Tapetum lucidum [təˈpi-təm lu-ci-dum] Latin noun. 1. Layer in the choroid of some animals, causing eyes to reflect light at night. 2. Bright tapestry.

Black Star generally kept his head well. He was a steady, roll-with-the-punches kind of guy, the very definition of a rock- but when daybreak dawned and two bone-tired horses wandered up to the caboose sans riders, heads hanging low and flanks lathered with pale whorls of seafoam sweat, he very nearly managed to frighten Tsubaki.

She grabbed him by the ear and pulled, right in front of everyone, who'd gathered at once to see what was wrong and why Black Star was shouting profanities this time. It was something she knew he hated, but he was scaring Yume and Aka, who'd been through quite enough. "Be quiet," she said sternly, opening her eyes very wide to dry away the beginnings of her tears. Her brother had taught her that trick, when they were both still small.

Black Star snapped his mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked. Kid, who was standing beside his father, relating the night's events and trying to come up with a plan, gave her a startled look, and Harvar snorted several amused sparks from his nose.

She ignored them and began unbuckling Yume's sweat-stiff girth. "Black Star," she said loudly, focusing very hard on her fingers to keep the stubborn tears from choking her. "We're not going to panic yet."

"Why not, exactly?" Liz put in with a frown. Black Star nodded vehemently, though he still didn't dare speak. Even Chrona, in hiding behind the ferocious Pattie, managed a wobbly nod.

"This does rather seem like the sort of occasion where one mounts a rescue mission, Tsubaki, for Maka and Soul at least, if not that... stowaway," Lord Death added. His voice was level and controlled, she noticed. Only the lashing of his frothy shadow-cloak, which ate up all the sunlight even in broad day and reflected absolutely nothing, revealed his agitation. He was an ugly, stressed-out black scarecrow at the moment, clearly just as upset as everyone else- worried about Soul and Maka, just like she was.

It was a moment of humanity that she rarely saw from her enigmatic employer, protective and just as he was. It brought home as well how dear Maka had become to them all over the past half a year.

Tsubaki stared into Lord Death's empty eye sockets and shrugged, letting Yume's saddle thunk carelessly to the ground and moving to Aka's. She hadn't forgotten how he'd meddled with Maka's memory in the first place, and Black Star's. It had been for a very good reason, and she'd gained a friend from it, but it wasn't the sort of thing she felt safe forgetting. It was too far beyond what she'd once thought possible, at least for… humans.

Her tiger had crawled onto her forearm and was watching her hands move with a thoughtful, narrow gaze like a falling star. Yume's sweat was sticky and warm on her fingers. Caution, she thought, steeling herself, breathing deep. Take the temperate path.

Fear was always breathing cold and eager at her back lately. She could remember Maka's face so clearly after she'd been bitten by that cursed snake, pale as snow and as still. Of course Tsubaki wanted to gallop off to the rescue, but separating the already divided circus further was a risky idea at best, and a fatal mistake at worst, which was why Maka, ever cunning and logical, hadn't done so in the first place.

There had been so, so many monsters that long midsummer's night, and there were so few riding with the circus. Harsh odds, to be sure. The Dire Circus had been more than strong enough to survive for years before Maka came along, but that huge battle had been a stern and bloody reminder that they were outnumbered, always- and that they never stayed in one place long for a reason. This fresh hell with Soul's brother felt like weight on top of weight, though it must be worse for him.

Her tiger blinked reassuringly, lending strength. Tsubaki said at last, "Soul's a terrible rider, and it wouldn't take anything at all to unseat him. And as for Maka, even the best of riders can still get bucked off. The horses would head back here if anything like that happened. It doesn't mean… She and Soul went by themselves for a reason."

"She did say it might only be a dream," Black Star said sourly while re-lacing his boots, having only just noticed that he'd shoved them on the wrong feet in his upset. "I mean- she's not like Jacqueline, or anything, but she's Maka. If she thought it was serious enough to go running off in the middle of the night… that's why I let her go, anyway. I trust her. Bearcat's smart."

"I know," Tsubaki said warmly, overtaken by a wave of affection for her own special idiot.

"And at least- at least she took Soul," Chrona whispered, emerging momentarily from Pattie's sweet, if suffocating, grip. "He's… scary."

"That's true," Lord Death sighed. "I mean, would you have been shocked if she ran off all by herself?"

"Noooo," everyone chorused at once, many with sighs and shaken heads.

"Exactly," said Lord Death, sounding suddenly grim again. "However, I find myself a bit more worried than is frankly enjoyable. Tsubaki, shall we give it, say, three hours and then head to the rescue?"

"We'll need to be moving at noon, at any rate, there's a train due southbound through this pass," Harvar put in.

"Two hours?" Black Star suggested, bouncing on his heels.

"Two hours," said Tsubaki hoarsely, resting her forehead against Yume's neck.

Watching Maka fight was hypnotizing. Soul was almost sad when she snarled, drove her scythe deep into the monster's neck with a sick, grinding squelch, and ended it before he could do more than slice a leg off.

She stood there panting, covered in sweat and mud, glowing in the hellish red of his blade and icy moonlight. "That thing is ugly," she gasped plaintively, planting a boot on it to wrench her scythe free.

"Yeah." It was more spider-like than anything, which made him feel itchy all over. It was big, taller than two of him, but weak enough, for all its size and gnashing fangs- or maybe Maka was just incredibly angry tonight. She was something, anyway. He thought maybe she was also feeling what he should be feeling, since her heart was always so boundless, and she knew he didn't quite know how. "Ugly and dead."

The last word sobered him instantly, wiped away all the buzzing adrenaline from the fight. Wes was almost certainly dead somewhere in these midnight mountains, and apparently Soul's long-lost parents were headed the same way, fast.

What was wrong with him? Was he still the awful person he'd been, to be so cold? He could say it to himself in his head, just like that, could even tentatively try to picture it, but nothing happened. There was no pain in his heart, no devastating wave of sorrow, no grief. He'd mourned for his parents a long time ago, maybe, and Wes was still nothing more than a stranger who'd stolen his face.

"Actually-" Maka said suddenly, pointing at something over his head with a pale, blood-spattered arm. "I think I found our stowaway."

"You what-" Soul put his head back and looked up. "How do you know that's Wes?"

"I recognize the shoes," she said practically, already trotting past him, Mae West in hand. The classy, if incredibly dirty, oxfords sticking out were the only thing that could be recognized, since the rest of Wes was entirely swathed in a cocoon of shimmering grey fibers.

Soul stared at it, feeling very empty, until he noticed one of those shoes twitch.

"Was it going to eat him?" Soul barked, angry again out of nowhere as he reached up and pulled a few branches down, giving Maka easier access. Wes might be related to people who'd done a very bad thing, but he seemed normal, like all the other people the circus protected, the ones who had no idea what terrible evil lurked. He hadn't deserved "Fucking-"

"Mmmmmph! Mmfff!" said the cocoon, thrashing as much as it could. The shoes were wriggling with vigor now.

"Hi, uh, Wes, it's just us, the circus, here to save you,," Maka muttered, obviously trying to be reassuring. "Oops, sorry, cut your nice jacket. Well, I can sew. Almost... There- whoop, Soul, grab him, he's falling-"

It was so strange, touching Wes. He was shaking his head blearily, barely able to stand but still trying to frantically scrape all the remnants of web away, so Soul just kept hanging on to one arm, propping his brother up.

He was holding his brother up. His brother was leaning on him. It was almost too intimate to bear, looking at a face so like Soul's own, after a lifetime of seeing nobody with his eyes or cheekbones or hands. It was bewildering, shocking, wonderful. It felt like belonging, almost like the circus felt. And Wes had everything of Soul's, down to the stupid slouch Maka was always after him about. Looking at Wes felt like-

Wes was looking back at him, and Wes was crying, draped like a saint in a glimmering shroud of tattered web. "I'm sorry," he said, very clearly. "How'd you- what was that thing? How did you find me? How did you know- Hadley, I'm sorry. I swear to you I didn't know what happened to you. I was seven, and I was lied to. I'm sorry."

"Soul," Maka said softly, pressing her fingertips over her mouth as if she were about to cry herself, watching with loving, glittering eyes from behind her mask of darkly drying blood. "If you want, he could come back with us. You might like having a brother. If you want. If you want, I'll help."

A new road opened up at once before Soul, fresh and terrifying, as he clutched his shaking brother. He could see it, practically, because he'd done it once already with Maka, the slow and nearly unbearable vulnerability of letting another person in so deep. He knew how it would go, knew he could do it, knew that the possibility of forgiveness was in him now.

It was, as Maka had astutely pointed out, simply a question of want, but before he could do anything, Wes shuddered and straightened up. The way he gathered himself was nearly visible, and Soul found himself rather impressed with such bravery from a civilian. Wes was staring at the carcass of the spider-thing with very large, wet eyes that seemed to soak up all the moonlight. With the pale shreds of spiderweb still in his hair, he was even more a haunted mirror of Soul.

"It's like Mom and Dad," Wes said at last. "Isn't it? Did that thing use to be a man?"

Maka squeaked. "Or a woman," Soul said, too startled to do anything but gape at Wes. "How- you mean- wait, you don't mean our parents are changing too? That's what you meant earlier?"

"I didn't know how far it could go," Wes whispered, patting his hair down with one hand. He sounded dazed, and Soul saw his hand was shaking; brave, yes, but still feeling the fear of this nightmarish, impossible experience. "That thing couldn't even speak, look at it! Oh, God, and I left them alone. So far it's just… they're not like this, and Mom can still talk to me..."

"Wait," Maka said. "Your father can't speak any longer? It's progressed that far? Where in Eddystone do you live?"

"No, he can't, he's got these... teeth... Uh. Not far from the town hall," Wes answered automatically, looking to Soul again; it was like a bucket of ice water meeting his eyes. "Where I was performing when I saw you. Hadley, I want to make this right. Whatever they may have done, whatever's happening to them, it's not- it's not as if they don't deserve it. Dad sold the company without telling anybody, do you know how many people are out jobs? Every man in town worked at the factory, and he just-" Wes made a sharp, cutting motion with his hand. He looked brittle, bitter, as if he might snap beneath everything; Soul realized quite abruptly that his big brother's life was not, perhaps, as charmed as he'd assumed. "No severance packages, nothing. Profits were declining, apparently. He isn't always- he's my father, but he isn't always good."

Soul swallowed. It hurt. "I think what Maka means," he managed, feeling as if he were chewing gravel, "Is that two monsters could hurt a lot of people, right in the middle of a city like that. Usually people run when they start to change, hide out."

She came up to them cautiously, putting one small, cool hand on Soul's forearm and tilting her face up towards Wes'. "I know things are scary and strange for you," she said, and she was alight from the inside like stained glass in that way only she had, all the love and faith and fire in her shining out. "But I've been in your exact shoes before, I promise you, and we'll help you and your parents, but we need to get to Eddystone right away. It's still, what, three or four miles?"

"At least," Wes said, blinking at her, and then looking at her hand on Soul's arm. "Are you telling me they're- a danger?"

"Yes," she told him, very gently. Soul was so grateful to her in that moment, for not making him tell Wes their parents would die or be killed, that he could barely breathe. "I'm so sorry, Wesley."

Wes covered his eyes and looked away, but only for a moment. "My parents have worked enough bad in that town," he said firmly. "If I'd known they'd keep changing until they hurt people, I wouldn't have left them, but it looks like we'd better start moving. Or- well, you two don't have to come. You've done enough, swooping in to save me and all." He gave an awkward little laugh. Soul recognized it as his own, with some internal horror. "This isn't your problem, it's mine. And- this isn't your family, after what they did." The last he said straight to his erstwhile shoes, unable to meet Soul's gaze.

A very nasty part of Soul was enjoying his brother's shame. For just a moment, he thought about hurting him, stepping forward and hitting him the way he'd imagined so many times as a child. What else had there been to dream about except revenge, and the faint hope it might take away some of his unforgivable weakness?

He took a deep breath. Maybe Wes deserved a good ass-kicking, maybe he didn't, but there were innocents in danger, and Maka was watching him with that luminous, evergreen stare, so full of belief. Disappointing her would be as impossible for him as breathing water. "Let's fucking go already, then, if you can walk," he said roughly.

"Good job," Maka whispered, beaming at him. He scowled.

They weren't sprinting, but it was a near thing. Nobody spoke; nobody had breath to, and anyway, fear held all three of them too strong. Wes was wheezing noticeably, but he kept pace with stubborn determination as they trotted down the center of the railroad tracks. It was smoother and more level here than anywhere else, better at least than picking their way through the forest, but that didn't mean it wasn't easy to keep from tripping on the uneven ties and treacherous gravel.

It got worse as they got more fatigued. The flickering shadows from the trees and clouded skies played tricks on them, made everything ominous; Soul's heart would have been racing even if he weren't. Finally Wes held up a hand. "Walk," he sputtered, and even Maka, red-faced, didn't argue.

They ran as long as they could, and then they walked, and then they ran again, gasping and choking on the bitterly cold night air. It felt like far more than four miles to Soul, but then he generally avoided running whenever possible.

By the time Eddystone's lights sparkled through the trees, a mirage before their swimming eyes, nobody was running. Maka was walking fast, but she looked close to upchucking, and she was leaning on her scythe and half-limping every other step, like she had a blister and didn't want to admit it.

"People will notice her," Wes said airlessly, clutching his chest. Eddystone sat in a shallow valley, and it was a huge relief to begin the downhill leg of their cursed trip, even if it was murder that awaited them at the end of it.

"Fuck." Wes was right. Soul had caught a spray of that stupid spider-thing's unnatural blood on the leg of his trousers, but Maka was absolutely spattered in it. She wiped ineffectually at her face with her sleeve, then shrugged, pushing back sweat-drenched bangs.

"Too late now. We'll take the back way," she decided.

"What? She runs things for a reason," Soul said grouchily, when he caught Wes glancing at them with raised brows.

"I didn't say a thing," Wes said, raising his hands hastily. "I'm not stupid enough to antagonize a bird who just took out something the size of a building, with fangs."

"Well, not that big," Maka said, but she was grinning as she battled her way through some persistent blackberry vines. Soul mentally re-evaluated Wes yet again: brave, not stupid despite initial impressions, impulsive, and an aggravatingly good flirt.

Actually, he was a little bit like Black Star, it seemed.

"Are you okay? Gonna upchuck?" Maka said sympathetically, wiping her forehead again.

"No," Soul barked. "God! Just- Wes, where do we go from here?"

"Er-" Wes considered that, taking the opportunity to pause and catch his breath. "Well. I usually drive places. I think if we keep going we'll hit the railroad station, though, and I know where to go from there."

"Okay, let's go, then," Maka said urgently. It chilled both the boys, and they looked at each other at once, then away.

"Not far, now," said Wes, perhaps fifteen minutes later. They were well into Eddystone now, trying not to look suspicious while sidling from dark alley to alley in one shifty, wild-eyed, bloody bunch. Few lamps were lit, but more than one person was out on the streets; enough that Maka tried to hide her scythe behind Wes and his rebellious, spiderwebby cloud of hair.

They were still breathless, even as they forced themselves to keep a reasonable pace through the chilly, fog-soaked streets. Every rare circle of lamplight came out of the dark like an island, and Soul found it harder and harder to leave with each one they passed. He was weary to the bone, soaked in sweat and blood, on his way straight back to the hellish home he'd just escaped, dumb as dirt. The sky was lightening now, burning with streaks of lurid pink, and surely the horses were back at the circus, or would be soon- Yume and Aka knew exactly where their home was.

"Here it is," Wes said.

There was no screaming, no howling. No dog was barking, which was either very good or very bad. The large front door of the fine, three-story brick house was shut, and only one window was lit up, high on the third floor.

"I can't, I can't," Soul said, reaching blindly for Maka's hand. He couldn't look, couldn't see it, couldn't bear the pain he knew was coming. It was all the worse because he'd been there before, could feel the frost creeping into his spirit with exacting precision.

"I'll go-" she breathed, but he shook his head at once, and he heard Wes chuff out a startled breath.

"No. They're my parents," Wes said stoutly, after a moment. "I'll go." Fine words, but his hands were shaking again, and he swayed in place, as if his feet could simply go no further.

Maka shook her head, unsure, looking all around uneasily. Soul knew why- they looked like vagabonds at best, villainous murderers at worst, and soon someone would wake up and wonder why three strangers were lurking in the street before dawn.

He looked at his brother, and he called up the old hunger, waiting for the comforting black to boil away his conscience and his cares. It didn't work. Maka's hand was warm and calloused in his own, and Wes' face was haunted.

The house was silent. Soul went up the steps and opened the door. It was not locked; it swung smoothly inward at his push. There was a wrought-iron doorknocker in the shape of an imp hanging from it, looking heavy enough to take Soul in its impressive jaws at any moment. He eyed it, then went inside. Hadn't he already survived worse?

It was dark, until Wes did something by the wall. An elaborate chandelier lamp flared to life, and the first thing Soul saw in the wide foyer was a piano. His stomach clenched.

"There's music playing," said Maka, still holding his hand, right at his side.

Soul shook his head, and Wes was frozen. The silence settled again, dust in a tomb. Everything was shiny. Everywhere the eye looked was beauty, but Soul was cold.

Finally Wes jerked to life, went through a doorway, and re-appeared a minute later with a baseball bat and a heavy metal flashlight. He looked at them defiantly, especially as Maka was clutching her scythe now, but Soul was the last person who'd order someone else to kill. He knew what it cost.

"Any servants? A maid?" Maka asked, shaking her head, getting back into business mode.

"No," Wes answered, white and ghastly, throat working as he swallowed. "Uh, nobody live-in. The maids come in a few hours."

Soul followed the music, which he slowly recognized as a recording of Wes' playing, through a maze of ornate rooms. Maka and Wes followed at his heels, Wes aiming the pearly beam of the flashlight ahead. They went to the second floor at first, mistakenly, and then followed the melody back down, through the kitchen.

When Soul pushed open the door to the panty, it fell off its hinges until it leaned drunkenly on one closed latch- closed from the inside. A fine, choking sawdust rose up, furring their throats and scratching their eyes. There were claw marks on the side of the door that had been inside the pantry.

Wes moaned in wild agony, and, distantly, a dog began to bark, somewhere upstairs.

"Is that-?" Maka gasped, whirling around and staring up, as if she could see through all the floors.

"The light that was on… their bedroom," Wes muttered, nearly vibrating, his eyes wet. "Oh, god, that's Potato. He's okay."

"Potato?"

"My dog."

"Great, but what about that?" Soul said, kicking the door. He hadn't brought his red blade out yet- he was going to have to answer enough of Wes' questions when this was all over- but he had it ready, burning and eager just below his tender skin.

"Oh," Wes said, staring into the pantry. Then he shut his eyes and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. "There's nothing there but the wine cellar. Which has three locks. And is Mom's favorite place-"

He couldn't finish. Soul hovered awkwardly beside his chair while Maka went inside the pantry to check that, yes, the Evans parents were safely locked in the wine cellar, unable to hurt anyone. Then she came in and sat by Wes.

"They locked themselves in there. Or Mom did it, at least, somehow," Wes said, after a while. His eyes were raw and red, and he looked older than he had an hour ago. Soul had the feeling he'd been preparing himself for this for a long time in the back of his mind. Still, dubious moral codes or not, they'd been Wes' parents. Tears were to be expected.

They'd been Soul's parents, too, but he had a feeling his own tears would be a long time coming, if ever. But he could do a good thing, he could comfort his brother, so at last he cleared his throat and said, "I'm so sorry."

"They weren't all bad," Wes said hoarsely, his head in his hands as he slumped at the table. Maka had disappeared again, to give them time alone and to rescue poor Potato, and the quiver in his words was all too audible beneath the hum of the electric lights. "I don't know why they did that to you, or any of the things they did- I don't know if they thought you'd be better off, I don't know if Dad told Mom, I don't know why, but I know that you were loved. By me, if not by them." He looked embarrassed at such a confession, but he ploughed on anyway. "And I know that I've- I've done terrible things to people I loved, by accident and on purpose, but I still loved them. People are flawed…"

"I can't forgive them, but I can... I…" How the hell was he supposed to say something so touchy-feely, to this brother that he'd just met? Though the more time he spent with Wes, the more Soul did remember- a scuffle over marbles, an impromptu duet during music lessons, stealing matches from the maid to play firemen with. It was faint, but this man was family, in the same absolutely complete and mysterious way Maka and the rest of the circus were. "They were your parents." Soul sat down at last beside Wes and put a hand on his shoulder, because that was what Maka would do.

"I wonder what it would have been like-" Wes mumbled, glancing at Soul between a cage of familiarly bony fingers. "If they hadn't-"

"Not as good as my life is now," Soul said. "Er, no offense, because I suppose I don't completely hate you after all like I did at… uh, first… but I wouldn't change it. Not even after everything." And Wes still didn't know the half of it, but there would be time for that, and maybe Soul wouldn't even burden him with all of it. Why add guilt on top of guilt?

"Thanks, Hadley," said Wes, collapsing again onto the table. "Does it bother you if I call you that? I know it's not, uh, what you go by now."

"I'd prefer you call me Soul, actually," Soul said, surprised by his own impulse towards honesty. Yet Wes just shrugged and nodded, and they sat there together, listening to the silence coming from the locked wine cellar, and the rapidly approaching yips of Potato.

"Ouch-" Wes protested, dodging rapid-fire popcorn missiles from Black Star, who was cackling. How the hell did he throw them with so much lethal velocity? The stands around them were packed. It was a cold night, but nobody was complaining. Instead, when Wes looked around, he saw a hundred smiles framed among the glittering constellations pricked into the canvas. It wasn't all that different from the crowds he played for at his concerts- it had the same energy, the same almost palpable, high-wire tension, and he knew his brother would love it the same way. The big top was completely full, alive with laughter, and the Dire Circus had, against all odds and after much pain, returned to Eddystone."Dumb as dirt," was all Hadley had said about it, for reasons he refused to reveal, but he hadn't protested when Maka volunteered them to help clean out Wes' parents' house, and now, at long last, the circus was open to the public.

"Black Star, stop that, it's not nice," Tsubaki said, her lovely lips twitching. "I want to throw popcorn at him!" Only halfway pretending to dodge, Wes had to work very hard not to stare as her flame-orange tiger tattoo winked one eye at him before stretching lazily out along her collarbone. That was another one of those things that had been explained away as, "It's just what happens around here, don't ask questions," by Hadley, but Wes was finding it harder and harder to keep his mouth shut.

Soul, he told himself, finally managing to catch one of Tsubaki's tosses in his mouth, a great victory over the smug Black Star, who'd been boasting all evening but hadn't managed the same feat yet. Wes was about to rub it in when he was engulfed in a bewildering cloud of perfume, purple, and lace.

"My name's Blair," said the attacker, retreating slightly. It was an almost unbelievably attractive woman with purple hair and shockingly little clothing.

"Hnnn?"

"Yes, and you're Wesley Evans, I know," Blair said, smiling. It was devastating; Wes was reminded strongly of the effect of better strains of moonshine.

"Yes. Yes, I am," he said, rallying at last and with great effort. "Care to sit down?"

"What a gentleman," she said, positively purring, and then she sat on his lap. He wasn't entirely sure how to tell her that he'd already come to a sort of understanding with Harvar, the very handsome, sweet and empathetic train conductor, but after some artful giggling and wriggling, she shoved Black Star over and perched on the bench next to him.

Wes' head was spinning even more than it usually did around his brother's circus friends, and his jaw dropped when the already dim lighting inside the massive tent went out in an instant. A single spotlight lit up Lord Death, whose gruesome mask was polished for the occasion.

"Where'd he come from?" Wes whispered to Blair.

She slanted him a wicked look. "Where have you been all my life? Don't ask questions. Ooh, look!"

"Welcome, one and all, to the Dire Circus," Lord Death boomed, at a volume that Wes felt in his bones. "I'm pleased to announce that we've got an especially amazing lineup of performers tonight. If anyone in the audience has a weak heart, we suggest you leave now. Prepare to be astounded, terrified, awestruck- and please, remember to breathe." With a low, sweeping bow, Lord Death melted back into the shadows of the center ring.

A strange piano melody began to play from nowhere at all, so softly as to blend in with Wes' rapid heartbeat. He realized he was holding his breath, staring at that empty ring as it was slowly, completely illuminated; he let it out all in a rush, blinking dry eyes. Blair snickered.

The music increased in intensity, a bounding, joyous crescendo. It was the strangest song Wes had ever heard- nothing like anything he'd played himself, or written, but he thought he could listen for hours. Every note was a surprise.

A curtain he hadn't noticed opened for an instant, and Maka swept in like a storm, transformed and nearly blinding. Her horse alone was a sight to behold, brushed to a glossy shine and prancing parade-horse style, tail flagging high and proud like a spray of blood. Maka was wearing… a crown? No, a helmet, he saw, as she swept by in a flurry of pounding hooves and enchanting music. A winged helmet, as golden as her loose, whipping hair, a valkyrie's crown. She was wearing something black and glittering, equally theatric, but the helmet-

She was as much a warrior now, dancing with her horse and rousing the crowd to a series of breathless, astonished roars, as she'd been trying to rescue his parents, knife in hand and teeth bared, racing through the night. She and her horse thundered around the ring once, twice more, then they skidded to a stop in the exact center, motionless in a moment amid a smoky haze of dust.

The music stopped when they did, perfectly united. It was as if everything had stopped, and everyone was holding their breath. When Wes squinted into the shadows, where Tsubaki had pointed earlier, he could just make out the faintest gleam of red: Soul's mask.

That was all he could see of his brother, but he did see Maka blow a kiss in that direction, an instant before her mount reared high, striking the air with hooves painted gold. The crowd's cheers shook the big top. The music swelled in beautiful harmony as the red horse and his rider surged forward again.

NOTES:

Caboose: The last car, at the posterior end of a train. Originally used as shelter for the crew, but I think in modern times it's just a random car.

Bird: slang for girl, woman.

The Evans family is rich- they definitely had electricity. homes though 1920 used drop lights, an exposed bulb hanging from the ceiling, usually without a switch like we have today. Also, flashlights were invented around 1900 exactly, so a rich boy like Wes would surely have a nice one.

You know me. Of course the dog lives. Long live Potato! Who is, incidentally, the world's cutest and most wriggly pit bull, if any one's interested.

WHEW. IT IS DONE. oh boy, i wanted smut in here, but it just didn't work out, sorry. if I write some DC-verse smut one-shots after this I'll put them on my tumblr or on here, in Piano Keys & Dirty Knees (which is all my DC drabbles). Oh, and all the spider foreshadowing was meant to be setup for Arachne (the one who's been following the circus, sending extra monsters after them) to show up, but I just didn't have the energy or inspiration to write that arc after all, I'm sorry. But I suppose you can still consider that canon, actually, she just isn't mentioned by name.

ANYWAY. thank you SO MUCH to everyone who helped me along the way with this, I truly hope you enjoyed it and that I lived up to the spirit of the original Dire Circus (and that I managed to show Soul's growth as well as the 'road less traveled' theme- because that was rough, haha, I'm so proud of him), and don't forget to go look at eisschirmchen's gorgous art on tumblr! Much love!

-RDH