Minus the murders and possessions, The Tower of London had treated them well. At least, it had been a lovely Samhain ritual and celebration. Not all bad. The Cirque might have lost a few workers, but they had more than made up their numbers by their last night. As traumatic as the stop had been, the Samhain festivities were still remarkable. A hunter's moon was coming and Management had called for their next destination to be a Wild Hunt. All who walked through their gates during the days of the full moon were to not make it back out. A time for reaping and a time for a feast for the darker impulses and supernatural that kept their urges at bay.
The herd was warned. All who wished not to partake were to gather what they needed from London, to enjoy barely contained energies of that night's festivities but then be in their trailers promptly at 11:50 PM. There they would be sealed for three days time. The Hunt would be blocked from sight and sound and all food that was needed would magically be brought to them. The Ringmaster went about sealing and warding these trailers. There would be no prey banging at their doors for protection from the Hunt.
At midnight, the Coven, the Ringmaster, and some of the Fae gather around the Cauldron. Soon, the familiar power begins to build. The magic is the same as always, both familiar and strange. A steady build, a sudden swell – the feeling of time and space folding in on them... And then the release of all the magic, the dizzying sensation of movement and then settling. Tonight, the sound of geese on the wind seems to follow the disappearing circus. Just like that, the cool night of London is gone, fading into something harsher – crisp, biting cold. Snow. Look at those who can breathe air making hot plumes in twinkling lights of the Cirque. Hear the swearing and watch the brisk walk of the resident Fire Elemental go for the warm shelter of his trailer. Look over the tops of the fencing. See the colorful, swirling domes looking like so much sugar confection...
Known for being one of the murder capitals, a hotspot for human trafficking, and home to 13 million, who would miss another few hundred? A thousand? A horn sounds somewhere within the Cirque grounds, followed by answering calls and the baying of hounds. The air sizzles and shimmers as reality distorts around them. It will be forever night now, tucked away in a cut between dimensions and reality. A crack. The Wild Hunt has begun.