Chapter Five - On the Hunt

[Jonas Drava]

The noon sun burned brightly over RhyDin city as Jonas pushed open the door to the tiny apothecary. Inside the shop the air was musty and thick with humidity, the only light coming from a small square window near the main ceiling joist.

Madame Thoury's store was small and cluttered at every turn. Bookcases covered every wall and also filled the center of the single-room store. The shelves were filled seemingly haphazardly with a variety of odd semi-magic talismans, spell books, and reagents.

In one small corner of the shop sat Thoury herself, an exceedingly thin woman set upon an antique wooden chair. She was a middle-aged woman of perhaps fifty-five, her skin wrinkled beyond her years. Atop her head perched a fur hat adorned with feathers, and she was dressed in a cloth robe and sandals.

As Jonas entered, Thoury glanced up and regarded him suspiciously. Her eyes pierced him like a hawk over the bridge of her hooked nose. Jonas approached the crone slowly so as not to startle her.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked, her voice nearly as nasal as her tone was condescending.

"I was referred to you by Shaman Cloud Dancer," Jonas answered, bowing his head respectfully. "I am Jonas."

Thoury's expression softened a bit. "I see. You are the carpenter at the new circus. Come closer, child, so that I may see you better."

Jonas walked further into the dark room and sat down cross-legged on the dusty floor in front of the woman's chair. It didn't look like anyone had been in this shop for months — how she stayed operational was a mystery. A sheen of grime seemed to attach itself to Jonas, who was a bit sweaty from the oven outside.

"Cloud Dancer said that you were looking for animals that were disappearing."

Jonas nodded. "Or possibly were victims of torture."

"En masse," she continued.

"Yes, ma'am."

"What makes you think such a horror is happening?" she asked, her words slow and deliberate.

"An evil man has crowned himself some kind of perverted king of the beasts," Jonas answered. "He experiments on them as if he has some kind of divine purpose. But he is twisted and his motives are impure. He is an abomination and he creates abominations in his own image."

Thoury bared her teeth, yellow and crooked, either in a smile or a sneer. "Yes, what you say is true, carpenter. I have been aware of a sinister presence for some time now, but I was powerless to intervene."

Jonas leaned forward, his heart skipping a beat. He wasn't expecting to hit the jackpot so early in his investigation.

"The man of whom you speak, however, is not evil," she continued, "merely weak-willed. He is controlled by a higher power."

"A book," Jonas concluded.

Now it was Thoury's turn to be surprised. "Yes. I sense its power. Power over beasts and insects."

"Madame, I must find this man and his book. Do you know where they are?"

She paused a moment in thought. "He moves about the city, often underground. He is paranoid and constantly on guard. He never stays in one place for more than a few days."

"Do you know where he is now?" Jonas pressed.

Thoury closed her eyes and sat there for several minutes in silence. Jonas shifted awkwardly on his feet and coughed once from inhaling too much dust.

Finally Thoury spoke, her eyes still closed. "The beasts do not tell me his current location, but I believe they are sleeping."

"'They'?" he asked.

Thoury nodded, opening her eyes. "He has several with him now but I cannot speak to them. By tonight I should know."

Jonas leaned forward, popping up to his knees. "You'll have his location tonight?"

"If the spirits speak to me."

Jonas bit his lip. "Madame, my need is urgent. Can I return to you tonight?"

The mystic nodded. "I will be here. I am always here. Return after midnight and perhaps I will know more."

"How can I repay you?" he asked eagerly.

Thoury's lips curled into a disturbing smile. "I sense the spirit in you, carpenter. I know that you are more than you appear."

Jonas frowned slightly. "I don't believe I know what you are talking about."

"You cannot hide that part of your nature from me," she insisted. "I speak to animals and to the spirits of animals."

"I am a man," Jonas stated, rising to his feet.

"You are a man attempting to subjugate and imprison a beast. Are you any better than this sociopath that you seek?"

Jonas narrowed his eyes, his breathing quickening. "I am nothing like him," Jonas countered. "He is a monster. I am a man."

Thoury laughed — a sarcastic and disturbing laugh.

Jonas clenched his fists, reclaiming control over his emotions. "Please, madame, I need your help. I can help these animals."

"What is your motive to help them, carpenter?"

He paused. "Financial. I was hired."

"To help the animals?"

"To stop the evil man. Technically my interest is not in the animals, although the result is the same."

"I meant no offense, carpenter," she resolved calmly. "I will help you. Come back at midnight."

Jonas bowed respectfully. "Thank you. And no offense was taken."

* * *

Four drinks clinked at the center of the table along with a delighted cheer. It was a noisy evening at Valentino's, an Italian restaurant and bar in one of RhyDin's fancier districts, with a standing-room-only crowd. Tables were stuffed to capacity and diners frequently found themselves bumping into people at the next table. Still, the wine was flowing freely and the food was magnificent, so people were generally in good chair.

Zoli and Jonas, the two brothers from different mothers, were dressed in their finest: both in button-up silk shirts (Jonas in black, Zoli in white with pinstripes) and their newest, cleanest pairs of jeans. The two men generally cleaned up well, although they were never entirely comfortable in upscale environs. And, while they didn't exactly look like gypsies or street urchins, they were probably the only men in the entire restaurant not wearing ties — and certainly the only ones in denim pants.

Joining them this evening were their dates. Opposite Zoli sat Miami, a thin woman dressed in a bright-red cocktail dress that was not entirely flattering to her frame and even less complimentary of her pale skin. She decorated herself with diamond jewelry — earrings, necklace, and a tiara. Her raven-black hair contrasted starkly with the red dress and faint skin.

Next to Miami and opposite Jonas was Jolene. She was of a much healthier weight, but chose to go out this evening in a black miniskirt that was at least two sizes too small. The only jewelry she wore was a broach hanging precariously over her plunging neckline. Like her friend she was quite pale, but she wore a bit too much makeup to compensate.

To anyone watching from a distance, both women seemed to be having the time of their lives. They were laughing, loud-talking, and constantly touching their dinner companions on the arm. Zoli seemed equally happy to be there, frequently standing up to demonstrate … whatever (most recently a golf swing, even though Jonas was quite certain that Zoli had never even set foot on a golf course).

Jonas, however, was clearly distracted and paid only passing attention to the conversation. His disinterest only caused Jolene to try harder to get his attention by getting more and more outrageous with her statements, insinuations, and flirtatious touching. Eventually he excused himself from the table, needing to get away from the endless cooing.

Jonas sat quietly outside the restaurant on a large brick tree planter set along the busy streetscape. He was surrounded by smokers who came outside for some fresh air, but he was more interested in some peace-and-quiet.

Not that it was particularly silent this particular evening. On a Friday night in this part of RhyDin, roving bands of drunkards moved in herds like bison as cars sped by blaring chaotic music. Yet as Jonas stared up at the moon, he was able to drown out the noise and finally find some focus.

It had been a long day. He woke up early to finish his chores before joining Onyx on their first joint mission. She took the brunt of the assignment, encountering this demon's lair — a former lair, that is. Still he left plenty of evidence behind to the point that she was clearly rattled. Jonas had only known Onyx for a little more than a month but he had never seen her rattled before. It was unsettling, and he resolved to take this "mission" more seriously. Maybe she really did need his help.

The moon, despite only being a week-old sliver, was calming to him. Jonas reveled in the moon due to the power it had over him. His thoughts turned from Onyx to Made Thoury. She saw through his disguise and he was uncomfortable. If she could see him, who else would be able to? Perhaps he wasn't as safe here as he thought.

"Bum a cigarette?"

Jonas blinked out of his thoughts, glancing over to see Jolene. She seemed a bit less threatening out here on the sidewalk, although he still didn't appreciate being followed.

"I don't smoke," he answered with a vacant smile, holding out his hands as if showing himself to be unarmed.

"Hmm." She turned to look up at the moon. "Got a little too crazy in there, I decided I needed a break. Your friend and mine are quite the talkers."

Jonas couldn't help but roll his eyes. Jolene was doing plenty of talking on her own — in fact he found her to be a bit more annoying than her friend. He turned away from her, looking out over the brilliant cityscape.

"Maybe they're perfect for each other," she continued. "Miami's a great girl, it would be nice to see her finally find someone to be with."

"Yeah, she's great," Jonas answered passively. He really didn't want to be bothered and hoped she'd give up.

"What about you? You've barely said two words since we got here."

"Hmm?" Jonas glanced back at her, realizing with some annoyance that she wasn't going to go away.

"Am I bothering you?" she asked with a frown. "I can go."

Jonas blushed slightly and reached out an arm. "I'm sorry. I just have a lot on my mind. Honestly I didn't want to go out tonight but Zoli insisted."

She smiled and took his hand. "That's okay." She took a step forward. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"It's nothing specific." Of course that was a blatant lie but he couldn't think of any other way to get rid of her.

Jolene sat next to him, leaning up against his arm and looking up at the sky. "What a beautiful night. I love the stars."

"Know any constellations?"

"Hmm. Over to the right is the huntsman. And his spear leads into the tail of a dragon. Uh, that's about all."

"I see."

"You're not from here, I forgot. Does it ever weird you out never having the same sky for very long?"

"I'm not much a fan of stars. I take my comfort in the moon."

"Ah. But aren't there different moons on every planet you travel to? And probably sometimes several moons?"

He nodded. She might be annoying but she wasn't dumb. "Yes, but there's a constant somehow. Most habitable planets only have one and they have the same … the same effect on me." He cringed a bit and hoped he wouldn't have to elaborate.

"Ever been to a planet that has no moon?"

"No," he answered dryly. "We wouldn't go to such a place."

She glanced at him curiously. "Why not?"

He paused, then smiled. "Because I like the moon."

She searched his face a moment, then grinned mischievously. Turning she swung a leg over his until she was sitting on his lap, facing him. Her skirt strained under the maneuver, threatening to split apart. Jonas reacted poorly, squirming a bit under her and averting her face with his.

"You had your chance to get rid of me," she said. "I can't be that horrible, am I?"

He let out a slight sigh and then managed a smile. "You're not horrible at all."

"So you don't mind me sitting on you?"

There was no truthful answer that wouldn't get him slapped. So he just kept the plastic smile on his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Well, you like the moon and I like the stars. Maybe there's some hope for us yet." She stretched a bit, trying to get a rise out of him. It didn't work so she tilted her head and began nibbling on his neck. Jonas could feel the nearby passersby and restaurant patrons rolling their eyes at the blatant display.

"What do you say we ditch those two and I show you around the city?" she murmured against his skin. "I bet I know a few wild places you haven't been too yet."

"I've no doubt," he responded dryly.

"Oh come on, baby," she purred, "it's a Friday night. Let's have some fun."

Again he sighed. He was certain it was approaching midnight and he didn't have time for this. Nor was he interested in the slightest.

With his lack of response she apparently decided to bite him. Except it wasn't a normal bite. He couldn't help but let out a yelp as she broke skin. He recoiled in surprise, backing his head away from her.

Instead of a look of guilt on her face he saw only pleasure and desire. Her eyes were half-lidded and she slowly licked the blood off of her lips.

That's when he noticed the fangs.

He pushed her off of him and jumped up off the planter, backing away. She responded by swaying her hips, stalking toward him like a siren.

"Stay away from me," he commanded.

"Mmm, make me," she entreated. Her hands slide up and down her sides and she was still licking her chops. "I'm not done with you, lover," she added dreamily.

Just then, Zoli and Miami emerged from the restaurant, holding hands.

"There you are, brother!" Zoli exclaimed. "I was beginning to think you two had left us for greener pastures."

Jonas grabbed Zoli by the collar, pointing at Jolene. "Did you know?" he demanded.

"Know what?"

Jonas narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, that," Zoli added. "Yeah, I knew," he answered dismissively. "You're the one always telling me about how this place is filled with mythic creatures. Don't tell me that you'll only date a human."

Miami walked over to Jolene and embraced her. "Is something wrong, baby?" she asked, her voice dripping with sensuality. She then apparently smelled the blood, sniffing the air and hovering close.

"I'm out of here," Jonas declared.

"Don't go, lover!" Jolene cried out. "I'm not done with you!" She smiled, baring her fangs. The two women now swayed in unison, their movements dripping with overt sexuality. All around them people backed away, sensing that something here was not right.

"I get him when you're done," Miami added with a playful laugh.

Jonas narrowed his eyes and let out a growl that reverberated from deep inside his chest. And more. His threat caused the two women to recoil slightly and they clung to each other for protection.

"You're ruining everything!" Zoli complained with a scowl.

"Yeah, that's me. You go have fun. I want no part of this."

Jolene regained her seductive air, touching a hand to her upper-chest and gently fingering the exposed skin below her neck. "Don't go, lover. I bet we could teach each other all sorts of tricks. I promise not to drink too much if you promise not to be too rough with me."

Jonas threw up his arms in disgust and turned away from the three, walking off and disappearing into the crowd.

Zoli remained behind, eyeing the two women. His annoyance at his best friend faded and changed into a smile. "Ladies, we don't need him. Shall we continue this party somewhere else?"

Miami and Jolene glanced at each other, then shrugged. "Sure, cowboy, let's go."

* * *

Jonas returned to the apothecary at ten past midnight. The door was unlocked and he slipped in quietly. He was still fuming at the setup — he didn't want to go on a double-date to begin with and his friend's choice in women was extremely misguided — as usual. While Zoli was carousing and plotting to become some kind of super human, Jonas just wanted something a little more real.

Perhaps Madame Thoury would be able to help him. She saw his true nature, maybe she could help him find some peace with himself. While Zoli was seeking to master the beast, maybe Jonas could draw from it.

His line of thinking was interrupted the moment he smelled the air of the shop. Something was different. Something was wrong.

His eyes adjusted quickly and he saw that the place had been trashed. The air was no longer musty. Instead it smelled like death.

It only took Jonas a few seconds to find Madame Thoury. Her arm was in one corner, her leg in another, and her torso sat alone on the antique chair. At first he couldn't locate her head, until he noticed it atop the highest shelf — sitting cradled in her ridiculous fur hat like an egg in a nest. The look of horror frozen on her face told him all he needed to know.

She died because of Jonas. Because she attempted to communicate with animals corrupted by the book. And he traced the spirits back to her and silenced her for her transgression.

Which means he likely knew about Jonas. And Onyx.

And he would do anything to protect his little project.

[Jonas Drava]

A cloud of dust and sand rose from the punching bag as Jonas pummeled it rapidly with his taped fists. His face lacked the normal intensity and focus of his typical morning workout, however. He was smiling and felt as if he were walking on air. He danced around the bag unnecessarily, feeling light and airy. He was happy.

Zoli jogged into the shed, pausing to pant at the doorway. He glanced up at his friend, peering at him through the fog. He likely wasn't used to seeing such a massive grin on Jonas' face and knew instantly something was up.

"I missed you on our jog this morning, Jonas," Zoli observed, stepping into the shed and removing his t-shirt to use as a face towel.

"Sorry," Jonas responded, "I got a late start this morning." It was already eight o'clock and the two men usually started their day with a pre-dawn jog.

Zoli peered closely at his friend as a slow smile came to his lips. "What's her name?"

Jonas snapped a dirty look. "Shut up." He returned his attention to the punching bag, although his glow only deepened into the red spectrum.

Zoli persisted, now sniffing the air like an animal. "I can smell her." The smile widened. "Good choice."

Jonas stopped his regiment and shoved his friend backwards into a stack of crates. "I said shut up." He was annoyed, but nothing was going to wipe the smile off of his face.

"I see I don't need to hook you up with any more vampires," Zoli noted. "Guess that means more for me."

Jonas just grumbled, picking up a hand towel and using it to clean the dust and dirt from his sweaty face and chest. Glancing out the window he noticed some kind of commotion outside. He took a step closer to look, peeling the tape from his hands.

Zoli winced a bit as he extricated himself from the crates. Peeling down his shorts a bit, he checked on the status of the bandage on his thigh. No sign of blood so he patted it gingerly and covered it back up. He then walked over to Jonas, also glancing out the window.

Near the entrance to the Circus stood Anatoly and Viktor. They were speaking with a wiry man with an athletic build, perhaps in his early fifties. He wore a khaki outfit with a high-powered rifle slung over his shoulders.

Jonas found the man's look to be quite odd but thought nothing more of it. Zoli, on the other hand, blanched a bit and backed away from the window.

"Wonder what that's about," Jonas mused.

"I'm going to go check on the rain traps up in the hills. Then you and I need to repair the animal troughs, they're leaking again."

"Rain traps?"

"Meet me at the troughs in thirty minutes," Zoli commanded. Then he was gone rather abruptly.

Jonas shrugged at his friend's odd behavior but he wasn't going to let anything ruin his day. He slipped on his t-shirt and stepped out of the shed, making his way towards his father. It was turning out to be a warm, September day, and the warm sun contrasted nicely with a cool autumn breeze. This was Jonas' favorite season — he enjoyed the harvest moon and the changing of the colors. It was a shame that their time here was now roughly half over.

The conversation that he had been observing broke up. Viktor escorted the strange man towards the animal pens and Anatoly waited for his son.

"Good morning, father," Jonas bid cheerily. "How are you today?"

Anatoly merely grunted. He wasn't the cheerful type, and others' happiness only seemed to sour him more.

"Where were you last night?" Anatoly demanded. "You did not come home. Again."

Jonas folded his arms over his chest, glancing around the Circus. They opened late on Sundays and closed early, and things generally ran at a slower pace. Activity was only just beginning to get underway, whereas on a week day things would be much more chaotic.

"Well?" Anatoly pressed.

"You and I have discussed this before, father," Jonas answered. "I'm a grown man and I don't need to spend my nights here if I don't chose to. So long as my work gets done, it's not your business."

Anatoly took a step towards his son, looming over him. He was taller than Jonas and much wider, commanding the full attention of those in his presence. The smile faded from Jonas' lips.

"That man," he began, pointing in the direction of the animal pens, "is a professional game warden. He is here investigating strange animal attacks in the city. Wants to know if any of our livestock have been 'carried off' mysteriously."

Jonas fidgeted uncomfortably.

"That's twice since we've been here that we've been subjected to 'animal inspections' under false pretenses," Anatoly continued. "This is what I keep warning you about. Something goes wrong down in that city — things go missing, people get hurt — and the first place they come is to us. We get the blame."

"Yes, father." It was pointless to argue the point, especially since Jonas knew more than he was willing to tell.

"So when I show concern that you spend your nights brawling and carousing and that you don't even bother to come home, it very much is my 'business.' Whether you like it or not you will follow our rules."

"If I choose to stay out all night, that's my choice," Jonas maintained defiantly. He decided to leave out any suggestion that he wasn't alone.

Anatoly merely hovered, his body as impenetrable as his argument.

"Now, on to other matters," Jonas quickly changed the subject. "Our next big hunt is scheduled for this weekend. I'd like to bring a friend."

It didn't seem like it should be possible, but Anatoly loomed even larger. "A friend?"

Jonas nodded. "She's a capable hunter and I think she'd be a good addition to the hunting party. What with Edvard being sick with the flu and Mátyás' broken leg, we're already short two men."

"I will not have an outsider in our hunting party," Anatoly declared, his voice low. "That you can even ask suggests to me that you are intentionally flouting and abusing my authority."

Jonas stood toe-to-toe with his father, the smile now completely gone. "I'm not asking you to give her a job or admit her into the clan. I just want to bring a friend on a hunt."

"These people are not your friends, János," Anatoly warned. In his own way he was trying to be helpful. "They will turn on you at the first opportunity and treat you like a thief or an animal. Our rules were not crafted in a vacuum, they are meant to protect the clan from threats we know all too well."

"I am not a fool nor am I naive, father," Jonas countered. "You need to trust me."

Anatoly regarded his son with judgmental eyes. "You have work to attend to, János. The troughs are leaking water all over the animal pens. Get to it."

Jonas smiled at his father, but it was devoid of emotion — only sarcasm. "Yes, father." He turned and walked away, saying nothing more.

[Jonas Drava]

With creaks and yawns of wood and sinew, the bow stretched back to its limits. Jonas sighted down the length of the arrow at the target beyond — three concentric rings drawn simply on a piece of paper tacked to a few bales of hay in front of the tool shed.

Jonas loosed the arrow and it flew true — striking near the center of the target and two previous arrows. The circus carpenter was not going to be winning an archery contest any time soon, but he was an above-average shot capable of taking down a moving target during a hunt.

The bow was his weapon of choice. Really his only weapon — as he preferred to fight with his hands. He'd never used his bow against a person and had no intention of that changing. The bow as a tool for hunting, just as his carpentry tools were used for building.

Zoli walked up from the side, eyeing the arrow position. He folded his arms over his chest and nodded approvingly. "Nice grouping," he observed.

Jonas moved towards the shed, loosening the string from the bow. Delicately he removed the arrows from the target and checked each for damage before slipping it into his soft leather quiver. Just inside the shed was a collection of provisions for the upcoming hunt — weapons, cooking supplies, and camping equipment — packed and ready to go. The gypsy lifestyle prepared them for packing lightly yet also efficiently. They'd have everything they'd need for the two-day excursion into the nearby woods.

"You're glowing, you know," Zoli continued with a teasing grin as the two men moved inside the shed and resumed packing. "You have been for weeks now. And it's obvious to everyone."

Jonas rolled his eyes, but he couldn't deny the accusation. Since his friendship with Onyx had turned into … more, he frequently found her the subject of his thoughts. Several times he'd been caught smiling or even whistling during his work, and Zoli took every opportunity to tease. Jonas took the ribbing well. Onyx was well worth it and he made no effort to keep their relationship a secret from those in the circus.

Planning this hunt was a priority since the first time she'd suggested it several weeks earlier. Jonas loved to hunt and he enjoyed 'roughing it.' The potential for adventure and fun called out to him. So when his father forbade him from bringing Onyx on one of the clan's grant hunts, Jonas compromised. He carefully selected a few friends he could count on and arranged a private hunt with them instead. It was not unusual for clan members to disappear into the wilderness for a night, and such excursions were unofficially tolerated. Although he was sure he'd catch some flack from his father, it wasn't anything he hadn't been through before. Minor rebellions were common at the circus, and Jonas got away with his share of disobedience.

"I think your lady friend likes me," Zoli prodded as he cleaned out one of the two coolers they'd take on the trip. "Maybe you shouldn't be too sure of what you have."

Jonas glowered at his friend. "You'd better watch yourself, Zoli. As a matter of fact she found your attitude off-putting. Keep it up and you could find yourself being gutted in your sleeping bag."

Zoli waived a hand dismissively. "She'll come around. They always do."

Jonas returned to his work preparing the kitchen tools. As the trip's organizer (and a bit of a master-of-all-trades), Jonas was relegated to the planning and packing, and he roped his best friend into helping out. Rounding out the trip would be Jonas' cousin Janina — a master archer, and her husband Willem — one of the circus' most accomplished chefs. Provided the hunting was good, Willem could be trusted to ensure that the hunters would eat very well that evening around the campfire.

"Just watch yourself," Jonas finally warned. "Don't mess this up."

Zoli smirked at his friend but then smiled. Neither man had trouble with the ladies, but Zoli was always the more aggressive suitor. Jonas usually found himself as the 'wing man' when the two would hit the town together as partners. Neither complained about their roles.

But this was different. Onyx wasn't some hook-up they'd stumbled across while drunk in a bar. She was so much better than that. And so thrillingly complicated.

"Honestly I'm proud of you, Jonas," Zoli finally said. "I'm glad to see you finally meet someone."

Jonas wasn't seeking his friend's approval, but he couldn't help but smile. He paused to examine a small skinning knife.

Zoli moved away from the coolers and approached his friend head-on. "And I'm glad you're finding so much to love about this place."

Jonas looked up, his expression serious. "I feel like I've been looking for this all my life."

"A place to settle down," Zoli added.

Jonas nodded.

Zoli moved closer. "And yet our time here is reaching its conclusion, my brother. Another month at most. Perhaps even less if ticket sales start to drop off."

The carpenter glanced down at the knife, averting his friend's gaze. It was true. They rarely stayed in any one place more than three or four months. That's usually when the locals start to put two-and-two together and realize just how much petty thefts have increased since the circus' arrival.

"You've made it clear you don't want to leave here, Jonas," Zoli continued. "Yet you've resigned yourself to the inevitability."

"It's what we do," Jonas answered, looking back up.

"It doesn't have to be," Zoli responded.

Jonas shook his head. "Stop with this, Zoli. You're not going to convince me to stay here."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Many reasons, Zoli, and you know them all. Starting with why we're scheduling this trip for two days before this weekend's moon."

Zoli's reaction was to smile strangely. "You know full well that I've been working on that problem."

"I don't want to know."

"I've been meeting with a mystic," Zoli continued, excitement welling up inside of him. "We meditate together almost every day. I'm learning how to control my body. My nature."

Jonas looked down, resuming his packing. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to know. He tried to close his mind to new ideas.

"Her name is Tabetha," Zoli continued enthusiastically. "She has a tiny shop on the edge of town. We sit in her back room and she teaches me things. So many things, Jonas."

Jonas looked up, glaring at his friend. No longer was it friendly teasing. Jonas was angry.

"You're interfering with the natural order," Jonas growled. "You're putting your life at risk and all of ours along with it."

"'Natural order'?" Zoli spat back. "You call this curse 'natural'? Do you really think we're meant to give up our free will once per month? That's nonsense, János, and you know it."

"My free will is intact," Jonas answered, returning his attention to his work.

"Because you fill your body with poison once a month. You suppress who you are."

Jonas dropped several knives on the floor and spun around to get into his friend's face. "I will not have this conversation with you, Zoltán. I've kept my mouth shut even though I know what you've done. But keep me out of it. I want no part in your 'quest.' Leave me be."

"You're my best friend, János," Zoli responded in an even tone. "My brother in all but blood. I'm on the edge of unleashing my true potential and I desperately want to share it with you."

"Because of our friendship I've looked the other way," Jonas responded. "I've no interest in unleashing anything. Leave … me … be."

For a moment the two men glared at each other. Finally Zoli took a step back.

"Go ahead and toe the line, János," Zoli finally answered, his words now seething. "Be your father's obedient slave. And when it comes time for the circus to pack up and leave this place, then we'll see if you'll come to me regretting your decision. Asking me to help you stay. And because I am your brother, I will help you. I just hope it isn't too late."

Jonas stood there a moment, glaring. He did want to stay, but it was a foolish dream. And it means taking risks that he wasn't prepared to take. Finally, after Zoli's words had a chance to sink in, Jonas returned to his work. The packing was almost complete.

"Perhaps you could learn something from Artúr," Zoli added — a little extra prod to get on his friend's nerves. "He keeps asking me to let him come on the hunt."

"He can't. My father will look the other way to me disappearing, but not Artúr."

"Artúr is on the verge of being a man. He embraces his … independence."

Jonas shot his friend a look. The comparison was not at all appreciated, and he was now pushing the boundaries of their friendship.

"I'll let you finish up here," Zoli said. "I have a few more things to attend." He turned away and walked out of the shed.

"You'll never convince me to embrace the curse," Jonas said low, under his breath.

Zoli half-turned, smiling mischievously at his friend. "It's only a curse if you can't control it, my brother."

"Get out," Jonas commanded.

Zoli's smile widened and he turned and disappeared into the morning sun.

[Jonas Drava]

12 hours, 52 minutes until sundown

The morning sun was just beginning to stream into Onyx's room at The Badger as Jonas awoke in her bed. He laid there on his back, feeling completely at peace. The last few days couldn't have gone better for him or for them as a couple. The impromptu hunt was virtually flawless. Time with her away from diversion or responsibility. A chance for her to meet and get to know his closest friends — and for them to meet her. They accepted her more quickly than he'd expected, and more fully than he could have dreamed. And she equated herself well, trading barbs with Zoli as expertly as she took down a pig for their breakfast yesterday morning. She was a capable hunter, an entertaining storyteller, and an exquisite lover.

She was perfect.

He glanced down at her now, curled into his side with her arm and leg thrown over him possessively. She felt warm and soft. She smelled good. Her hair was a tangle but her face appeared contended. She looked as happy as he felt.

With Onyx, Jonas felt like he could be himself. As he looked upon her sleeping form, he understood that he felt something. He wasn't sure if it was love, but it was something intense and primal. He needed her. He didn't want to be away from her. The rush that he felt while being with her was a feeling he never wanted to let go of. She was a drug to him.

He silently cursed the moon. He wanted nothing more than to spend the day with her. To explore the feelings he had for her. 

But not today. Any day but today. He had to go.

He nudged her slightly, trying to get her move just enough so that he could slip out from under him. Only it had the opposite effect — she sidled even tighter against him. He sighed, but couldn't help smile. She'd claimed her man and wasn't going to let him go. There are worse problems to have.

He nudged her again, and she opened her eyes. At first her expression was drowsy, but she smiled when she saw him and nibbled a greeting to his chest and shoulder.

"Good morning," he whispered softly.

She responded with a happy grunt.

"You have to let me up," he said.

She shook her head against him.

"Go back to sleep, Onyx," he tried again. "You can sleep in today."

Again she tightened her grip. 

He squirmed a bit, trying to slide out from under her arm and leg. Reluctantly her arm released him, but her fingers danced over chest. "Stay here with me," she murmured against him. "Let's spend all day in bed."

Jonas looked her over and sighed. He wanted to. Gods he wanted to. But he couldn't. Not today.

"I'm sorry, Onyx, I have to go. If it was any other day, I would stay. But today is the full moon, and the clan is having a festival. Attendance is mandatory."

She glanced up at him, still half asleep but not showing any signs of anger for being awake at this hour. "Bring me with you. I want to see."

He smiled. "I wish I could. But the festival is very personal. Outsiders are not allowed to come."

She grumbled, laying her head on his chest. "Fine, leave me here," she said dramatically. "I'll manage somehow."

He nudged her in retaliation for the sarcasm, but took the opportunity to slip out from under her. She slumped face forward where he once laid as he sat up on the edge of the bed, cradling his face in his hands. He needed to get a hold of himself. Get it together. He was certain that if she had any idea how hung up he was on her, she'd mock him and possibly kick his ass. Women like their men to be a little more distant, more aloof. Yes, he'd have to try that.

He stood up and stretched towards the ceiling. Maybe a cold shower would get her off his mind. Yes, that was the solution.

* * *

12 hours, 27 minutes until sundown

Life at the circus was already in full swing as the clan prepared for the full moon festival. Anatoly stood inside the large tent, watching solemnly as his people went about their various tasks. 

Viktor approached from behind, placing a hand on the larger man's shoulder. Anatoly did not look, but he nodded in greeting.

"Look at the boy," Viktor said, bowing his head towards Emil Tobin, who was helping set up torches around the perimeter of the ring. "He takes to his duties well. He shall be a fine addition to the clan."

Anatoly nodded. It would be the boy's first festival as an adult. So far every indication was that he was properly handling the transition into manhood. It didn't always go so well.

"Last night I made the first payment to our new 'informant,'" Viktor continued, lowering his voice. "His name is Bryan Toliver and he has already been deputized for tonight's hunt."

Anatoly showed no sign of reaction as he considered his partner's words. 

"Eastwood tells me that they have a suspect. That today they will arrest a possible co-conspirator."

To that, Anatoly turned. "What kind of conspirator?"

"I don't know yet, but I should have that information soon." Viktor paused, not wanting to attack his friend but also needing to do his job. "It makes sense, Anatoly. I warned you that our people were getting careless. That this place is dangerous. If someone from here is feeding ideas… making dangerous suggestions…"

Anatoly waived a hand dismissively, turning back towards the activity in the tent. "I do not want your theories and suspicions, Viktor," he chastised. "I want facts and names."

Viktor nodded, accepting the criticism sagely. "On that subject, I think it would be best if I went into the city tonight. I should see what is happening for myself."

Anatoly narrowed his eyes, folding his arms over his barrel of a chest. "That is not done. Not during the festival."

"How can I properly investigate something that only happens during the festival if you insist that I stay here during the full moon?"

Again Anatoly turned towards his friend, his expression a scowl. "It is not done."

"These are different times, Anatoly," Viktor pressed. "They require different measures."

The two men stared into each others' eyes for several long moments before Anatoly finally relented, nodding his head and looking down. 

"Very well. I will tell the others that you are too sick to lead your circle and went home early."

"Thank you, Anatoly," Viktor said, placing a hand on the elder's arm.

"If you leave the circus tonight, you must take precautions," Anatoly continued.

Viktor nodded, producing a small box from inside his cloak. His massive hands opened the box to reveal a tiny white pill.

Anatoly looked up, his eyes again meeting with his friend's. A flash of sadness passed over Anatoly's usually-unreadable expression. Finally he nodded, and Viktor slipped the box back into his cloak.

The two men turned to look back into the tent, Viktor now moving to stand next to Anatoly.

"What of Mihály?" Viktor asked. "What will you tell him?"

"Nothing," Anatoly answered quickly, shaking his head. "He must never know what we are doing. What we suspect."

"So you will bear the burden for your son but not his?" Viktor's tone was caring, not harsh.

"I bear the burden for this entire clan," Anatoly responded. "Mihály does not need to know until we are certain."

Viktor nodded. "As you wish."

The two elders said nothing more, instead standing in silence to watch their clan work.

* * *

11 hours, 19 minutes until sundown

Jonas Drava breezed his way through RhyDin city, jogging along the road that would eventually lead him to the outskirts of town and back to the circus. His face was still plastered with a seemingly-permanent smile.

Perhaps it was just endorphins or adrenaline. He wasn't sure what his feelings for Onyx meant, other than that he didn't want to leave RhyDin.

Last night he told her that he was hoping she'd ask him to stay, while simultaneously acknowledging that she shouldn't. She respected his decision. He was fairly certain she wanted him to stay. That she wouldn't reject him if their relationship suddenly had the potential to be more than a fling. But he was glad that they needn't broach that subject. At least, not yet.

As he jogged past The Outback, he exchanged waives with a familiar serving boy who was shaking out one of the bar mats. His love of RhyDin was more than just his feelings for Onyx, even though she was the first thing on his mind right now. Stepping into the ring made him feel alive like no place else. The arenas, the tournaments, the opponents from every corner of the multiverse — it was all food to his soul. In only two months he found that he was accepted by the people here. They no longer saw him as a tramp gypsy. He could be one of them.

But the desire to stay here in RhyDin was foolish. How could he give up his family? His father. His brother. His cousins. Even his sister. Certainly he'd regret losing them. Was he contemplating making the biggest mistake of his life over a woman and a silly sport?

Then there was the curse. That should have been the end of any consideration. He couldn't leave the circus even if he wanted to. He couldn't be alone with his curse. Despite everything that Zoli said, it wasn't something that could be managed alone. It was one of the core tenets of the clan's belief system. Zoli was a fool to even consider it.

Jonas paused, realizing that in his day-dreaming he'd taken a wrong turn. He was no longer on the road home. He was now traversing a road on the edge of the downtown area. He stopped across the street from a tiny shop, stretching up against a lamp post. Tabetha's Magic and Curios. 

This was the woman Zoli was working with to cure him. To give him control over the curse.

Jonas wasn't sure how he'd ended up here. It was out of the way. He didn't want to come here — even after Zoli repeatedly invited him. He didn't believe it was possible to gain dominance over the curse. Better men than Zoltán Németh had tried and failed — at the cost of lives.

Innocent lives.

Jonas saw movement inside the shop. It was early, but she was there. All he had to do was go inside and talk to her. Let her try to convince him. If she was full of shit, he could leave and get to the festival.

No. Not like this. It wasn't meant to be.

He turned away from the shop and continued his jog out of town.

He was cursed, and he had no intention of surrendering to the beast inside.

* * *

8 hours, 8 minutes until sundown

The Festival of the Full Moon was nearly ready to begin. The circus was closed to outsiders, and booths that normally featured stupid games of skill or chance were taken over by the various families within the clan. They would feature offerings according to each family's specialty — food from the hunters and cooks (Willem's booth was a favorite), pastries and desserts from bakers, and toys or knick-knacks for the children. Jonas and Zoli usually collaborated on a booth where they'd use their skills at carpentry to build small toys and figurines. He'd also help his sister Julia build musical instruments for her booth — mostly drums and tiny guitars. Afterwards the entire clan would gather in the big tent and form circles, with the older clan members telling stories of home.

The festival was a good time for the clan. It brought them together as a unit and helped them get through what was traditionally a difficult day. A day that had once brought great tragedy. A day that could still potentially bring great tragedy.

It wasn't yet time to start the festival, however, and when the people were not preparing their booths, they stood in lines. Thanks to his morning escapades and subsequent jog (and detour), Jonas was late and brought up the rear of the line. He chatted with Emil, who was a bit nervous about receiving his first shot. Jonas continued his role as a mentor to the boy, explaining that it wouldn't be so bad.

"I don't like needles," Emil warned, repeating a discussion they'd had one month previous.

Jonas nodded. "I didn't like them either. You get used to it. It won't hurt for more than a few seconds."

Emil tried to put on a brave face. He was a male teenager and didn't want to look weak. Jonas smiles and put a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder.

Today Zoli was apparently helping out with administering the shots. He nodded to Jonas before smiling at Emil. "Hey there, buddy. Are you ready?"

Emil blanched as he saw Zoli preparing the needle. He took a step back, bumping into Jonas behind him in line.

Jonas spun the boy around and crouched down to his height. "Emil, listen to me," he commanded, although he lowered his voice discreetly. "Do you remember how horrible it was to change?"

The boy nodded.

"Do you remember what it felt like to lost control?"

"Yes," came a meek response.

"It was terrible. You became a monster. You'd have killed your parents if you could have. You'd have killed us all."

Emil lowered his head, looking down at Jonas' shoes. Shame crossed over his face.

"The pain of the needle is nothing compared to the horror of the curse. You can do this."

Emil looked back up and their eyes met. Jonas nodded confidently. 

Emil turned towards Zoli, who was waiting patiently. He took two steps forward and stuck out his arm. Jonas stood nearby, supportively.

Zoli wrapped a string around the boy's arm and pulled it tight. He then jabbed the needle firmly into Emil's forearm.

Emil winced at the pain, looking away. Zoli pulled the plunger back a bit to draw in some of the boy's blood before pushing it down — dispensing the medicine into his arm. It was all over in a matter of seconds.

Soon the needle was removed and discarded, and the string untied. Zoli applied a small bandage and Jonas showed Emil how to pump his arm to restart the blood flow.

"Well done, Emil," Mihály said cheerfully as he approached. "That was much better than my first time."

Zoli nodded respectfully to his father. Jonas patted Emil on the back. 

"There's a game starting up on the other side of the tent with some boys your age and a bit older," Mihály continued. “Why don't you go meet them."

Emil glanced up at Zoli and Jonas for permission. "You're done here, go ahead," Jonas answered with a nod and Emil walked off, massaging the sore spot on his arm.

Last in line, Jonas rolled up the sleeve of his shirt while Zoli prepared his needle. 

"Zoltán," Mihály said, "I've just received word that Viktor is ill and may not be able to lead his circle tonight."

Zoli jabbed the needle into Jonas' arm a little harder than he normally would. The friendly rivalry between the two men necessitated such childish acts.

"I suggested to Anatoly that you should fill in tonight," Mihály continued. "What do you think?"

Zoli hid his panic well. Jonas knew he had no intention of being in tonight's circle, let alone leading one. But Jonas kept his mouth shut, unwilling to betray his best friend.

"But father," Zoli answered, "I don't know any of the old stories."

Mihály placed a hand on his son's shoulder. Both men were strong and well-built, although Zoli was a bit taller. "You've heard the same stories many times, son," he answered with a laugh. "But leading the circle doesn't mean having to tell the stories, it just means organizing things. Knowing who to call on."

"Father, I really don't want to," Zoli answered, squirming just a bit. He untied the string from Jonas' shoulder and discarded the needle as Jonas stretched and pumped his fist.

"Zoltán, it is a great honor to even be asked. Normally someone so young would not have this opportunity."

Zoli closed up the box of medicine and shook his head. "I am sorry, father, but no. I do not want to do it."

Mihály exchanged glances with Jonas. The look of disapproval was palpable — it was the same look that Jonas frequently got from his father.

"As you wish, son," Mihály finally relented. "The choice is yours."

Zoli jerked his head in Jonas' direction. "We need to finish setting up our booth. Some of the toys need a final sanding."

Mihály's shoulders dropped a bit. "Very well. Go."

Zoli and Jonas turned away from the elder and walked towards their booth. Neither said nothing. They both knew the truth.

* * *

4 hours, 19 minutes until sundown

Sir Patrick Gould the game warden marched his way through the streets at the head of a contingent of men and women — deputized in the hunt for the werewolf that had terrorized RhyDin city for two previous full moons. Now that he knew attacks would only come once per month, he wasn't taking any chances. With the financial support of the local business community who'd hired him, he now had an army of thirty people he'd station around the city. Equipped with radios and armed with high powered rifles, he was hopeful that he'd be able to respond quickly to reports of an attack. With a bit of luck, he'd end the werewolf menace tonight before anyone else got hurt.

But this particular mission into the city was a preemptive strike. He had four of his deputies with him along with Andrew Elston, liaison to his patrons. It was somewhat unclear from his contract whether he had the right to arrest people, but law and order in RhyDin was a somewhat fluid concept. The RhyDin Business Council was fully behind stopping this menace before it started to scare off customers — or hurt any more rich business owners — and that meant almost unlimited resources were at Sir Patrick's disposal.

The game warden stepped up to one tiny shop and pounded on the door with his fist. His deputies stood guard nearby, making sure no one caused any trouble.

After a few moments, the door swung open. The occupant of the shop was an older woman, perhaps in her early-60s. She appeared somewhat frail and was wearing a simple dress that time forgot.

"Tabetha Clarke?" Sir Patrick asked.

The woman glanced around, wary of the armed party camped outside her door. "Who are you? What is this?"

"Step aside. We have authorization from the Business Council to search your shop."

She smirked at the wiry man. "I'm not part of the Council. My shop is independent.”

"Step aside," Sir Patrick again commanded. His deputies gathered closely, stoney resolution on their faces.

Tabetha reluctantly allowed the people to enter her shop and they crowded inside. The tiny storefront featured a variety of mystical talismans and idols of interest to people practicing magic. Her specialty seemed to be shamanism and animal spirits, and her walls were adorned with pantings of beasts and shapeshifters. As his deputies stood guard, Sir Patrick searched the shelves and immediately began collecting various objects that he found questionable. Elston took interest in only one object — among a canister full of umbrellas near the door he found a silver-headed cane forged into the shape of a wolf.

Sir Patrick beckoned one of his men over and began dumping items into a large canvas bag. Tabetha protested but was blocked by another deputy.

"You have no right to tear apart my shop," she exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

"These objects are all icons and talismans related to lycanthropy," Sir Patrick answered pointedly. "Do you want to tell us about your interest in werewolves?"

Tabetha seemed surprised, but she kept her cool. "My customers have interests in many forms of magic. Animal control and shapeshifting is very common and is not illegal in RhyDin."

"No, but murder and attempted murder is," Sir Patrick shot back. "There's a killer beast on the loose here in RhyDin and you've recently been seen purchasing new objects related exclusively to werewolves."

"I disagree with your assessment," Tabetha responded, still sticking with her explanation. "The objects you put in that bag can be used in many kinds of magic. All legal."

Sir Patrick stood toe-to-toe with the old woman. "Tell us the identity of the werewolf. Help us to save lives before he kills again."

Tabetha shook her head defiantly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The game warden narrowed his eyes. To back down now would be a sign of weakness before his patron. And he was convinced from a month's research that she was the one helping shelter the werewolf. She was the co-conspirator."

"Take her away," Sir Patrick finally commanded. Two deputies stepped forward and grabbed each of her arms.

"This is outrageous!" she again protested. "You have no proof that I've done anything wrong."

"Perhaps," Sir Patrick conceded. "But I'm not taking any chances. Not during the full moon."

The game warden gestured to his deputies to take her away but she jerked away from them. "What if doing this puts people at risk?" she semi-pleaded. "I'm an expert in these things, maybe I can help you."

Sir Patrick narrowed his eyes. "Give me a name. Then we can talk."

Tabetha glanced around at her surroundings. The resolute face of Andrew Elston and the so-called deputies.

"Well?"

"I don't know anything and I want a lawyer."

Sir Patrick shook his head, gesturing for his deputies to march her out of the shop. Elston followed behind as the group emerged back into the afternoon light.

"I want guards on this store. If she is working with the werewolf, perhaps he'll come by." He gestured to two of his deputies, "Brooks and Toliver. Stay here. Call out on the radio if you see anything suspicious."

"Yes, sir," Brooks responded. The two deputies went back inside the shop and closed the door.

"You're making a very big mistake," Tabetha warned. "I should be here."

Sir Patrick turned to the old woman, his eyes meeting hers with a challenge. "All you have to do is name the name. Otherwise you'll rot in jail."

"There are dark powers at work in this city. You are a fool to try to interfere."

The game warden pursed her lips. "Take her away. Lock her up in the darkest dungeon you can find."

* * *

2 hours, 12 minutes until sundown

Young children of the clan gathered around the booth hosted by Jonas and Zoli, each in turn selecting a small wooden toy or craft the two men had built for them. Off-key music from Julia's booth next door filled the air, and the mood in the circus was generally positive. Older members of the clan, who'd seen the terror of years past, now patrolled solemnly past happy children and youths, guarding against carelessness. 

"Do you really think your father won't notice that you're not at the gathering tonight?" Jonas asked, keeping his voice down.

"He didn't notice last month. Or the month before."

"You've been lucky. Your solution is no better than a kid claiming he's at a friend's house when he's actually out stealing liquor. Except in this case, the 'friend's house' is about two hundred feet across the same tent."

"Soon it won't matter. Tabetha believes that tonight is the final test. That I won't succumb to the curse. Tonight I will go to the Red Dragon Inn and celebrate with my human brothers."

"And tomorrow?"

Zoli smiled, his expression somewhat menacing. "Tomorrow I will be a god among men. If I can be human during the full moon, I can do the opposite the rest of the month."

Jonas shook his head. The line of children was now thinning out, and soon it would be time to report to the big tent.

"Earlier I heard your father saying that this would be the last festival here in RhyDin. We'll pack up the circus in a matter of weeks."

Jonas nodded. "I know."

"I know I was an ass to Onyx, and for that I apologize," Zoli offered, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I am happy for you brother, truly."

Jonas nodded, fidgeting with a wooden cart. It was supposed to have moving wheels but something was wrong with the axle.

"Do you love her?"

Jonas narrowed his eyes, his focus still on the toy. "I don't know."

"Can you figure it out in three weeks? Because that's all you have left."

Jonas merely shook his head, waiving off his friend's touch. He was still happy and didn't want to be reminded of the ticking clock.

Zoli continued passing out toys and figurines until finally they were alone at the booth. He turned to Jonas and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look up.

"Come with me tonight, Jonas. Right now, come with me to Tabetha's shop. She can help you as she's helped me. She can save us both from this life."

Jonas threw down the toy and pushed his friend. "Stop it, Zoltán. How many times must I tell you that I'm not interested? You will never convince me not to see us as what we are — cursed."

Zoli stepped back into his friend's face, speaking aggressively. "Why do we have to be cursed, János? Why can't we simply be better than the rest of humanity? We just need a little adjustment so that we can control it. Suddenly a curse becomes a boon."

Jonas seethed into his friend's face, "Even if I were to decide to stay here, I wouldn't give in to the curse. I'd manage it."

Zoli laughed sarcastically. "You're going to stick a needle in your arm every month for the rest of your life just to deny yourself your true nature? That sounds like a fantastic idea, János.

Again Jonas pushes his friend, who crashed into the side of the booth. Julia yelled a protest from next door.

Zoli did not retaliate. He straightened up, brushing the dust from his clothes. He then smiled sickly at his friend. His expression was malicious and knowing. Something was wrong.

"Well, my brother, I look forward to seeing just how you 'manage' it. Because tonight you're going to have to."

"What do you mean?" Jonas asked, anger still brimming inside of him.

"The shot I gave you this afternoon. It was a dud."

There was a long pause as the two men stared at each other. The look of anger in Jonas' eyes gave way to panic.

"For the first time in fifteen years, my friend, you shall know your true nature. Tonight."

"What have you done?" Jonas hissed.

"What I should have done two months ago, brother," Zoli answered, marching back into his friend's face. "Now you have no choice but to come with me to Tabetha."

Jonas grabbed Zoli by the collar and shook him. "Are you insane!? Have you lost your mind!?" he exclaimed.

"An entire people sticking needles in their arms every month to rob themselves of their destiny. That is insane, brother. I've released you from that burden. Tabetha will show you. You can be a wolf among sheep, János. You can be free of these chains."

Jonas punched his best friend in the face, hard, sending him flying into the table at the front of the booth. The table collapsed under his weight and Zoli crashed to the ground. Jonas jumped on top of him and began pounding him with his fists, bloodying his nose and jaw. Blood spattered onto Jonas' face but he did not relent. Zoli barely resisted, seeming to take pleasure in seeing Jonas get aggressive.

Several nearby clan members ran forward to help but Zoli waived them off. "Go away!" he shouted. "Just two brothers settling a friendly score."

Hesitantly the clan members backed off, eventually turning away. Fights between the two men were not uncommon, and this didn't seem to anyone watching to be unusual. 

Zoli again stood and brushed himself off. Blood streamed from his face but he didn't show any indication of pain. Instead, he smiled.

"How could you do this to me?" Jonas asked, now showing a bit of hurt.

"Don't you see, Jonas? I have released you. Now you have no excuse not to be who you are. No excuse to leave here. You can be with your woman. You can box in The Outback. The whole of RhyDin will bow down before you. Claim your birthright."

Jonas shook his head. He seemed to be on the verge of tears.

Zoli extended an arm. "Come with me. Time is running out. Less than two hours to sundown."

Jonas stepped out of the booth, backing away from his friend. People were now streaming towards the large tent and no one paid them any attention.

"Where are you going?" Zoli asked with concern. "You have no choice, brother. You have to come with me."

"I will not," Jonas answered defiantly.

"Then where will you go?"

There was only one place he could go. Only one person who would accept the beast. 

Zoli read his friend's mind and he shook his head, charging forward. "You can't go to her. You can't bring this on Onyx. Not until you're mastered your body."

Jonas turned and walked away from the confrontation.

"You'll kill her! Is that what you want?"

Jonas' pace turned into a flat run and he left the perimeter of the circus. For the first time since his clan left home, Jonas wouldn't be there for a festival. 

Zoli paused, watching his friend run off. A growl rumbled from his chest. He wanted to chase after, but there wasn't time. He needed to get to Tabetha. He would have to deal with the consequences on the other side. Calmly he glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and slipped out of the camp.

Moments later, the door to a nearby cabin opened and Viktor stepped out. His expression was grave. He slipped a hand into his cloak to check for the presence of the small box. As his hand closed around it, he walked purposefully out of the camp.

* * *

1 hour, 7 minutes until sundown

Jonas was out of breath by the time he arrived back at The Badger. He was panting, barely able to breathe, and soaked with sweat. The run here was intense and time-consuming, but he couldn't risk a cab. Part of him hoped that he would figure out a solution to his problem before he arrived here, but no thought came. He was well aware of the risks. He had brought death to Onyx's very door.

But there was no other option. Nowhere else to go.

He pounded on the door hard, then tried to get control of his breath while he waited. It was entirely possible she wouldn't even be here, which would doom him. There was no time to get anywhere else and still take the necessary steps.

Mercifully (perhaps) the door swung open. Onyx smiled when she saw him, but her expression quickly changed to confusion and concern. He was a mess — out of breath, his skin coated with sweat, his clothes and face splattered with blood. Despite that, she invited him inside and he strode quickly into the room.

"What is it, Jonas?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

Jonas paced the floor of her room, trying to figure out how to tell her. During his run he'd thought about everything except what he'd actually say. Now his mind was blank.

"Talk to me, Jonas," she insisted. 

He finally stopped pacing turning towards her and spreading his arms out to his side. "I'm in trouble, Onyx. And I need your help."

* * *

1 hour, 18 minutes after sundown

Leslie Brooks and Bryan Toliver sat quietly inside Tabetha's shop, playing various card games on top of an old rain barrel carved with various druidic symbols, a nearby desk lamp providing the only illumination. No one actually expected a vicious werewolf to come knocking at Tabetha's door, and they felt cheated out of their bonus (fifty gold for sighting the werewolf, one hundred for injuring it, and five hundred gold pieces to the person who actually kills it). Then again, this was probably one of the safer places to be in the city, so they considered the possibility that they had lucked out. Certainly it was better than standing a guard post in an alley opposite the Red Dragon Inn and getting jumped from the shadows.

For Toliver there was some annoyance that his posting to this shop meant he wouldn't be able to provide much information to the strange gypsy who'd hired him as an 'informant.' But he had his down payment and it would be enough to pay off this month's bar bill.

It was just before eight o'clock. They weren't exactly sure when the werewolf would turn, but both of the previous attacks were in the dead of night — near or just past midnight. The probably wouldn't be relieved until dawn the next morning. It looked as though they'd have a very long, very boring night. 

Finishing off a hand, Toliver got up to stretch his legs. He slung his rifle around his shoulders and lapped the inside of the tiny shop. Glancing out the front windows, he saw nothing of interest. This part of the city, being just outside the downtown perimeter, was generally pretty slow at night.

"I'm going to get some fresh air," Toliver said.

"Want me to come with?" Brooks asked. She sipped a bit from her flask — warmth to get her through the night.

"Nah. I'm not going far."

"Better not," she warned. "Sir Patrick claims the werewolf was coming here for treatments."

Toliver unlatched the door and swung it open, the cold fall air rushing inside. "That's nonsense. What kind of self-respecting werewolf would shop at a hole like this?"

Brooks merely laughed.

Toliver slipped a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt and lit one, slipping it between his dry lips for a puff. He was a naturally high-strung guy, and nicotine helped calm his nerves. Normally he worked as an armed security guard at the spaceport, and the extra money from the werewolf hunt plus the so-called 'informant' gig would help him pay off his bills.

As the tip of the cigarette burned bright with another drag, Toliver momentarily thought he saw movement across the street. But then nothing — probably just his imagination.

He tossed the half-smoked cigarette out onto the street and turned to re-enter the shop. That's when he heard it.

The scratching sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. But it sounded otherworldly. It sounded dangerous.

Without saying anything, Toliver slung the rifle down off his shoulder. Carefully he slid off the safety before spinning around back towards the street.

It was too late. He didn't have time to get his finger around the trigger before the massive beast hurled itself against him and crushed him against the interior wall of the shop, breaking most of the bones in his body in a single crash. Death was instantaneous.

Brooks jumped up in a panic, accidentally knocking over the lamp and plunging the room into darkness. She wasn't able to see her rifle but she drew the pistol holstered on her belt. She heard a growl and fired blindly into the void. Everything around her began crashing — shelves were knocked over, glass broken. The store was being torn apart and she still couldn't see anything.

Finally realizing the futility and danger of being inside, Brooks raced out of the shop, jumping over Toliver's lifeless corpse and into the street beyond. The beast was hot on her heels, snarling viciously. Once she put some distance between herself and the shop she spun around, her gun ready to fire.

Only the beast was much faster. With one swipe of its massive claws it knocked the gun out of her hands, shredding both of her forearms. She cried out in pain, falling backwards onto the street. With the last of her remaining strength, Brooks tried to crawl away. The beast paused, towering over her and sniffing the air.

Finally the beast grabbed onto one of Brooks' legs with his claws, sinking them into the fleshy part of her calf. She again screamed and then passed out as the creature dragged her back inside the shop.

Moments later, a mighty howl emanated from inside Tabetha's shop. 

Toliver's radio, still attached to his belt, crackled with the voice of Sir Patrick asking if anyone heard something.

* * *

1 hour, 32 minutes after sundown

By the time Sir Patrick Gould, Andrew Elston, and the deputies arrived at Tabetha's shop, there was no sign of the beast. A crowd of frightened onlookers was beginning to gather, pointing and talking in hushed tones about the gruesome trail of blood leading from the street into the store.

Sir Patrick knelt down beside the crushed and eviscerated corpse of Bryan Toliver. His face was frozen in a peaceful expression — the poor guy never knew what hit him.

Inside the shop, destroyed by the beast's rampage, the scene was much more horrifying. They would need dental records to identify what was left of Leslie Brooks.

The beast was more confident now, Sir Patrick explained to Elston. The attack on the Harrolds was awkward and mistake-prone. Holger Kelso was a sneak attack in the dark. But this time, the beast stalked and killed two armed guards with some professional experience. All in a matter of minutes.

"What do we do now?" Elston asked.

"I still believe that Tabetha Clarke has the answers," Sir Patrick responded. "She knows the identity of the beast."

"How do we get her to help us?"

"Bring her here," Sir Patrick commanded.

Meanwhile in the crowd, an older man wrapped in a cloak watched the scene of the investigation dispassionately. One hand calmly stroked the long gray beard that ran down the front of his broad chest, the other fingered a small box inside his pocket.

[Jonas Drava]

The master carpenter, Anatoly Ranevsky Dráva, sat at the workbench in his modest cabin, peering through glasses that helped improve his decaying vision. His massive fingers held a tiny wooden figure of a soldier that he was in the final stages of carving with a small knife. Despite the responsibilities of being the leader of his clan, Anatoly still found time to carve various figures and toys that would be sold at the circus' booths and sometimes given away to local children. A line of similar figurines marched along the length of his workbench, off to an unknown battle. They were all in various stages of his work — some recently painted and now drying, others still needing to be painted, the rest still being carved. Anatoly was under a certain amount of pressure to finish up his current batch as the circus would be leaving soon, and he didn't want to have to pack up unfinished work.

Anatoly did not react when the knock came at his door and his good friend Viktor László entered. The large man paused in the doorway and glanced at the artistry displayed on the workbench. Viktor did not have any artistic skills and found Anatoly's pursuits to be a waste of time. Of course, Viktor was perfectly capable of wasting time in his own way — which usually involved reading books about military strategy written in ages past in far-away worlds.

Viktor paused a moment, but as it became clear that Anatoly was not going to stop what he was doing, he launched into his topic.

"Üther and Brock just returned from the city. They located János at the Red Dragon Inn, just as we suspected." Viktor paused, taking a breath. "Unfortunately, your son was able to elude capture."

"Are they harmed?"

"Üther and Brock?"

Anatoly nodded, still not taking his eyes off of his work.

"There was a bit of a … scuffle. They gave as good as they took."

Normally someone might feel uncomfortable telling a father that his son was involved in a violent altercation, but not here. After all, Anatoly ordered the retrieval knowing full well how it could go.

"I am disappointed, Viktor," came Anatoly's only response.

"Shall I order the boys to find him again?"

Anatoly paused and then shook his head. "He will come in on his own. We merely needed to remind him that it was time."

"I see," Viktor responded. Anatoly's relationship with his son was complicated and others in the clan did not always understand how and why they took the actions they took.

"What about Zoltán?"

"So far I have been unable to locate him."

"Then that should be your priority, Viktor," Anatoly said, finally turning on his stool to face the other elder. "We cannot have the son of an elder blowing in the wind like this. Not after everything that happened."

Viktor nodded. "I will redouble my efforts."

"Have you spoken with Mihály?"

Again Viktor nodded. "He is angry. He blames you for not getting him involved sooner. He drinks everything he can get his hands on."

"I will speak to him," Anatoly said. "We can't risk him acting rashly."

"My children are long gone, brother," Viktor observed solemnly. "I can't claim to know the anguish that you and Mihály are going through. But as our leaders, you must act swiftly and decisively. One or both of your sons have violated our most sacred law. There must be consequences. There must be action."

Anatoly rose to his commanding height, slipping the spectacles off his nose. "I am aware of my duties, Viktor. Find the boy."

Viktor nodded respectfully.

"In the meantime, please finalize preparations for our departure. Once we have both János and Zoltán back, we will leave this wretched land."

"Already in-progress. All nonessential supplies are being packed away and everyone knows to finish up their responsibilities."

Anatoly nodded, turning back to his workbench. "Thank you, Viktor."

The elder paused, looking at his friend. "I watched them fight. I want to believe that your son was not responsible for what happened to him."

Anatoly shook his head. "We are all responsible. I refuse to be a victim to the curse."

"That's the kind of talk I hear from Zoltán," Viktor answered after a pause.

"There's a difference between taking responsibility for our true nature and embracing it."

Viktor nodded, turned, and left the cabin. Anatoly continued his work.

* * *

Tabetha Clarke sat quietly in her seat, regarding the two men skeptically as they loomed over her. She had been taken to an undisclosed location and was being held prisoner in a small nondescript room. The neon lights hanging from the ceiling were unnecessarily bright. The only other features of the room were a simple metal chair and table — both bolted to the floor, and a temporary cot against one wall where she slept. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all otherwise undecorated.

As Sir Patrick entered, he took time to hang his gun belt from a hook on the plain metal door. She was no threat to him and his action was plainly meant to intimidate her. The game warden was dressed in his trademark khaki pants and shirt as if he'd just come off safari.

Andrew Elston also participated in the "interrogation," although he was clearly not up to the task. He leaned up against the wall, despite the layer of dust that quickly deposited onto his simple business suit, watching to make sure that his master's interests were being served.

Not that Sir Patrick was in his element either. Clearly his expertise was with animals, not people. But at this early stage, the RhyDin Business Council wasn't interested in paying for a private investigator to conduct the interrogation. Sir Patrick was costing them a pretty penny and they figured he could handle it.

Tabetha was not easily intimidated. As a master practitioner of the dark arts, she found these men's methods simplistic and amateurish. Still, she didn't exactly relish being held prisoner indefinitely over a man she hardly knew.

"Good morning, Ms. Clarke," Sir Patrick greeted.

"You've held me here for two days without letting me call my attorney," Tabetha snapped, going right for it. "I demand that you give me access to a phone."

"Show me the law that entitles you to an attorney, Ms. Clarke," Sir Patrick responded, "and we'll consider it. Otherwise, you're stuck with me."

Tabetha narrowed her eyes.

"You know why we're all here. Our city is being ravaged by a homicidal werewolf. We think you know who he is. Tell us, and you get to go home."

"I have nothing to say to you," Tabetha responded coldly, folding her hands on the table and looking straight ahead — past both men.

Elston glanced at Sir Patrick. The warden did not flinch.

"I'm sorry to say that shortly after we picked you up, your shop was destroyed. I suspect it's going to be a complete write-off."

Tabetha showed no reaction.

"Two innocent people lost their lives in your shop, Ms. Clarke. Two of my deputies. You met them briefly when we came and retrieved you."

Still nothing.

Sir Patrick turned briefly to Elston, who handed over a folder. The game warden flipped open the folder and produced several photos — glancing at them as he spoke.

"Bryan Toliver was twenty-eight years old," Sir Patrick continued, producing a copy of his driver's license photo and setting it down on the table. "He had a bachelor's degree in english literature and worked at the Star's End Spaceport as a security guard. His parents own a convenience store a half a kilometer down the same street as your shop. You've probably been in there and met them."

Sir Patrick produced a photo of Toliver's body, crushed to death against the wall of Tabetha's shop. He set it down on the table where she'd be forced to look. And she did look.

"We think his death was instantaneous. He probably didn't suffer."

Tabetha licked her lips. She'd seen death before. But it was still hard for her. She reminded herself that this boy wouldn't have died had they not come for her.

"Leslie Brooks, on the other hand, didn't have it as easy." He set down a copy of her student ID at RhyDin University. "Twenty-three years old, attending school for a master's degree in criminal psychology. She hoped to be a profiler hunting serial killers. Instead, she became the victim of RhyDin's latest serial killer. Almost ironic."

Sir Patrick set down three photos of the scene inside Tabetha's shot. Bits and pieces of Brooks were in each shot. None recognizable as the smiling young woman in the ID photo.

Nausea took over Tabetha's stomach. She looked away from the gruesome photos. Elston also cringed in discomfort, focusing his eyes on Sir Patrick.

"She was an innocent woman who volunteered to help save her city from a beast that was terrorizing its inhabitants. She died in your shop because you refused to identify the creature you were helping. We had to use dental records to identify what was left of her."

Tabetha's voice was low, her throat strained. "You don't know who did this. What did this." She looked up at Sir Patrick, eyes angry. "How dare you blame me?"

The game warden sighed, producing another set of photos and adding them to the mosaic on the table surface. "Holger Kelso, a local salesman. Had his throat torn out just down the street from the Red Dragon Inn. Left behind a widow and two step children."

"None of this is on me," Tabetha protested.

"Armin and Judith Harrold," Sir Patrick continued, producing more photos. "The first victims. Here's a good shot of the scar on Armin's chest from where he was mauled. They were able to save most of Judith's upper-arm, but she lost everything below the elbow. Her hand and forearm were completely shredded."

Tabetha looked down at the collage. Blood and flesh and violence. She told herself not to look but she couldn't help it.

"There are werewolves in RhyDin," Sir Patrick admitted. "I'm friends with some of them. They keep themselves under control. These attacks are from someone who doesn't know the rules. Doesn't know how to avoid rampaging like a hooligan with claws. We have a responsibility to take action."

Tabetha pushed the photos away, again folding her hands.

"Are you willing to give your life for a monster? Is he worth that kind of loyalty?"

"Less than four weeks until the next full moon," Elston added, breaking his silence. "He's gone from mere injuries to one murder to two murders. How many will die next time?"

"And who knows how many other victims simply haven't been found," Sir Patrick continued.

"He's from the circus," Tabetha murmured softly. "The one on the outskirts of town. He came to me shortly after they arrived. He wanted to control his transformations."

"Guess that didn't work out so well," Elston sneered.

Tabetha shot the men an angry look in response. "No thanks to you. We were close to a breakthrough."

"What's his name?" Sir Patrick asked. He was not surprised to learn that the perpetrator was from the circus. He'd already visited there once, and was among the first to connect the first attack on Armin Harrold on the recent arrival of the circus.

Tabetha looked down at the picture of Toliver. He reminded her of her son.

"Zoltán," she said after a moment. "Goes by 'Zoli.'"

Sir Patrick nodded. "Thank you, Ms. Clarke. Your service to the city of RhyDin does not go unappreciated."

"Am I free to go?"

"Can you prove your claims?" Elston asked. "Do you have any documentation."

Tabetha nodded. "A sample of his hair in my desk drawer, locked in a small hidden compartment. I was using it to assist in the process."

"If your story checks out, you'll be free to go."

"And then what?" she asked. "My shop destroyed, my client betrayed."

"That's on you for laying down with dogs," Elston practically spat. Sir Patrick give him an unappreciative glance.

"Only if this is on you for interrupting my work," she responded, gesturing towards the photos. Her eyes burned hot with a seething anger and just a bit of guilt.

"We're done here," Sir Patrick interjected, collecting the photos and returning them to his folder.

* * *

Zoli leaned over the railing, looking out at the lights of RhyDin city beyond. As his eyes scanned the sights, he didn't just see buildings and cars and people. He saw a jungle. He saw sheep, weak and powerless. An entire civilization of people that were capable of little beyond the mundane errata of their boring lives.

Casually he sipped red wine from his glass. He felt light-headed as the fresh air washed over him. His nose picked up a few hundred scents from the street below. He could pick out individual people by their smell.

He felt aware. Awake, for the first time.

Miami poked her head out onto the balcony. "Zoli, come back inside," she entreated. "It's cold out here."

Zoli finished off his glass of wine and set it down on the balcony. He turned and strode back into the hotel room, where Miami met him with a hand on his chest and a nipping kiss to his lips.

"What did you see?" she asked.

"I see a city that should be on its knees before me."

Miami smiled, baring her fangs. She nibbled at the side of his throat.

"I see people that should be afraid of me."

"Yesssss," she hissed against his skin.

"I see tributes waiting to be taken."

Miami stepped back, taking him by the hand and leading him back to the bed, where Jolene was already waiting. She was on her knees on the bed, half-dressed, and had three fresh glasses of wine ready for them.

"Forget that mystic and her silly charms," Miami said dreamily. "We'll show you how to really live."

"You don't have to be ordinary, Zoli," Jolene added, her body swaying almost as if dancing. "You are special."

Miami crawled backwards onto the bed, her lustful expression inviting. "Exceptional," she continued, eyes sparkling, legs parting for him.

Zoli took his glass of wine from Jolene and slammed it back, spilling just a bit of red down the side of his face. He then smiled and mounted the bed, returning to the party.

[Jonas Drava]

Viktor László stood solemnly on a small rise near the main entrance of the circus, watching the world turn around him. Not long after the circus set up, he found this one spot and realized that from here he could see at least part of almost every building and tent on the grounds, and so he frequently came here to observe the goings-on. Members of the clan frequently went about their lives on all sides of him, never really noticing him — despite his powerful stature. As one of the taller and stronger members of the clan, Viktor inspired fear in anyone who might happen to be the subject of his attention. Yet as he stood here, merely watching, he seemed to fade into his surroundings.

It was on this spot that Viktor first noticed János Dráva arrive at the circus nearly six hours earlier — just a little after sunrise. János jogged into the camp today much as he did most mornings — carefree and refreshed from his routine jog. He exchanged brief glances with Viktor but showed no signs of furtiveness or guilt. He seemed fully resigned to his fate and accepting of responsibility for his crimes.

Viktor watched as János made his way over to the cabin of his cousin, Janina Šedová. He discreetly slipped inside and remained there a few minutes before emerging. He then crossed a portion of the circus, heading for his father's cabin — the largest in the settlement (although only by a small percentage). Again the two men exchanged glances, but there was no other contact. Viktor would have taken no action if the boy changed his mind and decided to leave. Anatoly made it clear that János was to be allowed to surrender.

And that's what he did.

Viktor lowered his head gravely as János knocked on his father's door, but still he watched through his one good eye. Anatoly answered the door, observing his son through a stern countenance. He then invited the boy inside with a nod of his head.

No words were spoken. Just as János entered his father's home, Brock Gulav came out from behind a corner and followed him in, striking János over the head with a club. As Anatoly supervised, Brock and Üther Rybak scooped up the boy by the arms and legs and carried him to a nearby cabin.

The circus was not yet open to the public, but the settlement was quite busy with activity. Yet members of the clan paid little attention to this sudden violence in the heart of their community. A few glances, maybe a sad nod. But this was not unexpected.

There were two possible consequences for the younger Dráva's heinous crime: banishment from the clan or a physical beating. Normally the three elders would debate the punishment, but this was a special case. Anatoly had to make the decision himself. It was no surprise which he chose: after all, this was his oldest son. As hard as it would be to see his son beaten, it was still better than never seeing him again. And so he gave the command to Brock and Üther.

"Beat the demon out of him."

Viktor turned on his heel, watching the cabin. He knew what came next without having to see it for himself. János would be locked in a cell, his arms and legs chained to the wall and floor. Then the punishment would begin. Brock and Üther would beat him with their fists. The men were all known to each other — Brock and Üther were frequent participants in János' famous (and technically-forbidden) late-night boxing matches. Although both men were bigger and stronger than János, he was smarter than both of them put together and frequently outmaneuvered them in their matches. The two men resented him and had every intention of taking out their frustrations on his body. Whether Anatoly was aware of the rivalry and what it potentially meant for his son, Viktor did not know.

That said, the beating was fairly-carefully scripted. They would do no permanent damage. They would not break his bones or cause any significant blood loss. The punishment was designed to cause maximum pain within the tolerances of a man János' age and size. They would bruise him, badly, to the point that he would no longer be able to stand or move. But the wounds would heal in a few days or weeks.

The memory of the pain, however, would remain with him for a lifetime.

Even from this distance, Viktor could hear the punishment begin. The sound of flesh striking flesh. An occasional grunt from János as he regained his consciousness. But no screams. No cries. He took it like a man.

Viktor watched as Anatoly stood his ground outside the cabin door. His face remained impassive, showing no signs of the torture that he was no-doubt experiencing. To the clan, he had to look resolute. They had to trust that János would not get any special treatment, despite being their leader's beloved son.

After a few minutes, Anatoly returned to his home, shutting the door behind.

Viktor remained on station.

After about two straight hours of beatings, Brock and Üther finally gave János a prescribed rest — a chance to pass out. They made sure his chains were locked tightly and left to get an early lunch. Viktor watched the two men strut away from the prison, massaging their sore hands. Enjoyment colored their faces. They were getting a rise out of this.

Within moments of their departure, a figure emerged from behind a nearby tent and entered the cabin. Viktor narrowed his eyes at his fellow elder. Mihály wasn't supposed to be here.

* * *

Jonas laid with his face pressed against the wooden floor, breathing shallowly from the dust. There was no longer any sense of pain, nor where one bruise ended and another began. His whole body felt numb, yet it also burned. There was no position where he could be comfortable, nor could he shift even if he wanted to.

The pain was not physical in the most literal sense. His body ached, sure, but the true agony was in his mind. Deep down inside, he had given up. After only two hours of torture, he'd have done anything to make it end. Answered any question, betrayed any friend.

But there were no questions. This wasn't an interrogation. It was about breaking his spirit. And only a part of the way into his prescribed punishment, he felt duly broken.

Meanwhile, the world outside his cell seemed distant and unreal. A far away land that was more myth than reality. So when he heard a voice through the bars, it didn't even seem possible.

But it was. There was someone here with him.

"When the gypsies came to our village and asked us to take them in, I was one of the few voices against."

Mihály Németh. Jonas couldn't see him — the pain was manifesting itself as a shield of colors that surrounded and penetrated him. But Mihály's voice came strangely into focus, poking at him.

"But your father, he was a kinder man. Even back then we were both on the town council, and he voted to open our homes to them. He told me that I was a fool to be so provincial."

Jonas turned a bit onto his side, still trying to focus his eyes. The voice was coming from outside the bars. He saw a faint and nebulous shape, sitting on the floor just inside the door.

"But it wasn't about me being small-minded, János. No, back then I was a realist. There were elements in our town that could not be trusted. I wasn't afraid of the gypsies. I was afraid of us. Of what we'd do."

Jonas knew the story. He knew where this was going.

"Of course, I turned out to be right. After those kids assaulted and murdered that gypsy girl, I came to your father and told him that we'd pay a price. That it was on him and those that voted with him."

"Of course," Mihály continued, "it didn't quite work out that way. It was my wife that died during the first full moon. I was left to raise Zoltán alone, a single father."

Jonas let out a small groan. Whether it was the beating or the knives of guilt being hurled in his direction, he wasn't sure.

"Not that your father hasn't also suffered in the years since, János. He eventually lost his wife and I've watched him take on the responsiblity for this entire clan. As I've matured, I no longer blame him for what happened. He had no way of knowing that a simple act of hospitality would lead to our entire clan being cursed."

"I do wonder, however," Mihály transitioned, sharpening his point, "whether you are effectively repeating your father's error in this land."

"It's different, of course," he continued, gaining a head of steam. "We are now the gypsies in a strange land. But when the rest of us are keeping our heads down, trying just to get through life without any trouble, you have accepted the hospitality of a strange people, getting inextricably involved in their affairs."

He took a long pause, before lowering his voice almost to the ground. "And you've dragged my son into it."

"Zoltán has never been dragged anywhere he didn't want to go," Jonas responded weakly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mihály rose to his feet, towering over the prone and beaten young man locked inside a cage. "Do you think I don't know my son?" he asked pointedly. "I raised him to be headstrong, to be independant. But you and he … you go too far. And although he shares the lion's share of the blame, I also know that you challenge him to go just a bit farther. I know that you have a world view that you believe is above the rest of us."

"Just like your father," he concluded, hurling the final knife.

A long pause as the two men stared at each other. Well, Jonas could only see vague shapes and colors, but he pretended to stare.

Finally it was Jonas to break the silence. "Release me and I will bring him back," he said, his voice still low and uneven.

Mihály shook his head. "No. The responsibility is now mine. I will do now what I didn't do all those years ago."

Jonas parted his lips to respond, but he was interrupted by the cabin door opening.

"Mihály," came a grave voice. "You shouldn't be here."

Another pause, and Jonas could hear Mihály chuckle. "You're right, old friend. I shouldn't."

* * *

As Mihály left, Anatoly entered the cabin and looked down on his son. He had been stripped down to his shorts and beaten literally to within an inch of his life. His body was a deep shade of purple, covered in bruises and leisons.

Anatoly swallowed hard. He never wished this on his son. But the boy left him with no choice.

Still he was not without compassion. He opened the cage and stepped inside, kneeling down next to his son. He produced a pitcher of cold water and a paper cup and offered the cup to János' lips. János pursed his lips, taking in a small amount of water — the rest dribbling down to the dirty floor. Anatoly was gentle, feeding his son as much water as he could take.

He then dipped a clean rag in the water and used it to gently tend to János' wounds. His son winced and cringed at the pain, but he took it. He didn't cry out, he didn't lose his composure. He laid there on the floor, allowing his father to clean him.

"I recently gave the order to pack up the circus," Anatoly said as he worked. "Within the week we will be gone from this place. It is my hope that we will be able to locate Zoltán before then so that we can rescue him from the demons."

"As you're rescuing me?" János asked faintly.

Anatoly responded with a confident nod. "You knew the price for violating our most sacred law. You came here voluntarily. You've taken the punishment like a man." He paused, drawing in a sharp breath. "Obviously I am disapppointed that you broke the rules, but I'm proud of how you've accepted responsibility, son."

János coughed against the floor, sending up a cloud of dust.

Anatoly stood, collecting the pitcher, cup, and rag. "After you are through with your punishment, you will be kept under house arrest until the circus moves. There is too much temptation out there in this horrid land and I have no intention of losing you again."

"You can't keep me here, father," János muttered.

"I can, son, and I will. Some day you will understand and perhaps even thank me for acting swiftly and sternly. This will save your life and the lives of anyone else in this clan who's been thinking about experimenting with the curse."

János shifted a bit, wincing at the pain. "I need to get to Zoltan. He's in danger."

"He is not your responsibility, son. We will find him and we will protect him."

"You don't understand—"

"Of course I do," Anatoly snapped. "I've been dealing with these issues for most of your life."

János opened his mouth to retort, but they were interrupted. The door swing open and Brock Gulav poked his head in.

"Why are we being interrupted?" Anatoly asked pointedly.

"Sir, we may be under attack," Brock answered, concern on his face. "A large group of armed men just drove up to the main entrance. From the city."

Anatoly glanced down at his son, who slumped back down to the floor of the cell.

"I'm on my way," Anatoly answered. He closed up the cell and left the cabin, closing the door behind.

* * *

Anatoly Dráva emerged from his son's prison into the afternoon sunlight this cool fall day. A crowd had gathered and the air resounded with nervous murmers. Viktor stood front and center, using his size and presence to partially block the main gate.

Opposite Viktor was a man Anatoly recognized — a wiry man in his early-fifties wearing khaki clothes and a pith helmet, with a high-powered rifle slung over his shoulder. The man had previously visited the circus several weeks ago, identifying himself as a local official looking for a dangerous wild animal. Even then, Anatoly suspected that there was more afoot than simple concern.

This time, the man was not along and there was no pretense. Behind him stood a virtual army of about twenty men and women of all ages, shapes, and sizes. The one commonality is that they were all well-armed with pistols and rifles. They looked angry, or at least concerned.

It was a sight Anatoly and the other members of the clan knew well. More often than not they were chased out of places by angry villagers with pitchforks and torches over slights both imagined and real.

This time, however, the danger seemed more serious. For one thing, the so-called villagers were better armed.

"Why have you come here equipped for battle?" Anatoly asked in a commanding voice that caused even his own people to back off slightly. He wasn't in the mood to play games or waste time on posturing.

Viktor stepped back, allowing Anatoly to come face-to-face with the group's leader.

"My name is Sir Patrick Gould," the man introduced. "I am—"

"I know who you are," Anatoly responded, cutting him off. "We've met before."

Sir Patrick nodded. "I remember."

"Then I ask again, what is the meaning of all this?"

"We've come for a Zoltán Németh. I have a warrant for his arrest."

Anatoly furrowed his brow, glancing over at Viktor.

"Please hand him over," Sir Patrick continued, "and there will be no trouble."

Anatoly took a step closer, practically now touching the game warden. Anatoly was the taller man, and he probably carried twice the weight as the wiry hunter. No one stood toe-to-toe with Anatoly Dráva and maintained any sense of the upper-hand.

"And what do you want with him?" Viktor asked coldly.

Sir Patrick didn't take his eyes off Anatoly even as he answered Viktor's question. "Mister Németh is wanted for questioning in connection with the murders of three people and assault on two others."

"Zoltán hasn't murdered anyone," Anatoly responded, nearly hissing his words. "You are fortunate his father isn't here to hear you make such unfounded accusations."

"There is proof," Sir Patrick offered simply.

Anatoly narrowed his eyes.

"Show us your proof," Viktor offered, "and we will convene a meeting of our council of elders to discuss it. Without that, we have no intention of handing over a member of our clan to anyone. Nor do we recognize your jurisdiction here nor any purported warrant."

Sir Patrick took a step back from Anatoly, finally glancing over at Viktor. "With all due respect, you don't get to make this decision. I assure you, he will have a fair review of the evidence and a chance to face his accuser. But it will be on our terms, nor yours."

Anatoly merely shook his head. "Zoltán isn't going with you or anyone. Be gone before I lose my temper."

Several members of Sir Patrick's army tightened their grips on their weapons. Viktor eyed the situation warily, well aware of how a stand-off like this could turn deadly.

Sir Patrick, however, kept his cool, eyes studying Anatoly's face. Then, rather uncharacteristically, he smiled. "He's not here."

An unarmed civilian standing behind Sir Patrick glanced at his leader curiously. "How do you know?"

Sir Patrick's eyes locked with Anatoly's. "I know."

"Leave this place at once," Viktor commanded. "You are trespassing on our settlement."

"We're going to find him," Sir Patrick said, still looking pointedly at Anatoly. "And he will face justice for his crimes."

"As will we all," Anatoly responded simply.

Sir Patrick flinched ever-so-slightly before looking up at the crowd. "And if you all get to him before we do, be assured that we will be back. We'll take this entire settlement apart board-by-board until we find him." His gaze rested briefly on Viktor. "And there will be repurcussions for anyone who stands in our way."

With his pronouncement made, Sir Patrick turned and marshaled his troops away. They filed away from the gate and back down the road towards two waiting trucks.

Anatoly turned towards his people, who were all looking to him for leadership. "Get back to work!" was his only command, and the crowd began to disperse.

Viktor continued to watch the armed group load into their trucks as he stepped close to Anatoly.

"We can stay here no longer," Viktor observed under his breath.

"I had originally hoped for a more orderly withdrawl," Anatoly said, "but I see that is impossible. We will need to move up our schedule and be gone within the next few days."

"I will see to it," Viktor responded.

Anatoly shook his head. "No, I need you to deal with that," he said, gesturing at the departing trucks.

Viktor merely nodded.

"Then I need you to find Zoltán."

"Before they do?"

"Before Mihály does."

* * *

With the clan's attention on the commotion of an army showing up at their door, Janina had no trouble sneaking away. She double-timed it into RhyDin city, following the map given to her that morning by Jonas.

Many in the clan frequently visited RhyDin and took advantage of the various diversions there. Janina was not one of those people. Despite her adventurous spirit, she was satisfied with her life in the clan. As their most accurate archer, she led most of the hunts and trained others in technique. When she wasn't out with her bow, she spent time with her two young children, teaching them various games and activities.

Which isn't to say she didn't occasionally live vicariously through Jonas. She had no siblings and he was like a brother to her. They were raised together — her just a couple years older, and as children they frequently managed to find trouble in the most innocent of circumstances. And he related to her in ways that he couldn't with his own flesh and blood sister.

So when he came to her this morning and asked a favor, she didn't think twice before accepting. Which brought her to the front door of The Badger, the inn where his trusted ally and girlfriend Onyx was staying.

Janina knew Onyx from their recent hunt. She liked and respected this woman, yet she also feared what her influence meant. Jonas was happy, truly happy, and it suddenly seemed possible that he would choose to remain here in RhyDin after the circus left. The recent circumstances, with Jonas now being punished for the most serious crime, made it less likely that he would choose to stay.

And now she came here with a message. She was here to tell Onyx that he had been locked up and was being tortured.

And that he wanted Onyx to rescue him.

Janina didn't want to deliver the message, but she promised she would. She took a deep breath and pushed inside The Badger.

* * *

A small fire waned in the fireplace of Sir Patrick's study, late that same evening. The game warden sat nearby in a large leather-bound chair, reviewing the canvas-bound notes of a colleague who had recently been on safari in a far-away land. Sir Patrick was planning his next expedition, and he decided to visit the same location. His colleague told stories of a massive creature that appeared to be a cross between a bear and a yeti, and Sir Patrick was excited to study such a beast. He occasionally made notes on the margins with a thin pencil, pausing to sip brandy from a snifter.

Stifling a yawn, Sir Patrick glanced up at the ivory clock on the wall and noted that it was well past midnight. He was not normally one to stay up late, although his current hunt for a werewolf required an adjustment to his schedule. Today, however, his work was done. He closed up the journal, finished off his drink, and retired for the evening to his master bedroom.

There would be no need to light a fire to sleep by, as the weather was still mild this fall in RhyDin. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness and he paused to glance briefly up at the various stuffed heads he'd mounted on his bedroom wall. His most prized trophies were downstairs in his common room, but he used this room for overflow. Each one he'd killed himself, and each one had a story. He was proud of his accomplishments. They reminded him that no beast was out of his reach. Not even this werewolf.

As Sir Patrick took a step towards his bed, he found himself suddenly snagged. A thin rope closed around his throat and he felt his body yanked backwards. It took him a few minutes to realize what was happening.

He was being murdered.

* * *

Viktor tightened his grip on the garote, pulling the smaller man into his chest. The warden tried flailing with his arms, but soon his hands went to his throat out of instinct. His legs and feet, however, kicked and struggled, knocking over a vase from a nearby shelf.

Sounds of the struggle echoed from one wall to another. His victim gurgled and wheezed, fighting harder. Viktor responded by squeezing even harder. There was no one in the house to hear the commotion — he'd made sure of that.

Viktor arched his back, lifting the warden into the air. The man's legs flailed about in the air helplessly.

Blood soon soaked the front of Sir Patrick Gould's khaki shirt as life force drained from his body. After only about thirty seconds, he was down to his last few gasps and twitches. Viktor gave no quarter, pulling even tighter as the man let out one final sigh and then slumped forward.

Viktor released his grip, dumping Sir Patrick unceremoniously onto the floor before them. He then checked his leather gloves for cuts or scratches before nodding satisfactorily. The task was complete.

Quietly as he arrived, Viktor crept out of the bedroom and out of the house, leaving no sign that he was ever there.

[Jonas Drava]

A solemn autumn breeze rustled the dying leaves strewn around the rise that looks over the city of RhyDin in one direction and the circus grounds on the other. Anatoly Dráva's large leather boots picked their way through the underbrush as he found a spot where he could see the world around without any obstructions. His expression was grave even as his eyes pierced the late-morning haze with seething aggression.

Alongside stood Viktor László, who wetted his cracked lips with a moist tongue. The city beyond had turned out to be everything he'd feared — a place where the clan would encounter danger and despair. And now death. Despite the fact that they'd been run out of nearly every planet and dimension they'd visited in their twenty-plus years as a nomadic people, rarely had it come at the cost of lives — either internally or externally.

This place, however, had cost them dearly. And the final price was still to be determined.

Anatoly turned to look over the expanse of his circus. It was now closed to the public and his people were fast at work tearing things down. Exhibits and equipment were being disassembled, boxed or crated, and loaded onto massive skids for transport. The buildings themselves would be the last to go as the entire process takes several days, but much of the open space around the buildings was now occupied by signs of the move. More sensitive supplies and equipment was being loaded into the larger tents to protect it from the weather until it was time to load everything on the massive wagons that they used for travel.

One small group of workers was not involved in the move, however, and Anatoly's eyes focused on them. They were digging four graves in the soil just outside the edge of the circus in the opposite direction of the city. Three for the clan members who died in his son's escape, and a fourth for the mysterious and unidentified elderly corpse they found on the road just outside — its decapitated head laying a few feet away.

Anatoly was not used to this kind of violence. A young man with his neck broken on the edge of camp. Another young man and woman with their throats slashed at the cabin where János was formerly imprisoned. The door to his cage torn off in an act of sheer brute force — yet done so silently that no one heard anything. By the time the sentries were aware that something was wrong, János was gone and there was little evidence left behind. Just erratic vehicle tracks in the dirt road near the edge of the camp, the aforementioned headless corpse — wearing a cocktail gown soaked in blood yet showing no sign of having lived in decades, and massive paw tracks leading off into the forest.

Paw tracks consistent with one of his kind.

At first, the only obvious explanation was that János found a way to master his curse and escaped from his prison — killing three members of his own family in the process and fleeing into the woods. Anatoly was prepared to accept that final tragedy.

But it was Viktor — ever the even-handed investigator — who pointed out the inconsistencies. The shackles around János' arms and legs were not broken (like the cell door), rather unlocked with the key. And the wounds to the guards were not consistent with a wolf's bite or maul. Their clan had plenty of experience with the kinds of injuries one would expect from their kind and the guards just didn't fit the profile.

The paw prints, however, were clearly a sign of werewolf activity. But they were the only undisputed sign.

"The service is tonight just before sundown," Viktor said, noticing his friend's glance. "We will celebrate the lives of our dead."

Anatoly nodded. "And our problem in the city?"

Viktor squared his jaw, glancing down at the red lines on his hands. "Handled."

"I want to be gone in three days," Anatoly declared. "Whatever it takes."

"Mihály still has not returned," Viktor warned. "No one has seen him since yesterday afternoon."

"If he finds his son before we leave, I trust he will return. If not — he knows the new site. He can join us when he is ready."

"It has been the three of us since we left home," Viktor observed. "I am uncomfortable making decisions without all three of us participating."

Anatoly turned, regarding his best friend through cold eyes. "Mihály made his choice. Right now he chooses to be a father instead of an elder. I respect that choice. But the clan must move forward."

"And are you comfortable making that same choice, Anatoly?" Viktor asked.

"My son made the choice. He left his captivity and, therefore, left our clan." Anatoly paused, pursing his lips. "Now I have but one remaining son: Artúr."

Viktor's features softened. As a mature man without living children, he was sometimes criticized for being too harsh with his two fellow elders and their families. "If you want to take more time to repair your family, we can stay here a bit longer. Or I can take the circus to the new location and you can stay behind."

Anatoly shook his head defiantly. "I made my peace with my son yesterday. He chose to live in this place with these people. Our laws make it clear that he is no longer entitled to our protections or loyalty. I am done with him."

Viktor tilted his head slightly. His friend was always quick to quote the rules when intervening in family matters. It seemed harsh to see him doing so with his own son.

Anatoly turned back towards the circus. His resolve remained steely, his eyes losing their spark to the wind. He again focused in on the fresh graves.

"They are not digging deep enough, Viktor," Anatoly lamented. "Shall we go down there and finish the job?"

Viktor nodded. "Yes, Anatoly. Let's finish the graves."

* * *

Andrew Elston burst into his master's drawing room like a blast from a cannon, knocking over a coat tree and bumping into an antique chaise lounge before he finally came to a halt.

Armin Harrold, on the other hand, was the picture of serenity. He sat perfectly still on a large gilded chair, practically glowing from the light outside the nearby window. A portrait artist set directly across, painting a likeness of the merchant that could hang in a museum — if museums cared about portraits of mid-level business tycoons.

"You'd better not have startled him!" Harrold admonished.

Elston blanched. "I'm sorry, sir," he cried out in a shrill voice."

"Did he startle you, Oswald?" Harrold asked.

The painter merely shook his head, his hand remaining perfectly steady as he painted the fine details on Harrold's left ear.

Harrold merely hrumphed. "What is it, then?"

"It's Sir Patrick, sir. He was found dead this morning by his housekeeper."

"Dead?" Harrold asked.

"Strangled!" Elston added.

"Strangled?" Harrold asked.

"Murdered!" Elston added with dramatic flair.

"I see," Harrold resolved with fair simplicity.

Elston waited for a more appropriate response.

"Oswald, can you see the liver spot behind my ear? I want to make sure that's not in the painting."

"I cannot see it and I won't include it," the painter responded.

"Sir!?" Elston interjected, waiving his arms around wildly.

"Are you injured?" Harrold asked. "Stop flailing about before you break something — everything in this room is priceless."

"But Sir Patrick! Sir Patrick Gould!"

"I know who he is, Andrew. I'm not daft yet."

"So what are we to do?"

"Call up my private investigator and have him … investigate. That's what one does in a situation like this."

"But it must have been those fiends at the circus," Elston explained, finally moving closer to his boss. "We were just there yesterday and I'm certain they killed him to keep us from getting to the monster that attacked you and Missus Harrold."

"Careful, Andrew, stay out of my light."

Elston stopped short so as to avoid getting anywhere near Harrold's light.

For a few moments, no one spoke. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock above the fireplace and the scratching of Oswald's brush.

"So just hire the investigators?" Elston asked.

"Yes. They'll do a thorough job and give me a full report."

"And that's it?"

Harrold let out a sigh, finally turning his head to look at his hapless subordinate. "What do you want me to do, Andrew? Raise an army? Go down to the circus with torches and pitchforks and slaughter every man, woman, and child I meet?"

Elston merely shook his head.

"I'm a businessman, Andrew," Harrold explained, his tone going into full-on lecture. "Sir Patrick was hired to find and kill the monster that attacked me. If he was murdered because of that quest, we will find out who was responsible and they will pay the appropriate penalty. There's no need to get all wrapped up in this, and I can see that your close association with Sir Patrick has interfered with your objectivity."

"Oh."

"Besides, I received a report this morning that the circus closed and is packing up. They'll be gone in a matter of days."

"But what of justice?"

Harrold chuckled. "My dear Andrew, in my nearly forty years' experience in business, I've learned that justice is rarely satisfying and is never cheap. I didn't hire Sir Patrick Gould, one of the multiverse's great hunters, for the pursuit of justice — or even to avenge the attack on me or my wife. I hired him to ensure that my business — and the businesses of others on the Council — would not be harmed by a sudden and dramatic increase in violence. As it turns out — there has been no increase. Hell, I could live with one murder a month, under the full moon, if need-be. Hardly a drop of water in the ocean we call RhyDin City."

"I see, sir."

"Do you see, Andrew?"

"I think so."

"Uh, sir?" Oswald asked hesitantly.

Harrold returned his gaze forward so that the painter could resume his portrait.

"I will call the investigator right away," Elston added.

"Sir Patrick's death is a tragedy and it will be fully investigated. If it turns out that the culprit is a member of the circus — they will likely already have left and the issue will be moot. On the other hand, if he was murdered by someone living here, I am confident the perpetrator will be found and appropriately punished."

"Yes, Mister Harrold."

"Is there anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Then please leave us before you do anything further to distract Oswald."

"Yes, Mister Harrold."

"Oh, and Andrew?"

"Yes, sir?"

"See to it that Sir Patrick is given a proper burial after the medical examiner does his part. He was wealthy, but I don't think he has any family and he deserves a proper resting place." Harrold smiled uncharacteristically into the air. "It's the least I can do."

"Yes, Mister Harrold."

* * *

Zoli sat hunched in a chair on the balcony overlooking RhyDin city, clutching an open bottle of vodka in his hands as his eyes scanned the rooftops beyond. It was nearly noon, but an autumn haze hung over the city and made everything look bleak and dreary.

The tone of the city fit his mood perfectly.

The plan seemed perfect. Rescue Jonas, demonstrate successful mastery of their ability, convince him to join the party. Together they'd run this town. Finally free of the rules and stigma of their backwards people, they'd settle in RhyDin and make it their playhouse.

Then she got in the way. Leave it to a woman to ruin a guy's good time.

Zoli tipped the bottle of vodka to his lips and took a swig. He always knew that Onyx disliked him, even if he didn't understand it. Perhaps she felt threatened by his charm and good looks. Or, more likely, by what he represented to her man.

Jonas was not one to play it safe, but he had no interest in challenging or mastering the 'curse.' That was the one issue where the two men differed so bitterly. Even as they'd apparently decided — separately — to settle in RhyDin, they would not come to an agreement. In order to live here they'd have to free themselves of the need for monthly injections. Zoli did it by taking control of his true nature.

Jonas had no interest in that. Perhaps he'd learn to synthesize the medication himself so that he wouldn't need the clan's supply any more. (Was Onyx a nurse or a lab technician? That might explain her usefulness to the lad.)

It didn't matter. Zoli knew in his heart that no other method would be sufficient if the two men were to live here. Jonas would have to learn how to control his gift. Whether he wanted to or not.

Zoli narrowed his eyes and resolved to bring his brother along regardless of the cost. Because it was the right thing to do. And it was the only way to avoid a threat down the line. Because if Jonas decides to live in RhyDin, succumbs to the curse, and kills innocent people — Zoli realized he might get blamed. He could be arrested or killed because of actions taken by his good friend. No, that would never do.

And if Onyx was intent on getting in his way, she'd need to be removed. It was the only choice. Jonas would understand, given enough time.

"Baby, come back inside," a voice whined from inside. "You know I can't come out there."

Zoli took another long drink from his bottle as he began to plot. He couldn't just kill the bitch — if he did, Jonas would go mad and they'd have to fight. Jonas would die, of course, and Zoli didn't want to kill his best friend just on the eve of saving him.

No, first he'd have to convince Jonas that Onyx was bad news. He wasn't sure how, but he was fairly confident that it wouldn't be too hard. She was just a skirt. Brothers always came first — they'd made that solemn oath years before.

Given some careful planning, Jonas would eventually agree to unload his dead weight and Onyx could be put down. Then the two men would roam the city together, taking whatever they wanted.

Jolene approached the threshold of the balcony, staying away from the light. It was a cloudy day and there was no direct sunlight, but she was playing it safe just in case. Her cocktail dress was dirty and tattered from the previous evening's battle, and her stringy blonde hair hung wild.

Zoli took one last drink from the bottle, draining it. He then set it down on the floor of the balcony next to his chair.

"We're going to kill that whore tonight, right baby?" Jolene asked. "I'm going to drain her body of every ounce of blood before I use her broken corpse as a suitcase."

"Not tonight," Zoli answered, his voice rough.

Jolene bared her fangs. Of the two women she was not normally the aggressor, but seeing Miami beheaded and destroyed at the end of Onyx's machete caused her blood to boil. Miami was her only friend in the world and she needed hot messy vengeance.

"Yes tonight," Jolene demanded, her voice guttural and her tone foul. "She dies tonight."

"Be silent, woman," Zoli snapped, still not bothering to look back at her. "Onyx Solare will die, but not until I can work a few things out. She shares a bed with my best friend and I will not kill her without Jonas' leave."

"To hell with Jonas, and to hell with you!" she screeched, her knees bent in her arms flailing aggressively. "You speak of your brother — Miami was like a sister to me, as well as my sire."

"I repeatedly warned Miami not to antagonize Onyx," Zoli retorted. "She made her choice. Neither of you are helpless."

Jolene hissed, taking several guarded steps towards Zoli on the balcony, risking a break in the clouds. "Are you saying she deserved to die?" she cried out. "After everything we've both done for you? After she taught you how to control your ability?"

"Be silent, vampire," Zoli warned. "This conversation is over." He reached into his pants pocket and produced a wad of cash, which he tossed over his shoulder at her. "Here, buy yourself some cigarettes."

Jolene uttered another hiss, this one throaty and dangerous. "The whore dies tonight," she announced with a certain finality. "Don't get in my way, werewolf."

"Stupid bitch," Zoli muttered.

Jolene shrieked and raised her arms to strike, but Zoli moved first. Spinning rapidly out of his chair towards her, his body increased in size by at least twenty percent — with tufts of coarse hair sprouting through his skin as his clothes fell away. The angry snarl on his face was quickly replaced with a slavering snout and powerful jaws. His muscular hands wrapped around her throat just as they were replaced with massive paws tipped with razor-sharp claws.

Before Jolene could even land a blow, the beast squeezed down on her throat and lifted her up in the air. It took several steps into the hotel room, snarling and growling as she kicked and flailed helplessly in his grasp.

Finally, the beast drew his arms apart in opposite directions, effortlessly separating the vampire's head from her body. Even before her lifeless corpse collapsed to the floor, it suddenly and dramatically aged hundreds of years, now appearing like a mummified relic to the untrained eye.

The beast reared back its head and sniffed the air, the growl rumbling from deep inside its chest. It then began to shrink in on itself, and within seconds Zoli stood alone and naked in his hotel room.

Zoli looked down at his victim, his eyes showing no remorse. He let out a sigh at the mess left behind, and glanced around the room. His gaze fell on the embers of last night's blaze in the fireplace, and he nodded satisfactorily. His eyes then traveled over to the kitchen table, where an empty box of crackers stood alone. It would serve as an adequate urn.

[Jonas Drava]

Jonas Drava walked quietly across the circus grounds, staying in the shadows as he took one last look around. He made no significant effort to remain undetected — he knew the patrol routes by heart and after a day like today he knew most of his people would be fast asleep at this hour. The packing ritual was well-known to Jonas. Normally on a day like today, he'd have gotten up before dawn and helped his people through morning, noon, and night prepare for departure from this world. The buildings would be the last to go — those that weren't home to people were now full of crates and boxes of exhibits and personal effects. In another day or two, this place would be empty with nary a sign that the circus had been here in RhyDin for three summer months.

Jonas had first escort Onyx out of the camp before re-entering. He promised her that he wouldn't get caught and wouldn't get in any trouble, but she insisted on remaining in earshot if anything happened. She'd wait on the outskirts of the circus until he came back to her — his final missions complete.

And so he walked, his gate somewhat labored from healing injuries. Although it was nearly two in the morning and the circus was closed, he could still hear the sounds and smell the scents. Children laughing. Fresh food cooking on the grill. The roar of the crowd at the high wire act. Elephants trumpeting.

Soon those memories would be all he had of home. Soon the circus would be gone. And Jonas would remain behind.

His first visit was to his tiny cabin. It was padlocked from the outside, but that was no barrier. Inside, he found an old rugged backpack and began filling it with those personal possessions that he wanted to keep with him. All of his sketchbooks, some old photographs of his family, and his prized carpentry tools. He also grabbed a few changes of clothes — enough to pack the backpack nearly to bursting capacity. He left just enough room for one more thing.

After saying goodbye to his cabin, he re-secured it with the padlock and walked swiftly to the other side of the circus. The storage building was small, nondescript, and intentionally unguarded. Inside, the shelves held various boxes — all the same size, all unmarked. He picked one at random and opened it to make sure it was full. Twenty vials of the medicine that would keep him from transforming into a murderous beast on the full moon. Twenty vials would get him through twenty months here in RhyDin — perhaps a bit fewer if he decided to have some of the medicine analyzed in hopes of having it replicated.

He only had room in his backpack for the one box. Twenty vials would be enough. It would have to. He didn't intend to go twenty months before seeking a more permanent solution to his curse.

He left the storage building and returned to the cool fall air outside. He glanced to the left, where Onyx was waiting for him. But there was one more thing he wanted to do.

Again he crossed the circus grounds, making his way towards the largest of the living cabins. Now he began to use caution, his footfalls making no noise as he crept ever closer to his father's home. There was one light on inside, which was strange at this hour. Silently he opened the door and slipped inside.

His father's bedroom was empty. The bed hadn't been slept in. Cautiously he made his way down the hall to Arthur's room, where the light streamed out from under the door. He listened at the door but didn't hear anything. It seemed unlikely that his father would be inside Arthur's room at this hour, but he was ready to dart for the exit if he was wrong.

Cracking open the door, Jonas saw that there was only one occupant. Arthur sat on the floor, his back propped against the bed, reading a comic book. He looked up at the sound of the door opening and smiled when he saw Jonas. He didn't look all that surprised, though, just happy.

"Hey kid," Jonas greeted with a matching smile.

"I knew you'd come," Arthur responded. "I was waiting for you."

Jonas entered the bedroom and sat down on the floor, setting his backpack down to the side. "How'd you know it would be tonight?"

Arthur shrugged. "We might be gone tomorrow."

"And last night?"

"You didn't come last night."

Jonas chuckled. "Where's father?"

"He's over at Mister László's house. He goes there a lot, especially lately, when he doesn't want me to hear them talking."

"He wouldn't be happy to see you still up."

Arthur shrugged. "Good thing he can't see me."

Another chuckle. "Don't get sloppy. Father has eyes in the back of his head and beyond."

Arthur set down the comic book. "Why are you leaving?"

"What did father say?" Jonas asked.

"Not much. Just that you wanted to live here now."

Jonas nodded. "Pretty much that." He tilted his head. "Does that bother you?"

"Nah," Arthur responded with a sheepish smile. "I want to live here too. Can I stay with you?"

Jonas smiled, glancing down at the floor. "I wish I could bring you with me, kid. But father wouldn't allow it."

"Why is it okay for you to stay?"

"Well, it's not, but I'm an adult."

"It's not fair."

"I know, Arthur. Some day, perhaps. But for now you need to focus on your chores and your studies and stay out of father's way."

"I hate him. He's a monster. I hate what he's doing to you."

"Hey, don't talk like that," Jonas admonished sternly. "He takes good care of you. He takes good care of the whole clan. It's a lot of responsibility."

"He's nicer to everyone else but me."

"He's your father. He has to set a good example."

"By letting you go?"

"I'm not a prisoner. He has to let me go."

"But I'm a prisoner."

Jonas swatted his brother in the side of the head. "You're a ten-year-old kid. It's not prison. It's life."

Arthur sighed, grumbling down at the floor.

"Arthur, you still have so many things to experience. I want you to write me from every place you visit. Tell me of all the wonderful sights you see and people you meet. And don't be afraid to go out and experience the worlds the circus visited. That's how I learned about things."

"You always had to come get me when I got in trouble," Arthur said sheepishly.

Jonas chuckled. "Well, you'll just have to be better at not getting caught. And if you do, look to your sister or cousin Janina. They'll run interference for you."

"They're girls. They don't understand me."

Jonas snorted. "You're not that naive, kid. Nor are you some great enigma the world has yet to experience."

Arthur gave his older brother a dirty look.

"You can also go to your friend Emil if you need a boy's perspective. He's a good kid. Follow his example."

"Okay."

Jonas slid across the floor and turned so that he was sitting next to Arthur against the bed frame. "I need to go soon. It would be bad if father discovered me here."

Arthur spun and wrapped his arms around his older brother, squeezing tight. "I don't want you to leave," he said, his face muffled against Jonas' chest.

Jonas wrapped his arms around the boy, squeezing tight. "I know, kid."

"I'm scared," Arthur said with a sniffle.

"Me too, kid."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Arthur. I'm going to miss the hell out of you."

Another sniffle. "Can I come visit you some day?"

Jonas smiled, patting his brother on the back. "I won't know where you are, but you'll always be able to find me here. Write to me and come visit when you're old enough. Maybe by then, father will be less of a 'monster.'"

Arthur regained his composure and crawled down off of his brother, sitting back down next to him. Still the two brothers held hands.

"I have some things for you," Jonas said, reaching for his backpack with his free arm.

"Yeah?"

Jonas unzipped his backpack and produced a small, leather-bound toolkit. He handed it over to Arthur, who carefully held the package in his small fingers. Slowly he unzipped the case and spread open the halves to reveal a series of tools that glistened in the dim light. His eyes grew wide as he realized what he was holding.

"That was my first set of carpentry tools. I still use it to this day. I want you to have it."

Arthur looked up, his eyes still as big as saucers. "You used to yell at me when I'd stea— borrow these."

Jonas nodded. "Damn right I yelled at you. Those aren't toys. Those are serious tools and they require care and attention."

"But … but … why give them to me?" Arthur stammered. "I don't know anything about carpentry."

"With me and cousin Zoli leaving, the circus is going to be seriously short-handed. You need to learn some skills and get to work."

"But where do I start?"

"I learned from father. He's the best there is. Tell him you want to learn."

"What will you use?" Arthur asked.

Jonas shrugged. "Time for some new tools. Sometimes you just have to start over and leave behind what is familiar."

Arthur ran his fingers over the tools for a minute before gingerly closing the case and setting it carefully on his night stand. For a few minutes, the two brothers sat there on the floor, neither speaking.

"You should go before father comes home," Arthur finally said, breaking the silence.

Jonas squeezed his brother's hand and stood, collecting his backpack. Arthur stood, and the two brothers took one last look at each other. Then, with a nod and a smile, Jonas turned and let himself out.