"You say that everytime time and it turns into a comparison." Carden shot back, AJ shaking her head.

"Pretty sure my story beats both of yours, but let's hear it anyways."

"When you hear the word circus, I'm sure you think of the ringmaster and lions, tightropes and stilts, clowns with red noses and cotton candy on sticks. Ours wasn't much different, I had one of the easiest jobs. No dealing with dangerous animals for me, no I was the resident magician. Shuffling cards and watching people's jaws drop and eyes widen as they tried to figure out what I did day after day just became routine. It was the little kids that were always easiest to please, say a few random magic-sounding words and pull a quarter from behind their ear, then send them away to buy a bag of peanuts or something. I didn't mind it, every city was different, some crowds liked certain tricks more than others.

It didn't occur to me how different some of the crowds were until one night, a boy about fifteen managed to sneak into the tent that had become my office and begged me to explain my tricks. I initially told this kid, 'look, magicians don't tell our secrets' but this kid just stared, blue eyes locked onto the deck of cards in my hand. So I begrudgingly began to show him one of the tricks that it had taken me forever to learn - a neat little card sequencing trick called '673 King Street.'

"So I was walking down the street, and I ran into this two redheads, they had two friends, who were brunettes. We talked for awhile and they asked me what my name was so I told them 'You can call me Jack.' So they said, 'Hey Jack, why don't you come with us to a party at 673 King 's a cover charge of 25 dollars.' 25 dollars? Yeah, 25 dollars. So at this point, my phone rings and I go to answer it, and I say, 'hey, it's Jack.' And my friend goes, 'Well Jack, what are you doing tonight?' and I say, 'Well I'm going to a party at 700 somthing King Street and the girls go-"

"No, no, no, it's actually 673 King Street." The boy says, taking the words right out of my mouth.

"Hey, you're not supposed to know this, this is-" I protested, but he continued as I flipped cards, "Y'know what buddy I got that wrong, it's actually 673 King Street." At this point he stopped and smiled, and I began to realize there was something wrong with him. There was no way he should have know what I was going to say before I said it.

"How'd you know what I was going to say?" I asked him, but he just smirked, "It's a little secret I'm going to tell you, but first you have to lean in to hear it." Hesitantly, I had leaned in to hear him closer, and what a mistake that was. The minute I leaned down, the boy opened his mouth and drove a pair of two inch fangs into my neck.

That's when I knew how he knew - he was a vampire, and by the sound of it, a mentalist, someone that knew just how to screw with the mind and tap into other's thoughts. I suppose that's how I ended up being as good as I am, perhaps the traits pass in blood, because I found when I woke that I could literally read everyone's minds around me, and I could cause someone to do something simply by focusing long enough.

It was this sort of thinking that got me into trouble, I'd start fights and slick off into the shadows to watch the show I'd created. It became like I was running my own private circus at one point.I remember I'd tried to start a fight between some of the local Chicago gangs, well, the vampire ones at least, and then - sure as hell, nothing happened. I was sure my ability hadn't failed, it had been two weeks since I'd turned and my enthralling abilities had already improved."

Brendon paused, looked at Carden and smiled, then resumed talking.

"But then I see this guy, just across the alleyway, derby hat on his head, and I immediately know he's why the fight didn't happen. Before long we were talking, and it seemed our abilities complemented each other's, my ability to get into people's heads and his with making them see things that weren't there. I still remember being asked to join the Dandies, who at the time had only been three strong. Long story short, I'm really glad I joined, because I'm now in the most powerful coven in the Midwest. It's so much better living in this mansion than it is roaming the country under that collapsible big top."
"Wow. Yeah, I'll admit yours is pretty interesting. Yours too, Mike. But what about the others? I mean, you briefly mentioned sin about Siky and Butcher, but at about Michael? Would William know what happened to him?" AJ asked, still curious about the second oldest member of the Dandies.

Brendon got up and walked to the bookshelf, reaching for a book that seemed to be sticking out from the ends of the shelf, "I think this is the one that's got the histories in it," he explained as he tossed the book to her.

Adeline turned to the first page of the thick journal, not expecting the writing to be so fluid, although she could tell it had been written in a different dominant hand than her own, the scrawl had a slight slant one could only refer to as the 'lefty curse' as things were often flipped and awkwardly reversed, ink smudged and blotted unintentionally as the suffers of said curse often dragged their hand across the page while they wrote. With a jolt, she realized this journal had belonged to William, who seemed to have been trying to keep a sort of history for the Dandies.

From 7/4/1862
I'd gone to Milwaukee for the day, deciding to get away from the hustle and bustle of Chicago. I was sure the mansion would be well watch over by my three recruits, Michael, Mike, and Brendon.

I ventured north as a vacation of sorts, wanting to get away from Chicago for the evening. While there, I came upon a man sitting on the side of the street. This man was covered in tattoos and had multiple paintings standing around him. The paintings were interesting. They depicted the city life with the artist's own personal touch. As I knelt down to examine one of the paintings, a voice said, "Please sir, do you have any food?"

The man whom I assumed was the artist spoke and looked at me with a desperate look. I recognized the look immediately; it was the look of never having enough food and always being hungry. I myself in turn had felt that pain too often to count, especially in my younger years. I regarded the man with sympathy. Surely I could do something to help him?

"What if," I said as I got closer to the man, "I gave you something better than food? What if I could take away your pain forever? How would you like that?"

The man smiled a weak smile. "Sure mister, whatever you say."

After that, I bit the man and almost drained him dry. Then I let him drink my blood and in doing so, Andrew "The Butcher" Mrotek forever pledged his loyalty to me, inadvertently joining the coven I had back home.

From 1/8/1887
The year was now 1887, and I was enjoying life as an important member of the legislature of Chicago. I lived with my four coven members in a lavish mansion that overlooked the city.

In that day, I had passed many laws limiting the territories of the other vampires that lived in the city while keeping my territory safe. It was safe to say this made me unpopular with some as far as the other vampires in the area were concerned, but I didn't care.

One night as I prowled around, keeping an eye out for anything amiss, I came across a tragic sight. Shoved away in the dark recesses of an alley was the body of a boy, who, by the looks of it, was no older than 19. It was most likely the work of a rival vampire group. As I approached him and knelt to see if he was still alive, I could barely hear a heartbeat, meaning this boy was probably already on death's doorstep.

Normally, I could have walked past such a sad scene without so much as batting an eyelash, however this time, something caught my eye.

While I looked into the face of this slowly dying child, my heart stirred with an emotion so powerful that it almost made me sick. It was that of love, something I hadn't felt for a good century at least. This boy, whoever he was, reminded me of a younger brother that I had had many years ago. Much like this dying boy, my brother had been killed, murdered in front of me.

At that moment, I made a choice that would change me forever. I would refuse to let this boy meet the same end as my brother. Without pausing to think much, I bit the boy and drank a small amount of his blood. Then I rolled up my sleeve and bit down on my own wrist, letting the blood drip slowly into the boy's mouth. After a moment, the boy grabbed my wrist and slowly brought it to his mouth. I let the boy drink and only pulled my wrist away when I felt myself becoming weak.

From that moment Adam was forever in my debt for saving his life, and he has adjusted well to the coven. It's hard to believe one can go from being so lonely without a clue of where to go, to being the monarch of one of the most powerful covens in the city over a few centuries. It's been a good run, and I'm determined to make this last.

On the next page though, AJ noticed the writing seemed to change. Reading further, she found out why. This passage had been written by somebody else, and from the sound of it, seemed like Chislett.