"Every time we choose safety, we reinforce fear."

On horseback, Madison rode for the cemetary, Sal's words tolling in her ears. The hour was late and she had left Zeal's an hour early to familiarise herself with the grounds and streets surrounding the graveyard at night time. While the world was always a different place entirely once the sun went down, the cemetary might as well be an entirely different universe. The eyes and the mind liked better to play tricks there, to weave their illuminations. Fancy was foremost. Even to a rational mind and trained eye like Madison, the cemetary could be a contentious place to put one's well being, and state of mind. The tombstones took on shadows that were not there by daytime, and ones that by all accounts should not be there at night, but sometimes were. Young, dark lovers, grave robbers who stole gifts left to the dead to take home to the living and pass off as an act of thoughtfulness, people taking short cuts, people who were waiting, waiting to spring. It was the last that the 'Slinger gave a damn about the most. Those were the folks she kept an eye out for as Marigold tacked softly along the grass, shaking her mane now and again, rolling her graceful black shoulders at the buzzing of roving insects.

The dark spread out shamelessly. It was muddy and often the horse would sink a bit. Madison finally got down and decided to lead Goldie through the graves. It wasn't as safe on the ground, but it was better than risking the horse getting hurt.

As she walked through the grass, listening to the chitter chatter of buzzards, cicadas, the skitter of birds high in the trees, she got thinking about what she had done. About how safe it was to place her trust, and the money Lofton County set for her, in someone like Salvador.


She hadn't thought on him away from seeing him, the times they crossed paths since she had arrived, but when they did cross paths, when eye met eye, she knew that something about him drew her; she had thought Salvador rovocative, sensual, quiet. And so as the bar grew emptier, and emptier, the mood lonelier and lonelier, leaving the two of them with coffee and liquor, she had felt uncharacteristically awkward, as her impression of him began proving true enough. Her voice had become especially raw, bare, while he had been more conversational than she had ever seen him before, asking her about herself, what she wanted to know about him. He was frank. Open. When she looked at rust eyes she could swear that he could smell her thoughts on her, that he could taste the way she felt.


Even now, as she stretched her legs over weed and rock, leading Marigold along, she could not explain how she knew, herself, for lack of any better term than intuition, that he could even help her. But life was like that, now wasn't it. And Sal had been a regular cast member of hers on the stage that was Rhy'Din. And if she was not mistaken, she would swear that he shared the same sentiment as her; this was kismet. It was not necessarily a thing of romance, of passion, no, not that. It was a friendship yet to be explained. But she had faith in this direction. That they would make solid companions on this dark road.


Once a round had been done, the gates checked and secured, Madison hopped on Goldie once again and took off for the direction of the hills. It was earlier enough to still catch the last streaks of light, and Tieg had mentioned a few times over that she would enjoy a view up over one of the ridges. So there she went, without rush. Curious.


But the ride there gave her cause to think some more. To wonder whether she had made the right bargain with the right devil.

But it felt right. And Madison was a woman of instinct. Instinct and fine, fine calibers hanging from sway of sharp hips.


Lifting her eyes to the sky as she rode along she thought freely about the situation. About whether this new tactic, to smoke out the Creepers, was going to be their best bet. This was no longer about her and her a$s on the line. They both had their buttcheeks to the wind.

There was also concern in her having not yet had a proper Sit Down with Big One and find out the details of all he knew about The Circus, The Orpheum, and about the death of Jessamine Nagen. Had yet to investigate the Circus itself, out in the meadows, where she planned on dragging Salvador along to, and then, lastly, there was the plan to go a-knocking on Andy's door, to see what was going on. She had to get that guy on side.


The Orpheum would have to be visited in the coming weeks. But for now, there was enough on both their hands.


As the world rolled past, a slanted horizon as the hill was taken, she realised that most of all, right now, she was apprehensive to a certain level about meeting Salvador the next night at Seaside Sam's. It was borne not from whether he wanted her, whether it would happen again, whether she wanted him, no, none of that, but whether they could actually work together. The thing was, she liked his spirit and believed herself, despite her internal reckoning on the matter, that he was the best bet, that he was the only one so far had any promise. Clyde was AWOL and Trent had been too busy gambling. Madison felt a rush of feeling. There was a glimmer of a chance that they could make a difference. Something told her...

Something..

There it was, just.. there..

Yes.

Salvador was hope.

Scene theme: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cxXp3KhhI8s&feature=related

Six o'clock. Not long before dusk began its creepy crawl through the City. This time Salvador was punctual and was waiting outside the Inn on time. For the occasion, anyone may have thought he had dressed up. Well, he had dressed up, as only Salvador dresses up. Meaning that on top of his usual boots and jeans, instead of his own coat he was wearing a suit jacket and under that a white button up shirt. He wore it loose at the collar and didn't bother with a tie.

Madison appeared on horseback, on a trot from out between lonely buildings down the street that gave way to alley and finally the main road, approaching her companion at a steady pace. She herself wore all black, from the dress corset worn over a dark blouse, to the leather pants and boots, to the suede hat atop her head. In the sundry light, upon a coal black mare, it was a sight, striking and of a world of a western bent.

She smiled down to him as she dismounted, leading Goldie around to a post. They would not reach the Big Top and its sprawling, doom-charged playground by horse. Based upon Sheila's reaction to the man, she had suggested they walk the way, to remain as inconspicuous as possible as well as to avoid any disruption between animal and the Lion in the man.

And so walk the duo did, in syncopated rhythm, she sharing smiles of encouragement as the gravity of the situation sunk in at the hulking, formidable sight that drew their eyes to the giant tent and its tormented silhouette echoed in loops of screams from frightened coaster riders who braved the menacing rails and the wicked wonder of such a place.

The image of the dark carnival against a twilight sky a portrait to remain with someone for all time.

The Circus That Never Sleeps was a sight that many a child would have drooled upon beholding, both in terror and glee. Salvador had never been to a circus his entire life. He was no more impressed or enthralled with the sights and sounds now than he likely ever would have been in so short a time. Childhood remained a foreign concept to him; it was something he had never known.

Bright lights and gaudy, multi-colored canvases decorated the landscape. The glaring array of shimmering colors was not something he could appreciate either. To him everything was black and white, for the most part. Within the shades of gray were ribbons of color that he read unlike any other person he knew. For the most part everyone was yellow.

There were scents aplenty. Sweet and sticky candies, caramel apples and popcorn, salt, sugar and butter. Underneath it all was the stink of sweat and baby vomit, stains underneath the coasters left by the weak of stomach. Deeper down underneath all of that was the copper tang of blood and the saline splash of tears. The flavors were just on the tip of his tongue and they made him anxious.

Children ran in little screaming packs, dragging their parents by the arms. They swept through like an army of excited pirhannas, wanting to be the first to get their bite before anyone else. The muscles of his arm were tense as he dodged them, the edges of his teeth bared by instinct intending to scare them away. Salvador never had been very fond of children. Maybe somewhere deep down inside it was because he was jealous of them. He had never known the joy and bliss of innocence that any of them had.

As they walked through the throng, shoved and weaved their way through the crowd of bodies, around the stands and the rides, Salvador kept his eyes open and his ears alert.

The 'Slingers' steps were in compliment to Salvador's, and her gaze swept every inch, her ears drumming with every sound, her body on alert in all its lissome design. Her legs felt every tremor as the coaster came screeching down in a clatter of motion, and flying back up, the rumble of music as the honky tonk was thumped, as tent flaps whipped and snapped temptingly, to reveal all the macabre or wonderful revelations within. The air smelled like hay, like thunder, like lies, and she could not help but see it all as a giant set piece, concealing horrors unnamed and unknown beyond all those inches regarded by pale blue eyes, by rust. As the cool of the Big Top's shadow fell over them, a shadow felt even without the sun to cast it, for in the moonlight the shadow haunted their bodies in pins and needles of chill, she reached for Sal's elbow, to nod towards a door that gave entrance to the back of the Big Top.

"I think we should try and go into the stands via there so we can get to a back row. I don't think we should go anywhere near the ring..." She looked back to Salvador, arching her brow and gesturing down to that alley made up of wooden stalls, empty tiger cages, and the garish pink and yellow plastic stripes that led into the monstrous main tent itself, where its spectacles lay hidden.

"If you can, tell me what you smell and taste in there..." She paused, looking him dead in the eyes. "I think your sensitivies will help. A lot." Flash of a warm smile, and she relinquished her touch, looking back to the door, where ghastly light seeped to dead grass and the empty, thick bars of where a tiger would sleep when the show was over. Or so she thought. For the cages there were home to more than animals alone.

From where they stood, Salvador stared. Her words trickled into his ears from a distance. Her voice was hollow, coming from far away. A droning static buzz hummed as an overlay, over everything she said. Smell and taste, she instructed him. Those two things seemed insignificant to what he could also See and Hear, but he fixed on one word.

"Blood," he said. One simple little word that encompassed both what he could smell and taste. One quietly murmured little word that spoke volumes.

There was more than that, though. He had no idea how to explain it to her. Salvador had always been terrible at explaining things, describing what his other senses picked up on. He was no poet. "Shadows everywhere," he told her in that same distant undertone. A vague definition from what he really saw.

They swayed and shivered, old wailing ghosts and other vicious spirits. Things that could no longer reach out and touch the physical world. Things that were drawn to violence, that came to feed on pain and despair. She would never see them, he knew, but he could see them everywhere. The restless dead, large and small, the chains that bound them to suffer here. The crowds were just as oblivious to them as any other. Just as oblivious to them as the other things, those things he couldn't name but knew were dangerous in their own ways.

"This place is cursed," he told her.

Pale gaze ticked back to him, inquisitively, as she pulled the hat from her head and held it at her side, her other hand mussing it up absently as she looked back to the doorway. "Good a theory as any." She quirked a lip and lifted her gaze to that door, exhaling stiffly. It was time to bite that bullet.

"Come on", she whispered to him, heading for the door and trying the handle. It released. Well that was too easy, but she didn't linger on the thought and kicked it wide with the heel of her boot, waiting for Sal. The greens and sick yellows of the lighting washed over her as she stood waiting for him to pass. Briefly, her eyes moved along the shadows, as though inside them there really was something to be afraid of, not necessarily what was in it, but the shade itself. She turned away and followed Sal through, to where music filled their ears in saccharin glory, where performers of all kinds were already zipping about. Trapeze, lion tamers, a circle of fire. Madison gazed there, then at the crowd, all the smiling small faces of the front rows. Madision turned to her right hand man, and gave him a look, to catch his eye, and then lifted her gaze to an empty stand towards the back. "There."

Children squealed and laughed as a series of clowns paraded out, throwing confetti. Oddly, it all felt more like a jazz funeral, the clowns not to be found in harlequin leotards nor ruffled necks, but in suits, with gleaming gold painted teeth and makeup something more medieval, comedia del arte; a devil's masquerade. Some of them played miniature trumpets, xylophones, accordions, while one sat towards the back, a thin fellow, pounding the keys of a frail looking, multicoloured wurlitzer organ. Madison could only blink and stare as they crossed the rickety metal of the stands, the smell of hay of fear of lies growing stronger, until deception was a flavour on the back of both their tongues, the air heavy with its electricity.

Salvador trailed and hovered along after her, around her, like a ghost on a leash. She was the tether he kept drifting back toward, unable to will himself to move too far. She couldn't see what he Saw, and that baser more neanderthal instinct in him told him to stick close, to keep her safe.

It was difficult to keep himself from dodging around the bodies that weren't really there. He could see them clear as day, the shimmer and sway of lost souls mingling with the crowds of the living. Squinting hard as he followed on the 'slinger's heel, brows knitting as he tried to discern one from the other. Within the teeming masses, it wasn't easy. Some of the lost mingled with the black and white and gray solid shapes of ones that already had colors anchored to them. The auras of the living and the dead danced together in the gloom. For a second, he thought, if she could see it, Madison may have thought it beautiful.

"There's so many," he whispered in her ear before she sat. Madison had to tug his sleeve to pull him down beside her. He turned reluctantly, watching as a wailing little specter went running up the stairs, crying and sobbing and shrieking for her mommy. They were everywhere. This wasn't what he had expected at all.

Salvador didn't see the performance in the pit below. Not as everyone else did. Occasionally he spared a fleeting glance, but the surrounding spirits kept tugging at his attention. But when he did look down, when he did take that glimpse, what he saw was the writhing black dark of damned souls putting on a show to entice the living to join them down in Hell. He saw them and he didn't like them. When he saw them, he scowled.

Madison had taken his whisper to mean the people, the flesh and the blood around them, the beating hearts, the wide eyes, yes, that's what she thought as they sat down.

The gentlemen below, conducting their ragtag orchestra, dances and displays of agility and fearlessness, were purveyors of thrill. Excitement was wrung out of every spectator as the music whistled, as the painted faces of acrobats grinned their terrible smiles. Excitement wrung out of everyone, except the two in the last row. Their lack of participatory advances, applause and smiles had a few of the bestial-eyed Columbines shaking their heads and miming at them in mock-disappointment, one trailing a silk glove down his cheek to indicate a tear.

The 'Slinger watched Sal's face from the side, waiting for something, hanging on his silence like she hung to his every word. He was the eyes, ears, teeth and nails she would never possess, and he was her lifeline where she was his tether.

The lights darkened and illuminated a stretch of elegant, taut limb hanging suspended from a wire, a beauty strapped to a beam, her black flesh glimmering in perspiration and diamantes which created spirals all along one revealed arm and one revealed thigh. She spun, she launched, she twirled, and even Madison could not help but gasp a laugh of surprise as the Black Madonna, the dark Salome, swung right over them both, black gloved hand not an inch from their faces, her face a silent look of yearning, though eyes flickered with fire.

Madison shrunk back as the woman swung again, elongating her neck and hands to reach for them both, for it wasn't clear who, before the lights were shone at too bright, flickering intervals, urging the audience to look to the tiger, unleashed, prowling upon a red and white swerving floor... The acrobat was gone from thin air, seemingly, and stage smoke rose, disguising everything in a bright blue smog.

A hand moved to her hip and rested there, as more and more smog rose. Something wasn't right.

No, something wasn't right at all.

Smoke and mirrors couldn't enchant his eyes, not a fae's eyes. In the gloom and dark, underneath the gasps and held breaths of hundreds, there was another sound entirely at the 'slinger's side. Where once beside her was seated a man, another creature rose to his feet. One who made a woman in the row in front of them shriek for thinking that the tiger had prowled the stands and was now breathing down her neck behind her.

"We have to get out of here," Salvador growled. His voice pitched low and rumbling like the great hunting cat she sometimes saw lurking deep within his eyes. "Now."

His eyes were two glittering points of light in the shadows as he turned, grabbing her roughly by the arm to haul her to her feet and drag her back down the row. To the stairs, to the exit, back down to the rear entrance they had broke through to get inside in the first place.

Behind him there should have been screaming, but there were only gasps of awe and applause as the lights flashed and illuminated the Big Top's belly once again. The show was over, and soon enough he knew the panic would start. He had seen them, the swiftly moving shadows flitting through the stands, swirling around the younger ones closer to the rings, swallowing them up and whisking them away before any eye could have adjusted to the change to notice they were missing. Women and children, fathers and sons, a few chosen families picked from the crowd, and none would be the wiser that they were gone, until it was too late. They were too many for him to stop all at once. The crowd was too thick with innocence for him to unleash the savage beast that lurked inside.

They may have even been among the chosen few had he not grabbed her to make a hasty retreat. His fingers were tight on her upper arm, and when they came to that kicked open door he very nearly tossed her out into the grass and hay behind the big top. As luck would have it, this exit was also one the demons had chosen to use as well.

He caught a glimpse of the tail end of hooded faces being ushered into an adjoining tent. There, right there, where she had pointed out the lion cages, he saw a painted face turn a cautious glance over shoulder. Along the other way he could still hear the laughter and the thrills of coasters and curiosities, of Circus goers by the thousands. And along that other way he saw another harlequin spot them slipping out the back door.

"Hey! You don't belong here!" They always said that.

Baring his teeth in a snarl, eyes flashing with menace and the rising thrill of the hunt, Salvador checked himself and pushed Madison's shoulder to urge her to move. "Run!"

Sprint was taken, gun to hand and eyes over shoulder on Big Top and the beast, the man right behind her. Members of the crowd looked on in horror, thinking Madison some helpless vicitim of the Lion.

But it was where they weren't looking that the kidnapping happened. That people disappeared, for real.

Madison was witness to a brief struggle as the clown came baring down on him. The Lion's paw wrapped around the painted face, and they turned together in one wide and violent step that ended in make-up and blood smearing the side of a pole. Salvador tumbled in the dirt with this one sentry, and all the while around him he saw the blur and flash of a thousand black tendrils creeping and crawling into the crowd, all caught in a glimpse through the corners of his eyes. Now was no time to stop and contemplate the wrong that was in the air tonight. He shoved the clown's face into the muck and pushed himself up, leaving him to drown and choke on his own blood, to continue the mad sprint in Madison's wake.

The rest of the crowd was a divided commotion behind them; some in the wild, manic allure of being entertained, of being spoiled with feats of the human body, scared and humoured all at once. In the gaps disappeared small children, balloon in hand, crying, looking for Mummy, Daddy, meanwhile a hand of Straw takes theirs, hay over mouth, and never seen again.

The meadow surrounded them in a deathly quiet. Mud splashed as their boots raced over soggy grass. The screams of delight and terror were behind them now, as Madison yelled to Sal over the wailing music that spawned from the grotesque skeleton of the Big Top, illuminated like a giant red moon at their backs.

She called over to Sal as she edged for a hill, slipping and sliding, stumbling, grunting as she fell over and crawled back up, that hill sheltered in trees, trees to camoflage their bodies. Breathlessly she paused to bend over and catch her breath; more out of shock than lack of stealth.

As he grew near she reached for his hand to pull him right into the dark of the brush, looking up fearlessly into his eyes, uncaring of his appearance; it was a smile of death defying that curled her lips into a naked smile. "What did you see?" She turned to peer through the branches, at the Halloween surprise of chaos that played out nearby.

Salvador slid on mud, the tread of his boots having compacted enough of it to make the terrain slick, to have him spinning around the base of a tree and colliding to a halt against its roots. He wasn't at all winded; they hadn't run far, but his breathing came in quick panting spurts. "I saw," he gasped, "the dead. All those children. All of them." He could still hear the echo of their ghostly cries, drumming against his ears like the blood pounding up out of his heart.

"Do you see now what I mean? That this is a big, bad fire we've got to put out." Another breath exhaled and she fell back to the tree, trying to level her breaths. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said, rising, brushing himself up. His clothes were a soiled, bloody mess. Not as stained as he could have been, but there were enough splashes here and there to make a point. He had at least killed one of them, but one was never enough.

Salvador tugged on the collar of his suit jacket, shook it back in place, settled it more appropriately to rest on his shoulders, and he sighed. "I'm f*cking filthy," he complained. It was probably the first and only time in his life he had complained about the dirt and the grime, about being filthy. There was straw stuck to his lapel. "Sin's going to kill me." After all, he had raided the sinner's closet for these clothes. And even worse, he still had a wedding to attend.

Turning to look down at Madison, he offered her a hand up, asking, as was only fair, "You all right?"

"I'm fine", she answered, as she got herself up, waving off his hand. Gun was slid back to her hip and belt buckles checked as she pulled the guns around to rest properly from either sides of her waist, in a slim, tailored line, smooth against the curve of her hips, so that if she was in jacket a top you would hardly notice their bump.

"So you're saying.. it's haunted?" Her eyes twinkled in worry as she looked back over. Every day this just got bigger and bigger. Were they all completely insane to be taking on something like this? Maybe. But someone had to.

"That's one way of putting it," he replied, still flicking bits of straw and clumps of dirt off here and there.

She sauntered over towards him, looking him over with a smirk, wan in light of what he'd described. But she had to admit, he looked pretty cute all pissed off and filthy. "There's a stream on the way back, you can give it a quick rub down there if you wanted to. Before that stuff dries and gets caked to that material."

Salvador snorted and shook his head. "Nah. No time." Not that he had any device to tell him what exactly the time actually was, but he had a sense for this sort of thing. They weren't far from where he was supposed to be anyway. He just had to find the right portal to get there.

A hand was placed to hip as she gave a big sigh, looking down in contemplation. Her head was actually throbbing from the cacophony of sounds, ones that still played on down deep in her ears. "Let's just get out of here. We'll come back and do a search around the area some other time. I think our presence is already too known."

"Yeah," he agreed, starting to walk. The further they got away from this cursed place the better. He could still hear the children crying, the lost and lonely little ghosts who couldn't find their way back home.


_______________________________________________
(This story is a collaboration between myself and the lovely Madison Rye.)

"Here's the deal."

Salvador's plan was to hit them where they were weakest. As far as he could determine, The Circus That Never Sleeps was a ruse. Everybody had to sleep some time, and as far as he could figure it was most likely the carnies would be sleeping during the day.

All his calculations made sense on this matter. The Circus was alive and thriving at night. The bright lights blotted out the stars and the inviting music lured children out of their beds, parents groggily pulled along in tow. The thrills and the excitements, the fears and the joys, were best during the evening hours, when the coasters were dark and more exhilarating to give a dare to.

Everybody had to sleep some time. By his calculations it was most logical that the carnival would be dead asleep just as the sun was rising. So the plans he made with Skid and Madison were to meet at sunrise out front of the Red Dragon, locked and loaded and ready to engage in a little clown genocide.

For this special occasion, Salvador had brought along his finest hardware. Still recovering from the great fake tattoo incident, however, left him limited in his choice of armor. The usual living carapace he might have donned had to be left out of the equation. Underneath it all, patches of his skin still itched and remained sore.

So it was that he decided he was just going to have to deal with getting a little blood on his clothes. He wore the usual ensemble sans teeshirt. Underneath the heavy flak material jacket he almost always wore, his chest was bare. His pockets were filled to bursting with the tools of his trade, sharp pointy objects aplenty.

At the small of his back, under his coat, was the sewn in sheath for his birthday present, the tanto his sister had given him so many short years ago. That was the one weapon he used the most in combat, but when it came to full on battle he chose to bring another set. Latched to the back of his coat were catches to secure a pair of twin hook swords, and there he wore them as a big shiny steel X across his spine. There were other handy utensils hidden away in his pockets, but they weren't to be seen until they were used. Their time would come, he was certain.

He probably didn't look any different than usual. Salvador's demeanor remained that of a calculating lion. He prowled quietly alongside his companions as they approached the encampment south of the City. Everything that had needed saying had been done hours before in the commons of the Red Dragon Inn. They all knew their parts for this final show.

"Time to put the Circus to sleep," he murmured, unlatching the twin hooks from his back. One after the other, he gave them a spin, rotating them at the wrist, loose and limp at his sides. He surveyed the area from the outskirts and calculated even further. "Spread out," he suggested to his companions. "We'll meet in the middle." Lifting one of the blades, he pointed with the curved hooked end toward the Big Top and said, "There."

He figured that since Madi was the boss, she got the middle, so Salvador himself broke off to the right, prowling low like the animal that wasn't even his namesake, and gave Skid the left. Soon the encampment would be filled with the scent of blood and perhaps a lot of screaming. At least this time the screaming wouldn't come from the voices of little children.