The rain increases and umbrellas sprout like mushrooms amongst the graves.

Wine is bottled poetry, he thinks ... He wonders if the poem of the circus could possibly be bottled.

Once they were librarians, but that is a subject they will only discuss if heavily intoxicated.

I thought a circus environment would be an interesting venue to explore, where you didn't just have one tent with three rings and a show going on but where you could explore different things in different tents.

We cannot go backward,' Marco says. 'A great deal is not how it used to be.

Her father picks different names for her as they change locales, but he uses Miranda often, presumably because he knows how much it annoys her.

He spends the majority of the evening in the company of Celia Bowen, whose elaborate gown changes color, shifting through a rainbow of hues to compliment whoever she is closest to.

I believe you have my umbrella he says, almost out of breath but wearing a grin that has too much wolf in it to be properly sheepish.

I saw in details while she saw in scope. Not seeing the scope is why I am here and she is not. I took each element separately and never looked to see that they never did fit together properly.

I binge write. I think it's because I started seriously writing by participating in National Novel Writing Month, an online-based challenge to write 50,000 words in 30 days.

I don't have as tight a time limit anymore but I still write in long marathon sessions and then I won't write for a while, I'm not a write-every-day writer.

I like to call it nighttime brain: the way your mind seems to function on a different frequency than it does during daylight hours -- which can be good or bad but also can lead to unexpected epiphanies or experiences that wouldn't be the same at any other time of day.

Everything I have done, every change I have made to that circus, every impossible feat and astounding sight, I have done for her.

Now you know about it, and you can do whatever you want to it.

Because I do not wish to know, he says. I prefer to remain unenlightened, to better appreciate the dark.

I made a wish on this tree years ago, Marco says. What did you wish for? Bailey asks. Marco leans forward and whispers in Bailey's ear. I wished for her.

Prospero the Enchanter's immediate reaction upon meeting his daughter is a simple declaration of: Well, fuck.

Marco knows he does not have the time to push her away, so he pulls her close, burying his face in her hair, his bowler hat torn from his head by the wind....Trust me, Celia whispers in his ear, and he stops fighting it, forgetting everything but her.

I have never lied, Mr. Barris counters, standing as well. I do not share what I am not at liberty to say. I gave my word and I intend to keep it but I have never lied to you. You never even asked me, you assumed I knew nothing.

The circus arrives without warning.