Where Dreams Descend

by Janella Angeles

  Daron hunched deeper into his shoulders, wishing to disappear altogether. The thought of Aunt Cata joining the fray pierced even more nausea through him.

  If she saw him, she would know.

  They would all know.

  “Hiding in plain sight never works well for the prey.”

  Daron startled as Aaros took a seat next to him. Hailing the bartender’s attention, his sly expression slid into a grim, unsmiling mask. “Why isn’t the hero basking in his well-earned glory?”

  “Please, don’t.” Daron downed the rest of his drink before tapping the rim of the empty glass to signal for a refill. “I can’t bear to hear another—”

  “Quit your worrying. I’m messing with you. I know you shy away from the spotlight more desperately than a bat. It’s what everyone’s saying back there, though.”

  “I wish they would stop.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. Maybe this will give them something else to worry about.” With a loud clunk on the table, Aaros presented a full leather wallet, a bejeweled folded fan, and a bulging velvet coin purse with a flourish of his fingers. “Ta-da.”

  Without the drink going to his head, he might’ve reacted with more alarm. “You stole from them?”

  “You really think I would walk through that storm of gossip mongrels just for fun?” Aaros clucked his tongue, admiring his loot.

  Daron had always wondered where Aaros had come from, how he’d found his way into Kallia’s employment. A male assistant in stage magic was a rare sight, nearly unheard of. But he wore the distinction like a badge of honor, just as Kallia flaunted hers. Their combined mischief made them a great team. Not at all proper, and it worked all the more in their favor.

  “And before you groan again, thanks truly are in order.” Aaros set his half-emptied drink down with a sideways glance, a genuine smile. “Whatever happened on that stage, your trick prevented a hell of a lot more damage than was already done. My boss is very appreciative.”

  Daron’s mind cleared. “Is that what she said?”

  “No. But I’m sure she’s thinking it.”

  What would she think if she knew the truth? About why he was here, in Glorian, in the first place?

  He fixated on the rim of his glass. “Probably only thinking of how well I interfered in her act.”

  “That, too.” The assistant nodded. “Some occasions call for a little interference, though.”

  An uproarious burst of laughter and clinking glasses boomed from the other side of the foyer, the party in full swing. Far more rowdy than the first show night’s party, with everyone still chasing the high of tonight’s exciting turn of events. No one paid mind to their quiet corner of the bar, but Daron couldn’t help but glance around, lowering his voice. “So … none of what happened onstage was planned, was it?”

  Aaros swirled his drink, letting the ice cubes roll around the amber liquor. “In truth? I don’t know. Kallia could fall down three flights of stairs and claim it as an act of grace. It’s how she is. She owns whatever she does.”

  “But surely she didn’t plan on hurting herself? With a child in her act? Something must’ve gone wrong.”

  “The evidence stacks up to that, doesn’t it?” Aaros set his drink down firmly, clearly done with the subject.

  “Is she doing all right?”

  The question flew from Daron before he could wrench it back, and it pulled a snort from the assistant. “She’s not bleeding from the back anymore, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said. “What, you want my permission to go and check on her?”

  “No, I was simply asking.” Daron took another quick swig of his drink and consumed only air. Empty. “But after a night like this, why aren’t you up there with her?”

  “She insisted on no visitors. Didn’t realize that included me until she kicked me out.” The assistant sighed and flexed his fingers. “It was either pace around our suite until my legs gave out, or come down for a drink. I was in favor of what could take the edge off quicker.”

  So Kallia had shut out her assistant, too. She shut everyone out. It was his usual reaction as well, in times of crisis. No one could perceive you as weak if they could not see you.

  “When was the last time you checked on her?”

  Aaros studied him, bemused. “I swear, you two act like the truest pair of ex-lovers I’ve ever seen. Are you sure you two haven’t—”

  Daron threw him a searing glare. “Don’t start, assistant.”

  “Only telling you how I see it, judge.” Aaros clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry, it’s not just you. She looks at you every time you turn away. Like clockwork.”

  Hearing that didn’t make it any better for Daron. He pulled at his collar, his neck flushed.

  Aaros gestured once more for the bartender, counting out his spoils of war from the wallet he’d snatched. “If the mayor sends for them, how fast will the Patrons come?”

  As much as Daron hated being looked to as the watchdog of the Patrons, he didn’t know. A letter from Aunt Cata had not reached his courier case in days, which could only mean she and her team were knee-deep in their case. Or perhaps, she’d finally given up on him.

  “I don’t think he will,” Daron admitted, brushing the thought away. “The moment Spectaculore shuts down, so will Glorian. And Erasmus is a persuasive devil. He’d never allow it.”

  “What about you?” Aaros walked his fingers slowly against his glass. “You don’t think this is a case for the Patrons?”

  “You mean, am I going to tattle?” He stared hard at the bottom of his glass, willing it to refill by itself. “Despite what everyone thinks, I’m not a Patron. I’m not my aunt.”

  “No. You’re not. If you were, you would’ve shipped Kallia off as soon as she stepped on that stage.”

  “I almost did.” No matter how much the drink had numbed his insides, the truth of it pricked at him. How not too long ago, he would’ve happily sent Kallia on her way out just to preserve his own image. His own sanity.

  Something in him twinged at the thought of her departure now, for had he gone through with it, then he would not be here hiding behind a glass. She would not be hurt. And tonight would never have happened.

  “But you didn’t…” Aaros mused, considering him intently, glancing around furtively. “You better not go spreading this around, judge, but I might go mad if I don’t tell someone. And you’re as good as any.”

  At that, he had Daron’s undivided attention.

  “Before I came down here, Kallia told me it had all been a slipup. A moment gone out of control that sent the dagger into the mirror.”

  “So it was an accident?”

  “At first that’s what I thought. You know, a little embarrassment. Trying to save face and all that.” Aaros’s fingers drummed nervously. “Until I remembered, right before her act, the mirror in her dressing room had also been broken.”

  A chill went up Daron’s spine. “What happened?”

  “Not sure, but I don’t think it was any accident.” Aaros lifted his drink without taking a sip. “Ever since I met her, she’s been twitchy around mirrors. No clue why.”

  To hear they shared a fear so specific unnerved Daron. “Mirrors are not only a tool for vanity, you know.”

  “Clearly there’s a lot I don’t,” the assistant admitted. “But I do know what Kallia is capable of. Do you really think she would lose her grasp on something as little as a dagger?”

  “I … I don’t know, maybe. When tackling that sort of illusion? It’s hard magic to work with,” Daron countered, shoving out the laughing hypocrite in him. “But I can’t entertain the idea of her wanting to bring harm to an audience member when she was the first one to cover her.”

  “I don’t think her target was the girl at all.” Aaros blinked, his tone turning careful. “Remember when you told me that the last time you visited Kallia, something was off? A look of fear in her face?”

  Daron nodded, wary. “And I remember quite clearly you laugh
ing it off, saying she feared nothing.”

  “That was before,” the assistant whispered. “Before tonight.”

  * * *

  Kallia hiked the strap against her shoulder, panting out breaths in sharp, white clouds. Far too cold for her to be out, but there was no other option.

  She’d gone over the disastrous performance a thousand times, and each time the shadow arrived, she froze. From where Kallia had stood, she couldn’t see what the others viewed in the mirror, but it was in their eyes, in the air as it began walking closer. He began walking closer.

  And yet, it was the rose that set her off.

  Kallia had been rushed to her room after the show, ready to collapse and never wake. She’d never known such fatigue. Her back ached and her muscles trembled as Aaros sat her down at her vanity stool to keep her alert, waiting for the doctor to tend to her wounds. Patches of damp stickiness over her sleeves and her back marked the blood. She hissed in pain as the air bit at her cuts. Her fingers flexed and dragged over the vanity’s surface, reaching for the bit of cloth she kept by the covered mirror, and stilled.

  She blinked hard, waiting for her vision to clear. For her head to stop playing tricks.

  But no matter how long she stared, the image remained: the rose on the cloth was dying. Petals had fallen, the frayed edges speckled in red, as if pieces of the rose had disintegrated in their descent.

  It felt like a message.

  Ruined and wrong, just like everything else.

  Kallia took in a shuddering breath as she ducked into the streets. With every sudden movement, her back ached, still red and tender beneath the coat. After the doctor had left, giving her an ointment for her back, Aaros wouldn’t leave her sight until all instructions were followed. Her tattered performance dress was tossed in favor of a simple sleeping gown, which now stuck to her like a second skin from the ointment. The blood.

  It would’ve been worse, the doctor had said, were it not for Demarco.

  Demarco. The mention kick-started her memory, of looming monsters and the shatter of glass—before a globe of white had surrounded her, erasing the hurt.

  He’d cast something over her, unlike anything she’d ever felt before. That alone might’ve been more frightening than the shadow in the mirror.

  He’d protected her.

  And it couldn’t happen again, from any of them. The faster she separated, the easier it would be.

  Leave.

  Now.

  Before the worst escaped from the mirror, once and for all.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  She should’ve run, but the voice had her spinning around—hissing and staggering back from the pain.

  “Whoa, whoa easy there.” Juno steadied her gently, shooting a concerned look over her shoulder at Canary.

  “I’m fine.” Kallia tried shaking her off. “Just going for a walk.”

  “Really?” Canary struck an unamused pose. “Then what’s with the bag?”

  Only then did Kallia remember the weight dipping against her shoulder. There wasn’t even much inside, only her wrinkled handkerchief, a change of clothes, and a chunk of her earnings. The rest she left for Aaros in her scramble out of their suite.

  “A couple of things I’m bringing to Ira,” Kallia said. “That’s all.”

  “This late?” Juno looked her up and down with a start. “Zarose, Kallia, you’re shivering. You’re dressed like you stumbled out of bed.”

  “Which means she needs to be in one,” Canary snapped, reaching for the other elbow. “Let’s get you back, prima donna.”

  Kallia flinched away, slipping the bag back up her shoulder. “No.”

  Her heart pounded viciously. Run, run, run.

  The flame-eater squared her with her usual stony expression. “Act for the crowd all you want, but you don’t have to pretend with us.” Understanding, deep as the first time they’d met, thrummed in her voice. “You’re not alone. We all have bad shows, it’s the nature of the beast.”

  The reassurance twisted like a knife. This beast hunted and destroyed, and he would take down anyone who got in his way.

  “We don’t even have to go to the Prima,” Juno suggested brightly. “Come back to the tents with us. We’ll patch you up right there, stay the night. No one will have to know.”

  More than anything, she wanted to go with them—to hole up with Conquerors, laugh and drink until the pain was a distant memory. Until the past no longer mattered. She could see it all so clearly, herself in that picture. In a picture with others.

  For once, she wanted more time.

  She wanted to stay.

  “That’s a great idea.” Kallia masked the shakiness of her voice, her watering eyes. The longer she stayed, the easier that picture would break. “Once I’m done at Ira’s, I’ll meet you there.”

  Placated, Juno nodded slowly, while Canary said nothing. Once she turned her back, Kallia felt the girl’s solemn stare follow her all the way into the shadows, far beyond the street where no one could see her, and no one could stop her.

  The night air was chilled but warmer than usual. The next street over trickled with light laughter and chatter from those still milling about after the show.

  Kallia ran.

  She ran as fast as her feet could take her, until her legs were screaming and her lungs were on fire. Until the tears were too cold to fall, and there was no more feeling. Only movement and desperation and the need to run before somebody caught up to her.

  The city center was a riddle of winding brick streets, but the main road to the gates intersected them all. A dark brush of gravel and cement amid the warm hues of rock that drew one deeper into Glorian. Kallia stuck to the main road, the same one she’d walked upon first entering the city.

  Only one way out.

  She slowed once the nightly bustle of the city fell behind her. The flickering lamplights dotting Glorian ended as it began, at the entry gates built into the austere wall circling the city.

  Kallia paused when the path ended, no more than five steps to the wall. Her heart stopped, breath shallowed.

  The gates were not at the end of the road.

  She glanced down at her feet and up to the wall, down and up again until her vision dizzied. Along the left side, only small gatherings of trees and bushes but no gates. And along the right, the same stark stones shadowed in patches by the foliage. No gates, no anything. As if some elaborate prankster had broken down the ironwork and filled in the vast opening with cement and stone.

  No. Kallia reached out to the wall. The stone was paved and cold to the touch. If anyone had messed with the wall, she would’ve felt the signs. Still she searched, until she began to pound and scratch and kick at the surface until her knuckles and legs throbbed with panic.

  The gates were gone.

  As if Glorian had swallowed them up the moment she turned her back.

  As if they never existed in the first place.

  Her cheeks burned, sweat trickling down her hairline when she finally surrendered. Her arms quivered from the effort, her pain sharpening as the adrenaline wore off. The chill bit at her as she stared at the wall, breathless. Unblinking.

  An illusion.

  It had to be.

  Hooves sounded in the distance, growing nearer. Her pulse kicked up as she stole into the shadows, wiping her face and soothing her raw knuckles. No one could see her like this, startled as a bird. Hallucinating.

  Two horses approached the end of the road. The riders atop them stopped short a few paces away with deepening frowns. In the barest flicker of lamplight, Kallia detected two magicians, faint in the darkness. Robere and Eduar.

  “What the—” Robere circled his horse around before he dismounted altogether. “This is the road, isn’t it?”

  “I thought so…” Eduar joined him at the base of the wall, pounding at the exterior right where Kallia had moments ago. “It’s not here.”

  “Impossible,” his companion snarled before he whir
led around, searching in the dark. “You think this is funny? Who the hell is out there?”

  Kallia pressed against the trunk of a tree, willing herself invisible even as she barely had the power for it. Not that she needed to. Their rage preoccupied them, giving her the proper cover to slip away as they returned to beating, cursing, and throwing their powers against the wall, willing it to break open.

  25

  Kallia needed a drink.

  It was her sole reigning thought as she staggered through the servants’ entrance of the Prima and back to her room. Her vision was already swimming in circles, but as she made it through the door, her limbs followed suit. She stumbled to her knees, waiting out the wave of dizziness. Nothing made sense.

  I didn’t throw you in a cage.

  Everything felt numb.

  You walked right inside and turned the lock.

  Jack was supposed to be wrong. Everything he said was supposed to be lies.

  It took all her will to hold back a sob when hands took her gently by the elbows and lifted her. She was lowered into the soft cushion of the sofa, wearing a bleary smile at the relief. Her shoes came off. Fingers pushed back her hair, traced along her temple. Her sigh drew coarsely up her throat. It burned like the rest of her, and she almost wept at the filled glass in front of her.

  Water.

  She downed it so fast, her insides hurt. Her body screamed for more. “Something stronger. Please.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  Kallia shook awake, finding Jack standing over her with his hands braced by her head. The nearness of him so dizzying, she thought she might be dreaming.

  But he was there. His presence, his closeness, the furthest thing from a dream.

  She shoved him off of her with a desperate glance at the windows. Their long gossamer curtains hung lifelessly, catching the moonlight outside and softening with a pearly glow. No movement or wind rustled their hems.

  “Locked glass and closed curtains are nothing to me. You know that.” Jack stepped back, smoothing out a wrinkle along his sleeve before grabbing the glass of water on the table. “Here, have some more.” When she wouldn’t take it, he sighed and snapped his fingers. “Happy?”