No, he looked like he belonged on a carton of animal crackers. A really twisted, ugly carton sopping with blood and other nasty liquids.

"We came to this town in good faith, hunter." The faint lines on the ridge of bone masquerading as teeth were grimed with something dark. "We came to cleanse and to-"

"Stand down." My voice sliced through his. Behind me, Saul's warning growl rose, rattling the entire place no less than Galina's anger or the wave of hellbreed agitation. "This is a Sanctuary. Calm the fuck down."

"Both of you." The air hardened under Galina's words. "You. Stand over there, or I will send you back to Hell. I'm not joking."

"She isn't, you know." This was Perry, who stood with his back to the rest of us, bending down to peer inside a glass display case that held several crystal balls, mummified alligators, and a stacked display of Etteila tarot cards. Something rippled on his back, under the white linen suit jacket. "I suggest you calm yourself."

"What the hell's going on?" I didn't lower the gun, and Galina's walls ran with rivulets of etheric force, cascading in sheets. The lightshow was amazing, but it could just as easily turn on me as on the hellbreed. "Galina?"

"Stand over there." Her voice rang like a gong, and the Ringmaster grudgingly paced to the exact spot she pointed to on the hardwood floor, his thin body twitching with mutiny. His hair actually writhed, the spikes touching each other with little balloon-squealing sounds. The fraying nap of his red velvet coat crawled with corruption-dust, and his fingers twisted and twitched.

Galina gave me a meaningful look, and I slowly, slowly lowered my guns. The glass shards on the floor stirred, quivering. "Someone give me a vowel."

"We are in a very special place right now, Kismet." Perry still didn't turn to face any of us. "Let us absorb the full implications."

"Where have you been, hunter?" The Ringmaster jabbed his cane at me, the crystal popping off one diseased-green spark. "We came here in good faith!"

"I've been chasing a child-killer and doing exorcisms." Every nerve in my body cried out in protest when I holstered the guns. "More than enough fun and games to keep me busy. Whatever's happened to you, I'm not involved with it." I licked my dry lips. Saul straightened from his crouch behind me. It was good to feel him there, even while I was worrying about two hellbreed in front of me and the look on Galina's face. "Yet."

"There has been an attack." Perry finally turned, slowly, and it was almost a relief to see him still wearing his blond, bland face. He was also grinning, lips pulled back in a rictus and his eyes burning gasflame-blue. There was no indigo spreading and scarring the whites, though.

That was good news. How good remained to be seen. "Attack?" That was the bad news. "What kind of attack?"

"A Cirque performer, my dear." Perry stuffed his hands in his pockets and tilted his blond head. It ruined the lines of his suit, but I suppose he thought it made him look less dangerous. Or something. "A certain fortune-teller appears to have gone to collect her eternal reward. With some help, I might add."

For a few seconds the words refused to make sense. Then they slammed home, and I took a deep breath. My face felt very cold, and I suspected I'd gone even paler than my usual night-working fishbelly. "You're kidding." It was the only thing I could think of to say.

"You see?" Perry's grin didn't alter in the slightest. "I vouch for her shock, brother. My Kismet is altogether too intelligent for such a blatant act."

"Shut up, Hyperion." The Ringmaster's cane dipped. He watched me, his orange gaze swirling with dust and crawling all down my body. "You will swear you had no part in this, hunter?"

"For Christ's sake." I resisted the urge to draw a knife, or better yet, limber my gun up and make the world a better place with a few well-placed headshots. "The hostage is your good behavior. Why the hell would I want to attack any of your people?" Other than their being hellbreed, which is enough reason to seriously tempt me.

"To erase the rest of-" The Ringmaster's eyes flicked toward Perry, who pursed his lips. A number of things occurred to me just then, and I actually had to stuff my tongue into my cheek and bite down to keep from making a snarky comment.

They were actually thinking I'd go after the entire Cirque, given enough reason. But the Ringmaster wouldn't be so upset unless he seriously thought I had a chance at actually pulling it off.

It was an unintentional compliment. Being feared by hellbreed isn't a nice thing, but it's damn useful, and pleasant when it can smooth your way a little bit.

My heart rate eased a little bit. Saul crowded closer behind me. The bell on the door jangled slightly, thrumming under the murderous tension. Galina relaxed, fractionally.

"All right." I tried not to sound relieved. "This is the first I've heard about an attack on the Cirque-which I consider just as bad news for me as it is for you. I give you my word I have nothing to do with it. But I'm about to." I took a deep breath. My pulse smoothed out a little bit more, and my eyes skipped between the two 'breed, each of them vibrating with barely controlled rage. Perry hid it better, but I've been around him too much, for too long, to trust his outward appearance. "I've got some business to transact with my Sanctuary, here. Then I'll be out at the Cirque to take a look at what's going on. I'll find out who's behind this and take appropriate action. In the meantime, you'll keep your noses clean." Put the sting in the tail, Jill. "Perry, you'll meet me at the Cirque."

"I do not-" The Ringmaster began.

"I think it's best, don't you?" Perry interjected smoothly, taking a single step closer. "So nobody is tempted to run amok while my dear Kiss is on the scene. It would be so embarrassing to have a hunter become justified in killing a few more of your performers." He didn't look at the other 'breed, though. Instead, he was staring at me like he was hungry and I was a bowl of lunch.

I wish I could say I didn't know that look. But men have been giving it to me all my life.

The other 'breed stared at me, the pumpkin hellfire smearing from his irises not abating one iota. I was suddenly glad we were inside Galina's shop. If he moved on me she'd drop him-or more precisely, the Sanctuary warding on the walls would. If all else failed, it would give me enough time to put a few silverjacket slugs in him. And maybe sink a knife right into one of those orange-glowing eyes.

"If I find that you are, indeed, involved in this... unfortunate... event-" The cane twirled smartly, the crystal hissing as it clove unresisting air.

That's the trouble with this job. It's full of threats, both veiled and naked. After a while it gets ho-hum. Except when you're dealing with Hell's scions. The slippery, twisting, twitchy bastards threaten all the time-and they'll get away with what they can.

"I sure hope that wasn't a threat," I remarked to the empty air over his black-spiked head. "Because for a member of the Cirque de Charnu to threaten a resident hunter is exceeding bad taste. Not to mention stupid. And dangerous. And-"

"That's it." Galina stepped forward just as the Ringmaster did, a synchronized movement that would have been funny if the hellbreed hadn't been hissing like a steam kettle. "Both Perry and I vouch for our hunter's innocence. Go back to your home and wait. You've said and done enough here."

Our hunter. A pucker of hot liquid prickling filled the scar. The bottom dropped out of my stomach. Perry grinned like he had just gotten a Christmas present full of snackable entrails. Galina, however, didn't notice anything.

Great.

Crackling tension rose another notch. The Ringmaster paced toward me, and I realized he would have to pass very close to get out the front door. I stepped aside, so did Saul, and I did my best to keep myself between him and the 'breed. The smooth incense quiet of Galina's shop trembled like the skin atop fresh milk. My hands literally itched for a weapon.

The Ringmaster halted for a bare second. Adrenaline spiked through my bloodstream. I caught a whiff of sawdust and glitter, spice and fried food, with the faint thunderous note of rotting underneath. The edges of his red frock coat twitched, as if tiny insect feet were stabbing the threadbare crimson velvet from underneath.

Amazingly, he didn't stop to threaten me again. He just passed by with a sound like fresh-tanned leather crumpling and banged out the door, leaving a scrim of evil little laughter in his wake. I let out the breath I hadn't been holding-I'd inhaled deeply, ready for the explosion.

"Now you, Perry." Thunder smoked and roiled under Galina's voice. "I've business to transact with Jill."

"What if I do, too?" He grinned and leaned forward, his toes digging into the floor. "Business with my hunter."

"Perry." Just the one word. Galina's eyes turned incandescent. The silver at her throat sparked, a clean springtime green swirling at the surface of the metal. "It would be undignified to be tossed out of here on your ass."

"True." He rocked back on his heels, grinned at both of us. "I bid you a civil adieu, then, ladies." A wink and a flash of pearly teeth between his bloodless lips, and he slid past me like a burning wind. Halfway out the door he vanished, leaving behind strangled little whispers before the door banged closed and I heard footsteps pattering away down the street, far too fast and light to be human.

My shoulders dropped. I let out another, far gustier sigh, and Galina swayed before she pulled herself upright. The glass on the floor quivered again. I watched as the broken pieces of the display case twitched slightly, arranged along spiraling rays of reaction.

Huh. That's interesting.

Saul's hands caught my shoulders. "You okay?" He sounded worried.

I realized the scar was twitching against the underside of my arm as if an enthusiastic seamstress was pleating the skin. At least Perry hadn't really tried to play with it. "Just ducky. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Someone's looking to kill Cirque performers?"

Galina said it, so I didn't have to. "Or they have a deeper plan, and they're going to try to pin anything that happens on you. I don't like this."

"Sorry about your display case." I stared, willing the pattern to come clear, and finally blinked it away when it refused. Hunters always become full-blown psychics before the end of their apprenticeships; damn useful when dealing with the nightside. But sometimes intuition won't tell you anything. It will just muddy the waters.

I looked up to find the Sanctuary studying me, a line between her dark eyebrows. "Don't worry about that." Galina was pale, and shaking just the slightest bit.

"Oh, Christ," I said. "Drop the other shoe. And get me some more ammo. I've got a bad feeling about this."

7.

You could find just about anything a serious practitioner needed at Galina's, and if your credit was good you could get a whole lot more. A neutral supply of necessities for all concerned is the least of the services a Sanctuary provides to a city's nightside inhabitants.

She poured us tea up in her kitchen. The night pressed against the bay window over the sink, the green bank of herbs in a cast-iron shelving unit stirring slightly.

Sancs like growing things. They are gentle souls, really. It's a shame so few people pass their entrance exams.

Galina set the tray of silverjacket ammo down on the butcher-block table. "What do you know about the last time the Cirque was here?"

Saul blew across his tea to cool it. He was looking everywhere except at me.

I stared at her for a few seconds, the chill down my back growing more pronounced. "It was the hunter before Mikhail. I know he told them not to come back until he wasn't the hunter here either. Bad blood between him and the last Ringmaster. Or is that the same one?"

"It's the same one. He's been controlling the Cirque for a few generations, which means he's nasty and smart." Her fingers were steady on the teapot; she poured and pushed the ammo tray toward me. It was really strange to see her so pale. Not much disturbs Galina's serenity. "With that goddamn cane of his. The last time..."

I waited while she set the teapot down, the walls echoing slightly with her distress. Sancs don't go outside much; it's the price they pay for being almost godlike inside their nice thick defenses. Being inside a Sanctuary's space when they lose their cool is an uncomfortable experience at best.

Saul slurped loudly. The scar ran with prickles, like icy water on burning skin. I began checking the ammo automatically, sliding yet more extra cartridges into the loops sewn inside my coat. I could probably do this in my sleep, I've done it so many times.

And hell, while I was here for the second time today I might as well load up.

"There was some trouble," Galina finally said, lowering herself down to sit on a stool opposite me. "The hunter before Mikhail was Emerson Sloane; he had a sort-of apprentice. Everything went sideways."

Sort-of apprentice? That doesn't happen. But there are wannabes in this business, just the same as any other. Fucking amateurs trying to get themselves killed, since they're unfit for the job one way or another, or they'd be trained.

Silence stretched between us. I finally broke it. "Mikhail never told me about that."

"He wasn't an actual apprentice." The kitchen, with its mellow shining counters and wood-faced cabinets, wavered slightly and solidified around her. "He just kept following Sloane around until Sloane gave up and began training him."

That's how it usually starts. My own apprenticeship hadn't begun that way, but... Mikhail had been an exception all over.

And so, I suppose, was I. And if I was lucky, Gilberto would have vanished off my front step by the time I got home.

Galina sighed. "He got into trouble. There were some problems."

"What type of problems?"

Her brow furrowed. "I... didn't hear much. Sloane never opened up about it. I do know the kid ended up dead, after something terrible."

There's certainly no shortage of terrible things on the nightside. "And no word on what 'something terrible' entailed? Did it have to do with the Cirque, or-"

"I just don't know, Jill." She picked up her own cup, took a small sip. Her shoulders were sharp points under the robes. Some of the shaking had eased out of her. The walls had stopped quivering with etheric distress. "The Ringmaster seemed to think you had a hand in this attack, and he was... excited when he showed up. Perry was right behind him."

Goddammit. I'll just bet he was, with his little fingers in the pie as usual. I couldn't help myself-a sigh to match hers came out hard on the end of the sentence. The smell of incense, dust, and sleepy power in her shop mixed uneasily with the aroma of spaghetti sauce and the fading tang of 'breed-she'd probably been at dinner when they dropped by. "What can you tell me about this trouble?"

The line between her eyebrows got deeper. "Not much that I can recall. It had to do with the apprentice and a woman over near Greenlea, I think, back when that part of town wasn't very nice. Had to be, oh, around 1926 or so. Before the barrio moved, before the big outbreak, and before all that new money moved in and turned it into a shopping district. The kid..." She frowned. "There was something about him. I can't remember. I'll dig through my diaries, see if I can suss it out."

Hm. "It's not like you to have a bad memory."

She gave me an exquisitely sarcastic look. "When you've put in almost a century of tending a Sanctuary, Jill, then we'll talk. Mikhail and Sloane both liked things close to the vest, too. Most of the time I didn't have a clue what either of them were up to."

And I was no different when a case was heating up. It was my turn to shrug as I finished stowing the ammo. "Mischa was a private person, all right. I didn't hear much about the former hunter either. Except that Sloane wasn't of our lineage, he was part of Ben Cross's crowd."

"Yes. Sloane died after the outbreak in 1929." She stared into her tea mug like it held the secrets of the universe. "We were in freefall for years. That was a bad time for any hunter."

"Yeah." The second-biggest demonic outbreak of the past century, 1929 was a bad year for hunters all over the United States, and it got exponentially worse in Europe ten years later. So much of what was unleashed during the two decades after '29 is still out running around-it's like the Middle Ages all over again, only this time we have more firepower to put things down.

Still, the firepower's no good without people trained to use it. And quality apprentices are few and far between.

I thought again of Gilberto and hoped he was gone by the time I got home. Which might not be soon. This had all the makings of a complex situation, which meant a lot of blood and screaming. Not to mention gunfire and ugliness.

"Oh." A sudden, abrupt movement. Galina finished trolling through her memory and blinked. "Gregory. That was the kid's name. Something Gregory. I'll look through my diaries."

"I'd appreciate it." Great. And I really have to get over to Greenlea, now that you mention it. I've got business there too. "Hey, has anyone been in to buy voodoo stuff lately? Anyone making a big serious purchase?"

"No. I don't do much voodoo or Santeria here. That's more Mama Zamba on the edge of the barrio, or Melendez. I sometimes send people to either of them." A curious look crossed her round, pretty face. "I wonder..."

I hate going to either of them. Jesus. "Well, give ol' Zamba a call as soon as I leave. Let her know I've got a few questions. It's about time I went and scared her again." I fished out a fifty-dollar bill. "Here's all I've got on me for this load of ammo; I'll take care of the rest when I get my municipal check. Okay?"

"You can put it on account, you know." But instead of saying it with a grin, Galina looked troubled. "Jill, are you sure you want to go out to the Cirque?"

"I'll go where I have to." You should know that. "It's just a bunch of hellbreed playing games. Nothing I haven't seen before."

"I really hope you don't mean that," she muttered, but she let it go.

It wasn't like her not to get the last word in, so I left it at that. Saul finished his tea, I got a few more odds and ends, and we left her up in her kitchen, tracing the ring of spilled tea from the bottom of her cup, drawing it on the table like it might give her an answer.

Of course they would settle near the trainyards, far north of my warehouse and on the fringes of the industrial section. A cold night wind came off the river, laden with flat iron-chemical scent. It was usually a space of empty, weed-strewn lots, a few squares of concrete left over from trailers or something, and a festooning of hypodermics and debris from when it used to be a shackville. The homeless were rousted out during a huge urban renewal drive five years ago, but the drive petered out and the fencing around the lots turned that bleached color everything gets after a winter or two in the desert.

Now it was cleaned up, the fencing was taken down in some parts, replaced in others, and it was starred with lights.

Everyone who told me about the Cirque was right. It does look bigger than its sorry little caravan would ever lead you to dream of. It sprawled like a blowsy drunk on a tattered divan, cheap paste jewels glittering.

Cirque de Charnu, the painted boards on the fence barked. The bigtop was up, canvas daubed with leering clown faces and swirls of watery glitter. Faint music rode the flat, whispering wind. The smell of fried food mixed uneasily with the blood-tang of the river, and I caught the undertone of sweat and animal manure too. Shouts and laughter, and a Ferris wheel I would have sworn wasn't part of the caravan spun like a confection of whipped cream and glass. Its winking lights were sterile eyes, and it shuddered as the wind changed. One pair of lights winked out, and I heard the faint ghost of a scream before it righted itself and went whirling merrily on.

We sat in the car overlooking the spectacle; there was a footpath down the embankment leading to the temporary parking lot, already full of vehicles. Little dust devils danced between the neat rows. The fringes of contamination and corruption were thin flabby fingers poking at each tire and dashboard.

Saul was smoking again, cherry tobacco smoke drifting out his window. The tiny bottle of holy water on a chain around his neck swirled with faint blue. "Smells like a trap," he finally said.

"It is." A trap for the weak or unwary. Or just for those who don't care anymore. "You sure you want to come with me?"

A shadow crossed his face. He tapped the ash from the cigarette with a quick, angry motion.

I glanced quickly away, over the carnival. The Ferris wheel halted, its cars swinging and trembling slightly, like leaves in a soft breeze. Its gaunt gantry looked hungry, and a couple lights flickered on the verge of going out.