Even before the flash on the screen faded, something deep inside whispered a disbelieving memory. 'The Morning Star'. There was an instant urge to get back to L.A. The image of the Angel burned into the eyes so that even after the screen turned to snow, the image of Lucifer in all his glory could still be seen. It was truly him. Somewhere deep inside, he just knew. The Devil himself was in the city of angels. Two other feels, like a sixth sense arose. The sense of God... No, not quite, but something Truly Holy. And a burning fear. A dread that something far worse is coming.

The current job, investigation of a family known as the Giovanni, known to have ties to both vampirism and necromancy, had taken James to the East coast. After a month of of paper trails and stake outs, James had found the house, but no Giovanni. None living or undead anyway. The mansion on the coast was crawling with zombies and wraiths. Not simple ones either. These were old souls, and the things they animated were no joke either. The Giovanni meeting seemed to be at an end, however, as some of the zombies happened to be some of the family he had followed here. He had just gotten back to the motel when the news peeked. He would still have to pack and head out.

The roads all across the country were crazy. Looters, doom sayers, evacuators, all trying to get somewhere, and James was forced to stay on the back roads on his was to L.A. Once, when reentering some semblance of life along the outskirts of St. Lewis, MO, reception returned to James' phone, showing he had a voicemail. It said it was from Lauren, but there was a woman on the message.

"James. My name is Fara, and I am calling on behalf of Lauren, as he is recovering. He was in the fight in L.A. and can't speak at the moment, but he suggested you may be able to help us with something. L.A. is in ruin right now, and the military has it quarantined, so you can not return there yet. There was a group that appeared in LA in the middle of the battle, then vanished as it ended. This group is a legend. A myth. But there were far too many witnesses to disbelieve. This group calls itself the Carnival of Chaos. Werewolves have very little dealings with them except that it is said they have an abomination in their ranks. An abomination that once was a writer of our sacred books. We need you to see what you can find on them. We need to know if they have anything to do with the Apocalypse, and what side they are on. We would go, but we have too many injured. Lauren seems to think you may be on your way back to LA... The only thing we could get from the group is that it is supposed to contain a collection of several kinds of supernaturals, and they may have something to do with odd occurrences in a place called Stover Missouri.

James. Don't jack around. These people have been said to topple entire towns, killing vampire princes and everyone involved with them. This is serious, which is why we need to know their intent. Be careful. Lauren will be OK, and I will have him call when he can." *Click*
If James tried to call back, he would get a voicemail.

The Society of Leopold has been on the move as a whole for months. All over the world, supernatural activity has surfaced on a larger scale than any time since the dark ages. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, and even Demons have made themselves known in some kind of panic. A band of priests and paladins had been sent to Cairo and Los Angeles, and though they were told not to hold back, neither returned. The Sisterhood of Saint Claire had been sent to both these locations with another small band of hunters to see if anything could be done, Sister Meredith being sent to America.

After landing in Florida, the group had acquired a pair of RVs, one for the nuns, the other for the hunters, and had headed west. The events of the L.A. battle occurred while the group sat at the family ran diner of "Mom and Dads" for lunch in Stover Missouri. The four other customers, plus 5 staff members all glued to the small ceiling mounted TV. Drinks were clumsily refilled, and checks not even printed, as the day wore on, but no one moved from their seats. Then came the Morning Star. A flash of brilliant light followed by the image of an angel bathed in light and glory. A couple of the nuns reflexively crossed themselves, tears pouring from their eyes.

The hunters immediately left as the TV suddenly clicked to static, the image of the angel still burned on the screen. The nuns however, sat, all looking to Meredith. There was a mix of reactions around them. One of the cooks instantly went back to work, though his blank stare showed he wasn't really home upstairs. Many quietly got up and left as if they had all paid and were simply through. One of the waitresses broke down, fell to her knees and began to pray. Someone else was praying as well in the back, though it was in another language. The manager simply turned and went into his office, a solid click showing it was firmly locked.

There is a sudden spark of terror that strikes all Malkavians at once. It it there only a moment with the thought of Caine. Then it is gone. More echoes follow of panic, fear, elation, and triumph from lesser malks all around the world. The first however, was the strongest ever felt by the madness network. After this there is nothing but static. Excited static, but no more than is ever buzzing the cobweds. Then came a vision. A lone Malk. Anthous, or Anthony or ant colony, who knows. There are images of a circus, a freak show. Supernatural beings acting for humans. Beings pretending to be humans pretending to be beings. Wasn't that in a movie once? Moving on. Caine! Mark of of the lord keeps Caine safe, but the lord isn't here. Who's keeping Caine safe? Caine keeps Caine safe. Safe to walk the halls of his city. The first city, the dead city. Were the dead live. Caine is Hungry.

Another wave of fear from that strongest source.

Angel of death. No. No angel, no demon. Reaper. Caine's last chance. Never! Rage, contempt, pride. Lucifer! But not. The morning star. Execution, the end, the end times. A black marble? What the hell? Moving on. The marble is cracked. Breaking more as it spins in nothing. Not nothing, a labyrinth?

Image of the old wooden Labyrinth game.


Something's coming from the ball. Light and anti light. Like a firework. Fourth of July?

Something else among us. "They Live". Good movie. Seen it? Moving on.

L.A. city of angels. All Too True. Angel, and devil, and death! It begins. The trinity has come together. The truth is out there. Not a fan. Aliens? Really? Aren't we fucked up enough? L.A. Been there, done that, got a bloody T-shirt. I have seen the devil. Huh.

A circus ticket appears
"Carnival of Chaos"
701 N Oak St, Stover, MO 65078

Be there or be squared.... Or dead...

James redirected himself on the road, heading for a place called Stover. James hadn't operated in the back country much, especially not that of the Midwest, and he was still a bit on-edge from the Giovanni case, and the news spectacle from L.A. He was also worried about Lauren, and desperate to talk to him, especially given the recent...memories transpiring in James' head. Akiel... This name reverberated through the whole of James' being, causing a nagging feeling that something else was with him. Something...ancient. There was also a spiritual feeling, one of an entity that felt both new and familiar to James, the presence of something powerful and Holy. These thoughts wrapped themselves around James' mind as he drove, and would not cease for another hour.

Pulling into the town of Stover, James located the center of town, looking over the various businesses and houses in the small town. Locating a bar, James pulled into the parking lot, stepped out of his car, and walked in. The bar was rather full given the time of day, but James supposed it was natural given the events that had recently transpired. Ignoring the looks parted on him by the townsfolk, he stepped up to the bar and took a seat at a stool, waiting quietly for the bartender to approach him. "Whiskey, on the rocks, with a water back." He said to the bartender, who walked of to prepare his drink. Gently tapping his fingers against the bar, James would simply watch the muted news broadcast on TV waiting for his drink to arrive.

When the bartender returned, James thanked him, but spoke to him before he could walk off. "James Odeman, private investigator. I'm in town as part of a case, and in need of some information. Recent events have brought me here, and I was wondering if you could help me. See, I'm looking for a carnival supposed to be in this area. Would you happen to know anything about that, or know anyone who might?" As he waited for the bartender's reply, James sipped at his drink, watching the person carefully.

The bartender gave a soft grin, but the answer did not come from him. Instead, it came from the man sitting next to James at the bar. He looked like he maybe 21, his blonde hair spiked straight up. He wore a long red leather trench coat, and through it seemed to be shredded and covered in holes in some places, it was hard to tell if the wet places on it were blood or some other liquid due to the red of the coat.

"Bud, you're lookin at it." His voice came, amused but somehow tired. The man shifted to face James, the coat moving in telling ways the investigator would likely be used to looking for. There were long solid places along the back of the coat suggesting swords. The coat also made exaggerated shifts near his hips suggesting guns, but if they were, they were damn big ones.

Even inside the bar, the man wore rose colored shades, but as she moved towards James, he slid them down his nose slightly to look at the investigator with bright yellow eyes. "Question is, does the Carnival want to know you?"

Looking around the room, James would be able to notice many of the patrons were concealing weapons, and some weren't bothering to conceal them. Likely ones with jobs or permits to allow them to open carry. Something inside James seemed to roll over in recognition when he looked at a couple of them. Not something visible, as they looked human enough, but something inside him knew they were not what they seemed.

James noted the clear display of force given off by the various bar patrons, and knew not to test their patience. brushing his hand along his suit coat to make it clear he himself was armed, and would not go down easy. Taking another sip of his whiskey, and staring the young man directly in the eye, James spoke. "Quite the eye color you've got there. Myths and legends say that yellow eyes are the most notable traits of a shapeshifter. But what would a shapeshifter need with armed backup, and his own concealed weapons, I wonder. No, I think there's something different about you. Something similar to recent events." As James spoke, his own eyes did something without his knowledge, flashing a glint of the being hidden deep inside him, of the one known as Akiel.

"Now, I'm sure you're aware of the events transpiring in Los Angeles. My job is to investigate such events, generally without the consent of more...mundane authorities. I'm aware of such entities like those seen in Los Angeles, and that's why I'm here. Your 'carnival' is said to be home to some of these less-known denizens of Earth, and I need to know what you're up to, if anything. I'm here as a concerned third party. A..representative of the more overlooked citizens of this world. I have no intentions of causing trouble, I and my more paranormal allies simply need to be assured that things are under control, and that there are no upcoming troubles for those of us that are more mundane in our endeavors."

The man chuckled softly, though let James finish. He was satisfies that the man knew enough to be open, and though lacking in some areas, was generally exposed enough not to generally freak out. "You're close, bud. But the eyes are fae, not shifter. As for what we are up to..."

"We are up to nothing at the moment." This voice was a stark contrast to the youthful energetic one of the Fae in front of him. It came from a man that was slowly walking down the stairs from the top office. He was dressed in black slacks and a black button up shirt that looked a size too big as it hung unbuttoned from his shoulders. He had long unkempt blonde hair, though red streaks stained several places. He was not buff, or all that intimidating at all, and the sad expression on his face didn't seem to be one he wore often. He looked middle age, though he carried himself like the weight of centuries rested on his back. "I appreciate you not wanting any trouble, and I assure you, you will not have any as long as you remain Civil."

The young man next to James turned, taking his own drink and leaving to free a seat for the newcomer. The older man sat next to James, extending his hand. "Anthous. I own this bar, and lead the Carnival you seek."

Sister Meredith stared at the television screen for a while, not letting her face betray any emotion, yet her tightly clenched fists obviously showed that she is not entierly serene about all this. She exhaled, and looked around through the diner and opening her mouth to speak "The recent events are horrifying indeed... For so long, have many of us told people to repent, for the end was so nigh... Yet regardless of this apocalypse, we shall not back down. Know, that we shall smite the fiends that would try to attack this town. Our weapons and our faith shall keep us strong, and should you need sanctuary, the churches are the places to seek that, even if their size is finite. Ready yourselves, people. Say your prayers and be sincere with them. If you can, try to atone for the past misdeeds and do not give in to the horrors that may come."

The woman sighed "May God deliver us..." and began making her way out, motioning to her sisters to come. They had boarded a vehicle and the driver carried them to the closest of the three churches, where groups of people were already gathered, multiple cars were parked chaoticly throughout the street, completely disregarding the law due to the lack of space. The nuns got out of the jeep and made their way towards the church, where many members of the society were even building rough fortifications, while others vigilantly stood guard.

Meredith closed herself in a cloister, grasping a cat of nine tails and kneeling before a smoking censer. She unrapped her bandages and the rather recently scabbed marks on an immensely scarred back shown that she practices this sort of thing often... And thus, yet another session of a painful prayer of repentance has begun...

A sudden urge to spring out of his daily slumber pumped Peter’s body upwards, with panic carved into the eternally callow face of the vampire, but his teenage body stopped midway in the motion, trapped by the tiny weight of a small elementary aged girl who was nursed into wearing a platonic smile on top of his tensed abdomen. With a twinge of confusion lacing around his vision, his eyes shifted over her petite, dormant frame—the sight of her calmed him—when without much notice other than the flexed urge that had possessed him not even seconds earlier, a long, discomforting moment of static white light and a void of blankness blindfolded him like a thief into the labyrinth of the Cobweb.

Voices and hands pulled his mind every which way, dragging tattered weaves of incoherent words and images through this maddening maze. Peter felt as if he was going to be torn apart by such sharp silks twisting and turning, sewing different ideas and patterns in between the juggernaut of his fucking brain. The voices changed tones and fluctuated, corners of wood plastered as his vision haphazardly buzzed catchwords and phrases. Constant terror pressed the murky shadows of everything his mind could touch while in this state. It was all happening too soon and too quickly. And, it hurt. it hurt like a mean joke that ended in death. But, suddenly, he was invited to a carnival with a threat, and the static stopped.

Now, it was just him and the nothingness and the silence.

His thin fingers unconsciously clawed at his face with short, picked nails, digging cold skin into his sockets, trying to exhaust his eyes torture from the kaleidoscopic visions. His teeth tightened with his jaw, lips parting to relieve pressure, until finally, the deep chattering of silence escaped him, and his hands and upper body collapsed back into the bedding exhaustively. The ruffling of his body turned the resting child slightly, but she failed to really partake of any notice of the movement while she was entranced in a deep spell, succumb to her own vision of what that Malkavian nightmare had woven, perhaps.

Peter’s dark, tired eyes fluttered open to focus and unfocus as the words and visions were echoing laughter in his mind like a fun house mirror reflecting opposites and upside down proportions while drawing further and further away from his line of site. Immortal pupils continued reshaping size as fragments and shards of the Madness Network coiled nonsensically through his beating mind. Cain, he saw Cain…— No, no, he did not. The confusing terror left his mental state in a daze, mind-numbingly staring glassy eyed upward with nothing but the sound of the child’s breaths and heart to reassure him that he hadn’t died and gone to hell once upon a time. No, he was very much still living in this physical plane he had always inhabited, even prior to his Embrace.

Long shadows draped overhead, catching his attention towards the dark ceiling glaring back at him with various illusions smugly drawing their wicked obstacles to the turning wheels of distorted truths he had just seen. Black spots danced accordingly into his returning vision with little lines of silver fluttering throughout the dark voids—the sensation was akin to a human’s dehydration spell, and the basic lust of desperation for humanity slumbered a nervous, dizzy smile on his pale face as what had happened nestled into the folds of his mind while his permanently deranged mind resettled itself. His neck twisted, turning his spinning site to look downwards upon his dollish ghoul. As the vampire’s vision settled amongst the reality of now, it carefully traced the geometric lines making up the thing resting so submissively on his lower body. No matter how many natural curves he found in her tiny form, he just couldn’t bare to see her become a square.

His mind swayed back-and-forth quietly to an contemplative, imaginary tune as he watched the girl drift through the sleep realm. There was a depressive excitement in him as if he had just been given a lucky ticket to something too important. The scary things that had taunted him moments earlier morphed into some innate task, chore, routine; a need. His smile persisted, however. His hand extended and nudged the tender cheek of the child. The little girl was no longer needed in her sleeping form. Although, he could have very well done this with her mind shut from the physical world, but she enjoyed it too much for him to not care about her state. He also wanted her awake and with him for the carnival.

The slumbering smile lazily drawn on his parted lips turned further upwards as his voice pressed from his mouth, “Annie…” the playful coo tickled apathetically in his vocal cords, “Uncle Scottie requests you open your eyes… Annie,” the same mischievous tongue soothed his voice outwards and towards her now gently twitching facial features. Peter’s face tried resting itself into a more passive state, but as her eyelids opened to reveal her dark marble pupils outlined by thick hazel rings of mortal youth and immortally-corrupted innocence, the nightmarish realm of the Cobweb rewove its remains in his mind. There was the screaming silence, again, as he could intricately feel his face drifting from jest to angst. Caine is hungry. No, he was hungry, not Caine.

The poor girl’s head lifted from his body as her tangled, blonde hair dripped from her head and unfolded into uncoordinated curls upon her boney shoulders. A small hand passively rubbed one of her eyes before pushing her body into a sitting position. Her hand fell to the bedding, fist lightly curling bed sheets into her fingers. Her large, childish eyes blinked several times, adjusting to the new state of mind, and her soft lips slowly parted before gripping the same expression of a child being introduced to a candy shop for the very first time, “Uncle Scottie!” Annie’s eyes lit up in the darkness of the room, “I was just dreaming about you!” her dollish voice tinkled excitedly, and her frail body climbed on top of him, nudging him eagerly.

Peter’s head slowly tilted sideways, observing the mortal creature approaching onto him. His smile wavered back a bit in return from the distraught experience that had molded over him upon the opening of her eyes. His need for her took priority, now, if for anything it was for her vitae—as she was also feeling for his own or just a Kiss. She was so fake, Peter often thought, just like a doll. He pondered about it being annoying and superficial, but beggars could not be choosers. And, in Peter’s maniacal need for a family structure, this is what he had, and even if it was so blatantly insufficient and lacking in all aspects because of himself, the Deliroe family had, nonetheless, become an essential part of his immortal life as his very close and dear playthings; his blood dolls; his darlings. They were his, and he wanted them just as they wanted him. It was ghoulish. It was ugly, but it worked.

Extending a hand, his thin fingers combed Annie’s light, stray hairs from her sleepy face that was now grinning something less human back at him. A finger twirled several of her curls before releasing the soft threads, “And I, perhaps you, my little one,” his voice puppeteering back at her while he propped his body further and embraced the young girl in his arms like a hug, which she reciprocated carnally, nuzzling herself into his firm chest. His neck bent around hers while he drew in her scent—her sweet, youthful scent, and with parted lips, his mouth found itself on her childlike flesh and began feeding accordingly, sucking with pleasure. The supple blood was not nearly as strong as her parents’. However, a small, sweet snack from his dearest Annie never hurt anyone, and the soft, gentle mewls breathing from the child was an obvious reminder to accompany her taste.

Peter withdrew his mouth after some time, tongue gently curving against any mess from the girl’s vessel and his own flesh. His hands cupped her small frame, drunk on his bite with a lulled smile content over her pale face. His eyes lingered on the precious, tired thing that he had started to adore too much. His body shifted from under her, as he carefully guided her from the bed, “Annie, my doll, tonight, you and Uncle Scottie are going somewhere farther than normal…” His lulling smile returned in his dark and whimsical words, “Go pack some of your things because we might not be back for a while.”

He was not normally so compassionately serious with other creatures, but as it appeared, this traditional structure he had stumbled upon had a good web around him, which only meant at this instance, he should go procure the rest of his needs from the child’s parents before going to that carnival he was supposed to see... wherever Malk's silk threads were pulling him. He allowed the girl to bid her farewells to the her parents post his feeding, and the two saw themselves off. The girl snugged herself in the backseat, and Peter took the wheel of the car. It would be several many hours of driving, but skipping town for a while might be a good idea. He hadn’t exactly been a good boy last month…


“Where are we, Uncle Scottie?” Annie’s voice quietly questioned Peter as her eyes peeked out of the car window. Her eyes widened in the darkness, skimming the building the gray car was parked in front of. Hands clasped in her lap while her fingers fiddled with each other. There was a look of twisted impatience on her face when Peter turned to look at the girl.

“You’ll see tomorrow, evening, Annie,” his face spread into a mischievous smile. She was so sweet and young and knew so little, “Let us go grab our belongings and get ourselves a room, hmmm?” And so, that is what they did at the Headwaters Motel in Stover, Missouri. The drive had been rather long and extended much patience and focus on Peter's dear part. It would also be morning, soon, and the new locations was causing all kinds of chemical and emotional headaches, which was really bringing his mood quite low.

The hotel looked like any other, though the building seemed a bit wide for housing only a room on each side. In the office, a single man sat with his legs propped up on the desk, a TV playing news updates in the lobby holding his attention. As Peter walked in, the man waved in acknowledgement, though his eyes never left the TV. The man had a funny aura to anyone who had never seen a Risen before. He seemed to be Dead, as opposed to the undead of a vampire, yet his aura radiated from inside the flesh suit.

On the TV, it looked like a zombie movie. A news chopper was flying over Cairo where the streets were flooded with shambling hordes of zombies. Pockets of gunfire could be seen as struggling survivors attempted to keep their lives. The man behind the desk spoke up with a rehearsed greeting. "I have to ask, are you Julia, Raymond, Peter, James, John, Ringo, Glen, or Jesus?" The man seemed in his late twenties, and had the air of someone who didn't actually hold this position, but was filling in for someone for who know how long. His black jeans and blue polo shirt were wrinkled and unkempt as if he had just thrown them on. He had short black hair which wasn't long enough to really need care.

Stover United Methodist Church was not large by any means, but adequate enough for this small town. People filed in like a funeral precession, no one speaking until they settled in a small group if friends and family, praying and comparing stories of what they new. Everyone seemed to be avoiding the nuns. When Sister Meredith immerged, she would find a priest sitting in a chair near the cloister waiting for her. He was a young man, late twenties, early thirties. His black suit was finely tailored and ironed, and his face was clean shaven. He wore no jewelry and many of the religious symbols on his shirt seemed hand stitched. His voice was soft and soothing to hear, as if it had never yelled, though the lines around his face were wrinkles of stress and worry.

"Sister. I wonder if I may have a word with you in private," he said, rising to his feet. He pointed to a small door in the back corner of the room. "My office is there. Whenever you get the chance." With that he turned and walked off to his office. There was something strange about the man, though she would be able to feel a faith in him as strong as her own. It felt like a spiritual scar, healed, but forever branded in him.

As Annie and Peter entered the building, the cool air from the lobby of the Missouri motel tickled his skin. It reminded him of something from long ago, but this teasing remembrance would not let him follow that strange rabbit of a memory for very long. The trail it scampered down was much too confusing and lavishly impossible to track. He just had no hope for catching it and was forced yet again to merely accept that it was there for some reason unbeknownst to him. Perhaps, he would never know what had caused it, which was depressing to realize he may never know, and for as long as he had been a vampire, it appeared most of his immortal existence had been some kind of fragment of elusively remembered information pieced together in some morbid time warp and projected into his disturbed mental workings as a perpetual method of torture. Oh, how hilarious it was that at some point of his existence that happened closer to after his Embrace, he thought he would eventually get used to the sorrowful and maddening feeling of loss of memory and grow calloused towards this repetitious thing that hurt and twisted his nous so much. Such a thought was just a naive Malkavian’s fairytale, for the feeling only grew worse and worse each time it occurred.

What Hell of a time being a vampire was, but Peter as still alive, right?

The door shut behind them. The atmosphere set itself in whatever erie tone it was supposed to present itself, and for an immortal thing that had trouble focusing on something for extended periods of time, the ironic scene of a Risen watching a television that was displaying a bloody shitfest of gory entertainment caught Peter’s attention immediately like a slapstick comedy. A small bubble of laughter caught itself from bursting in a tight lipped smile by the feel of his shirt being tugged by a trembling child’s fist. His hand slowly drifted to grasp that of the young girl’s fist with cautious intentions and stroked her soft skin with the coolness of his thumb as a means to calm the poor thing. Oh, how little Annie and her darling little family had saved him so many of times.

His eyes shifted back-and-forth between the television screen and the Risen. His mouth opened to say something but paused as he filtered his thoughts into proper words, “I do indeed have one of those names,” his eyes finally settled on the Risen as the small ends of his lips flickered and tried to contain his emotions suddenly and curiously like a switch being turned from the dark, clouded madness that had been intoxicating him upon arrival, “So, yes…” the tip of his tongue brushed his bottom lip before settling on a half-crooked smile of wonderment and perplexity over where this silly maze would lead him.

Annie’s eyes peered up at Peter. An eight year old’s conscious determined the situation with hesitation, still drunk on her faux uncle with his palm holding her hand so securely. Her dark eyes admired the seemingly young man holding her hand and then looked towards the television, mouth parting in childish cowardice and fear. The eight year old’s imagination took hold of her, and as a natural order of things, she tucked her body quietly behind Peter for some security like the weird man at the counter would suddenly try to consume her or harm her as were the scary things were doing to the people on the television. She didn’t really want to be here, anymore, but there was something stopping her from dissuading herself against whatever Uncle Scottie wanted of her. So instead, she buried her tiny face into his shirt, breathing in whatever she could of him for comfort.

Peter’s head turned slightly as he focused on the young girl who grabbed his attention once more, “It’s okay, little Annie, my lamb. Nobody wants to hurt you,” He followed his attention back to the Risen. His face shifted, smile cracking with slight lust for blood as he studied the walking dead thing in front of him. Peter did not want any trouble. He was already in enough trouble… or would be, when and if the Prince found out. But, oh, he was quite intrigued. He had not stumbled here by chance. No, no, he had followed the Cobweb’s instructions, and so many possibilities were opening their mouths ready to devour his sanity.

Releasing the girl’s small fist, Peter traced his up her slender arm, brushing the tips of his fingers against her virgin flesh and petite shoulder before firmly securing it over her light silk trodden head, which was resting into him, “I think your television is scaring her,” he narrowed his eyes while his face still managed to hold his freakish grin. His head tilted sideways, studying the movements of the thing in front of him, so knowledgeable he could be, resting in that skin. This would mark the second time Peter came across a wraith, and a strong desire to know about the creature was drawing an abundance of attention from the vampire and his dollish ghoul. The carnival was still holding more importance, however.