The gate slid open, hinges squealing, to reveal a canvas of darkness. Then slowly the circus came into view, bathed in light.

A dozen smells wafted out from within – hot, buttery popcorn and rich, chocolate fudge, roasted peanuts and earthy mulled cider. Stars scattered across the sky, burning bright and fat as diamonds. A stark contrast to the soft wisps of morning beginning to brighten the city.

Peeking over the horizon, a full moon rose, signaling that the night had just started. And fanned out across the dark landscape were six tents, glowing with a rainbow of lights – purple and red, pink and gold. At the center stood the Big Top, towering so high that the stars swallowed its peak.

On circus ground, the morning never came. As long as evening blanketed Pandemonium, the lines blurred between the known and the unknown. Dreams, nightmares, and waking moments seeped into each other like colors bleeding together.

Daylight invited clear definition, black and white answers, drawing battle lines between fact and fiction. But in the dark, where silver starlight and golden spells ruled in any way they wished to, it was easier to believe the impossible was real. Monsters. Magic. And everything in between.

Boss clucked to the horses. The caravan rolled through the gates and disappeared into the shadows. Kali could still hear his voice, echoing as he coaxed the audience forward.

"Come on now, don't be shy! Just hold out your ticket and Pandemonium will take it as soon as you're free of the gate. And remember, if you don't have a ticket, the circus will know! So don't try any sneaking about..."

When the caravan finally came to a stop, Boss's voice was only a distant hum, punctuated by the laughter and murmuring voices of the audience.

Kali didn't move. Her body throbbed. Her hands pulsed with pain, cradled in her lap. And the last thing she wanted to do was face the public again.

But the opening act was barely over. Now she had her own act to perform, casting even more spells than before.

Kali tipped her head back against the wagon. She heard the other performers emerging - the rustle of Wren and Lark's wings, the tinkling chime of jewelry from Queenie, the dragging shuffle of Osiris's uneven gait, accompanied by the heavy thud of his crutches.

They sounded as if they were worlds away while Kali stayed huddled in the dark.

"Why isn't Kali coming out?" Wren whispered, her thin, nervous voice strained by worry.

"You saw what happened," Lark hissed. "She lost control."

Kali winced and drew her knees up to her chest, making herself smaller. It was bad enough that she had an entire audience to witness her failure. But it felt even worse, knowing the crew had seen her slip, too.

"One of us should talk to her," Wren said. "She's probably scared. I know I would be."

"That's because you're scared of everything," Lark countered.

"I am not," Wren sulked.

"Yes, you are."

"That's enough," Osiris said, the deep smoothness of his voice cutting through their high-pitched squabbling.

"Why are you all tiptoeing around her?" Lark demanded. "We always knew something would go wrong with Kali eventually. She's never been exactly stable."

"Lark," Queenie chastised. "That's not true."

"Fine."

Lark stomped up to Kali's wagon and yanked the door open. Light streamed into Kali's face from the surrounding tents. She shied away, hunching her shoulders against the glare. Without thinking, she raised her hand to shield her eyes.

Queenie gasped.

"Kali, honey, what happened to your hand?"

Lark snorted. "Like I said. Not stable."

Kali fought the urge to crawl away from the crew, to burrow into the furthest, darkest corner of the wagon like a frightened animal and hide there for eternity. But this ragtag bunch of misfits was the only family she had. She'd let them down today, endangered them - endangered everyone - and they deserved an apology.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

She looked at each of their faces in turn, hoping that was enough. And yet, she knew it never would be.

There was Lark, aloof and cold, with her long, wispy white hair, and her silvery dragonfly wings, sticking out in a straight line from her shoulders. She looked - and behaved - like a bratty ten-year-old, all sharp, mean angles, with a permanent look of disgust and disinterest etched into her alabaster-smooth features.

Next to Lark stood Wren, her faerie twin. Wren fidgeted with the hem of her brown shirt, then nervously brushed a lock of hair away from the corner of her mouth. On her back were soft, flowing luna moth wings of the palest, ethereal green.

Where Lark was abrasive and bitter, Wren was gentle and kind, bubbling with apologies and anxieties for the both of them.

Then there was Queenie, with her cotton candy pink curls pinned back by diamond barrettes and gold rings dazzling on her fingers. The faint scent of roses hung in the air from her perfume. She moved and spoke with the grace and elegance of a woman well beyond her twenty-five years.

But if Kali looked long enough, under just the right amount of light, she saw the moth-eaten holes in Queenie's lace gloves, the tattered hem of her shining silver skirts, so skillfully concealed by illusions.

Beyond the mask of her magic was a different woman entirely - a little sad, far too earnest, and nursing a broken heart that had never mended quite right.

Finally, Kali's gaze fell on Osiris. She always found it hard to look him in the eye most of all.

He had been royalty once. A mer-king, ruling the high seas. He still wore the silky green robes of his court, embroidered with frothing waves that seemed to undulate when he moved. His thick, black hair was braided back with blue beads and white shells.

Peeking out from his robes was the pale tattoo of a manta ray, sailing just beneath his collar bone. Nearly every inch of his brown skin was tattooed with precise white lines, marking dolphins and deep-sea creatures, kelp forests and teaming coral reefs - all belonging to the life of a kingdom he had left behind.

Years ago, long before Kali was born, the tides had belonged to Osiris. At his command, creatures of the deepest, darkest ocean depths rose up and swallowed sailors who hunted his tribe for their scales and their songs.

Now, he was older, graying at the temples, slowed by crutches to assist him on dry land when his tail wouldn't support his weight. But the scent of the ocean remained, clinging to him, salty and strong. And he still bore the straight-backed posture of a man accustomed to the weight of a crown on his head.

Osiris came forward and rested one crutch against the side of the wagon. Then he reached out and took Kali's hand, turning her palm up. He inspected the burns that bubbled from fingertip to wrist where she had grabbed the threads of magic in an attempt to restrain them.

She wished he would say something. Anything. Even if he berated her for being helpless, at least Kali wouldn't be left to wonder what he was thinking.

Osiris reached into the collar of his robes and withdrew a dark blue vial, no bigger than his thumb, tied to a cord around his neck. Barnacles bristled along the surface. A tiny crab served as a cork, claws tucked tight against its shell. Contained within the vial was a fraction of the ocean Osiris had once called home.

After nudging the crab aside, Osiris tipped the vial over Kali's palms. A single drop of water fell into her hands. She braced herself, expecting the sting of salt water.

Instead, soothing coolness flooded over her skin. Even though the blisters remained, the pain was gone.

"I thought you'd never been burned before," Osiris said, tucking the vial back into his robes.

"I don't know what happened this time."

But Kali had a theory. As she grew older, her spells were growing in power, too. Wild. Insatiable. More monster than magic.

Osiris gave a thoughtful hum. He brushed his thumb over the cut at her temple. It didn't hurt anymore either, but the memory had left a different kind of scar that no magic could heal.

"Perhaps it hassomething to do with the fact that someone wanted your blood today,"Osiris said. "That would unsettle anyone."

(to be continued)