“The Conquering Circus can conquer anything,” Erasmus boasted in response, pink-cheeked. Daron was surprised he’d spoken aloud. “We have over a week, plenty of time to transform. I’ve hired only the best workers and labor magicians for this project.”
“And how will they be compensated for the rush work?”
All eyes shifted to Kallia, idly tracing her finger over the rim of her glass.
“Very generously.” The man cleared his throat, though it was clear he hadn’t given it any thought until now. “As you know, you will all be receiving a rather nice stipend for the work you’ll be doing. Well, the ones who make the first cut.” With a reassuring wink, he added, “It’s in the contract.”
Some contestants lifted their glasses in assent, but Kallia’s deliberating finger stilled over hers. “I find it curious that you’ve chosen the most neglected building in which to host this grand event. It sounds like an awful lot more work for the people who have to get their hands dirty,” she drawled. “And don’t forget the circus workers who have to make camp there. In this cold weather, especially.”
Daron was ashamed to not have even considered the circus. Aside from that one performer who’d tried auditioning, the women of the Conquering Circus didn’t occupy as much attention as its leader. For a circus, they were peculiarly quiet, practically invisible except when boasted about by name.
An air of unease hung over the room. Stiffly, Erasmus loosened his tie, his color rising. “Unfortunately, the Alastor Place is the largest building in Glorian with the space we require.”
Of course it was the only possibility. Glorian possessed no shows or theaters, and for the scope of what Erasmus was imagining, they needed room. They needed the universe. The gleam in the proprietor’s eye brightened as he listed off proposed changes. “… installing new seats and more lighting!” he said. “Nothing much we can do about the hideous old bell tower; that thing hasn’t been able to ring in ages. But the ruin from all else—gone. We’re in the process of raising a city back from the dead, bigger and better than ever.”
“But how did it die in the first place?”
Daron’s brow scrunched. Kallia, not easily dazzled, had spoken the very question he’d been too wary to ask. In all their minds, seeing as how no one shot her an annoyed glare.
“There was … a fire,” the mayor spoke oddly, looking down at his twiddling fingers. “A great and terrible fire, long ago. Do you remember, Janette?”
Shaking her head, she bore a similar look of alarm. “Father.”
“It was so bad,” he continued, tentatively, “that it forced all the families and people of Glorian to leave and—”
“No, Father, look!” Janette shrieked. The whole table jumped as she pointed shakily at the opposite wall. A candle had fallen to the ground. And another. Like dominos, all of the candles toppled from their holders—smoke rising in columns, flames quickly devouring the carpet as if oil had soaked into the ground.
The fires rose rampant, unnatural.
Every guest shot from their seat, trapped in the sudden ring of fire. The mirrored walls reflected the flames, illuminating the room in blinding pieces of light before a sea of smoke drowned them in gray. Amid the coughing and shouting, Daron tossed his full water glass over his napkin and shoved it against his nose and mouth. Janette was plastered to her father’s side, screaming into his lapel while he hollered at his butlers to grab blankets. Throw water. Open the windows.
“No—don’t open the windows!”
Daron’s eyes began tearing from the smoke, but he saw Kallia taking the helm at the other side of the table, ripping her black gloves off. “Everyone, hold your breath!”
She wanted them to do what?
Daron pressed the damp cloth to his mouth, trying to think. None of the other magicians could do anything but panic. He could hardly look around, for the mirrors were everywhere. His fist clenched, frustration deep in his veins. In his performing days, he’d been able to shower water from whatever sky he chose. Now, trapped in a room of fire, his mind blanked. Useless.
Not Kallia. Through the curtain of smoke between them he observed her stance, like that of a fighter, learning her opponent. She spread her arms out wide and raised them higher, and as if some spirit entered her body, her shoulders to her chest lifted in one upward yank that straightened her spine.
All of a sudden, the air in the room turned void.
There was no sound, no smell.
No heat, no breath.
Daron resisted the impulse to inhale. That fool Josev tried, and fell over the table. Daron heard the crash of glass and utensils, but the pressure building in his ears clogged the sounds into dull little thuds.
It could’ve been seconds or hours—time passed slowly without air. Daron’s chest grew tight, but out of the corner of his eye, the hazy flicker of flames rapidly diminished, shrinking back until all that was left was smoke thickening the air. Like a conductor, Kallia flicked her palms outward. The windows flew open.
Her whole torso collapsed, chest heaving.
The guests gathered their bearings, coughing and gasping in the fresh air from the outside. One of the magicians checked on Josev, still slumped over the table, his lips trembling at the influx of oxygen.
“Zarose,” the mayor swore, mouth hanging. “What did you do?”
“More importantly,” Erasmus cut in. “Who taught you that trick?”
“Show’s over,” Kallia’s assistant snapped. “Be grateful she saved your lives.”
Like everyone else, Daron wanted answers. But as Kallia straightened back her shoulders, mouth twisted in a ready retort, she swayed and slumped over before getting a single word out.
The room exploded once more into action. Daron all but rushed toward the other end as the current of panic thrummed wildly within him. He kicked aside fallen chairs in his path, shoving others out of his way before stopping himself. That strange pull.
He forced himself to stay back as her assistant began lowering her to the floor, calling her name—hissing at whoever tried laying a hand on her.
Not without noticing how Kallia looked in her long black dress spilling over the floor, joining the huge scorch marks trailing around the dinner table like a fire-burnt crown.
12
“I’m fine!” Kallia barked after Aaros asked. Again. She’d only just awakened after he’d thrown some water on her face back in their suite. And still, the smoke drowned her. All she could taste and smell. Her muscles tremored and cried beneath her skin as she exhaled sharply.
Nothing had ever backfired on her like this. Her power performed well, but her? The next time she faced the group, they’d have gleeful looks of pity. How like a woman to swoon in the face of danger, they’d think. How like a girl to be so weak.
Her nails pressed and pulled against the frayed edges of the cloth she’d kept in her purse. Before she shredded it to pieces, she threw it on her vanity.
No one could see her like this.
“You don’t seem fine.” Aaros leaned against a side table, as if bracing himself for when she might collapse again. “Where are you going? It’s late. Lie down for a—”
“I don’t need to lie down.” Fatigue trickled in. Not a show night’s worth, but ridding the air had been no small trick. And she couldn’t sit still. She hadn’t even realized she’d started moving until she paused at the door, gripping it hard. “I just need a moment.”
Alone.
She’d thought she was done being alone after the House, but it was the only safe place she could carve for herself. No eyes, no voices. No one to smile or pretend for.
Kallia slipped out without saying good-bye. Her head rang as she rested her ear on the other side of the door, listening for Aaros’s footsteps. Reluctantly, they departed from the common room, into the soft close of another door farther away.
Kallia’s sigh of relief left on broken breath. She leaned against the door, temple throbbing, and rubbed her hands over her face, fingers comin
g away with smudges of faded red and black. The water Aaros had splashed all over her makeup, but it was too late to care. Too late to be slinking around in her ruined dress, reeking of smoke and ash.
If she left soot smudges against the cream-colored surface at her back, then so be it. The cold support was the only thing keeping her standing.
That dinner party should’ve been a triumph. Her fingers tightened over her forehead as the chaos swept back into her mind. The fallen candles, the blaze they became, and what it left behind. While others had shot up in terror, she’d been mesmerized by what had been circling the table. A message, a warning: a crown of fire.
It couldn’t be.
If Jack had followed her to Glorian, if he were here, he wouldn’t waste time sending threats.
“You.”
Kallia stiffened against the wall, her heart racing. No. Mere thought couldn’t have conjured him. It couldn’t—
But when she looked up, a different shadowy outline came into view. Demarco. The last person she expected to stomp toward her, which almost warranted a laugh. Hastily, Kallia raked her hair back from her face and swiped the tears off her cheeks.
“What are you doing?” He neared, faltering. “Are you…”
“Mister Demarco,” she greeted briskly, the shakiness in her voice capped with a dry, sunny edge. “Should I even ask how you found me, or should we get right into it?”
The judge’s eyes flared. “Excuse me?”
“You’re the one charging your way to my suite. Don’t tell me you somehow stumbled here by accident.”
“Before you flatter yourself even more than necessary,” Demarco said, crossing his arms, “I’m in the room right across. Trust me, you weren’t the first person I expected to find loitering down this hallway, either.”
So she’d been a little wrong. “Disappointed?”
“What the hell happened at dinner?”
The accusation cut harsher than a blade, yet she hardly flinched. Used to it. Demarco didn’t like her. Maybe he never had. His approval had earned her a place in the competition, but from him, it was only a judgment. He was a magician who knew his craft on the stage and off. And he was no fool. She should’ve known she’d have to deal with those sorts of men, too.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly, enunciating every syllable. “There were over a dozen other magicians in the room. Why not suspect any of them?”
“They weren’t the ones who could’ve killed us all.”
“You’re joking, right? I saved your lives,” Kallia scoffed. “No one had any sense to conjure even a trickle of water. What were you doing when the fire almost roasted us all?”
Demarco shot her a stony look. “A contestant passed out from your elaborate display.”
“I did warn you beforehand.” She lifted a shoulder. “Can’t blame me for the one fool who didn’t listen.”
“Maybe not, but I can suspect the one who thinks too quickly on her feet.”
Seriously. It was all too easy to imagine how any of the other magicians would be treated if in her shoes. He’d probably receive a medal of honor.
“So what, are you going to hail the Patrons and sic your aunt on me, then?”
Aaros would be wringing her neck right about now. Kallia knew she shouldn’t joke. Demarco could very well do it, though his brow seemed to harden at the suggestion.
“When confronted with fire”—he spoke calmly, as if beginning a lesson—“the first instinct is to conjure water. Even the tiniest amount, if you have the strength. Instead, you chose the riskiest, most dangerous option.”
“And it paid off.” They should be thanking her, honestly. “I can’t see why you’re trying to twist this into something it’s not. Everyone came out of that room intact, yet you cast me as the villain.”
“Someone has to be.” His gaze never wavered. “A fire like that doesn’t come out of nowhere, and it sure as hell didn’t feel like an accident. Either someone was hoping to shake the other competitors, or someone staged it to show off.”
“You really think I would’ve done all of that to show off?”
“That was quite a trick at the end. And from what I’ve observed, your style is all about the showstoppers.”
“Don’t act like you know anything about me just because you’re some big stage name with a fancy family.” She scowled. “But consider this my lesson learned. I won’t lend a helping hand the next time there’s trouble. Not if it only brings overprivileged beasts like you to my doorstep.”
To Demarco’s credit, he stayed silent. Simmering.
“And before you criticize me any further, Mister Demarco, I hope you realize a competition like this will only get more cutthroat. That fire was just the first baring of claws.” Kallia tossed him a devious smile, relishing the challenge. “And if you can’t handle that, clearly you didn’t think this through when you signed on to become a judge.”
“There wasn’t much choice,” Demarco muttered, anger clipping his tone. “But if I’d known I’d be stuck in a group like this, I wouldn’t have left my home.”
Liar. She smelled it as strongly as the smoke still clinging to his skin.
“And yet…” Kallia drawled, pushing off the wall to circle him. “You’re still here.”
He watched her, unflinching. “Because of the damn contract.”
“No.” Head tilted, she drew closer until she was right up against his chest. “You’re about as much like those other judges as I am my competitors. But I have a prize to win. You, however—a glorified prince of magicians…” She stroked a finger under his chin. “I heard you withdrew from performing years ago. So what exactly is drawing you back?”
And what made you leave?
It surprised her, that she even cared to know.
His throat bobbed under a hard swallow. Tables turned. But to his credit, he didn’t stay caged. Didn’t even move away. He leaned in intently, letting her finger brush down his neck. Her pulse leaped as their eyes met. “It’s none of your damn business.”
Interesting. Kallia almost regretted having to squash the flare of curiosity inside her. “Excellent. How about you stay out of mine, then?”
She pulled away and turned swiftly to her door, slamming it shut in his face.
13
Daron rarely slept the next few nights. Not when the echo of that slammed door kept pounding in his ears, forming its own mad song. All beat without melody. It haunted him even more than the accident at dinner.
No, not an accident. Someone had toppled those candles, raising their flames higher than men. All of them would’ve been consumed by the blaze if Kallia hadn’t—
The door slammed in his mind.
Again, and again.
Somehow she’d gotten inside his head, and the bloody show had not even begun yet.
In all their meetings afterward, the ice between them had not subsided. Kallia continued about her business with an indifferent air toward him. Daron had much more difficulty doing the same, for she was impossible not to notice. Always firing off comebacks or dressed in bold colors, a strike of paint against white canvas. Sitting at the hotel’s café with her assistant, or laughing down the street with a Conquering Circus performer at her side.
Kallia was everywhere. And everywhere he saw her, he heard her suspicions tolling in his ears. Her curiosity. The absolute last thing he needed.
Someone looking at him, sharp enough to see through it all.
See him.
“No, no, no,” Erasmus tutted a few mornings after the dinner, pacing in the Alastor Place. He cut off Daron’s suggestion with a furious wag of his finger. “I don’t care who you are, Demarco. You’re not getting rid of my star. Besides, you can’t—she signed my contract!”
That damned contract. Daron wished he’d torn it apart when he’d had a chance, but foolishly, he’d signed like everyone else, too panicked to refuse. He might as well have written idiot alongside his name. Eva would’ve done it for him, or simply knocked the pen f
rom his hand before smacking the back of his head.
He was shackled to this show until its end, like everyone else. Including Kallia.
Daron raked a hand through his unkempt hair. “Come on, Rayne, you saw what happened at that dinner. She’s unpredictable.”
He glanced at Kallia, who forever seemed to be in his line of vision. In that moment, she was strutting by the newly glossed stage with her assistant in tow, along with a scar-faced circus performer who growled at any loitering workers who dared look at her too long.
If Kallia was seeking consultation from a member of the Conquering Circus, her act would probably make the dinner incident look like a quaint little bonfire.
“Does this mean you’ll call the Patrons?” Erasmus asked carefully. “Shut this all down before it starts?”
It unnerved Daron, the way others looked at him. As an authority, like a Patron. As though he held the reins on a pack of wild dogs that could scourge the city, if he so wished.
The irony was not lost on him. To Aunt Cata’s dismay, when he was performing, everyone reveled in his rebellion. Each night, he toed the line of stage magic and danger, defiance and daring.
Now he was dangerous for the opposite reason.
“Of course not.” Daron bristled. “Though if any more accidents happen, I’m sure the news would have no trouble reaching them.”
Not even he could halt the spread of gossip, but he would try. They had no clue he was just as desperate to avoid a visit from Aunt Cata. She’d done well enough to give him the space he needed, and one look at him would be all it took for her to see why.
He needed more time. To fix everything, before the others figured it out.
“But accidents happen. And why are you all set on blaming Kallia? Do any of you even have proof she started it?” Erasmus huffed, and the questions tightened in Daron’s gut. He hated being grouped with his fellow peers and the oafish majority of magicians in the show. Truly some of the worst people he’d ever encountered, and he’d met his share of ugliness in this business.
Where Dreams Descend Page 11
