“Stop looking so worried, Demarco.” Mayor Eilin settled into the seat beside him, fanning himself with a program. “We have audience members and a show on our hands!”
Unfortunately, Daron soon found the chair to his other side occupied by Erasmus, donning a suit brighter than the fresh velvet of the new seats. His smile, even more glaring. “By next show, we’ll have a full house. Guaranteed.”
“I like the sound of that,” the mayor said.
Daron couldn’t have felt any more awkward than if they were clinking champagne glasses directly over his head. Both men soaked in the success. In the audience, the mayor witnessed a city coming together; the proprietor, a city of eager, new customers to entice.
“Then again, why wouldn’t anyone want to be here?” Erasmus posed. “Everyone is positively itching to see Kallia’s next act. Especially after that first night.”
At that, the mayor’s pleasant demeanor fell flat. “She’s not the only contestant in Spectaculore. We have plenty of others who don’t need to clutter their acts with a parade of circus musicians and silly dance moves.”
Daron bit his tongue as the judges down the row chuckled, eavesdropping.
“You old goats wouldn’t know entertainment if it danced right in front of you,” Erasmus snapped. “Case in point.”
“Please, it was a cheap act.” The mayor gave a dismissive wave. “And what a way to cheat. We have grounds to pull her from the competition altogether! We clearly stated there were to be no other performers on the stage aside from the magician and the assistant.”
“Right, on the stage,” Daron muttered with a hard glare. “Her musicians did not interfere. She performed each trick on her own.”
“Well, when you put it like that, it was an unfair advantage to receive additional help. Another way of cheating.” Judge Silu sneered, reaching into his coat. No doubt for his flask. “Don’t let a pretty face fool you, young blood. It’s poor form for a judge.”
If all of Glorian weren’t currently in the show hall watching from their seats, Daron would’ve decked him. Fire built in his fist, his breath. It was like magic, blazing within him, looking for a target.
Daron seethed at the irony, tuning out the bickering between Erasmus and the mayor to focus on the closed scarlet stage curtains. His right foot twitched restlessly beneath the table, the anticipation of the show like a storm brewing inside him. He thought after he’d told Kallia his intentions in the ballroom that his discomfort would dissolve. It had only risen higher, stifling every part of him.
The theater warmed from the bodies packing in and the lit glass-encased candles adorning the walls. Fans were drawn and papers folded to wave against necks and faces. The buzz of excitement plunged into weary complaints. For the first time since he’d arrived in the coldest city he’d ever known, Daron was sweating.
Before long, he recognized one of the stage managers approaching their table, clipboard in hand. Always efficient and ready, though even the woman’s cheeks appeared red from exertion.
“Is it showtime?” Erasmus asked, somehow appearing cool and collected despite the heat.
“Not exactly.” She pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. “There’s a problem backstage—”
“Can’t it wait until after?” Mayor Eilin demanded. “The audience is expecting that curtain to rise. We can’t keep them or our magicians waiting any longer.”
“That’s the problem.” The manager flipped over the papers stacked on the clipboard. “Three of the magicians haven’t arrived.”
“Ridiculous.” The mayor scowled, gesturing for a look at the list. Daron snuck a hurried glance, finding question marks bolded beside the names Ives, Constantin, and Farris. Their faces flashed in his mind, along with glimmers of their first acts. After Kallia, these three ranked among the most solid performers. Off the stage, the most solid partiers.
With a long sigh, the mayor crossed his arms. “Are they on their way? Can’t anyone fetch them?”
“I-I don’t know. A couple of the contestants arrived here in a group, but no one remembers if they were among them. It’s as if they’ve suddenly—”
“Vanished.” Erasmus tapped his chin. “Out of thin air.”
Daron’s blood chilled at his fascinated tone.
“This is not a joke, Rayne.”
Mayor Eilin dragged the list of names over for the proprietor to see, but Erasmus barely spared it a glance. As long as Kallia’s name was counted among those in attendance, the man would have his show. “We simply can’t stall much longer. If they left the city, I’ll make sure they never find a stage again. I don’t have patience for those who leave without explanation.”
“Well, Mister Rayne, there is something,” the stage manager said, tentatively pulling more paper from her board. “I found these, left on the chairs of their dressing rooms.”
She tossed them on the table, three square-cut pieces of parchment with a brief line in the center. Three words: Four of Flesh.
“Oh, for Zarose sake,” the mayor moaned, running a hand down his face. “Not this ridiculous nonsense agai—”
BOOM!
The entire theater shook at the roar shattering overhead. An explosion. Daron’s ears popped as he covered them, screams erupting over an immense bell, ringing high from within the Alastor Place.
BOOM!
With each toll, everyone flinched.
BOOM!
The stage curtains shivered. The judges’ water glasses tipped over.
“Will you stop that incessant ringing?!” Erasmus yelled at the mayor, whose face had gone white. The chandeliers lining the ceiling clinked and shook, threatening to fall.
“It’s impossible,” Mayor Eilin insisted, unblinking. “We haven’t been able to get these bells to ring for—”
BOOM!
At the fourth toll, uncertain silence followed. The air had settled, chasing away all heat from the room as audience members stared wide-eyed at the judges’ table.
Daron swallowed, his nerves frayed.
Whatever that was, this couldn’t go on. Magicians disappearing and bell towers tolling. For the safety of everyone here, they must cancel the show before things only worsened.
Before another accident occurred.
The dark cloud blackened Daron’s thoughts, taking him back to his last performance. That terrible night where something had felt off in the air, the night he’d spent years trying to push away no matter how hard grief pushed back.
No. Daron didn’t want to remember her that way. The look she’d given him before they went on stage together, the mirror—
He shut his eyes tightly for a breath, before blinking open to the sight of Erasmus, shaky on his feet, climbing onto the seat of his chair and turning to the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are terribly, terribly sorry about that most upsetting disruption,” called out the proprietor, impressively chipper for how his knees trembled. “We’re still in various stages of fully renovating the Alastor Place, so our deepest apologies to anyone distressed or alarmed.”
Daron’s mouth warped in alarm at the slow curve of Erasmus’s smile.
“Rest be assured, what happened earlier was only an accident,” the man continued gaily, looking to the other judges with blazing intensity. A brightening gleam in his eye that Daron had come to dread. “Tonight’s show will go on!”
A tentative round of applause came from the people settling back into their front-row seats. The adrenaline mixed with the earlier terror finally hit the crowd, building back up into an excited clamor. It didn’t take long for everyone to return to hooting and hollering for the spectacle to finally begin.
Daron could only glare at Erasmus. “This isn’t wise, and you know it.”
“Actually, I don’t.” He stepped down from his platform, like a king dismounting from his war horse. “Rough patches happen all the time.”
“When lives could be at stake, then no. They shouldn’t.”
“Don’t be dramatic. And no ne
ed to go running to your aunt. This is show business. Just because in your last performance, your assistant—”
“Don’t.” Daron’s voice went deathly cold. Murderous.
The rage returned, filling him in a way magic never had before.
If it weren’t for the widening of Erasmus’s gaze, there would’ve been no stopping him from throwing the man on stage and giving everyone a real show.
“Apologies, Demarco. It was a low blow.” Erasmus patted him good-naturedly on the arm, his version of a genuine attempt. “But one failed night is all it takes to destroy everything, and we can’t afford to delay any longer.”
The man began dabbing at the sweat across his forehead with a bright handkerchief. From heat or nerves, he couldn’t say. No matter what Erasmus intended, his reassurance did not ease Daron in any way.
One night.
He knew, better than anyone, the damage one night could cause.
* * *
“What the hell was that?” Kallia swore, slowly rising. Her entire dressing room had rippled under the force, but nothing could compare to the sound. Ominous and heavy, thundering loudly overhead again and again.
Until at last, silence.
“I think … it stopped.” Aaros cautiously uncupped his ears. The air had grown still, the walls no longer shaking. The sudden peace seemed to unnerve him even more as he made for the door. “I’ll find out what’s going on and check on the Conquerors.”
Kallia nearly followed, but willed herself to regain focus. She’d finally reached the right headspace for performing when the room began to shake as if the Alastor Place were careening off the surface of Glorian with every thunderous boom.
The force had sent a few small paintings clattering off their nails, along with the drape she’d thrown over the dressing room mirror. She waited a few beats for her heart to slow. Her pre-show ritual was a sacred time. It would take longer to achieve that concentration again. Meditate and relax. Separate.
Separate from all else, and you will conquer on your own.
Jack’s words. His centering mantra that had become hers. She wanted nothing of him fixed in her mind, and yet his words were all she knew.
Nothing could ever be just a coincidence.
Furiously, she shoved the nearest portrait back into place and began setting the room to rights. Did he have to intrude upon everything she did? Ironic how fear was the last thing coursing through her blood. Only irritation.
“Jack.” She sighed sharply, reaching for the drape to hang over the mirror. “What did you do this time?”
Terrible things
Kallia dropped the drape. She spun around at the voice, finding no one else with her.
The worst things imaginable, to those like us
Her blood drew cold. If the icy wind in the darkest parts of the Dire Woods could talk, it would sound just like this. A choir of voices becoming one, all-knowing and watching.
And much closer than she realized. The mirror had frosted at the edges, fogging the center until her reflection was no more than a blur the color of her gown. Kallia didn’t dare touch the surface; the chill seeped through her dress, deep into her bones. She couldn’t stop shivering.
“Sh-shut up,” Kallia muttered, unwilling to entertain the illusion further.
She was not afraid.
Not of glass, or what lurked behind it.
Taking a deep breath, she ignored her reflection and picked up the drape again, rising to her toes to hang it over the ornate frame.
Don’t
Don’t let him win
You’ve been hidden for so long
Let us help you, Kallia
At her name, she froze, grateful the drape partly covered her face.
What if he steals you away again?
Then you’ll never know
“Leave me alone.” Her fingers trembled, the drape slipping between them as she tried securing it tightly. “Whatever you are, I want nothing to do with you.”
Did he teach you that?
Everything in her paused. The whispered question struck her like a knife; she’d never considered it like that. Never once thought that his warnings and lessons could all be lies.
The undercurrent of anger that always seemed to linger inside spiked.
Here, you can choose
He hid from you
Lied to you
To make sure you would never find out
“Find out what?” she demanded.
No answer came. She let the drape fall, searching the mirror with abandon. But the spiky webs of frost along the edges were gone. Kallia saw only a clear reflection of herself. Her lips painted bold red, her eyes wide and stained with fear, wet at the edges. Wary to touch the surface as if it would ripple like water.
Cold traveled down her spine, an odd scent flooding her nose. Like smoke, blown from whiskey-laced mouths. The muffled cry of a trumpet rang out nearby, and when Kallia blinked, her reflection had darkened. Showing not her, but someone else.
Jack.
Kallia lurched back, but he didn’t notice. He gazed right into her, fixing his bow tie without concern. His brass knuckles glinted by his collar, designed like black piano keys down his fingers. “I don’t care if anyone survived. It’s not my concern anymore.”
She startled at his voice, the clear smooth tenor right in her ear. He was in conversation with someone, but she heard no response. Only knew someone had spoken from his answering snort.
“Oh they are, down there?” Jack smoothed his hair back, which appeared longer than how he usually wore it. “They’ll spend a long time waiting, then. This place will never recover. It’s as good as lost to the rest of the island. Thanks to them.”
Kallia’s thoughts spun, trying to place what he was saying. Who he was talking about. The image of him looked like a different Jack altogether, from a different time.
Anger flashed in his gaze. Whoever he was talking to was not giving the answer he wanted. “I don’t need to stay any longer than I already have. It’s humiliating. The world of humans and mortal magicians can rot for all I care.”
A knock sounded behind Kallia, but the line repeated in the back of her head. The world of humans and mortal magicians.
As if he were something else, entirely.
“Knock, knock.”
Aaros. His muffled reply ended with the turn of the doorknob.
Her senses snapped back, pulse racing. In the mirror, Jack listened on sternly as though he’d heard the knock as well. His shoulders straightened as he peered closer, leaning nearer.
She had to stop this. Kallia shot up, fingers wringing at her sides. He was not going away. Aaros would see.
“Yes, Sire.”
Kallia froze, the name unleashing so much inside her. A flood of memories, a realization. Her chest rose and fell fast, the snugness of her dress suddenly too constricting for the need to breathe. To hide.
She snapped her fingers.
Crunch.
The glass fractured at her back just as the door opened. Her startled gasp must’ve come out more like a shriek from how Aaros covered his eyes. “Oh, sorry! I should’ve waited.”
“Stop it. You … caught me by surprise, is all,” Kallia said flatly, pressing a hand to her abdomen to quell the nausea. The fractured mirror remained lifeless. Whatever she’d seen, she wanted to forget it. That voice in her ear, Jack as her reflection. And Sire. So many questions and sensations burned at her until her teeth chattered. “Come in, tell me what’s happening.”
“Everyone’s fine. A little shaken, though.” His shoulders eased. “Some strange mishap up in the bell tower, apparently.”
“What of the show?” she demanded, smoothing her hair. “Oh, would you stop covering your eyes?”
“Only respecting your boundaries, boss.” As soon as he closed the door, he slid his hands from his face, which instantly fell. “What’s wrong—are you okay?”
Kallia cursed inwardly. “I swear, you ask me that twenty times a day.
I’m fine.”
Over the past few days, he’d been very attentive. So much so that it was starting to irritate her, though she knew it came from a place of concern.
“Fine,” he repeated, approaching her quietly. Kallia stiffened as he reached behind her, across the vanity surface, and plucked what looked to be a fallen black feather. No remark about the fractured mirror, to her relief. “You just look…”
His pause dragged on as he casually spun the feather between his fingers.
“Absolutely fabulous better be your answer.” Kallia strutted over to her chair, lowering into it with languid grace. “You didn’t answer my first question. Is the show still on?”
Aaros watched her, gaze absent. “Yeah. You’re on in five.”
“What?” Kallia shot up, not the least bit graceful. “But … I’m last. I can’t possibly be next.”
“Well, tonight is your lucky night. A few contestants dropped out at the last minute, so Rayne insisted on your act being moved.” Aaros whistled out a low breath. “You’re up.”
23
The theater hushed at the sharp, demanding clicks of her heels. An entry rhythm that pulled every attention in the room under her spell, while the glow of stage lights illuminated her arrival. She’d chosen her armor well that night: a velvet backless dress of midnight blue clinging to her like ink and flaring out over her legs. The plunging neckline was risqué, even outside of Glorian, but Kallia had no care. Without even a word, she already had them all in the palm of her hand.
Anticipation crackled beneath her skin at the sight of the shadowed attendees flooding the rows of the show hall. Goose bumps traveled across her flesh, but she quelled her shiver. She relished the pinch of fear as it sparked every nerve, shooting adrenaline into her body and a clarity emptying her mind of all thought, all worry.
She narrowed in on the long table before her. All judges accounted for. Even Demarco.
“Ah, finally without your helpers,” the mayor declared in what he might’ve considered a joking tone. “What, no raucous parade tonight?”
At his resounding chuckle, Kallia gave an equally coy laugh. “Not yet.”
The judges’ smiles dropped, while a few hollers burst from the front row. Her behavior no longer earned full-fledged shock, but delight. Excitement. And she wasn’t foolish enough to lean into that safety by delivering the same act again. She had to pull off something new, daring in a different way.
Where Dreams Descend Page 21
