39
Kallia had never liked Judge Bouquet and Robere, but their pained moans drifted in and out of her ears long after the streets cleared and everyone dispersed for the night.
She fidgeted and wrung her fingers as she and Demarco walked back to their rooms in silence, the tension in the air taut as ever. The mayor hadn’t mentioned throwing her out again, and she wondered if that made Lottie her biggest ally, or the one person who had all the tools to expose her and everyone else in this show.
“You want to talk about it?”
Demarco slowed to keep at her side. New shadows seemed to have formed under his eyes in the last hour. She felt her own carving into her skin, weighing her down. “It’s been a long night. I think we’ve all had enough.”
She wished for nothing more than to walk into her room and sink into bed, but the loneliness of that image hollowed her. Even Demarco paused, simply looking toward his door. “How freeing would it be to leave all this behind and not look back?”
A laugh pulled from her. “Is this you inviting me to run away with you?”
“Would you say yes?”
What an idea, when they had no choice. “Where would we go?”
“Anywhere.” He turned his room key between his fingers. “It doesn’t matter to me. I’ve pretty much toured all of Soltair already, so you get to pick the first city.”
“What if I don’t want to go to a city?” she challenged, a step closer. “What if I want to be out on the water?”
“Then we’ll get ourselves a boat, and see how far it takes us.”
Kallia’s stomach coiled tight again. The warmth, overwhelming. It rushed back to her from the greenhouse, the feel of him around her. Of music through glass and the beat of his heart against her ear. Of swaying so slowly, it was hardly a dance anymore.
“The greenhouse,” she began, sensing the memories playing behind his eyes as well. The coil inside her wrung tighter. “How long did that all take you?”
“Just a few special orders and some maneuvering of shipments. Nothing, really.” He scratched the back of his head, looking down at his feet. “It wasn’t quite finished. You found it much earlier than planned.”
Her heart started. “What was the plan?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters.” She swallowed, all of it too much. “Humor me.”
Weeks ago, he would’ve turned right to his door with a terse goodnight. Now, he blew out a sigh, before rolling back his shoulders as if he had nothing to lose. “You’d win the show first,” he stated. “Despite the other judges’ attempts to low score your act, the audience loves you. You’d win by a landslide. Everyone would reconvene at the Prima to celebrate. Champagne and flowers, and the fakest of smiles from everyone who doubted you. You’d have fun rubbing it in their faces for a smug amount of time.” He snorted and went on, “Next, you, me, and Aaros would duck into the Conquerors’ tents for a far better party. Better music, to be sure. I’d eventually invent some excuse for us to visit the Ranza Estate, one last time. Then I’d—”
Kallia kissed him, then. A soft, brief press.
Thank you.
It yanked apart everything inside her. Her skin over his, the warmth of him pressed to her, chest against chest.
She pulled back before he could respond.
“I’m sorry.” Her cheeks flushed, everything inside her on fire. Demarco said nothing. His face, stone once more.
“I didn’t…” She swallowed, feeling stupid—so stupid. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
He just stared. In agreement. In shock. Kallia couldn’t tell, only waited for him to step back and pretend it hadn’t happened. Only it had, and her heart had never thrashed so violently in her chest with hunger. This strange thing with claws, it had been pricking at her day by day. Wanting this, for much longer than she even realized.
“Sorry,” she whispered, and the word cracked right between her ribs. She felt foolish, felt too much. “I’m—”
“Stop saying that.”
Kallia’s brow furrowed at his gruff tone, the way he caught her face between his hands.
He took a moment to look at her. Just look. And she caught something in the dark of his eyes—the softest certainty—before he finally pulled her to him, and kissed her.
She froze. Her mind, blank. But the slowness melted as she breathed into another kiss. Then another, and another, following the rhythm he set. The music between them.
Nothing in the kiss tasted of regret.
As his fingers slid through her hair, his lips urging hers to open, she tasted want. Need. It answered hers in such a wave, that she locked her hands behind his neck to steady herself.
This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.
This can’t be happening.
Her pulse hammered as he kept going. Pressing impatient kisses to her skin, running hands down her back, memorizing her. A noise rumbled deep within his chest as he kissed down her neck, every inch of her searing. A smile cut across her face, and she was relieved how distracted he was to see it. “I thought it was only me.”
“Should I have gotten you something bigger than a greenhouse?”
Her whole body shook under a laugh as she watched the way her arms twined around his neck. The impossibility of it. “I just … I wasn’t sure.”
“I haven’t been sure about anything in a while.” Demarco’s eyes finally met hers, heavy and half-lidded, as though he were dreaming. “You’ve been in my head since the moment you first walked on stage.”
She remembered that day well. She’d barely noticed he was even there until he spoke. He would’ve vanished from her periphery altogether had he not become such a thorn, always catching at her. Pulling on the thread between them day by day, slow and gradual.
“I can’t believe this.” Slowly, he drew back, scanning her face. Kallia almost laughed at his hair, a wreck. His eyes, ruined. “Should we talk or…?”
Already, he wanted to analyze this. This thing she hadn’t even wanted, until it showed itself in the dark.
In answer, Kallia pulled him to her. Breath held, lips barely meeting—before the lights around them dimmed for a brief, sharp pause.
It lasted barely a second, but it was enough to wring her cold. She jerked away, hitting the back of her head against the wall. Demarco edged forward instinctively, before searching the hallway—empty. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone might see us.”
It struck her, how out in the open they were. Stupid. He stiffened at the realization, but one hand remained at her side. “Can I…” He nodded at her door. “Can I come in?”
Usually Kallia was skilled at composing herself, but that warranted a look. Enough to fluster him. “Oh no, sorry—only to talk, about what just … I think we need to…”
He ran a hand over his face before knotting his fingers in front of him. She marveled at how she once believed him to be made of stone, and how little it took to soften him into such a mess of nerves and uncertainties. There was honesty in it. Gently, she stilled his fingers under her palm, untangling them one by one. Brushing each knuckle, each fingertip.
So easily breakable, if the wrong hands found them.
And so she said nothing, but he read her silence. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.” Kallia nodded, tempted to take it back as he played with a thick strand of her hair, touching her so easily. As if he’d been doing it for years.
They glanced down the hall, waiting for signs of movement, before Demarco took her face back in his hands. Kallia should’ve turned away, but instead arched her neck up. Eyes closed in waiting. First, a light brush, deepening as she wound her arms around him. Her nails scratched behind his neck, a surprisingly vulnerable place from the sound he made, and she wondered if she’d ever get used to it.
When he pulled back, he tilted his head at her with a lazy smile, pressing it once to the grin forming on her face.
“Good night, Kallia,” he said
, and backed toward his room. Unhurried.
Tomorrow. She would see him tomorrow.
Kallia closed her door behind her with a soft click, the fluttering in her heart quieting as the darkness swept over her. Silent, save for the nightly wind rattling against the windowpanes above her and Aaros’s beds.
“It’s bad luck to keep dying flowers.”
Everything blackened in an instant. Gone was the sun. In here, came the night. Waiting, Jack towered by her vanity, looking curiously at the covered mirror before assessing the old cloth she always kept by it.
“It’s just a piece of fabric,” she snapped, hoping he wouldn’t touch it.
“It used to look different.” A long pause, contemplative. “Years back. Like a rosebud, blooming. Now, it’s…”
For once, he didn’t sound bitter. Only sad, which riled her up more. He was at the heart of this darkness, after all. A player in this game. The master of it.
“It’s changed ever since things started going wrong here.” Kallia’s nostrils flared. How dare he stand there as though he didn’t enjoy every moment of tonight. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s where you’re mistaken,” he said, absent. “Things have always been wrong here.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
His entire face sharpened, the restraint apparent in the lines of his jaw. He looked up from the vanity, and turned. “You need to stay away from him.”
Her cheeks flamed. Panic pulsed through her, at what he must’ve seen outside her door. What she must’ve looked like now. Still, there was no anger to him. His quiet unnerved her more than any rage he could’ve released.
“Is that all you came here to say?” she bit out. “Of everything that’s happening, you fixate on that?”
“He’s made you weak,” he said, tone clipped. “And it’ll only get worse. You can’t even see that he’s lying to you.”
Kallia didn’t want to listen. Everything he said was a poison entering the air. “You’re one to talk. This story sounds all too familiar.”
His jaw clenched. “Then you should be wise enough to listen. You don’t know what you’re up against.”
“Enlighten me, then,” she said. “Because all I see in my way is you.”
“That’s all you want to see.” He stepped closer, cutting through the shadows. “It’s easier to hate me, blame me for everything that goes wrong. Every missing magician must be my doing. Every terrible accident is undeniably by my hand.”
The words were grossly familiar to the ones she’d spat in the mayor’s face earlier, and she hated the sound of them being thrown back at her. She circled a table to let it divide them, refusing to be cornered.
“Why? Because I’m the only monster you’ve ever known,” he continued, undeterred. “What you fail to realize is there are other monsters in this world. Outside of the House, I’m hardly the worst of them.”
“Then who? If not you, who would be so cruel as to do all of this to one little city?”
A beat of silence passed between them, before a shadow swept across the floor. A spill of darkness, rising swiftly before her. She’d steeled herself when Jack took shape, her muscles seizing.
“Would you even believe me, if I told you?”
Kallia didn’t know. To humor him felt like giving an inch. To believe him, a forgiveness.
He gave her no choice as he took her hand. His grip, tight and cold. She struggled and pulled back. “Don’t touch me.”
“I’m trying to show you,” he said, cautious. “You can never tell who’s listening.”
Kallia’s skin prickled. “There’s no one else here.”
“Not that you know of.” Jack raised a hand to her head, threading his fingers through her hair. His fingertips pressed at her skull, and her mind fell still.
At first, darkness.
Then, shadows.
They rose, monstrous dolls come to life—darkened figures, walking toward her, just like the ones from Juno’s mind.
Kallia.
Kallia.
Kallia.
They spoke in one voice, familiar as a dream. Her breath broke as she slammed her palms onto his chest to push him away, nearly falling when her fingers met mist. Jack didn’t glory in the illusion this time. Form fading, he calmly stepped back.
“Believe me or don’t, that’s your choice. But don’t pretend like I haven’t spent all these years trying to keep us both away from this,” he said, as if beginning a sad story. The end, already foretold. “I’ve only ever tried to let it sleep. By coming here, you woke it up.”
A sudden rustle in the room sent a jolt through her. Jack’s gaze ran beyond her shoulder, and he sighed. “I have to go.”
“Wait.” Her voice went ragged. She grasped at his arms, but there was nothing. Just an outline of his body, beginning to fade. He looked down at her grip trying to keep him in place, brows drawn at the sight.
“Whatever happens, remember what I said. He will only put you in harm’s way, and soon, you will not be able to protect yourself,” he said hurriedly. “You must be careful.”
In an instant, he was gone. The room lightened in his absence, the flickering candles regaining brightness and the flames in the hearth crackling heartily amongst the logs. Whatever Jack had seen was enough to startle him away.
Heart beating fast, she took in the room.
There was no change, nor anyone else around as she’d feared.
Only the vanity, standing proud. And the mirror uncovered once more.
40
Daron stood at the foot of the Prima’s grand staircase, looking up so often his neck began to creak. He waited for that familiar flash of dark hair or colorful burst of a dress among the passing flood of strangers who eyed him in confusion. He nodded at them in awkward greeting, drumming his fingers along the rail.
Kallia hadn’t knocked at his door last night. Not that he’d expected her to. It was better that she hadn’t, for how his thoughts ran in restless circles all night, processing it all. What had happened in the hallway, what it meant. If it changed nothing at all, or everything. One thing he knew for certain: he needed to see her again. Almost every day, he’d seen her, though this time was different. Uncharted.
When he’d swept his fingers through his hair this morning and left his room to find her, someone already stood outside her door.
A uniformed guard, arms clasped behind him and feet planted solid.
“Is … is everything all right?” Daron sobered instantly. “Has something happened?”
“Everything is perfectly fine, Judge Demarco. Only a safety precaution,” the man said, looking straight ahead. “If you wish to see her, I will be escorting her downstairs when she’s ready.”
Daron cocked a brow. “Does she know this?”
The guard said nothing more. A dismissal.
Which was how Daron found himself at the foot of the stairs, watching one hotel guest after another pass him. Once contestants began trickling down the steps, accompanied by their own guards—at the mayor’s command, no doubt—he was more at ease.
Until he noticed the lingering looks.
Hushed laughs and whispers, weaving through his ears.
The notice sent a prickle down his spine. True, he looked every bit a fool waiting at the stairs, but that didn’t seem scandalous enough for how everyone observed him. One girl had been whispering furtively to a friend when she stumbled at the foot of the stairs, dropping her purse and—
Spectaculore Speculation:
Players Entrapped in a Wild Game
The headline glared at him from the ground. The most recent issue of the Soltair Source.
His stomach dropped. He’d been avoiding the paper ever since Lottie rolled into town, dreading her coverage. Her commentary. He’d managed to avoid her spotlight for this long, he worried what words the Poison of the Press would spin about him now.
“Can I borrow this?” Daron asked as he handed the girl back her purse, gripping t
he paper.
“Keep it.” Her cheeks went pink as she and her friend departed in a burst of hushed laughter. Daron swallowed and flipped through the contents. Lottie’s style always read more like a story than a news account, adding edge and dramatics where she liked. Honesty with flair, Eva called it, endlessly amused. Daron, not so much. The piece chronicled the incidents of Spectaculore so vividly, he might’ve thought it all a hoax were he not in the thick of the madness. A thrilling tale to any reader, no doubt.
His eyes latched onto the section detailing the contestants and judges, and immediately regretted it.
… old, notable names of the stage, these judges come from “a long line of tradition amongst magicians,” Mayor Eilin states. A tradition the aforementioned contestants seem all too eager to carry on.
In contrast, nontraditional does not even begin to describe the pairing of Judge Demarco, the infamous Daring Demarco who’s emerged out of retirement—and the current crowd favorite, a notorious dark horse in her own right, Kallia. The two have reportedly been “inseparable” and “mad over each other” from the start; and sources say since teaming up, the partners have kept busy perfecting their final performance in private. Others, however, speculate with a question all of Glorian is really hungry for an answer to:
Amidst a dangerous, thorny garden, can a partnership bloom into something more?
For even in the darkest show business, the heart still beats. And if this show has taught its viewers any lesson, it’s that anything can happen behind closed doors.
Both parties refused to give any further comment—
“Judge Demarco! What a surprise.”
Daron suppressed the frustrated sigh firing up his throat for a morsel of enthusiasm. “Hello, Janette—”
He froze at the sight of the mayor’s daughter, eagerly smiling in a long, dusky-pink coat, arm in arm with a beaming Lottie de la Rosa. “Yes, Dare. Quite a surprise.”
Where Dreams Descend Page 33
