Chapter Fourteen: Nomad

Somewhere in West Michigan, 1928

Edward

Lake Michigan has banks in four states in the US; it has water that runs through thousands of veins, and waves that fill so many memories. I grew up on the southern banks of Lake Michigan, I knew it's moods like the back of my hand, I'd memorised it's smell, the way the sun set on the calm liquid in the middle of summer, and I knew the salty taste even though my human memories had long since faded. It seemed to me like I knew everything about that lake. It was almost as if the water of the lake really did run through my veins, despite the fact that was entirely impossible. But no matter how in tune I was with that lake, it wasn't the call of the water that had me running across the state to its shores after my brief visit to Detroit in the spring of 1928 – it was the call of a killer.

I'd been constantly scanning for things of the like, deciding that preventative measures were far more constructive than any revenge could ever be. It was only for that reason that the singular voice crept into my mind, and separated itself from the numbing mass noise of the others. I'd been wandering the streets of a small town when I'd heard it, sporadic cloud cover shading my skin as my sunglasses did the same for my eyes, and managed to duck into a nearby forest without attracting any attention.

I bolted through the trees as fast as I could, hoping the thoughts I heard would not turn into actions before I could intervene. The trees and bushes were blurs of greens and brows, barely rustling at my movement and my feet did not touch the slightly muddy Earth for long enough to leave a mark of where'd I'd been. I ran so fast I nearly flew, more powerful than the hero I'd always dreamed of being as a child when I'd dig a wooden sword into the ground and announce "Edward Masen – defender of all!" My four-foot self would never have thought he'd grow to be powerful enough to make a difference. Yet, as I flew through bushes, between trunks and under leafy canopies, making a difference was exactly what I was about to do. The exhilaration of that thought pushed me further and faster, however, I nearly came to a sudden halt as a plethora of new voices filtered into my head.

There were a crowd of people surrounding whoever was plotting murder, stupidly I'd on presumed there'd be culprit and victim, not witnesses. My angered fist pounded straight through the middle of a nearby trunk as I growled in absolute rage. Why did I think that the single voice I was searching for would be isolated and on its own?

I wouldn't let this stop me, I soon decided, before I fell back into a run. This man may not be alone with his prey, but that did not mean his prey was in any less danger – more people could be in danger, in fact. Collateral damage was a stomach churning thought. The voices grew louder, and the scents grew stronger as I neared what seemed to be a clearing by the banks of the lake. Intertwined with the tempting scent of human, I caught a sour whiff of animal I was mostly unfamiliar with. When I reached the edge of the opening, I hid in the bushes and glanced between some branches, just making out the camp of what looked to be a circus. Of all the things it could be, it had to be a circus.

I suppose I could have had worse luck. Teenage runaways joining the circus wasn't an awfully uncommon thing. From my spot in the bushes, I searched the campsite for the best, and least obvious route to sneak in - seeing the source of the strange sour animal smell (a great elephant) as I searched - and found it not too far away. Making sure my pack was secure upon my back, I crept around to the tents I'd spied, and quickly – too quickly for human eyes – I sprang from the greens, between the canvas sheets, and into the pool of people milling around.

It looked as though the circus-folk had been settled in the clearing for quite some time. Once vivid greens were trampled into sorry looking gold blades of grass that lay smeared along the dirt by cause of too many heavy footprints. As I effortlessly melted into the sea of humans walking from here to there and no where in particular, I listened to the mental voices over the sounds of the old faded canvas flapping in the wind with loud thwacks as it hit itself again and again matching one poor person's cardiac arrhythmia that I could hear, and surveyed the crowds for any hint of the person who was thinking of committing a heinous crime.

Those who were not walking (somewhat aimlessly) about were either huddled in groups under canvas canopies, or sitting inside the doorways of carriages. One such woman lounging on the steps to a carriage with fine features and fair hair, looking undeniably pretty but most unlike a lady with one leg dangling beneath her and the other on the step as she leaned against the arched opening to a carriage. Her clothes could barely be considered anything more than the most revealing undergarments but that was not the most striking facet of her appearance. Her eyes, so bright and blue were piercing right through my glasses, and slicing into my own eyes. She stared at me as I walked by,my appearance came to the forefront of her mind. A lonely man with a coat too big and dark glasses looking most out of place. More pale than the palest of carnival folk, more unhappy than the man who ran it. It was an image I tried to block out of my mind, but an image that fascinated her.

Suddenly, the voice I was hunting came into my mind, picturing the girl with the pale hair.

I stopped in my tracks, and turned around on the spot, analysing the surroundings for any trace of the man I hunted. I tried to hide onto his mental voice, as hundreds chattered in my head. Faces flew by me in a blur that I saw with the clearest of eyes, but the voice I wanted was getting further and further away. Green eyes, grey eyes, blue eyes, brown, blonde hair, grey hair, brown hair, none – I saw it all, and I saw nothing. There was a growl gurgling at the base of my throat that I had to swallow down so not to disturb the humans, or lose the fragile grip I had on my fake humanity. My eyes narrowed beneath their shade as I continued to look around the crowded clearing searching for the voice I was mere seconds from losing.

"Hello," a little female voice chimed in my ear, interrupting my search.

"I'm busy," I muttered, "Go away."

Great offense clouded the thoughts of whomever it was that was trying to talk to me, but I cared little. The man stalking the pretty blonde was fading even more.

"Well that is no way to talk to a lady," the girl said as the man's voice finally slipped from my gift's grasp. In anger I turned to the girl, slightly surprised to see the blonde from the doorway and the stalker's thoughts standing beside me with a very miffed look furrowing her eyebrows and narrowing her watery human eyes.

I looked her up and down, with her barely-there clothes, her tapping foot, jutted out hip and folded arms beneath her breast in a way most improper.

"Well you're not much of a lady," I muttered arrogantly, dismissing her. My interest was not in her but rather in someone's whose was.

"You rude, insolent little brat!" She exclaimed reaching up to slap me across the face, but I dodged quickly, causing her to narrow her eyes even more, as she began to wonder what my reason was for being amongst her 'talented' folk.

"Yes," I murmured in reply, seeing no point in sparking a conversation with her. I needed to find where this man was. As I ignored the pretty blonde, I ran through all the places he was most likely to be – the food tent, the restroom area, his quarters, where else? I scanned the clearing with all its tents and people, looking, searching, until my eyes once again fell upon the pretty pale face of the fair-haired girl. Her hands had moved to her hips, her lips were set in a frown and her eyes were so narrow I thought they might soon close. Her. That's where I'd be most likely to find him – with the person he stalked.

Suddenly, I was on damage control, but without my sparkling golden eyes that were once upon a time the focal point of my ability to transfix a woman, I wondered how I would trick this girl into forgiving me.

"My word," I breathed feigning impressive wretchedness, "Please do forgive me. You see, I was in the middle of most important business, I didn't happen to realize whom I was talking to." Her face softened slightly as I spoke, and her mind grew less annoyed, so I continued in hopes of placating her further, "I believe I acted inexcusably, and you have every right to make such a statement. I assure you, I meant nothing of it. Please, do forgive me…" I trailed off; hinting for an introduction.

She took the bait, sighed, and dropped her arms from her hips to her sides as the wind blew a gust of scent my way, bristling tendrils of her fair curls with it – my word she smelled delectable, "My name's Chantelle," she murmured, her eyes still narrowed slightly, but her lips turning up at the sides, "What's yours?"

Trying to ignore her scent, and swallowing a mouthful of venom, I replied automatically, "John."

She pursed her lips looking most unimpressed and shifted her weight to one leg as she shook her head, "If you're last name is going to be Doe, you're not very creative."

I turned around to get away from her scent, in fear it may distract me too much, and shrugged, "Then you can call me Mr. Not Very Creative."

She followed me, coming to stand by my side, thankfully out of the wind, and rolled her eyes, "I'll call you Mr. Not Very Funny Either."

"That should suit me just fine," I replied beginning to walk around a pod of lovely smelling humans who dwelled in the middle of the clearing. Chantelle followed as I made my way toward the tents, catching a glimpse of the thinning spring clouds above me. It was about time I found some shelter, in case of stray sunrays.

"Honestly though," she persisted as we neared a fraying and fading blue tent, "What's your name?"

I shook my head, giving her a half shrug, but not bothering to glance her way, "Whatever you want it to be."

She sighed, which was more of a huff than an expression of exasperation, and waited a brief moment before replying in a tone that was a little too chipper for me, "In that case, I'll call you Honey." As she spoke, she pictured the sun in my hair as I smiled down at her, and compared it mentally to honey. I fought to roll my eyes as we slipped underneath the shade of the canvas.

We walked passed a table with a stray packet of cards sitting atop it that I swiped as she wondered, "Dontcha wanna know why?"

I opened the packet, discarding the box on another stray table, before beginning to shuffle them as I replied, "I'm sure you'll tell me anyway."

"Because if you lightened up a little," she grinned, "Your hair would be like honey."

I flicked her a glance a raised my eyebrows beneath the glasses, "If I need to lighten up a little, why don't you follow some already lightened up person around?"

Her little lips spread into a wider smile, and looking very pleased with herself, she replied, "Because I do like a man with demons, and why are you shuffling those cards?"

I flicked her a glare out the corner of my eye as I replied, "I don't have demons, what's wrong with me shuffling the cards?"

"Everyone shuffles cards," she shrugged, "I just pictured you as the sort of man who does things others don't dare to do."

I couldn't help the little grin that played at the corners of my lips, turning them upward. I raised my eyebrow in challenge and pulled a pen from my pocket, before drawing on one of the cards, "Aren't I rebellious?"

She laughed, and shook her head, "No. But you do have demons."

"I don't."

She took a step closer, and looked up at me through her lashes, which were clumped with some strange black… stuff I had no name for, "Then take off those shades and show me your soul."

"I don't have a soul," I said as I capped the pen and put it back in my pocket.

She laughed and stepped back, obviously noting her attempts at persuasion were never going to work on me, "That's just the demons talking."

"You're very persistent," I noted, stepped away from the table that I found the cards on, and resumed shuffling them.

"It's a talent," she shrugged.

"Is that why you're in the circus?" I wondered, "Because you begged so much they gave in and let you join?"

Her eyes narrowed at me for a moment, before she shook her head, "No, I am very flexible. We all have real talents, you know. See Marble over there?" She inclined her head to a stocky woman that sat on the grass, chatting to a tanned man with a top hat in a very animated way, "She can predict the weather." Her tone was proud – I could tell from her thoughts that she honestly believed the woman possessed such a gift. I fought the all-consuming urge to roll my eyes. "What can you do?"

A little smirk tugged at my cheek, "I can read minds."

Her face was blank for a moment before it lit up, "Really? What number am I thinking of?" The lack of originality in her requested failed to astound me, as she mentally shouted: Thirteen.

Grinning to myself, I replied "Twelve."

She rolled her eyes, "No."

"Uh ha," I nodded, holding out the deck of cards to her, "Take the top one."

She narrowed her eyes at me, before turning the top card over; there lay an ace with a plus sign in front of it. She stopped dead in her tracks, as I continued on.

"Hey!" She called out after me, "How'd you do that?"

"I'm Mr. Talented," I replied back dryly, not bothering to flick her a glance as I scanned the minds of the men around me looking for her stalker. I spied a thick group of clouds heading toward the sun, and started away from the tents.

"You're just like Marble," she marvelled.

"Who is Marble?" I wondered absently, "I'm nothing like Marble."

"Really?" She did not sound convinced, "Then how can she predict the weather?"

"Tell me," I stopped and looked down at the persistent little girl, "Does she spend a lot of time looking at the clouds?"

Her eyebrows bunched together in a quizzical expression, "She's always looking at the clouds."

"Funny how a lack of clouds will tell you it's going to be a sunny day."

She blinked blankly for a brief moment before her face lit up once more, "Oh my gosh, you're right!" I gave her a tight smile before I carried on, walking in the shade of the tents, scanning the surrounding minds, waiting for the clouds to cover the sun.

"You really can read minds!"

"No, I happen to have also been trained by the cloud whisperers."

"Oh, har har," she said, "You know, for someone so young, you're awful condescending."

Passing a table I abandoned the cards and wondered, "Then why are you still here?"

Her reply was simple, "You fascinate me."

I rolled my eyes, "Then by all means. Follow."

"Thanks," she grinned.

"You're not well versed in sarcasm, are you?" I wondered, stopping once more to look at her.

She shrugged, "Sure, I am. I'm also well versed in ignoring it."

Rolling my eyes, I glanced quickly to the sky as a thick band of clouds finally came to cover the stray rays. I ducked from out under the canvas tents, and joined the crowds of people that mulled around in the open, the girl – what was her name? Chantelle – unsurprisingly followed me with those bright blue, curious eyes.

There was no trace of the thoughts that attracted me to where the circus folk had put up camp, but I wondered if that was perhaps because Chantelle was no longer visible, in the crowd of people. Spying the banks of Lake Michigan over the other side of the clearing, I bee-lined that way with her on my heels.

"You're not part of the carnival are you?" She wondered, struggling to catch up with me.

In her mind I could tell there was no way I could convince her otherwise, so I went with the truth, "No."

"Then what are you doing here?"

I shrugged, "Following my demons."

She rolled her eyes, "To do what?"

Passing thicker canvas tent, I gave it a tug and flicked her a wicked grin, "Tear down the tents and wreck havoc."

"That's evil," she noted, with narrow eyes and a frown on her lips.

"And if it is a necessary evil?" I wondered, as we cleared the tents and neared the banks.

"Necessary evils are only a matter of perspective," she argued, and I wondered how someone like her ended up in the circus.

I shrugged, swinging my backpack off my shoulders and dumping it by a boulder, "Life is a matter of perspective."

"And what is yours?" She watched intently as I slipped off my socks and shoes, before rolling up my trousers.

When I straightened, I looked her in the eye, "That necessary evil is real."

She simply shook her head thinking, No, that's not good enough, and then looked at me with a horrid look of something akin to pity forefront in her watery human eyes, "That's just the demons talking."

I sighed, "For the umpteenth time, miss. I do not have demons."

"That means nothing," she insisted, "If you do or if you do not, you'd always say that."

I raised my eyebrows beneath my glasses as I walked the short way to the water, and dipped my feet in the warmth, "Trust me."

"How do I trust a man whose eyes I'm yet to see? I know nothing of you. In case you haven't noticed, you're still yet to remove those fancy dark glasses, Mr. Magic. And how are your toes not frozen?"

"I have weak eyes, the sun won't do them well, but I have hardy feet, the water doesn't bother me."

"Weak eyes and a weak smile, but tough toes, I wonder, what's your story?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, miss, but you'll be wondering for a long time yet."

She gave out a little huff, and crossed her arms over her chest. There was a brief silence in which I was able to listen to the soft waves roll upon the shore and to the quiet breeze rustling in the trees before she started up again.

"What is in here?" she wondered. I turned around to see her reaching for my backpack, "It's awfully heavy."

"It's not for you to know," I replied, turning my back on the water in order to make sure she didn't open it.

"Do you revel in being cryptic?"

"Do you revel in being nosy?"

"I'm not nosy, I'm curious."

"And I don't have demons."

She huffed once more, and placed my bag back on the ground before gingerly walking forward. I hadn't noticed before, but she did not wear any shoes. Carefully she dipped a tiny, pale toe into the water, but jumped back with a gasp almost immediately.

"So cold," she breathed as her mind went through a thousand names to call me, how on earth can he stand the cold?

"Maybe you're just…" she trailed off, looking at me curiously, before shaking her head with a blank mind, "What's the word? It's short and fancy? Come on mind reader, use your gift."

I laughed a little, and shook my head, "Can't read something that's not yet in your mind."

"Bleh, you're useless…" she huffed once more, folding her arms across her chest again – thinking. As she tried to find the word she wanted to insult me with, I once again scanned the minds of the circus folk. She nearly jumped when the word popped into her head, "Neurotic! You're slightly neurotic."

Giving a half shrug as I jumped from mental voice to mental voice, I replied, "Thank you."

She laughed, "Darling, it's about as far from a complement as you're going to get from me."

Tuning out the voices from the crowd, I looked back to the tiny blonde, "Then, thank you."

She raised her eyes and shook her head, What on Earth is he on about?

"If that's as far from a compliment you've got to give, I'll assume it's your worst, and if that's your worst, you're very tame," I explained.

Her eyes narrowed, "I'm not tame."

"Not at all." I muttered, returning my attention to the crowd, "Just a kitten, pretending to be a lion."

"I heard that," she told me indignantly.

I laughed, "I know."

I was having no luck finding the man I was searching for in the crowd, mostly only hearing petty gossip about costumes, routines and things of the like, but there was one mind that briefly fretted over a newspaper article they read. Girls had been going missing from the circus for weeks. I wondered if the man who thought such foul thing about Chantelle could be behind the disappearances? I turned back to the unhappy girl that stood in front of me. Her pale skin was as translucent as the rest of the humans, and now she was angry her sweet smelling blood had risen to the surface as she glared at me, but thankfully, she was downwind. Her scent was resistible.

Trying anew tactic to find this man with murderous thoughts, I gave her my best apologetic smile, "It's all in good jest."

Her eyes narrowed even more, but good humour returned to her thoughts, "So you're here to be a clown now, are you?"

I gave her a small smile in reply before changing the subject, "Are the people here nice?"

She shrugged, "For the most part. Some can be quite trying, but that's people for you."

"Any one in particular?"

"Why?"

"I'm curious." Her narrowed eyes and suspicious mind told me I'd need a better reason for her to give me an answer. "I want to know whose tents I should tear down first."

A tiny smirk turned the corner of her lips upward as she shifted her weight, before letting out a little laugh and relenting, "Mr. Polking, he's in charge of the animals, is a horrid, horrid man. Not a single shred of decency, the things he does to those poor creatures, and Nora, the cook! I swear she'll spit in your food if she doesn't like you, but they have nothing on Doug, the one who juggles swords. He has no temper what-so-ever, and he thinks he's the Lord's gift to women." She scoffed in disgust, "He's foul."

"Ah," I murmured with great interest, "Perhaps he shall be it then. So, when shall I pull down his tent?" I wondered, scanning the nearby minds for any trace of a man named Doug.

She laughed, and mentally debated whether or not I was being serious before replying, "He always hides behind the food tent to smoke a cig and drink some booze when the rest of us sit by the bonfire." She shrugged, "That'd be your chance, Mr. Magic."

I merely nodded as a woman near the food tent mentally cursed this Doug man, glaring at him from across the tent. He was shabby man, with ashen brown hair and hazel eyes, looking like he hadn't bathed in years. His clothes were old but he radiated some kind of confidence. His mind was exactly that, which I had heard from miles away. Mental voices had a similar vocal sound to spoken voices – some a little higher, others a little lower, and a great deal of them were so very similar they were hard to pull apart in a crowd. It took quite a lot of hard work to grow familiar enough to a mental voice to be able to recognise it in a crowd. It could have taken me weeks or even months, to grow familiar enough with his mental voice in order to pull it from the crowd by myself. Thankfully, Chantelle was of help.

I bent down and picked up a stone to skip on the surface of the lake, while I kept tabs on this man named Doug. His thoughts were mostly shallow and foul; he was bitter over something that had happened with Chantelle, and he kept a keen eye out for her, but perhaps the shores of the lake were too far away for him to see. For a while there was silence between Chantelle and I, as she sat on the boulder and played with a rock in her hands, and I divided my time between Doug and debating whether or not Chantelle could survive the day if I was to disappear and come back at night. Every so often her mind would fill with questions she wanted to ask me, and sometimes she'd pick one to say aloud with that curious voice and those bright blue eyes.

"Where are you from?" She wondered at one point.

"Nowhere." I replied quietly, after deciding for her safety I should stick around, even though the idea of withstanding her constant inquiry irked me. "I'm a nomad."

"Everyone is from somewhere," she argued.

I shrugged, reaching for another stone, "Maybe I forgot."

"How do you forget where you are from?" She wondered as the stone jumped on the surface of the lake.

"You decide not to remember."

"So," she replied slowly, "you're lost?"

I sighed, "I know exactly where I am."

"But you don't know exactly who you are?"

I turned around to face her and shook my head, "Yes. I do."

She cocked her head to the side, "Who are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I smirked.

"Yes." She nodded, "I would."

I sighed, "Such a shame to want something you can never have."

"It's never a shame to hope, Mr. Nomad." She narrowed her eyes.

"It's always a shame to hope in vain."

"My hope is simply hope," she argued, "it is not in vain."

I fought the urge to grind my teeth and growl, "Trust me, Chantelle – your hope is in vain."

"Well, at least it's still hope." She said indignantly, "You don't even have that."

I shrugged, "No one has ever given me a good enough reason to have it."

"Then I am very sorry for you," she frowned, watching as she turned a stone over in her slender fingers.

My brow pulled together, "Why?"

She looked back up at me with those wide eyes, "The fact you have to wonder why, is exactly the reason."

I gritted my teeth and turned away, swiping another stone from the banks before skipping it on the lake. Chantelle sat in silence for a great portion of the day, while I threw rocks and tried to ignore her, but her internal voice was so loud and curious, if I had any blood in my veins it would have boiled.

"Don't you have anywhere to be?" I snapped at one point, glancing over my shoulder at her.

"Today is our day off," she shrugged simply.

"What do people usually do on their day off?"

"Some people go to town," she murmured, before giving me a cheeky grin, "I generally choose to interrogate newcomers."

I could tell from her mind that she wanted me to ask her why, but I just rolled my eyes.

"Where are you from?"

"Wisconsin." She nodded once, "Milwaukee. Grew up on the banks of the other side of this river."

My reply was a noncommittal noise as I picked up another stone to skip. The cloud cover remained thick for the rest of the afternoon, although by the time that twilight had set in, the clouds had begun to wane, and it looked as though the night would be a clear one.

"Shall I go ask Mable if it's going to rain, or is the lack of storm clouds signal enough?" I wondered to Chantelle as I finally removed myself from the water. She'd long since stopped wondering how my feet were still alive.

She looked to the evening sky and smiled, breathing out a sigh, "I do love seeing the stars. I hope we get a good view tonight. When I was little my father used to tell me all about them, but it's only me who looks to them now." She sighed wistfully before looking back at me and wondering, "Do you know much about the stars?"

I shrugged, "I knew a man who did. He used to tell stories to his wife and I. I remember a few."

"Are they the people you're running from?" She asked as I reached her boulder, "Are they your demons?"

I sighed in exasperation, and ran my hand through my hair. "I am not running from anyone, and I do not have demons."

"No," her reply was thoughtful, "you love them. Definitely not your demons."

I rolled my eyes and put my socks on my wet feet, and she crinkled her nose at the action, before I covered the socks with my shoes.

"How do you wear wet socks with shoes?"

"With great skill, and no care." I shrugged, picking up my backpack and slinging it over my shoulder, "Now, are you going to show me what tent I'm pulling down?"

Her heart skipped a beat, "Are you actually serious?"

"No." I smirked, "But I want to see this bonfire."

She cocked her head to the side as her eyes narrowed, "Are you a pyromaniac?"

"No," I shook my head, starting toward the tents as she slipped off the boulder, "fires are dangerous though, and I do like to live on the edge of danger."

"You're dangerous," she remarked quietly as we headed away from the river.

"Perceptive. So, why have you spent the whole day with me?"

She shrugged, "Because I like to live on the edge of danger."

"You shouldn't," I told her, "it's not safe."

"But you do."

"I live in a world with different rules."

"No you don't." She argued as we reached the fringes of the settlement, "You just think you're entitled to break different rules."

I shrugged, "So maybe I do."

"And who are you to decide what everyone else is, and isn't allowed to do?"

"Nobody."

She glared once again, and let out a huff, before pushing forward, away from me. I followed her quickly, having lost Doug's mind sometime throughout the day – I needed to make sure she was safe.

She plonked down on the grass by the carriage I first found her in, and leaned up against it. It was some way from the spot where three men where trying to light a large fire, and I was thankful she didn't want to sit too close to the other humans and the heat. Humans were easier to resist when they were cold, their bodies withdrew the blood from their extremities in an effort to ensure their core kept warm. Less blood by the surface meant a reduction in potency of the scent of their blood. This was a very good thing.

She was angered by my reply, so all the while that the men spent in attempt to light the fire we sat in silence. I listened out for the man named Doug, who, after about half an hour, just before the first flames actually took to the pile of wood, I found stalking around the far tents and carriages, looking for Chantelle.

As the fire grew larger, and Doug grew more impatient to find the little blonde, I watched the watery human eyes become absorbed into the flames, fixated on the ways that the vibrant orange lights danced in the gentle wind.

"I'm not flexible," she stated out of the blue, some time later, her eyes transfixed by the skies above, not the flames in front like the others, "Well, I mean I am, but that's not my job here. I read people. I say I read their palms, but really, I read them. Their expressions, their body language, their tone… everything."

"I know."

She turned to me, her blue eyes still alight despite the dark of the night, and her thin skin was covered in shades of orange from the glow of the fire, "Cause you read minds."

"No," I shook my head, "You just seem that sort of person."

"Like you."

My reply came out darker than I intended, "You're nothing like me."

She narrowed her eyes, "Because of the demons?"

I didn't reply, I just looked away, but that seemed answer enough for her, as she thought, he didn't deny.

With a satisfied smile she turned back to the sky, and began mapping out the stars in her head. Once again, I wondered how someone like her ended up in a place like this. I would have thought she'd be the kind of girl who would be in college, who'd be taking classes in a male dominated field just because the world said she shouldn't. I picked her as the kind of girl who would get it stuck in her head that she needed to prove them all wrong, so she'd study every waking hour of the day, place first in her class and cause an outrage. I certainly didn't pick her to read palms in a travelling circus. She smiled slightly up at the stars as she found her favourite constellations, and the flames turned her blonde hair slightly red. I watched her as the time passed, half paying attention to her thoughts and expressions, half plotting how I would escape her company long enough to find Doug and then disappear.

"You love the stars so much that you wear one around your neck," I murmured, "How did a girl like you end up here?"

"This necklace, it reminds me that no matter what I have done in the past, no matter who I thought I could be and didn't turn out to be, there's always hope for a better future, and the only person who can choose that future, is me."

"How do you get that from a star?"

"My father was an astronomer. He was killed in Florida a while back, I was orphaned, put in a home, ran away, and joined the circus. But he was an orphan too, and he turned out to be a great academic and incredible person." She shrugged, "The stars just give me hope."

As it neared midnight and the humans refused to let the fire die, Doug settled behind the food tent with his cigarettes and alcohol, as Chantelle grabbed a blanket from inside her carriage, before settling back down against it, with hooded lids and tired eyes.

She was, in a way… beautiful.

"Thank you for spending the day with me," she breathed, almost consumed by exhaustion.

"I didn't really have a choice," I replied, allowing a small smile to form on my lips.

She shook her head gently, and whispered, "You always have a choice, John Doe."

Her eyes slowly closed, only to be opened again seconds later, "And you know, you're not a nomad," she murmured, on the edge of sleep, "You carry that backpack around like it contains your life, and it does… it contains every tie you clutch to the life you left behind. As long as you hold on, you cannot let go."

"Sleep." I told her quietly, "You'll feel better for it in the morning."

"Uh ha." She breathed, "G'night, Mr Magic."

I pulled the blanket up higher and let it fall on her shoulders as I murmured, "Goodnight, Chantelle."

I waited for a very short while until her breathing was deep and her heartbeat was steady, before carefully standing, and quietly backing away. I ducked behind the carriage and made my way into the woods, before circling around to the bushes near where Doug was still smoking and drinking. Deciding that tempting his curiosity would be the best way to lure him far enough away from the campground so the people would be safe from me, I rustled the bushes and began to make noise. Almost immediately his head jerked up and his mind was alert with caution.

"Whosere?" he wondered in a slurred voice, "I say whosere?"

I rustled the bushes a little more, and he sprang to his feet, six foot of drunken anger, and reeking of smoke, the brown haired man marched to the bushes, and I pounced. I covered his mouth as he began to squirm and protest. Running at top speed to a place where the human scents would be down-wind, but not so far away that when the body would be found, people would wonder how he got there, I threw him on the forest floor and darted into the shadows.

"What the?" He wondered, as he wriggled on the floor, trying to find his footing, "Whosere?"

"Me." I replied quietly from the darkness where he couldn't see me, "Hello, Doug."

"Where are ya? Who are ya? Whaddoya want with me?" He scrambled around, his heart beating so fast.

"I wanted to ask you about those girls who went missing, and then about Chantelle?"

Those simple words were enough to trigger his mind into giving me the answers I needed – to knowing the truth.

"Then again, I don't really need you to answer me aloud, because I already know. Don't I?"

"Who are ya? Where are ya? What are ya gonna do to me?" He wined in fear, tears welling in his hazel eyes, as he scampered feebly backward, away from me.

I darted around in the bushes silently, until I was behind him, and then crept forward. His body could sense me, but his mid could not. And goosebumps covered his exposed skin as I whispered in his ear, "Boo."

He didn't even have time to scream.

I was almost surprised at how simple this one turned out. There was no deception or last minute realisation that I was onto the wrong person, and I was able to get him before committed the next crime, it was almost refreshing how –

A gasp from behind me broke my train of thought, and the man's body fell from my grasp as a horror-filled voice spoke from behind me.

"What are you doing to him?"

Chantelle.

I didn't get a single moment of rational thought until it was too late, and her blood was that, which I tasted on my lips. It was only when my thirst was fully stated and my mind was cleared of that thirst-induced fog that I realised what I'd done.

I looked down to the blue eyes of the girl who lay in my arms, no longer bright and curious, but now just empty and… dead. Her mouth was parted slightly, and her body had already begun to cool from the lack of blood in her veins.

"No," I breathed, "No."

.~*~.

It took a while for me to decide what to do with the bodies. Doug, no doubt, would be found some time later, with a knife and a note in his hand, confessing his guilt and claiming he could no longer live with the burden he'd placed on his own shoulders. Animals would find him before humans no doubt. As for Chantelle, I stood on the banks of Lake Michigan while her tiny little body floated away. All she had was the lake… The lake and the stars. The waters, not blood, were what would run through her veins.

As unfortunate as it was, it had to happen. Sometimes people just get in the way, but I saved lives by taking theirs, all those people Doug would have harmed, they live because Chantelle didn't. That was what I told myself at least.

As I turned my back on the banks of lake both the blonde and I knew so well, I slipped her necklace into my pocket as a reminder of the lessons she taught me. Then, I ducked back to the camp, where the bonfire still raged on but no one sat around it.

Chantelle was right about the bag I carried around – every connection that tied me to my previous life was sitting in it. If I really wanted to commit to this life, I would have to leave my old one behind – cut all ties. So, everything that belonged to the boy who didn't believe in collateral damage burned in the bonfire as I walked away.

A.N. Hello again, I'm back (ish). I know it has been an unforgivably long time since I updated this but I've been so busy lately, and writing these chapters takes a surprisingly long time. I had a free afternoon this afternoon, so I got this one edited and I penned a lot of the next one. It's taken me a bit to slip back into this writing style (scientific writing is so different) so I'm sorry if it's not quite as good as all the others. I think it'll take me a while to really get back into the headspace, but I'm going to keep trying, so I can finish Finding Home (I hate fan fictions that are only half-way done). So thank you all for sticking with me - and sticking with this.

Anyway! I know quite a lot of you, my dear readers, are writers yourselves, do you ever get a character that just pops in your head fully formed and ready to go? Someone you don't have to work at or think about or plan? This chapter was formed around Chantelle, who was one of those characters for me. It was so fun to write someone like her who just challenged Edward at every chance she got, and who completely (and tragically unintentionally) changed Edward's view on things. Chantelle, however, was not the originally inspiration for this chapter, the idea formed a while back when I first listened to Adele's album 25, in particular the song River Lea. That chorus is definitely what was playing in my mind as Edward left the last shreds of his life behind in the fire… or so we think he did ;)

Thank you once again for your reviews last chapter – keep them coming! I do love hearing from you all.

I'm not sure if I mentioned it, but the plan for the story currently ends at 25 chapters + an epilogue. So… WE'RE OVER HALFWAY! Whoooooo!

Next chapter teaser: What are your thoughts on terracotta pots?