall"Isaac preferred not to think about the latter option.

"Calm down boy." Isaac said, pinching thumb and forefinger into his eyes before wiping his face clean and blowing out a spray of water from his lips. He was suddenly struck by the aroma of peach blossoms and dogwoods"the smell of home. He jerked the cheap plastic shower curtain back and stepped from the bath already having an idea as to why Boomer so excited but froze when he stared into the fogged up mirror.

Little dots, dashes and swirls had been drawn onto the fogged over glass like a little girl's finger painting of Egyptian cartouches. He recognized the language at once"a completely made up language from his youth. A completely made up language between two people who had felt like aliens in their own home"a made up language that had allowed two souls to communicate in a way that was unique to them.

The presence of the fictitious language also explained why Boomer was so excited while revealing the source of the smells of home suddenly teasing at his senses when moments ago there had just been the smell of a stale motel room and cheap bar soap.

"Damn it, Josette?" Isaac spoke to the empty bathroom and his blurred reflection, the rare usage of profanity indicating just how angry he was. He reread the message on the mirror several times"it had been some time since he'd last seen it. It took him several moments to divine the meaning of each symbol, like staring at the bottom of a pond after a rock's been thrown'the ripples doing just enough to obscure the image"Isaac sighed when the particular ripples of that childhood memory finally cleared.

His half-sister was calling him home.

Isaac wiped a hand along the writing on the mirror, smearing his palm across it and erasing it. He leaned against the chipped and worn sink counter, head down as slate gray eyes stared into the sink. The phone suddenly rang"that strident, harsh ring of a metal striker against a bell. Isaac snapped his head to the side as the phone rang again.

His half-sister was calling him home...because bad news waited.

Man-made light shimmered atop a sea of blackness, unconsciously mirroring the God forged tapestry set above in the heavens. A twisting warren of streets and highways raced out in all directions with such mass that it obfuscated the individual; transformed the singular one into the ubiquitous many. Such sprawl had a tendency to erase the humanity within each and every soul; caused the righteous, what few there were, to ignore the needs and sins of their fellow man. The City of Angels had long ago fallen; willing tore its virtuous halo from a brow and replaced it with the smear of Greed and Lust, with the taint of Envy and Pride.

The Hedonist watched from a balcony in the hills, caliginous gaze stretching out over the light filled valley as it raced towards the black line of the coast in the distance. A city of millions, each soul crying out for salvation and finding that cry falling on deaf ears. He smiled a lascivious smile, the irony not lost upon him; His absence from their lives made it so easy to corrupt and tease, to spill into such pleasurable sin. Such a place had a smell all its own, wearing its wantonness like a rich perfume, it called to him, stirred a certain carnality within him as if all the souls in the valley below beckoned with a single note of need. The Hedonist watched"but he did not see.

His Queen, once so close that he had actually touched her, had scattered herself to the wind, still content to play their ancient game it would seem, to test his patience and see how much longer he could wait. But that touch"it had ignited a burning need within him, a lush oasis in the distance which had, upon arrival, yielded but a drop upon millennia of thirst. And so he had followed her to the fallen city, watched as his once regal consort walked amongst unwashed masses before traveling east again. A glimpse of a hallway, a tightly held knife and then a blinding flash of pure light had sent him recoiling, skulking back to the darkness. Yeshua's divine presence had stymied the pursuit. The Hedonist had lost her in the desert, a terrain where temptation would always fail it seemed. He had taken her into the light of His embrace and in so doing put out the Scorpion's eyes.

"What are you doing out there?" A throaty purr crept from behind him, issued out of the bedroom which opened upon the balcony. "The view is in here." Spoken as she stepped lightly upon his perch and tainted his solitude with her presence.

He felt her hands slide around his sides, felt the cool drag of nails upon exposed flesh as she pulled at the unbuttoned shirt which hung from his shoulders. The Hedonist could taste her want; smell her desire as she sought to bring him back inside with the siren's call of her touch.

"I am looking." Giving voice to his actions, the urbane tenor of the Hedonist's prurient prose enough to incite arousal in even the most devoutly celibate of Sisters.

"At what?" She asked as fingers smoothed up his chest, the woman vainly attempting to share his gaze and thoughts, misunderstanding that such a thing, were it to happen, would undoubtedly drive her to madness. She resisted the urge to pout, wisely realizing that the Scorpion had little patience for such banality.

"Urbs angelicorum." Answered in that ancient tongue.

"Orbs what?" Her mispronunciation merely adding to her confusion as she stepped from behind to stand alongside him and followed his gaze towards the city below.

"The City of Angels." He translated for her while still not gifting her with a look.

"Ahh?" Slightly annoyed that such a mundane thing had pulled his delicious attentions from her. "Am I one of the angels?" She asked coyly'she had been dressed as one, feathered wings and all upon a catwalk just a few hours previous.

"No." Answered before the breath of her question could die upon the cool breeze which blew between them. He finally turned to face her, the aristocratic planes of his face proving as pleasing to look upon now as when she had first seen them from the stage. "But then"you wouldn't want to be such a creature." Using his thumb to trace a single honey colored strand of hair from her face as he placed at the center of a sybaritic stare. "You have a hedonic bent to your soul that no halo can outshine."

She felt her breath catch in her chest when he pinned her with that stare while his description of her soul sent her mind to primrose places. She would do anything for him; grant innumerable wishes, however impure, so long as he continued to look at her in such a way. "What am I then?" She turned her face into that tracing gesture, sighed when he graced her with his touch.

"A convenient indulgence." Hypnotic tones lulling her into a place where wickedness and depravity reigned.

"Do you enjoy making me wait?" Whispered as she closed her eyes and bathed within the debauchery of his touch. She didn't care that he had described her as such. His touch and words created such a profligate need deep within her.

"What do you know of waiting?" Asked as her question sent his mind back to his Queen, the games he'd been forced to play because of His rules. His hand gave a sumptuous caress to her cheek, slid down to hook a thumb beneath her jaw and hold her by the throat. For a moment it was his Queen that he caressed; impossible for the Hedonist to be immune to such temptations himself. He could feel her pulse quicken, hammering against the cage of incontinent fingers, it pulled him from the visions of both past and future.

"It is said that patience is a virtue," spoken while stroking a thumb along her pulse.

Fingers closed over the tiny golden crucifix which dangled from her throat. A sharp jerk snapped the slender chain and tore it free from her body. She gave a squeak of surprise as he held it between them, the little cross twisting on a breath of air. He'd been of a mind to allow it to stay around her throat, so He could witness the coming corruption. Yet such things were too great a reminder, even to him. The cross was pitched over the rail of the balcony, a singular flash as it caught the light before it disappeared into the darkness below.

"All virtue is vice"and I have waited long enough to claim what is mine."

"Right this way, Mr. Wheeler." The soft voice of the legal assistant pulling Isaac from private thoughts as he sat in a comfortable leather chair in the lobby of a law firm. Slate gray eyes lingered on the gold embossed letters pronouncing the name of the firm. Wheeler, Dixon & Wheeler. "Jus call me Isaac." Softly spoken as he stood and twisted his flat cap with his hands, a little pent up energy bubbling to the surface. He didn't like being called Mr. Wheeler. Such a moniker had never fit well on Isaac, like trying to walk in a shoe that was three sizes too small. Uncomfortable. Impractical. "Very well Isaac." The woman smiled as she gestured for him to follow her. "You been here before?" She asked while glancing back over a shoulder. He was obviously family but she couldn't place the face or name. "Long time ago." Isaac answered. "My father didn't have any partners then." Eyes drifting to the different pictures which hung along the wall. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize Jonathan had another?" Her voice trailed off; the silence beginning to drift and spin into an awkward moment. "Son?" Isaac asked before offering a defusing half smile. "Like I said"haven't been home in a long while." That slow drawl and easy manner smoothing the potentially uncomfortable ripples that might result from her remark. "No need ta be, ma"am. Me and him?" Isaac paused as shoulders lifted in a shrug. "We weren't real close any more. "I didn't even know he passed till I got a call from Mr. Dixon." "Well?" An awkward pause. "It's good we found you then. The will is ready to be probated." She answered with a little smile for his easy going acceptance of her mistake while sidestepping what was obviously a personal matter within the family. She recovered quickly as she wiped away a strand of blonde hair from her fair face.

She cleared her throat when he did not immediately respond, not sure what to entirely make of the man since he was not particularly verbal. This Wheeler was polite enough, but oddly restrained; she was caught somewhere between the lulling cadence of that dogwood drawl and the sharp intensity of that steel gaze; as if he were seeing right through her. She found the contrast a bit confusing and unnerving. He didn't quite fit in any of the boxes of her mind and so she was itching to move him along. "Mr. Wheeler"Derrick"his office is just down there." She pointed and quickly excused herself. "He's just finishing something up. Again, we're very sorry for your loss." "Thank you." Spoken somewhat woodenly before clearing his throat and bringing the assistant back with a question. "Excuse me"has there been anyone?" Isaac paused and noted that quiet white noise so typical of an office setting. "Nevermind." With no sounds of yelling or screaming than he was sure Josie had yet to arrive. The door to Derrick's office was open and Isaac let himself into a richly ornate environment. It felt foreign, from another time. Bookshelves lined with uniform volumes stood along one wall while several decorations and expensive souvenirs from global travel sat on the shelves in front of them. Isaac noted the desk was massive, forcing whoever sat opposite his brother to sit a distance away while undoubtedly ensconcing his brother in a seat of power. Isaac got the sense that everything in the room had been purposefully placed to ensure that his brother looked superior in all ways. He ran fingertips along the back of an expensive leather chair, brass rivets holding it together in smart little rows along the seams. He stood for a moment, seeing the various pictures of Derrick's family, his parents and sister on his desk. He paused as he lifted one silver framed photo from the desk and turned it in his hand to look at it. It was a family picture; Derrick looked about fifteen which would have placed Isaac around seventeen. He wasn't in the photo'didn't even know it'd been taken. They looked quite the family"big smiles while his sister had kept her lips closed. She'd had braces then, Isaac remembered'so self-conscious in a family which demanded perfection that she hadn't even wanted to smile. "Well color me surprised"I didn't think you'd show." Derrick's voice boomed from the doorway as he strutted into his office. "How was the trip?" Derrick trailed off as he took in Isaac's appearance, his washed out blue eyes drifting over the wrinkles in his brother's jacket, the dirt beneath the fingernails ?"from wherever it is you came from?" "Felt wrong not to." Isaac answered while casting his younger brother beneath the shadow of those thunderstorm grays. He hadn't changed much since Isaac last saw him"maybe a little pinker around the nose and cheeks, a little fuller in the midsection. Too much hard liquor. Probably had the taste for it just like their father. Isaac's mind briefly drifted back through time, the night he skipped town and how Derrick had helped Isaac pack up a single bag. Isaac had his little brother swear not to say anything till sunrise by promising he could have his entire baseball card collection. They'd been the best of friends then. "So you hoping to get some money, then?" Derrick asked, a flicker of paranoia flickering within those pale blue eyes. "Nah." Isaac drawled. "Your inheritance is safe, Derrick." Isaac continued as Derrick walked behind the desk, seemingly ignoring Isaac's answer, to readjust the picture Isaac had picked up. Perfection. It took a moment for Isaac's admission to land upon his brother's ears. "Then?" Derrick gave a forced chuckle as if it were obvious everyone was coming to the reading for the same reason. "Then why the hell are you here?" "Someone asked me to come." Isaac spoke while shifting his eyes to the various things which decorated and dominated his brother's office. He didn't dare mention Josie's name and put a match to this powder keg. Isaac didn't care about the will; he wouldn't have even been here if not for Josie's message and he wouldn't allow her to face the jackals alone. "Yeah"that must have been Dixon's sentimentality cause, to be honest, I don't think you're mentioned in the will." Isaac felt an annoyed tick begin along the line of his jaw as Derrick once again assumed he'd come for the will. "I ain't here for his damn money, Derrick." That drawl that was usually slow as molasses taking on the sharpness of one his knives as he hurled the words at his brother. Derrick chuckled as Isaac's hackles rose. "If I had a dollar for every time I heard somebody say something like that at a reading I'd be a rich man." Derrick gave a shake of his head as he adjusted his red and white striped tie. "Go ahead and sit down, Isaac. Mama and Susannah will be here in a little bit." "Well hopefully all your dreams'll be reality after today, Derrick." Isaac answered smartly as hands squeezed into fists within his pockets. He was already feeling caged in. That low buzz of artificial light already bringing on the dull ache of discomfort behind his eyes. The uncomfortable silence was punctuated by the ticking of an old stand up grandfather clock in the corner of the office, its metronome tick-tock creating a predictable rhythm to the silence. "Guess you were too busy sword swallowing or whatever with that carnival to come to the funeral?" "Carnival is shut down for the winter." Not bothering to correct his brother as to the fact that he threw knives on stage. It wouldn't have mattered; Derrick had a knack for only remembering things which were important to Derrick. "Sides"I doubt I'd have been invited anyway." Placing that unsettling gaze of gray on his brother. He could almost hear Derrick's thoughts swing from one vine of paranoia to the next. "A little advice?" Rhetorically asked without giving Isaac a chance to answer. It was something their father had done constantly and still grated on Isaac's nerves; threatened to snuff out that little fraternal ember. "Don't go round mentioning that to too many people. Folks round here—they never understood why you just took off." "Just another Wheeler family secret then." Isaac answered, his tone as dry as tinder. Truth being that he didn't really care for the opinion of others. It'd driven his parents crazy. Down here gossip was as strong an export as cotton or peaches and family names and pride still went a long way in the Deep South. Wasn't too long ago that such things were worth killing and dying for. "Woulda been nice for Mama." Derrick answered while still maintaining that relaxed and reclined posture. "Course you've never cared much for this family have you?" "Mm. Lotsa things woulda been nice I'm sure." Isaac spoke with certain vagueness, leaning forward to move a small model train back and forth with just an index finger along Derrick's desk. "Far as carin goes?" Isaac paused to lift shoulders in a shrug. "I think even you can admit the compassion trait missed almost all the Wheelers."

All but one.

For a moment his mind drifted back to the night he'd heard a terrible fight break out between his mother and father. He'd told Derrick to stay put and crept downstairs amidst the singing sounds of cicadas to listen with an ear pressed to the parlor door. He heard his mother ranting at his father about some other woman"about a daughter he had in France. He'd heard the clinking of ice in his father's scotch glass in the silence of such a revelation and then his father's booming voice.

He'd been maybe nine or ten that night"the night he'd learned about Josie. He must have made a noise since his father had yanked the door open so fast Isaac fell back on the floor in surprise. He realized later he'd merely been a convenient target to project their emotions upon. Maybe things would've been different if he hadn't told Derrick to stay in his bed. If they'd learned about their father's weaknesses together. Isaac finally let the train engine come to a stop, ignoring the little tickle to let go. Turning the other cheek just made it easier to get bloody. The clock continued to tick its way through that silence again. Counting the seconds as years" worth of dislike and resentment flowed into the gulf between the brothers. Whatever little ember of brotherly love which might have existed between the two had been snuffed out years ago by the pile of ash which was the carefully protected Wheeler family dysfunction. "Is that it?" Derrick finally spoke, daring to lift his eyes to his older brother's again. Derrick tried desperately to regain the leading role in the conversation. He'd never divined how easily Isaac could seize that power, how unnerving he really was. "You always were an odd duck Isaac"no one ever understood why you left. Least of all me." If Derrick caught the veiled reference to Josie as the one Wheeler with compassion he gave no indication. It was always all about Derrick anyway. And there it was"a certain admission though Derrick would never concede the point. Truth of the matter was that Isaac had agonized about leaving his brother behind. But Derrick was the softer of the two then and he wouldn't have been able to handle it. The train engine was moving again, pulled off its little track to tap against the picture frame Isaac had been holding earlier, nudging it closer to his brother with each tap. "You wanna know the truth, Derrick" I almost?"

"Well some things never change." A feminine voice broke through what seemed to be the beginnings of another Wheeler brother brawl. "For a second there I thought the two of you were back in the yard fightin over who was picking a smaller switch." Susannah Wheeler smiled her mother's smile at her two brothers, thin and unamused. "Susannah." Isaac greeted, grateful for the break in tension while Derrick just shook his head in exasperation. Isaac had never been one for pretense, for saying one thing while meaning another. He'd choked on enough hypocrisy growing up to fill two life times. "Long time no see big brother." Susannah answered, a sly look coupled to her Cheshire cat smile. She'd always been the instigator growing up. She had an eye for manipulation and being the only girl and the youngest to boot meant her fingers were crowded with a multitude of people wrapped around them.

"Mama'll be along in a minute. Feel good to be home again, big brother?" Susannah asked with a knowing look on her face. Thinly veiled amusement at Isaac's rigid discomfort as she weaved through several chairs set up in Derrick's office for the reading. A baby viper in training waiting for the right time to strike, she'd learned well at her Mother's side. She paused to lean up to give Isaac a kiss on the cheek. "S"just fine Susannah." Answered as he lowered to receive the kiss. She had never done a thing without clearly defined intent. She'd left not too long after Isaac. Some design school up north though whereas Isaac had wanted out, Susannah had just wanted the checks to come in the mail. "You were never a good liar, Isaac." Susannah smiled. "No amount of time's ever going to change that either." "I guess I jus" never acquired your charm for it, Susannah." Isaac drawled, negotiating this nest of resentment with a practiced ease. Wasn't too different at the carnival"everyone with their own loyalties and curiosities, always prying into other people's lives. But there was a certain sheen of sadness hidden behind that gray curtain. There was a time when Susannah had cared for nothing more than chasing dandelions and drawing out her imagination in Crayola's waxy rainbows. There'd been a certain kindred quality between the two growing up. Isaac protective of his sister"both of them so clearly needing to find a way out. Isaac's had been permanent. Susannah had never been able to break free of that finer things kind of need.

"Mm?" Susannah chuckled at her brother's response. "True. But then again, you never had to. You weren't around when things got bad." "What's true Susannah?" Caroline Wheeler's voice sounding from the door as she came into the office. Isaac turned, those thunderstorm colored eyes roaming across the space to see his mother. She was older, obviously, but still carried herself with the style of a southern matriarch. She'd kept up with the style, fashioned herself into a woman who had managed to hang onto the echoes of youthful beauty. "Mama." Isaac answered her question with the name he'd always called her. Old habits.

"So the prodigal son returns. Would've been nice if you had shown for the funeral. What brings you back now?" Caroline spoke without turning to face her eldest son. Her eldest son who'd never quite lived up to lofty standards, and, in failing to do so, made it impossible for her to forgive.

"What's true Susannah?" His mother asked again as she and Susannah found their place in similar chairs alongside Isaac's. "That your brother abandoned his family and his place in it for a dirty tent and a rail car carnival?" Such a thing, when she'd heard about it through the rumor mill, had mortified her for days. How could she ever show her face at brunch at the country club again? Reputations had to be kept, couldn't let the gossip mongers sink their teeth into the family. Pretenses were kept so pride could reign over destroyed hearts.

Isaac remained still, unsure of how the manic-depressive, Jekyll-Hyde cycle of his mother would continue to play itself out. Like a prey animal when it knew a predator was hunting it, Isaac did not move for fear of drawing his mother's attention. It'd been the same when he was a child'slinking just out of his mother's view when she was drinking heavily because his father was away on business and the whole house knew what happened when Daddy was away on business. "Like I was tellin" Derrick, Mama"I came back cause I was asked to." Eyes and words leaving a smarting and silent Susannah to move back to his mother. "I said good bye a long time ago." "Oh I know you did. With all the bluster of a buck with his first set of horns." Caroline spoke with such venom, took pleasure in seeing Isaac wince at the mention of the buck. He'd been a constant source of embarrassment for the family. Working in some carnival, wasting the potential that she had tried to mold and forcing her to come up with story after story to explain his absence while at brunch with her society friends or at church.

"Mrs. Wheeler—so good to see you." Royce Dixon's gravelly voice sounded from behind as he walked in with a stack of paper tucked beneath one arm and unknowingly kept Isaac from the wolves. "Susannah"Derrick?" Making the rounds of greetings until his eyes fell upon Isaac. "Hello son"it's been a long time. Too long." A certain gentleness there that spoke of many known secrets. "Mr. Dixon." Isaac said, partially standing to shake the elderly man's hand while gently clutching his wrist with the other. "It has been. How's Sophia?" Inquiring about his daughter. Isaac had taken her to the senior prom years ago. "She's good'she's very good. Married and living up in Atlanta." Royce answered with a grandfatherly smile for Isaac. "Shall we?" Turning to the rest of the family. "Yes." Caroline said curtly while tugging down at her skirt. She was still rankled by Isaac's words for when he had left it meant that her influence had lessened on her other two children and that was something she'd never forgive her eldest for. Royce gladly took Derrick's offered chair as the second born son moved around the desk to sit on Isaac's other side, placing him in the middle. It took a moment for the elder Royce to settle himself, spotted fingers tugged at the edges of his tweed coat before moving to adjust the glasses which covered cloudy eyes though they still carried a spark of keen intelligence despite their advanced age. "Well"we all know why we're here. Jonathan was a good friend and partner. I remember like yesterday when we began this firm out of nothing but a few boxes and an office in a strip mall. Jonathan's passing was as sudden as it was sad. I think it should remind us all how precious life is"and how suddenly it can be taken away." Royce's eyes lingered on Isaac for a moment longer. "The last will and testimony of Jonathan Wheeler." Royce began; he read the words slowly while holding the paper with both hands. "This was recently redone'dated and notarized just last week." "What?" Susannah and Derrick asked simultaneously. "There must be some mistake." Caroline said as Royce looked up from the paper, bald pate shining as the sun slowly set behind him. "Jonathan and I last discussed our wills several years ago." "It would seem he had other plans, Caroline. I've always been his executor, but this is just as surprising to me as you, I assure you." An easy lie as his eyes briefly flicked to Isaac again. "It was properly notarized and signed, lodged with the court and everything. He must have done this alone." "Whatever." A wave of Caroline's heavily ringed hand. "Go on, please." Royce cleared his throat and adjusted his bow tie before he found his place in the will. "I, Jonathan Wheeler, of sound body and mind, do hereby establish my last will and testament. To my beloved wife whom I have forever loved, honored and cherished, I leave our family home, its contents and the family lands to be cared for by her until a time of her choosing." Caroline nodded regally as Royce read her part of the will. Isaac noted she even took the part about being beloved and cherished in stride. Maybe all the affairs didn't matter as long as she was number one, his wife in public if not in private" "To my daughter, Susannah, I leave enough funds, to be supervised by the executor, to finish her schooling in New York and then establish a two year account not to exceed one hundred thousand dollars a year. After said two years, I give Susannah full rights and ownership of the apartment in Atlanta, Georgia." "To my son, Derrick, I gladly leave you the firm, to be supervised by Royce Dixon as senior partner until he or other such qualified individuals deem you ready to take full, senior partnership rights. In addition I also leave the beach house on Tybee Island and its contents to Derrick." Isaac silently watched as the will was read, his father's ill-gotten gains divvied up between wife and children. Watched as Derrick's face split into a proud grin at hearing he would someday get the firm and the beach house, watched as his sister's face hardened at only being given free schooling and a total of two hundred thousand dollars along with a downtown apartment. "To my first born and treasured son, Isaac." Royce read while opening a second folder. "I leave to you and you alone, my legacy so that it might become your future. The future you were always meant, but never knew, to have." Royce paused as he pulled a sealed envelope from the folder and leaned across the desk to hand it to Isaac. "I also leave the contents of this sealed envelope to you as well. Gone may you have been, but you were never forgotten." Isaac pushed back into his chair, a grip so strong upon the arms that knuckles flashed with bone whiteness. He recoiled from that offered letter as if the envelope was poisoned, so much so that he forced Royce to set it down on the edge of the desk. Just when he had felt so much relief'so much freedom. How like his father to play one last trick on him. And to do it from the grave where it would be permanent, impossible to undo or forget. His legacy' That was the last thing Isaac could ever want in a hundred lifetimes. It threatened to swallow him, to drag him down to the deepest blackness of despair and loathing. He finally grabbed at the envelope, shoved it in a pocket so it would be out of sight. He would burn it. Let go. "What's in the letter?" Derrick asked, as shocked as the rest at his father's kind words for Isaac. He had been acutely aware his father had said no such things about him. "That is for Isaac to disclose, if he wishes." Royce said, a certain sadness tinging his words as he watched Isaac's reactions. He of all people knew the burden that had been placed on Isaac both before and now. Knew of his relationship with his father"had seen the elder Wheeler struggle with it for years. But Royce also knew better than anyone save Jonathan the importance of Isaac taking up that legacy. "And?" Royce paused as he turned back to the will. "Hmm?" He glanced up and looked around the room. "The will mentions a Josette Wheeler. Is she a family member as well?" Royce expressed genuine ignorance as to the identity of Josie. Some secrets were kept even from him and the others. "Excuse me?" Caroline asked, her voice frosted with the iciest of chills. "You're kidding?" Derrick asked with a disbelieving look across Isaac to his mother and sister. "Or lying." Susannah added, still smarting over the smallest share of the will. She hadn't even stopped to think about what Isaac had gotten. Not to mention that Josie had been a threat to the carefully constructed world of Princess Susannah. "Yes?" Royce said, taken aback by the reaction. "It says here, to Josette Wheeler, my Josie...a man may seek absolution for many sins, however when it came time to confess mine, I would apologize for all of them save one. I have loved you from the moment you entered this world and it is to you who I leave the remainder of my estate to." "Oh I do not think so. She is not part of this family Royce. Erase that"tear it up. I don't care what you have to do but that little bastard will not inherit from my family." His mother hissed, fists threatening to rip her designer purse in two as those words stabbed at her. There was a quiet clearing of one's throat behind them, everyone turning around while Royce looked up from the desk to see an alabaster skinned brunette standing nervously in the door. Before she could say anything Caroline Wheeler was screeching like a banshee let loose within the office. "No"no"NO! How dare you. How dare you come here. You product of a fucking whore. How dare you call yourself a Wheeler?" "Mrs. Wheeler?" Royce said, flabbergasted as he stood behind the desk. "Oh you played him just right didn't you? Got all of our money because he ****** your little whore of a mother! Oh how like you Jonathan"one last joke from beyond the grave and it's in the form of this little strumpet?" Isaac was shocked by his mother's sudden outburst, the echoes of it spilling down the halls to make a very private matter a very public disaster. Already heads were lifting from desks and turning in the direction of the office. Isaac tried to reach out to grab his mother, the southern matriarch transforming like some monster at the end of a fairy tale. Caroline wrenched herself free to stand up and wheel around on Josie. "You will get nothing. Do you hear me" Noth"ing!" Everyone was standing now, Susannah and Derrick coalescing behind their mother, their faces displaying the rage and shame their mother's words gave voice to. "You got some nerve showing up here." Derrick said with an almost lethal calm as he stepped towards Josie. Josie recoiled back into the hall, flushed and embarrassed and repelled by the tone in Derrick's voice. The cold hatred washed over her like ice water and she soon bumped into the wall behind her, sending a picture frame askew before she looked left and right as she noticed the eyes of the entire firm on her. "Please"I"I?" Josie stammered. "I was just told to be here"I didn't mean to. He was my Father." Spoken through a sheen of tears before they were wiped away abruptly.

Caroline laughed and practically spit out her next words. "He was you and your Mother's meal ticket. Nothing more. You are a blight on this family's name. That's all you are. You're a ******* cancer?" Caroline screamed.

"And like a cancer, you need to be cut out." Derrick's voice was dangerously low as he closed his hand around Josette's arm hard enough to bruise, wanting nothing more but to quite literally throw her out of his Father's firm onto the street where her kind of trash belonged. Isaac reacted then, hearing his mother call her a cancer and then his brother saying so callously that she should be cut out. He didn't know if they knew about her condition"he didn't care. Something just broke within him at hearing them talk about her like that. And when asked about it later he'd honestly say he had no memory. Isaac surged forward, collided into his brother while the momentum sent both Wheeler brothers crashing into the book shelves. Derrick was bigger, thicker than Isaac but he had no chance against the decade plus rage which fueled Isaac in that particular moment. Isaac grabbed him by that four hundred dollar tie and broke his jaw with a single closed fisted slug. They'd gotten into rows in the past but nothing could compare to the amount of violence Isaac was bent on delivering. Derrick slumped down to the ground as Isaac hit him again for good measure. Josie screamed Isaac's name and Caroline screamed for Derrick's safety while Susannah, the closest, stood in detached, numbed silence. Isaac pulled the switchblade he always carried from a pocket. "Those'll be the last words spilled from your lyin", lawyer mouth." Isaac squeezed Derrick's jaw that he had broken so hard if only to be able to make it easier for him to cut out the tongue out.

Josie moved forward as if approaching a wounded animal in a rage and closed her hand around Isaac's arm, her tone eerily calm though she was still trembling and clearly shaken. "Isaac don't. I couldn't bear it if they locked you up again. Please. For me?"

Isaac was still in a haze of rage, but Josie's hand seemed to pierce through the worst of it enough to clear his vision. He breathed deeply, the blade held inches from his brother's face before he squeezed his jaw painfully to wrench it to the side so he faced Josie. "Take a good long look Derrick. I want you to remember that face. Because the only reason you're still breathin" is because our sister asked me to stop." He folded the blade closed and dropped it in his pocket as he righted himself again. He looked around at the aftermath of the brawl. Royce stood in silent shock as he stared back at Isaac, "Are you happy now Isaac" Are you happy that you came back to ruin us just one more time?" Caroline asked as Isaac unclenched his fist"it ached with the pain of several broken bones. Isaac ignored his mother's taunts. He'd grown immune to them over the years. He brushed by her, instead, to gently collect Josie with surprising tenderness. "C"mon now?" Taking her and holding her against him. "Ain't nothin" worth stayin" here for."

There was a belch of black smoke as the flatbed truck found its gear and lurched forward. The driver had one hand out the window, waving it in a circle as if urging the big rig on with sheer willpower. After a moment or two of indecision the engine give a growl and sent up another plume of smoke and the truck lumbered forward, its precious cargo, the Gravitron, tied securely down on the bed.

Isaac strolled alongside Boomer as the Carnival slowly came to life around him. Every now and then Benny would get an idea stuck in his craw about a winter swing through some of the southern states to try and squeeze a few more bucks out of the rubes. Ordinarily a lot of the Carnies bitched and moaned about such a trip"the money was rarely good, the nights were cold and slow, but this was one trip Isaac didn't mind.

He and Boomer walked alongside the convoy of trucks stuck in idle, each one waiting for their assigned load. The riders were all contract guys"hired to load and move the Crossroads to their next intersection but weren't a part of the Carnival and so Isaac paid them little attention.

"Easy now Boz mon?" Isaac heard the familiar island breeze of an accent as he came around the back of one of the trucks, ignoring the hot beat of exhaust as it pumped across his legs. "Be careful wit ma baybee now?" Andre was upon the side of the crane, dreadlocks held in place by a sweat stained bandana.

"I hear ya....I hear ya. Keep yer hair on." Grizzled and scarred, Boz clenched a cigar between his teeth as he worked the multiple handles of the cane, swung it out to the side where a team of roughies waited to catch the hook and tie it off so Andre's baby, also known as the Zipper, could be lifted and placed on the next waiting truck.

"You boys on schedule?" Isaac nearly shouted over the din of the crane, that antebellum accent pulling at the words, stretching out the syllables. Thunderstorm of gray took a quick note of the bustling activity all around. Trucks moved about the grassy lot, teams of men and women moved like ants in a kicked over mound as they all worked to get their things packed and ready. The Carnival stored all its big items (rides, tents, attractions and the like) in several large warehouses during the off season. It meant a little more rent but protected everything from the weather and, in the long run, saved money.

"Isaac mon," Andre answered with a flash of pearly white as he glanced over his shoulder and down at the slender knife thrower. "Whad you be doin out 'ere wit us ride jocks, eh?" Andre turning back to ensure Boz was indeed being careful with his baby before turning back to Isaac.

"Benny." Isaac answered in a flat tone while watching the roughies loop several strands of cable around the massive crane hook. It was clear that Isaac was annoyed for a variety of reasons which merely had Andre nodding and laughing.

"You don need ta be sayin anymore Isaac mon. Me knownin all wit dat one word. You tell da boss mon dat me an' Boz be right on schedule." Andre assured Isaac, knowing Benny had stuck Isaac with the job because the knife thrower had been tardy in showing up for the pack up.

Isaac gave a two fingered salute before lifting the clipboard he'd been carrying to scribble down which ride Boz and Andre were loading and the time. Truth be told Isaac didn't care one way or another; he'd have pencil whipped the time just to keep Benny off everyone's back. Isaac might struggle to play nice with others,but he definitely knew which side of the management line he was on.

"C"mon boy." Isaac drawled, drawing Boomer's attention away from the group working on the Zipper. Isaac steered them both away from the crane, the grind of the engine rising as Isaac turned away. Inwardly, the showman would be glad to get on the road and get to their destination. Sounds of feminine protest and tears still echoed around his ears when he paused to give it thought. Putting Josie on that flight back to France had been the second hardest thing he'd ever done but it had been silly to think that she would have enjoyed herself out here on the road. Sleeping in a new place every few nights, up at dawn, late nights, the works. She belonged back in France with her mother and her doctors. Not out roughing it with a bunch of showmen and carnies. Sooner they got on the road, sooner he could put some real distance between that and that acrid taste he got in his mouth whenever he thought about how his sister's face had look when he flat out refused her.

"What you lookin at?" Spoken for Boomer as the mutt just stared up at Isaac and gave a low woof of diapproval. "What' You too?" Feeling that Boomer's look was more than a little accusatory. "It ain't a good place for her." Isaac fell short, not wanting to speak about her condition aloud. It'd been a good visit despite how it had started. The two of them just walking around old Savannah like old times. The world had a rare way of feeling right when he and Josie were together, but Isaac wouldn't put that selfish desire ahead of her well-being—so it'd been a plane back to France.

"Hey Isaac!" The shout coming from behind the knife thrower had the slender showman tensing. "Hey Isaac"wait up man." Mouse shouted again as he hurried to catch up. "Didn't think we'd see you man. Last we heard you were up on Idaho or something." Mouse said breathlessly as he caught up with Isaac amidst a maze of crates stacked taller than both men combined.

"Montana." Isaac corrected as he tucked his pencil behind an ear and glanced down at his wristwatch. He settled that cool thunderstorm of a gaze on Mouse and waited in silence for the loquacious dunk bozo to keep rattling out words like a slot machine does coins.

"Huh. That's cool. Say, you seen Fia anywhere?" Mouse asked with a fearful look on his face"as if he was hoping Isaac hadn't seen her.

"Not since Savannah." Isaac drawled, fair brow arching in question for the look Mouse had. "Why you lookin for her?" Aware of the sweet scent of pine and sawdust on the air as a breeze picked up upwind of all the crates.

"Savannah?" Confused, Mouse grabbed at the back of his neck as Isaac settled those heavy eyes on him. "You two ah..."Mouse scissored his two index and middle fingers back and forth.

Isaac crossed his arms over his chest as Mouse began to insinuate. "Right. Not my business." Didn't matter anyway. Dixie would dig up that bit of dirt in no time. " I was looking for her cause some of the boys wanna start loading her carousel onto the flatbeds and I know how she is about anyone touching her ride so I just wanted to clear it from her before anyone starts loading the crates because you know how she can get. I mean if there's one scratch anywhere, she'd probably burn the whole place down and I?"

Isaac exhaled slowly as Mouse's mouth ran without interruption. He actually found himself watching how Mouse talked, curious to see if the champion of the dunk tank ever took a breath.

"You know how she can be. Just Whooof?up in flames. Crazy right' Isaac?"

"No." Isaack answered as Mouse began to realize Isaac had switched off whatever channel he'd been broadcasting nonstop on. "I haven't seen her. Though I'd tell the roughies ta jus leave her ride alone. We ain't got the time to be packin' rides and diggin' graves at the same time."

"Right"right"totally"totally my thoughts too." Mouse replied as he unclipped a walkie talkie from a pocket of his cargo pants. "Hey uh"let's just leave the carousel as is boys. Switch over to swings alright?"

"But you said to start on the carousel, I thought we were?" Came the crackling reply over the walkie before Mouse quickly switched off the radio and prevented the roughies from further confirming they were already working on the carousel.

"Our secret?" Mouse hedged.

"Your funeral." Isaac answered and began to turn away from the soon to be retired dunk bozo.

He'd spoken the truth about not seeing Fia since Savannah. She'd shown up after talking to him on the phone. That distant voice sounding at once so close and so far away. She'd gone with him and Josie to Bonaventure cemetery to visit Jonathan Wheeler's grave. Josie had wanted to go to pay her last respects. Isaac had gone because he couldn't tell her no"not about that.

The letter—his father's letter—had felt like lead in his pocket. Pulling him down like in his dreams so he'd given it to Fia when his lighter refused to spark. Gave her the letter with a gesture that said do your thing.

And just like that, he'd let go.

She'd been at the airport with him as well and bore witness to that heart wrenching argument of tears versus stoicism. Isaac wasn't sure how Fia had felt about the whole thing—course he hadn't asked either. Maybe he didn't want to know what she thought. She'd have her opinions no doubt, but what she'd witnessed was family—something Isaac was mighty private about. Didn't matter that it had gone down in a crowded airport terminal. Even if Isaac was sure some the TSA boys were on the verge of breaking it up. Didn't matter. They'd agreed to meet back up at the Carnival and that had been it.

"You hear about the new guy Benny hired?" Mouse was asking, falling into step alongside Isaac and Boomer as the three negotiated the crate maze.

Nah." Isaac answered, aware Mouse was trying to wiggle himself out of his troubles by trying to get in good with him, trying to share some gossip in hopes he'd put in a word for him with Fia.

"Some guy he met down in New Orleans. Supposed to meet us in Mobile. Said he's some kind of illusionist or something." Mouse continued on, the two of them approaching a four way path amidst the crates which ran towards several of the warehouses. "

"Not sure I really care," Isaac turning and interrupting Mouse for the last time. He'd been through a lot in the last few days and was quickly red lining the extreme edge of his patience. As he spoke, Boomer lifted his head and trotted off behind Isaac, stump of a tail wagging happily.

"Wow." Mouse whistled. "Who's the skirt eh' This one of your new assistants" Is it just me or are they gettin' younger?" Mouse interrupted, mouth hanging open just a bit as he stared behind Isaac.

"What?" Isaac turned to glance over his shoulder to see his sister standing there, multiple bags of luggage stacked around her with Boomer running excitedly around her feet. She was supposed to be on a plane. She was supposed to be halfway over the god damn Atlantic right now.

"Aw hell??

The Hedonist's gait was that of a slow stroll as he prowled along the empty streets of the West End. Its run down thoroughfares dotted here and there with stubborn signs of life, the depressed and downtrodden nature of its neighborhoods standing silent sentinel to the slow strangulation of hope and opportunity. Ah"but what a rich vein such a place was. Where others saw only dwindling and drain he saw profit and gain, chaos and enjoyment.

A covetous smile tugged at the corners of his generous mouth as he gave himself over to such thoughts. The settings changed but the story remained the same'so many were so willing to indulge when finally faced with the prospect of ruin. Distraction was the drug of choice in such a place and the Hedonist peddled the purest forms of such addictions. It was on that razor's edge between hope and finality that he played his carnal games, indulged in and crafted fantasies so wanton that the grand board upon which all the pieces moved was often obscured behind a libertine mask of constant and manufactured bliss. He promenaded through the fog as the old bell tower sounded the arrival of the witching hour with its successive clanging reaching out across the night to announce the passage of time to an empty audience. The onyx cane capped with a leering lupine bust sounded its own faineant message as the Hedonist paused at a wide intersection. The West End had a peculiar way of blurring his Sight. The myopic return sparking a certain inquisitiveness within him that had caused him to tarry and learn the lay of the land on foot.

There was no true path before him with one direction as good as another. The illusionist La Roque having made contact, an abstruse message requesting a meeting in the West End. A rueful glance skyward as he chose left as opposed to right and resumed the gentlemanly stroll until he heard a rattling sound drifting towards him, its sound within the fog like that of a song whose name stayed just out of the mind's reach"ever present but never truly possessed. His curiosity piqued, the Hedonist continued to drift towards the sounds while taking note of the tremors which seemed to silently vibrate through the rare pane of glass. He was aware of the rules though they chafed against him like a too heavy yolk. He was just satisfying his own temptations"could one such as he truly be blamed for such a thing"

"A rather curious location for a meeting." Prurient prose tinged with amusement announcing his arrival as the Hedonist stood at the opening of an alley, the wan light devoured with a sense of gluttony just a few feet within the alley's depths as if the darkness itself possessed an unsatisfied and gnawing hunger. One could sympathize as his own hunger continued unabated, one temptation satisfied split into a desire for two and so forth to form an exponential chain of desires. Chartreuse colored eyes prowled beyond the terminator of light and darkness, peered into the abyss to make out a hooded figure standing alone at the back of the alley.

"The carnival has too many prying eyes." The figure spoke and cast his right hand out over the metal, the vibrating sound filling the negative space between the two figures, rattled like the tail of a warning serpent. "Both natural and otherwise." The voice gravelly and disembodied as it sounded from behind a macabre gossamer mask that, when viewed a certain way, transposed a ghostly, seemingly holographic skull which obscured his true features.

"I have seen the darkened Carousel, its lacquered menagerie still and silent." Leonine eyes glancing about the alley, the collection of refuse and detritus standing as silent evidence of the disrepair common to this part of the city. The Hedonist answered as he stopped short of La Roque's position and cast his eyes downward to see a collection of bones glistening upon a metal pan in the twilight of the narrow alley. "You were supposed to be my eyes within the carnival. I have yet see a return on that investment, Illusionist." The Hedonist's temper beginning to simmer just beneath the surface in the face of such a delay.

"The world turns on its own timetable"not yours." La Roque's chimerical baritone sounding as he gathered the bones into his hand and cast them back across the metal, the bleached white rawness clashing against the blackened metal. Masked eyes were sent downward in study, La Roque seemingly reading their orientation as if it was guided by something other than physics and chance.

"Then you must also know that this sudden departure and sequestration are of great inconvenience to me." There was a spark of annoyance within that wanton timbre, a subtle vibration rippling through the few panes of glass remaining in a nearby shop window. "As are cryptic words in dark alleys." A dismissive flick of golden green eyes back to the masked figure, the Hedonist beginning to turn the iron band along a finger, fingers tracing over the etched scorpion design laid within the metal. "Where has she gone?"

"The fires throughout the city proved too great a temptation for what is housed within her." The bones cast again, the pattern the same as the last throw and the one before that. "I am forbidden from answering that question." La Roque intoned, the vibration of his voice unchanging in the face of the Hedonist's obvious annoyance. "There are rules more ancient than anyone walking this plane which must be followed. The balance must be maintained."

"Rules are for those too weak to forge their own path, for those too blinded by belief in things larger than themselves." Heterodox words of one who knew better but had made his choice long ago. "If it weren't so, it wouldn't feel so good to break them." The Hedonist's libertine words meant to tempt La Roque, entice the figure with the promise that the prohibited was nothing more than fantasy, self-made shackles of weak and rusted chain that could so easily shatter.

"Rules are meant to be understood." The Illusionist corrected. "It is in your nature to resist such sentiments yet it does not alter the Truth." La Roque countered and scattered the bones again. "You fail to find that whom you seek because you have blind spots, places that even you cannot peer into"not without assistance.

"Mmm?" The Hedonist's tone one of sensed opportunity as he deciphered the Illusionist's words. "One only needs an understanding if they wish to circumvent them." The golden green smear of his eyes led his hand to the metal, scattered the bones into a new pattern. "There are always exceptions"even in the most ancient of books."

"There are doorways able to transcend this world for the other, loopholes to peer beyond the limitations of flesh and blood." La Roque agreed, his masked face slowly turning to interpret the new pattern, the change in orientation reflecting the changes being wrought by this very conversation. "Though I caution against them."

"And you've found such a"loophole." The Hedonist surmised, unwittingly falling victim to his own nature as he leaned forward in servitude of his own temptation while ignoring the warning in its entirety. "What is it"this loophole?"

"You ask the wrong question?" The deep, soporific cadence of La Roque's voice pulling even the Hedonist into its dreamscape. La Roque produced a playbill from the Shanachie Theater. The illusionist handed it to the Hedonist. "The question is whom?"

"Gonna be a great run...got the dates all lined up, sponsors in our pockets...already gave the boys the okay to burn the lot fore we jump to the next town." Benny pitched his own version of a bally quickly. He always did when he was nervous. "Got my advance man and fixer already supervising the set up. Yes sir...gonna be a real red one." The pitch was meant to reassure the three men who sat opposite the carnival boss. "I gotta tell you...finding you guys was like mana from Heaven...you want anything to drink?"

The three men were positioned opposite Benny's cluttered and disorganized desk, two standing though the important one sat in the worn out, age faded chair...the other two were there only to keep watch. An amused smirk developed upon macerated features as Benny mentioned the realm above; fingers absently picking at a flaking piece of old, worn pleather on the arm of Benny's good chair as he listened. He glanced up as the carnival boss finished speaking, a certain lambent polish lighting aurelian colored eyes. "Is that so?" He coveted a drink but instinctively knew whatever swill the carnival boss had on hand would hardly satisfy. "You had numerous debtors..." Fingers returning to picking at the chair as if the peeling, sun dried covering were a recalcitrant scab. "Consolidating them into a single debenture was no small feat." The man produced an esurient smile as he paused, the expression rising to the halcyon glint within eyes that sparked with malicious avarice. "Fortunate that I am as persuasive as I am generous. You would be wise not to conflate such traits with tolerance or leniency. You will be turning a profit soon, yes?" The word, one of his favorites, oozing like molten gold from the mouth of the modern-day Croesus.

Benny cleared his throat as the man spoke, noted the way the man's canines showed when he smiled like a stalking wolf, forever hungry. "Of course." Benny reassuring the first question while feeling a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on his bald scalp. He had been desperate...running from loan sharks and bookies who meted out a kind of justice that Benny didn't have the pain tolerance to withstand. So, when the money had been offered with a promise for Benny to retain ownership of the carnival he'd leapt without looking.

Now he looked though. Looked and saw the lean figure sitting opposite him as one who might be worse than all of those loan sharks put together. A life long carny, Benny could read people when not blinded by desperation or...greed. The man looked almost gaunt...as if something had gnawed upon him incessantly from the inside yet Benny felt that rawboned appearance merely skinned something much more potent and forceful.

"Profit...profit...yes...yes...in no time. We get off the nut, file down the burr with a smaller crew and you'll get your end in no time." Benny blinked and sat back in his chair with a reassuring nod and smile.

The Wolf didn't know nor care to learn what any of that lingo meant. His ravenousness lay in different territory. Auriferous eyes had narrowed in on the word profit. "We both will get our end." Correcting the carnival boss. And there was the hook. The Wolf produced that bewitching smile once more as he dangled the promise of fortune and clover before the man.

"I like the sound of that." Benny grinned, feeling the pressure seemingly lift just a bit and be replaced with the promise of more cash.

"Don't we all." The Wolf answered in kind and gave a glance up to his associates, a small inclination of his head to indicate they were done here. "We will speak again soon...perhaps after your first stop." Rising as one of his associates moved to open the door of the trailer, little golden motes of dust illuminated within the rays to dance like tumbling coins upon the air. The Wolf exited the trailer without another word, a debt paid and a more important rendezvous on the horizon.

"Tell me." The prompting words guiding the admission with the light touch of a shepherd's crook stroke of knuckles along the woman's delicate cheek. The lost little lamb had the Hedonist's full attention as they sat together in the dim light of an empty bar. Such early hours called only to the committed and the desperate it would seem...rather like another hallowed place though locations such as these welcomed their flock on all days...not simply Sundays.

"Why?" The woman coyly asked as she cheated her face away from the Hedonist though struggled to keep celeste colored eyes under control as his fingers moved from cheek to sable strands of hair. The sensation was magnetic and thrilling in its dynamism as he never seemed to part his skin from hers.

"Because I want to hear you confess." The expectation made sotto voce against the shell of her ear just recently exposed by brushing fingers. The Hedonist's eyes alighted upon the rise of primrose flush within the woman's cheeks as his words had their desired effect.

Chartreuse eyes blinked as he felt the sudden and invisible vibration in the air, keen eyes catching the unseen ripples announcing another's arrival within his sphere of influence. The tingling birr upon the web enough to draw both eyes and attention away from the blossoming of carmine and the raven-haired woman entirely. That she wilted like a flower absent the sun once his attention moved towards the door was not missed nor lamented. The Hedonist watched as the Wolf entered the vacant bar, the man's slender frame and angular face a poor mask for those who had the gift to look beyond the skin and taste the marrow.

The wanton smirk which formed upon seeing the Wolf had nothing to do what the Hedonist saw...but what he knew his presence portended. "Shhh...I enjoy deferred pleasures." Turning back to the woman as he lightly pressed his finger to pouty lips. "This will only be moments." Susurrate words promising a return even as he parted from her company with a libertine pinch of her chin.

The Hedonist strode with skulking purpose towards the Wolf who had left his bannermen outside to watch the door. Theirs was to be a private conversation. The golden green smear of leonine eyes prowled over the Wolf who leaned to the side to put eyes upon the woman.

"Must you always?" He asked though the smirk which formed was born of familiarity.

"It is my nature." The answer that of the scorpion upon the turtle's back. "Idle hands..." Mockingly quoted.

"I agree." The Wolf answered, the golden hue of eyes returning to the Hedonist. "Tis why I spent the morning acquiring you a carnival." A feigned put-upon sigh accompanying canines becoming visible as that cunning smirk formed a crescent across his face. "The carnival will continue to operate...with my backing of course. Its owner was more than agreeable to my terms. One more plucked from your tempest to be placed upon my battlefield beneath Plutus' watchful eye." An incult chuckle for they were always in competition with one another. "I consider my debt paid." The sobering addition added after a moment of enjoyment.

"Always wanting more." The Hedonist chided though the rich laugh the Wolf's words enticed from his chest sounded his understanding of the never-ending game. "Such cupidity plucks out the eye and leaves one blind to the finer things in this world." A licentious lick of words for he knew the game still had time left on the clock. "Your debt is paid." Granting that which the Wolf sought more than anything else.

The Wolf gave the acquiescence a shallow nod of his head, a comfortable silence settling upon the pair for several moments. "Do you still plan to follow the advice of your soothsayer?" The Wolf finally asked, a certain appetency for information on display despite the subtle mockery when uttering that last word. His was a more direct approach.

"In a way." Admitted. "It is time to employ a bit of leverage." Answering as much as he dared. Though they worked well together, their particular talents enjoying a certain synergy when mutual interests aligned, they were still in competition with one another.

"Ahh..." The Wolf purred, enjoying the machinations as they played out in real time. "You seek to force her to return then?" Asking though doubting he would get an answer. "A dangerous gambit, but it makes sense. The triduum approaches at the end of the month..."

"Perhaps you'd care for a drink..." Shifting both body and conversation so that the Wolf put hunting eyes upon the woman at the bar. Not even they were immune from one another's influences...a fact the Hedonist intended on using to bring the Wolf once more into his debt.

Leverage

"I've been desiring one all day. Your doing, I wonder?" The Wolf answered with a smirk after a moment appraising the woman and moved past the Hedonist and further into the bar.

The Hedonist lingered alone for a moment. His compulsion required Josette to be a part of the carnival before the Hallowtide. He smirked at the irony of him requiring faith. "You certainly move in mysterious ways." A derisive lift of his eyes towards the ceiling. Those golden green eyes lowered once more and he was watching the Wolf order a drink, the Hedonist absently drifting their way to introduce the woman and earn yet another debt from his brother.

What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others. ~ Pericles

Thud.

The spinning blade whirled through the air with a hum of efficiency and precision that belied the storm swirling within the man that had loosed the blade.

Thud.

The next was chosen at random though the target remained the same...ever the same. Scrupulous attention was paid to the finest detail of the grip, the angle of release, the throw itself. End over end it tumbled, tightly flung chaos spinning with potentially deadly outcome...yet Isaac knew the outcome before the knife ever left his fingers. Knew it so well, the results replicated with such accuracy, that it was more science than chance.

Thud.

The board was filling up with blades. Each one having dug deeply into the red painted bullseye of the target some twenty feet away. There was a calming sensation to throwing the knives, claiming them from the board and then repeating again and again. It was something he craved in the moment, that mindless repetition and mental focus leaving no room for other thoughts which might distract. Thoughts which might sour his aim or retard the necessary rhythm.

Thud.

He'd been at it for so long that the record playing now spun with only a crackle of intermittent static, the needle having lost its circular path once the disc played itself out. A mason jar of sweet tea slowly perspired as it sat untouched on a stack of old newspapers, the moist ring at the bottom slowly growing larger as the drops ran down the glass to soak into a story about an increase in crime from years ago. Even Boomer lay stretched out in his bed, eyes closed and no doubt dreaming of something more interesting than Isaac throwing and throwing and throwing.

Thud.

The last knife was drawn and held, the silvery blade laid flat across a weathered palm as the thunderstorm gray of eyes inspected its point and edges. Pulled away from the blade as he drew it back, his eyes went not to the bullseye but the stack of mail on the table alongside the target. Pulled there as if drawn by some magnetic force he could not resist.

Legacy.

The knife was loosed and clanged against the others as that single word intruded upon his thoughts and skittered to the floor the tent, the sharp singular note of metal on metal enough to cause Boomer to pop his head up with a start and look first towards the source of the intrusive, alien noise and then to Isaac before he lowered his head back down upon the dogwood drawled invective.

Isaac hesitated for a moment and simply stared. Not at the target or the knife but at the stack of mail, specifically the letter sitting atop the rubber banded stack. Mail was always a precarious thing for the carnival. Making so many jumps, one town to the next, it was hard for the postman to keep up. Course some of the carnys preferred it that way...can't pay a bill if you don't get it, can't get served with a warrant if the lawman's always a day and a city behind. But like most things, delivery was inevitable and Isaac's stack had been dropped off earlier that morning while he was overseeing the stage assembly.

He finally moved, slower than a month of Sundays, to the board and began to work the blades free though he eyed the stack of mail with a wary glance. The top letter hadn't been addressed or mailed...instead it had his name written on the envelope in the neatly scrawled print of a dead man: his father. It'd been given to him at the will reading when his father had passed away...and then been given to Fia to torch not too long after that without ever being opened. Truth was Isaac hadn't cared what his father had written...what the man had to say when he didn't have to answer for any of it. There just weren't any words which could be written that could replace the gulf of silence which had existed when both father and son had walked the earth.

Yet there it sat. Same envelope. Same handwriting. It even bore a few singe marks and smears of soot across the otherwise pristine paper. He'd have thought Fia or someone else was trying to get one over on him if he hadn't seen the Firestarter do her thing. He'd tried himself but his lighter wouldn't take...Fia didn't seem to have such a problem...and up it went before his very eyes.

Eyes saw a lot of strange things when working for a carnival...things which went beyond explanation or understanding. He'd seen it himself with Fia...had experienced it with his sister and their connection which defied time and space. And yet he still eyed the letter with a degree of antithetic trepidation which ran contrary to his typical, even-keeled disposition.

Legacy

The word sounding in his head again as if put there by another voice. He reached for the envelope as if by compulsion and held it, turned it and inspected the back to find it still sealed. The slate gray of eyes fell upon Boomer as if in silent question, a tinge of unease as he tapped the tip of the knife blade against the envelope. Isaac gave a shrug, at a loss to explain the letter's reappearance but couldn't dispute its presence in the moment...rational mind attempting to wrest control of an unknowable scenario. A flick of the wrist brought the knife through the envelope to open it and spill its contents onto the table.

Destiny