“Well, this [i]is[/i] a circus troupe,” Rayth shrugged. “We’re not really known for being a well-connected bunch.”
	He wanted to pat himself on the back for that excuse. It was even more believable than the lie he’d tossed out about the lights not working. He had to wonder, though, exactly how long Frieda expected him or anyone else to keep up this charade. So far, he’d gotten lucky that she hadn’t come across anything he couldn’t easily explain away, but he had a hard time believing that they could keep her in the dark forever.
	Sooner or later, she was going to see a werewolf transform or a shade melt into a shadow or an undine control water in a cup. The creatures in the troupe couldn’t suppress their nature for very long, and when they eventually gave away the reality that none of them were human, Lune was going to be in for a rude awakening.
	And after the way she had reacted to finding out he was even half vampire, he had a feeling she wasn’t going to do well when she learned that she was the only mortal in Cirque du Sombre.
	He even felt her tense when he touched her arm, and his eyes flicked to the hand that she curled into a fist. She was still jumpy. He pressed his tongue to his cheek, tempted to point out that if he wanted to hurt her, he’d had plenty of opportunities to sink his fangs into her neck since they’d left the circus grounds. They were alone, far away from anyone else—especially any coherent humans—and he had every advantage against her in a pitch black train car. This was his turf, and she was prey to his kind. The only reason he hadn’t turned on her was because he didn’t want to.
	 He’d never learned a lesson that someone else had tried to beat into him though, so he kept this mouth shut. It was better for her to figure out on her own that she was safe with him.
	“You say that like I wouldn’t enjoy it,” he quipped back, waiting for the feeling of her hand on his shoulder before he led her deeper into the car. “As far as I know, I’ve never had my own ghost before. Just imagine the shenanigans I could get up to if I had an ‘imaginary friend’ to take the blame.”
	Despite the joke, he was careful to walk her around any of the random junk the other troupe members had left strewn about the train. He didn’t want to have to be the one to tell Frieda that the newest member of the circus had twisted an ankle before she’d even picked out a cot.
	As they entered the next car in the line, he examined the beds around them for available spots. Each one appeared to have an occupant. The sheets were disheveled and personal belongings were laid out on each one of the thin mattresses, but he stopped by one particular cot midway through the room.
	It paid off to have a sharp nose, because he could tell that the top and bottom bunk in the section smelled like the same individual. Someone had spread out her things luxuriously, but one of the beds was empty.
	“This one is open,” he told Lune with a gesture at the lower cot that he wasn’t sure she could see. “If you take it, you’ll be bunkmates with Genesis though, and I don’t know if I would wish that on my own worst enemy.”
	The witch was one of the most particular, high-maintenance people he’d ever met—which explained why she’d taken two beds just to set up her personal belongings. “We can keep looking if you want to,” he added, turning back to Lune. “Maybe lay out all your options before you pick a place to sleep? It’ll be harder to switch later on if you decide you hate it.”