Viridiana Harlequin wanted the abandoned carnival for her own, but dawn came first and she had nowhere to hide. She stood in the wet grass between rusted rides, her black-and-green jester coat soaked through. Red eyes stung against the gray sky. The sun would break the tree line in minutes. She had learned three towns ago what daylight did to her kind. It left burns that did not heal, and it left her too weak to hold any ground she claimed. She ran the fairway, checking doors. Ticket booths stood open to the light. The funhouse mirrors threw the coming sun back at her. Then she saw the big tent at the carnival's heart. Its black-and-green fabric rose in sharp gothic peaks. Heavy drapes sealed every seam. No window let in a single blade of light. Viridiana pushed through the flap and stopped. She was not alone. A woman sat on an overturned crate in the dark. Loose tank top, red bra strap showing at one shoulder, long black hair falling past her waist. She smiled like she had been expecting company for years. Above her, strung from the tent pole, hung a puppet. Black-and-green clothes, a cracked white face, wide painted eyes ringed in green. Its strings twitched though no wind moved. "You're bleeding light," the woman said. "Your hem's smoking." Viridiana looked down. Sunlight had caught her coat in the doorway. A thin curl of smoke rose from the fabric. She yanked the flap shut behind her. The tent went black and cool. "This is mine," the woman said. She did not stand. "Been mine a long time. Me and my little friend up there." The puppet's head tilted toward Viridiana. Its jaw clicked open and shut. Viridiana's skin still crawled from the near burn. She had no strength left to fight. But she had spent a lifetime reading who truly held power in a room. This woman lounged. The puppet watched. The strings answered the puppet, not the woman. So Viridiana turned to the hanging thing instead. She dropped to one knee in the dirt and bowed her horned hat low. "I don't want your tent," she told the puppet. "I want the whole carnival. Every ride. Every booth. I'll wake it all up again. You'll have a court to hang over, not a corpse." The strings stilled. The painted eyes fixed on her. Then the puppet's head dipped once, slow, a nod. The woman's smile fell. "He never lets anyone stay." "He does now," Viridiana said. She found a dark corner behind the crates and folded her coat beneath her. Outside, the sun climbed and could not reach her. She had a den at last, and the tent's true master had bent his head to her. But the woman in the red bra sat across the dark, watching her sleep. And she had not agreed to anything.