Free Flesh Circus by Lilith Saintcrow

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

    Y ou 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.