Where Dreams Descend

by Janella Angeles

  The Prima Hotel was not too far from the shadowy, unkempt city corner where the Alastor Place resided. The sight became more of a curiosity to Kallia. Neglect and ruin ran rampant in the air of Glorian, but the Alastor Place appeared trapped in its most forgotten parts, only now slowly emerging from the rubble.

  They passed the quiet caravan of circus tents parked around the vicinity, lying like the empty, silken skin shed from a snake. Stretched tall and striped in warm white and purple so dark it almost seemed black, the tents stood motionless, betraying no movement inside. As they reached the end of one tent, Kallia paused and peered closer. A symbol was embedded among the closed folds: three swords side by side with their blades tipped toward the middle, as if piercing through the two letter Cs forged at the center.

  Kallia’s heart gave another leap as the circus tent rustled.

  “For Zarose sake,” someone cursed as a hand shot out to pull back the fabric. “How can you rats even muster the urge to spy on us when it’s so damn cold?”

  The slit was drawn wide open, and Kallia met a pair of gold catlike eyes belonging to the most beautiful face she was certain she’d ever seen. Metallic serpentine markings emblazoned the girl’s round cheeks and soft chin, clasping around her throat before disappearing to the back of her neck. The snake marking might’ve caught Kallia’s attention first, but it wasn’t the girl’s only tattoo. A collection of other shapes and scripts branded her skin.

  And they were all moving.

  The girl’s mouth fell open in shock. “Sorry! I thought you were one of those nasty boys from before.” She laughed, batting a tattooed hand against her chest, before marveling at Kallia’s green cloak with delight. “Oh, I just adore that shade—”

  “Juno, who the hell are you talking to?” a shrill voice drawled harshly from within the tent. “Get away from there. We’re getting cold.”

  “Relax, thought it was another creeper,” she called over her shoulder before dropping her voice. “You may be like us, but I’d scram if I were you. Ringleader’s in a mood.” The girl cocked her head back at the tent.

  Kallia’s pulse fluttered. She had so many questions, like how the girl’s marks seemed to be moving. Or how Erasmus could possibly be inside the tent when she could’ve sworn she’d heard a female voice call out. One question among them all won out: “What do you mean I’m like you?”

  “I can spot a fellow performer a mile away.” Juno winked. “Runaways, too.”

  With that, the tattooed girl strutted back into the tent, swinging her large hips all the way. The tent flap swung closed, leaving Kallia slightly stunned. When she rounded the corner, Aaros doubled back with a worried expression. “Oh no, did they threaten to sic their stage animals on you, too?”

  “What? Who?”

  “The Conquerors, of the Conquering Circus.” Aaros lifted his hands around him as they resumed walking. “Don’t know much about them, but this is their territory now. One of the lads I used to run with tried taking a peek inside for fun. No one’s ever seen a circus before, much less an all-lady gang. Next thing I knew, he’s running for the hills with his coattails singed, muttering about birds and lions eating his brains.”

  “Sounds like he got off easy.” Kallia laughed, with a quick glance back at the tents. As soon as they drifted onto the sidewalk toward the city center, the Alastor Place, and the circus, disappeared from view. Everything except the knowing gleam in the tattooed girl’s stare.

  Runaways, too.

  She’d whispered it like a gleeful secret only they were in on, thus Kallia felt no urge to worry. She had no energy for it. The surge of adrenaline from the audition, on top of the fatigue from it, had numbed her to exhaustion.

  Enough that she was about ready to happily collapse on the spot.

  She could’ve cried when they finally reached the Prima Hotel at the corner of the main intersection, built tall and round with deep wine-red bricks and rows of black circular windows closed against iron-laced shutter gates. For a traveling hotel right out of Erasmus’s pocket, it looked as if it had stood for years—a sparkling, established fixture in the city. A jewel in the rough.

  Kallia forced Aaros through the grand entrance, for his wonderment would’ve kept him cemented in place. Not even she, used to the extravagance of Hellfire House, was immune. Here, every flower vase draped with crystals as if dusted with frost. Scents of bread and cinnamon and freshly poured coffee wafted warmly from the little café with open seating.

  They reached the marble front desk, where the old concierge turned instantly in Aaros’s direction for instructions—before Kallia slapped her key on the desk.

  “My room is already taken care of.” She slid it forward with a slow snakelike smile. “Would you kindly point my assistant and me in the right direction?”

  The man’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. He nodded and scurried out from behind the desk to guide them past the hotel’s quaint café and up the majestic spiraling staircase.

  Kallia immediately adored the brightness of the hotel, how it contrasted with the shadowed Hellfire House in all ways but one. Both buildings had been built with beauty in mind, but the Prima’s appealed to the senses a touch more. A fresh new flavor she’d never tasted before. Airy and fragrant, like rose champagne. As they ascended, she could’ve looked out the windows along the walls forever. Their gleaming frames bore sunlight, glimmers of the quiet streets down below. Not rows upon rows of imposing trees or leaves rustling against the glass. Nothing of the Dire Woods anywhere near her.

  The lump in her throat tightened. She wasn’t alone in her awe. Beside her, Aaros gaped at just about everything. The luxury of the sweeping, painted ceilings, the lush carpeting, swirling candelabras tall as coatracks standing at each corner. Each new piece of the hotel was a discovery. A marvel.

  “I’ve … never been in a hotel before.” Aaros’s face softened, vulnerable in a way Kallia hadn’t expected from someone like him. “Are they all like this?”

  “Some.” She never had, either, but the lie rolled off her tongue more like a wish. She found comfort in pretending she’d frequented palaces and castles and hotels such as this. Better that than to show even a sliver of the emotion that stripped away the hardness of the wily thief she’d met hours earlier.

  The concierge was smart enough not to question their living arrangement as he stopped in front of their door at the end of the second-floor hall; though if people made such assumptions of her and Aaros, so be it. Let people think what they will. The longer she stayed in their minds, in any capacity, the better.

  After the concierge unlocked the suite’s door, he gestured for both to enter as he gathered Kallia’s bag. Aaros staggered in, stopping dead center in the common room. “Zarose.”

  Small chandelier lights hung from above, matching the dark golden furniture and thick curved metal of the glass side tables and stools. Even the walls were lined with patterned gold, delicate filigree designs embroidered all over like gilded borders of playing cards. Kallia devoured each detail, breath held. She’d grown up in the luxury of Jack’s estate, but there was something much more precious to this space. Even more than her greenhouse.

  This suite at the Prima, she had earned. It was hers.

  “I hope this room will do,” the concierge said before bowing out, swinging the door quietly behind him.

  “Will this do?” Aaros parroted, slack-jawed. “Hell, this suite alone is bigger than all the places I’ve ever been in my entire life put together.”

  “Start getting used to it.” Kallia clapped a hand over his shoulder. “Stick with me, and we’ll be richer than kings and queens.”

  Aaros couldn’t even muster a witty reply, only an amazed shake of his head. “You’re truly willing to share this with me? Why?… I don’t even know your name.”

  Kallia had withheld her name, waiting to see how the audition would unfold. She hadn’t realized how valuable an asset Aaros would be, or how soon she’d grow to like him so much.

&nb
sp; Another lie stood at the edge of her tongue, another life. She could take a new name and banish everything from before. But the idea of erasing herself, her name, pulled at her. Her name wasn’t owned by the House or by Jack—it belonged to her, and no one else.

  “If this arrangement is going to work between us, start by closing your jaw before it falls to the floor,” she ordered, crossing her arms loosely. “And please, call me Kallia.”

  The night was cold, but young. The club, alive and well.

  The master watched on as masked patron after patron entered the doors, foolishly hoping she’d be among them. But she would never come back like this—in a flood of people looking to lose themselves and revel in the loss. More than usual lined up outside the door that night, but the master instantly knew which top hats to stalk.

  The boisterous group swaggered into Hellfire House, eyes devouring every inch of the club. A few pointed and gaped as though they’d entered an impressive dream; the majority regarded their surroundings as if it were a sumptuous gift for the taking. Even beneath their white masks, newcomers always made themselves known.

  This group all but hooted and hollered their way to the bar. Other guests parted a path for them.

  Frowning, the master followed. He vanished into the crowd before swiftly reappearing behind the bar, in a new slick suit and a mask to match. Like he’d been there all this time, cleaning glasses with a small rag. “What’ll it be, gentlemen?”

  “Champagne,” the blond man among them crowed over the music. “As many bottles as you can spare!”

  The master procured only one from the bed of ice below, setting it on the black marble counter to unwrap the jade-green foil. Without warning, the entire top popped off, but the master had already conjured a flute to catch the fizz spilling over.

  Laughter instantly roared around him.

  “Good reflexes,” the same man said smugly, foil crumpled in one hand and cork in the other. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

  The master gritted his teeth, but continued filling glasses. “You’re a magician?”

  “We all are,” another one in the group stated with a grin. “We’re competing in a grand magician’s show. Spectaculore.”

  As he disposed of the empty bottle, the master hid his sneer. “Sounds very exciting.”

  “Oh, it will be.” The man with the tallest top hat reached for a flute. “And it’ll be over terribly quick when I wipe these gents across the stage.”

  Someone knocked his top hat off, spurring another round of raucous laughter and shoving of shoulders. They began regaling their skills and repertoire of tricks, as though the best magician could be proven by boasts alone.

  “Let’s have a toast.” The blond man lifted his glass, eyeing the others. “To knocking you boys out of the ring. Cheers.”

  The magicians booed and cackled, drinks sloshing as they punched the blond man in the back. The master wiped down the surface, counting the rungs of his brass knuckles as he counted his breaths, close to throwing them out of the club altogether.

  “Don’t forget the girl.”

  The master paused, head tilted.

  “You going to knock her out, too, Ives?”

  “Zarose, Robere. That was only a rumor.” The magician next to him scoffed. “The judges would never allow it.”

  “I saw her waltz through the Prima myself, strutting like she owned the place,” Robere insisted. “And she has a male assistant, can you believe that?”

  The master pressed closer, ignoring the taps on empty glasses around him aiming for refills.

  The girl.

  Only a few days and already she was stirring up trouble.

  “Well, is she at least something nice to look at?” the one with the tall top hat asked with a large belch.

  Cackling laughter exploded, off-putting as broken glass. It took everything in the master not to drag them by the necks to the memory den, but he was curious what more would spill from their lips. News from the outside was like cards, and each patron came in with a different hand.

  It was the reason Hellfire House existed, after all.

  “Either way, she’s not here to stay,” a redheaded man spoke up. “Girls never last in these games. Never have.”

  The others nodded and tipped their glasses in assent.

  Though he detested the band of magicians, the master hoped they were right. If she were no longer in the game, he might have a chance to fix this. Wipe the game board clean, and start over again. Leaving all else in the dark, except him.

  The only one in his way, now, was her.

  And them.

  The thought dropped cold in his stomach, the fear creeping back in.

  “To us.” Ives raised his glass once more, and the others followed. The master’s fist tightened until his metal bands dug into bone. Silent, he listened as he always did, to the conversations webbing around him all over the club. To the series of clinks pouring into the air.

  “May the best magician win.”

  9

  Days later, an invitation arrived at Kallia’s door. No matter how she’d adored wandering through the Prima, ordering teas and sampling desserts of all kinds down in the café, she’d been restless for news of what would come next. Part of her wondered if it had all been an elaborate joke, the other half fearing she would wake up one day only to be escorted from the premises for they’d changed their minds.

  To her delight, a dinner party would be held the following night. The judges had finally whittled down their choices to ten competitors. Nine men Kallia would have to best if she wanted to stay in the game, and she was determined to remain the front-runner.

  “Don’t you want to be in the middle?” Aaros asked, combing back his swath of black hair in the mirror. “Play it safe until it really matters?”

  “I don’t know how to play it safe.” Kallia’s mouth parted as she applied kohl against her eyelids in a smooth line. She’d missed this, the process of pampering as much as preparing. For the first party she’d be attending where she wouldn’t have to wear a mask, she wanted to look her best. Unforgettable. This was the first time all the contestants would be in the same room, and she needed to dress and act like a winner. No hesitation. Only confidence.

  Aaros made for a good subject to practice on, though it was only a matter of time before he started asking more questions. Until she ran out of easy lies.

  Kallia’s fingers paused over her brush. She hoped it would never come to that, losing his trust. He’d already become the strangest sort of anchor. In the early mornings, she’d trudge out of her private room, more than a little disoriented to be surrounded by golden hues and city sunlight, and find Aaros awake and staggering around just as floored. Even more so. The streets he roamed had little luxury to them. It was one thing stealing bits of it to get by, and a whole other suddenly drowning in it for a living.

  They grew used to their surroundings together, and though she’d never admit it out loud, there was comfort in not having to face this newness alone. The unfamiliarity. Worse were the days when Kallia found herself unconsciously looking for Jack. The routine of seeing him every day left her with an odd hollowness, a longing for the House. Applying makeup as she would before a performance at the club, Kallia felt that same old thrill sparking beneath her skin. Putting on the gown to perform, descending on that chandelier to a sea of faces looking up, finding his.

  With a deep breath, Kallia rose from her vanity seat. She smoothed her fingers over the long black satin gloves stretching to her elbows, along the fit of the evening gown that wrapped around her hips like liquid before spilling at her feet.

  The invitation had simply said to dress well. Kallia had only snagged a few dresses from her wardrobe at the House. Decidedly not in the Glorian style, they were bold statements, each one of them. She would have to find a dress shop soon to add to her selection, but tonight, she aimed to be memorable.

  She admired her handiwork in the large, shell-shaped mirror, leaning closer t
o inspect for smudges of red at the corners of her lips.

  A shadow fell across her, the room around her dimming.

  Her skin chilled. When she looked up, her entire surroundings were cast in utter darkness. No furniture, no Prima suite, no Aaros.

  Cold. Her bare arms shook, her back tremoring under a shiver.

  For when she looked into the mirror, darkness stared back.

  Slowly, tendrils of white fogged the surface, like whispers from behind. Kallia jerked away when someone steadied her by the elbows. “Careful, or you’ll ruin the suit,” Aaros chuckled, before his gaze sharpened. “What’s wrong?”

  The next time she turned to her reflection, she saw her room. Herself. Aaros beside her, watching with concern.

  “Nothing.” She swallowed, hand clutched at her collarbone.

  Always think first before trusting your reflection.

  Jack’s words slithered, coiling around her. Kallia hated how naturally they came to her. As if he were right at her ear, in the mirror.

  “Nothing,” Kallia repeated, keeping her back to the vanity. Cool, composed. “I rarely keep mirrors around me. Bad luck.”

  Aaros inspected the surface. “Really? You were just—”

  “Remembering why I don’t look at them in the first place.” Hopefully he wouldn’t notice later when she covered it for the remainder of their stay. “Performance superstition.”

  Raising his hands in a small, placating way, he chuckled. “Fine, whatever makes you tick. Regardless, that dress looks and fits you like sin. Hope you know that.” Aaros gave an approving nod. “Now be nice and say something grand about me.”

  “I don’t need to be nice to say you look good.” The nerves had already begun to leave her as she straightened the collar of his new suit. Aaros was good at changing the subject. He’d even made no complaint when she dragged him out to buy a proper suit. Tonight, he looked a far cry from the thief who’d tried to steal from her. More dashing than devious, though the latter lurked beneath.