“What do you mean, ‘sold out?’” Arla nearly shouted, her volume having nothing to do with being heard over the music thumping through the air.
	The woman manning the ticket booth tapped her long, burgundy-painted nails against the countertop. The lighting inside the booth glittered off a sequined bandanna of the same shade, the fabric keeping her mousy, braided hair in place.
	The woman sighed impatiently. “I mean, [i]we’re sold out.[/i] There aren’t any more tickets left.”
	“Not even one?” Arla leaned against the rim of counter sticking out past the booth’s plexiglass window. Though always more effective against men, she bat her vibrant green eyes at the woman, hoping to look both adorable and pathetic at the same time. “I don’t need an actual seat. I’d be fine with standing.”
	The woman raised a finely plucked eyebrow, unimpressed. She flicked a piece of lint from her frilly white blouse. “I can’t do that, hon. You should’ve gotten here earlier.” She stood from her chair and adjusted her layered skirt.
	Arla scowled at the ground, biting back a sharp retort.
	“C’mon!” she groaned instead. “I’m with my school paper!” She held up the DSLR camera hanging around her neck, accentuating her half-lie. “If I don’t get [i]something[/i] for it, the team’ll never forgive me!”
	The woman sighed again, eyeing the teen. 
	Despite obvious attempts at cleaning up, hints of dust and dirt smeared over Arla’s face and clung to her jeans. Her long, recently blue-dyed hair looked like it had been combed with fingers as a hasty afterthought. Her too-large black leather jacket hung awkwardly from her petite form, its addition to her attire odd in the day’s remaining warmth. 
	“I’m sorry, hon.” She reached up for the metal visor above the ticket booth window. She paused to glance at Arla. “But there’s nothing I can do. The last show’s about to start, and I need to close up for tonight. I’m sure you can find something else to report about.”
	With that, she drew the metal visor down with a rolling clang of finality.
	Arla groaned. She glanced to the couple security guards patrolling just beyond the booth, making sure no party crashers snuck in. As if sensing her gaze, a thick, burly man with a bald head and prominent overbite looked to her. His shadowed brows rose, and he crossed his thick arms over his broad chest as he met her eyes. A yellow jacket declared him a part of the security team.
	She glared back at his unspoken dare to try running past him. Part of her wanted to take him up on it, but the potential risk of getting caught and winding up in a police car kept her in place. That, or she’d just get pummeled into the earth by the seven-foot-tall brute. One of the two.
	With a growling sigh, Arla turned and marched away from the entrance. Making more of a show of it than necessary, she crossed the street into the parking lot, then ducked behind one of the cars.
	Squinting against the light flooding the area, she peeked around the car. Raising her camera as discretely as she could, she zoomed in on the entrance to get a better look amidst the glaring lights of the circus.
	 The brightness of floodlights rose into the heavens. It created a haze above the carnival that fought against the dark sky as if it could replace the long-lost sun’s glow. More colored lights twinkled around a large sign written in a looping, ballooned text, erasing any possible doubts that she had reached the [i]Cirque du Sombre.[/i] 
	Music blared through the night. Some of the lights danced in time with its beat. The din of laughter and shouts fought against the tunes. A high privacy fence surrounded the unfamiliar fairgrounds. From between the gap for the entrance, she could just make out the forms of people weaving through the aisles created by various tents and booths. From what Arla assumed was the center of the grounds, the tip of the Big Top surveyed it all, watching proudly like a king on his throne. 
	A gentle, warm wind blew through the night, bringing with it the sickly-sweet smell of cotton candy, popcorn, funnel cakes, and innumerable other tantalizing junk foods.
	Arla’s stomach growled. She scowled. “Oh, shut it,” she snarled at it.
	On the bright side, she supposed, not having to pay for a ticket meant she’d have money for food. She snapped a picture as the beast-of-a-man turned away, apparently satisfied she had gone, but not cocky enough to abandon his post.
	She’d just have to find another way in.
	She crept her way along the cars. Once positive she was out of the guards’ view, she hurried between a pair of palm trees and made her way to the fence.
	Doing her best to not look suspicious, she walked along the fence line, the barricade towering well above her meager 5’3.” She kept an eye out for any other openings or possible handholds to help her inside.
	The area grew quieter as she distanced herself from the cars and crowds. The lights from the parking lot gave way to shadow-drenched trees surrounding the fairgrounds. Away from all the bright lights, Arla couldn’t help but relax just a bit.
	She paused as she noticed a ray of light spearing out from the fence. A grin on her lips, she hurried to it.
	A few feet from the ground, rot had eaten a hole in part of the wooden fence. It was a small thing, just large enough for her fist to fit through. She took a step back, gauging the space between the ground, the hole, and the top of the towering fence. She ran her tongue over her teeth in contemplation.
	With a quiet “hmm,” she nodded. She quickly slipped her camera from around her neck and shrugged from her black backpack. She pulled out the camera’s padded, protective case and put the device away. She quickly took off her jacket, not wanting to risk it getting caught on anything, revealing a navy t-shirt beneath. She shoved it into the backpack atop the case, then zipped the bag shut.
	She frowned at the bulk of the bag. Silently hoping it wouldn’t throw her too far off balance, she shouldered the backpack, then stepped further from the fence. She eyed it for a moment more, bouncing her weight from one foot to the other in preparation.
	Another breeze blew by, catching in her hair and toying with the strands. She gasped and spun around as something rustled behind her. Her heart jumped into her throat, and a hand reached to the sheathed hunting knife she’d forgotten to remove from her belt.
	She stared into the shadows of the trees, waiting, searching. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness almost immediately, easily picking out the finest details.
	But nothing else stirred. 
	Arla took a deep breath, trying to resummon the bravado the scare had momentarily chased off. 
	She ran a hand through her hair. [i]You lost them, you idiot,[/i] she reassured herself. [i]They couldn’t have followed you.[/i]
	She had already nearly convinced herself she had only imagined the monsters in the warehouse that first night. But only nearly. It had felt too real, and the pictures on her other camera assured her she hadn’t gone completely nuts.
	She shook her head, making herself refocus on the task at hand. As terrifying as monsters were, going back home wasn’t an option she was willing to take. She’d rather the monsters to that.
	Reluctantly, she turned her back on the tree line. Taking a breath, she darted to the fence. She quickened her pace the last couple steps toward the fence, putting extra speed into the wood and hoping it was sturdy enough to hold her.
	She jumped up into the fence, letting the tip her shoe catch slightly on the hole. The fence creaked and groaned, but didn’t give way. Using the momentum and resistance from her foot’s placement, she launched herself up further, arms already reaching for the top of the fence. She gripped the top and grit her teeth, feeling the strain in her muscles as she pulled herself up, then over.
	She was going to feel that in the morning.
	Too late, it dawned on her that she had a drop on the other side. Her backpack caught for a second, jerking it painfully from her shoulders as she fell to the ground inside the fairgrounds. She just managed to stifle a shout as she landed front-first in a patch of damp grass.
	“Ow,” she moaned into the dirt as her backpack thumped down beside her.
	She was going to feel that [i]worse[/i] in the morning.
	Scowling, she pushed herself up and brushing herself off. Not that it helped much. She crossed her arms and stared triumphantly at the fence.
	[i]Told her parkour videos weren’t a waste of time,[/i] she thought smugly, making a mental note to gloat if she ever saw her best friend, Scarlett, again.
	Turning, she took in her surroundings. Thankfully, no one had noticed her oh-so-elegant arrival.
	The area was deserted. A few thick cords snaked their way across the lawn and a sidewalk, weaving into a few nearby booths. Whatever games, food, or other eccentricity they had held had been covered or removed for the night. Which meant whoever was in charge of them had either retired, or already headed to the last show of the evening.
	Though she wasn’t entirely sure who she needed to speak to, she had the feeling the ring master—or [i]mistress,[/i] as the advertisement had boasted—would be her best bet. But, in all likelihood, she’d be preparing to lead the main show right about now.
	Arla glanced down at herself. Wet, muddy grass stains created circles on her knees, adding to her quickly growing homeless appearance. She sighed heavily as she retrieved her backpack. She’d planned on changing when she got here, to make herself presentable for a job interview, but if she was going to get into that tent, she had to go now.
	Praying the fall hadn’t done any damage to her beloved camera, she returned the bag to its place at her back. She winced, her arms already protesting the movement.
	Setting her sights on the Big Top, she squared her shoulders and strode into the main rows of the traveling circus. Steps confident, she kept a discrete eye out for any sign of security or the woman from the ticket booth. She was far too close, had come too far to let herself get stopped or second guess herself now.
	The outskirt rows were eerily empty. But the sounds of voices and music grew louder as she neared the show tent, people young and old chattering eagerly about what was to come.
	Giddy delight welled in Arla’s chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been to a circus. She wanted to stop at each booth and tent that remained open, to examine what they had to offer, from last calls for games to fortune readings and more. But she stopped only once in her rush to buy a bag of popcorn and a loaded hot dog from a closing vendor before hurrying on her way.
	She shielded her eyes against the harsher lights as she passed, the brightness blurring the world further ahead of her. She slowed her pace, hating the light sensitivity that always came with the rise of the night. 
	She paused as she reached the short remaining line of people still waiting to enter the main attraction. The eager energy in the air intensified, and even Arla couldn’t help but smile expectantly.
	She carefully inserted herself into the dwindling crowd. She kept close to a family with a couple kids who looked close to her age. They spared her scarcely a glance, too intent on the thrills awaiting them inside to question her presence. She was ushered in with the rest, her extra head count going unnoticed by the couple security guards guarding the entrance.
	Inside, bleachers created a circle around a short barrier outlining the circus ring. Tightropes spanned the length between two poles in the ring, waiting for their acrobats with more patience than the crowd. The smell of food and sweaty bodies swelled. The noise of voices became nearly deafening. Audience members packed close together on the stands, looking more like colorful sardines than people. 
	She chose a spot between stands she thought would be out of security’s direct line of sight. She she sat her popcorn down on a small open space at the end of a bench beside a plump man with a pleasant expression. He glanced down at her curiously, said something that got lost in the din, then looked back to the woman beside him as she spoke animatedly.
	Arla watched him for a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to shoo her away, then bit into her hot dog. The twang of the relish merged perfectly with the sweetness of the bun and saltiness of the meat. Though she couldn’t say whether it was because she hadn’t eaten since an early, skimpy breakfast, or if carnival food was just better, she swore it was the best hot dog she’d ever had.
	She leaned against the stands and crossed one leg in front of the other, savoring the hot dog. If she’d have to wait for the show to end to approach the ring mistress, she may as well enjoy it.
	She soaked it all in, relishing the electric atmosphere of anticipation and thankful the lighting inside was dimmer than that outside. A couple colored spotlights danced experimentally inside the ring. Strands of white lights hung down the tent walls, casting a soft glow around the area. 
	Her smile widened as she let her gaze wander. It all felt rather… magical. Surreal. As if anything could happen in this place where acrobats would seemingly defy the laws of physics, well-practiced magicians would awe the audience with illusions, and fire-eaters would woo the onlookers with dangerous acts. And if all went as she planned, this was what she’d get to enjoy every day from here on out.
	At last, she would be truly free.
	She only hoped she wouldn’t have to be a clown.