Where Dreams Descend

by Janella Angeles

She all but dangled his name in front of him, as casually as she’d raked it in the news. By the end of the piece, he’d been tempted to rip the paper to shreds but restrained himself by closing it, stone-faced. “Good morning.”

  “How are you faring, after last night, Mister Demarco? It was quite a scare, what happened to those…” Janette’s face paled, a glimmer of remembrance before she shook her head. “I swear, this show has brought nothing but trouble.”

  “At least it’s attracted some business.” Lottie assessed the crowded state of the Prima lobby, before honing in on the paper locked between his fingers. “And I see you’ve read the latest.” Her eyes gleamed. “Raz was right. I didn’t even have to do much of anything. It’s a wild ride all on its own. My kind of story.”

  For Janette’s prior aversion to the press, she sure took quite an interest in silently staring at her feet at that moment.

  “We’re not characters for you to play around with,” Daron bit out. “Our lives aren’t for you to sensationalize.”

  “Don’t act put out because you don’t appreciate the angle I chose for you.” Lottie inspected her nails, shrugging. “You refused to chat with me, so I did the best I could with what I had. No lies, just deduction. And the readers obviously agree.”

  She knew that last bit would stir a reaction in him, and he hated how much it had. He shouldn’t give a damn what people thought, but such gossip wouldn’t do him or Kallia any favors moving forward. False or not, rumors always consumed the truth. Not that Lottie cared which side won out.

  Janette primly coughed, switching the subject. “If your schedule isn’t too filled, Lottie and I were going to have some tea. Would you care to join?” Her eyes trailed to his waiting palm on the bannister. “Or are you about to go up?”

  His simmering anger deflated in a blink. “No, I’m waiting—just standing … here.” He seized his hand back. “I’m waiting.”

  The journalist’s face subtly lit up. “For who?”

  Janette sighed, as if the last thing she wanted was to hear the answer. “Tea and cakes are far more preferable to standing around alone. We were about to discuss the upcoming ball. Lottie graciously offered to cover the whole event.”

  Daron masked his shock. No way could they entertain the idea of having the event after all that had happened. “The ball is still…?”

  “Of course! If the show must go on, so must the party.” Janette, oblivious, barreled on. “Father was a little concerned, too. But eventually, we both agreed that we’ve put far too much effort and money into renovating the Alastor Place to change plans now.”

  It was an effort for Daron to keep his mouth shut. He couldn’t imagine the rest of the competition going smoothly, much less a lavish party. Too many accidents. Too many risks. Nothing was more damning than pretending that it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

  “Lottie’s keen to spotlight the night as the event of the year in all of Soltair! Can you believe it?” Pride shone so brightly in the girl’s eyes, Daron couldn’t hold it against her. “And we were also talking about how of all the judges, she hasn’t had a chance to profile you yet. Which is absurd, since you’re apparently old friends. It’s such a funny coincidence.”

  “Yes,” Lottie chimed in. “So funny.”

  Daron was sweating. Unaware, Janette’s smiling gaze widened. “You should absolutely join us! We won’t take no for an—”

  “I’m afraid he can’t.”

  Relief set in as he turned to find Kallia standing with the same guard from before, her head tilted and hip cocked in that expectant manner of hers. She wore a simple outfit—a purple buttoned shirt pale as lilac cinched by a long, black skirt. The only pops of color, her lips red as the rose barrette clipped by her ear.

  His mind blanked entirely. Seeing her in the morning light, that scowling red mouth of hers. He knew what it felt like, pressed against his.

  “We have an appointment,” Kallia reminded firmly.

  “Yes. Yes, we do.” He turned back to the ladies with a small, apologetic smile. “We have some show matters to take care of. Must’ve slipped my mind.” Too eager. He forced his movements to slow when he faced Kallia. “Shall we?”

  Her stare lingered on the journalist before dropping to his offered elbow. Without preamble, she brushed past it. “Yes, let’s get on with it.”

  It was a smack in the face. She was so distant, he wondered if he’d simply imagined last night. He recovered quickly, following after her, same as the guard who gave no sign of recognition. Only a nasty smirk of amusement.

  “Keep up, Judge Demarco,” Kallia called over her shoulder, letting him lag behind. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  She regarded him like an annoyance. Or worse, a stranger. “I’m not the one who came down late,” he muttered. “I’ve been waiting all morning for you.” As soon as he said it, he swore the edges of her lips quirked up.

  The moment Kallia stepped onto the bustling street, people started sneaking looks and whispering. Without a care, she continued walking as if nothing were amiss. As if everything from last night was not even worth a second thought to her.

  Daron reached for her. “Kallia—”

  “Wait,” she snarled, her strides becoming more determined through the clusters of pedestrians. He didn’t know what made it more impossible to follow, her or the crowd rapidly filtering in. A wave crashing, over and around them. Even the guard trailing behind appeared concerned by the influx, sweat trickling down his face at the constant bump of shoulders that pushed him farther and farther away.

  The breath knocked out of Daron at the grip on his arm.

  “Do you know how annoying it is, to wake up to an old man outside your door who won’t leave you alone?” Kallia huffed, eyes alight. Just as his pulse regained normalcy, it picked right up again, especially when she took his hand in hers with a squeeze. Every so often she shot a look behind her, powering them through the street. “This way, or we’ll never lose him.”

  * * *

  Kallia had never been so relieved to lock the doors of the Ranza Estate behind her. No guards. No looks and whispers following them, more than usual it seemed.

  “I’m honestly astounded Mayor Eilin remembered me.” She let her head rest back against the door. “This would’ve been the perfect opportunity to leave me in the dust, completely defenseless.”

  “You, defenseless?” Chuckling, he smoothed back his dampened hair from his forehead. One side of his lips curled, and it was all she could focus on.

  The press of them against her neck, her jaw.

  Her skin flushed, remembering it all. Their shoulders barely touched against the door. Yet the slightest brush made even the walls feel as if they were shifting closer. His eyes found hers. The comforting shade of brown darkened.

  In one sure movement, he turned, surrounding her so entirely, and Kallia’s breath caught. A sliver of distance lingered between them, questioning, before he took her hand and dropped his head by hers. “Good morning,” he whispered, and she could hear his smile. “How did you sleep last night?”

  Not well. The worst, most restless night of sleep she’d ever had. But as his jaw scraped against her cheek, she’d never been more awake. More aware. His knee knocked right by hers, his hand spreading her fingers against the door. Last night he’d been bolder, but today, he was patient. Waiting for her to turn her chin up and meet him halfway.

  Remember what I said.

  She flinched right as her hand found Demarco’s waist, fisting the warm shirt fabric, all of a sudden cold.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Kallia forced her face away from his. No more distractions, no more pretending everything was all right. If she looked, she’d forget what she came here to do. And she couldn’t, this time. No matter the consequence, she needed to get him away. Away from Jack.

  He wasn’t safe.

  “Kallia.”

  Jack’s voice whispered its way into her thoughts while Demarco’s was at her ear.r />
  Her eyes shut.

  “You were right. Before.” Her voice droned heavily, in line with the script in her head. “When you said you were a judge and I was a contestant.”

  Little by little, his face fell. “What do you mean?”

  “Technically, you’re my mentor. How would it look if…” They already had the answer to that question. Her insides gripped tightly with each new breath, and she broke. “I don’t want that. Don’t want any of this.”

  “Wait.”

  Demarco grasped at her elbow, enough to stop her from pulling open the door.

  “Is this about the paper?”

  Her brow furrowed. “What?”

  “About us, the article from the paper…” When she gave no sign of recognition, even more disbelief carved into his expression. He stepped back, spearing a hand into his hair. “Then where is this coming from?”

  “From you.”

  “Before. That was before—” His lips flattened into a hard line. “What I said before … things have changed.”

  “Nothing has changed. We’re still in one big game, playing different parts. This will never work if we want to win.”

  “Why not?” Doubt crossed his face in shadows. “I thought last night … you felt it, too, didn’t you?”

  Kallia bit the inside of her cheek, the sharp pain masking the knife in her chest. She didn’t think this would hurt so much. She’d withheld information from him before, about her past. About Jack. But she’d never lied like this. To hurt him.

  “We’ve been working closely together for some time. A lot has been building between us. It happens a lot in show business.”

  “Oh, I know, Kallia. And trust me.” His jaw worked. “This doesn’t feel like show business.”

  Steady, she told herself. Breathe.

  Remember what I said.

  “Maybe for you.” She coolly tossed back her hair over her shoulder. “If I felt the same, maybe this would be different. But I can’t afford to lose focus. If I drop my guard for one minute, I may be the next to go.”

  Demarco shook his head in disbelief. Refusal. She meant in the competition, but an accident could be headed her way all the same. At this point, no one was safe. Jack was right about that. She’d need all of her wits about her if the worst came to collect, and Demarco could not stand in that crossfire.

  “Regardless, I know what I’ve always wanted,” she added quietly. “And what I want is to win. That’s what I came here for.”

  They were farther apart now. Kallia had moved from the door without realizing, backing away from him. Far enough to see the silence wedging deeper between them, turning distance into a feeling. A wall.

  On the other side, everything in Demarco changed. His stance straightened, face closed. Like her, he could wear a mask well and at will. “If that’s the way you feel.”

  Without another word, he turned and exited without a good-bye. Kallia’s chest squeezed at the sight: his back, before the door shut behind him. The hike in his shoulders, the quickness of his steps.

  A burning prickled at the backs of her eyes, almost causing her to laugh in disbelief.

  Don’t.

  Even when she was alone, she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. It wasn’t a side of herself she indulged in, and she wouldn’t start now.

  Don’t.

  Kallia walked aimlessly through the Ranza Estate, the emptiest it had ever felt.

  Don’t.

  Somehow it worked, for the tears were gone.

  41

  Daron took to the sidewalks of Glorian, walking nowhere in particular. Good thing, too. If his feet hadn’t made the decision to leave, he would probably still be standing before Kallia like a statue.

  I thought it was only me.

  He replayed the past few moments in his head, again and again. When they’d shut the doors behind them, he’d been so ready to pull her to him. So drunk on memory and sensation—her heartbeat against his, his hands in her hair—that to meet the opposite made him question if any of it had been real.

  I thought it was only me.

  Her words. Her dismissal.

  Something wasn’t right. Kallia carried herself with a viciousness, not a cruelty. Then again, her ambition defined her. Guided her. And she’d made it quite clear he was not in the cards. Only a brief infatuation.

  Same as her, she hadn’t come here for that. The opposite, in fact. He loathed himself for the stark reminder. For forgetting.

  If anything, Kallia woke him up. The overwhelming need for red dandelion tea had struck him as soon as he’d left. Eva would always brew a pot to clear their heads and the storms they weathered. With the press, the shows, their family. They’d share in silence, sipping cup after cup, until the first person to finish it off would start a new pot.

  His hands began shaking. She was the one he should have been focusing on.

  Nothing shamed him more.

  A breeze whispered around his neck as he drifted toward the mayor’s house. A large, stark building right in the middle of the Fravardi Fold. It had been a while since he’d looked at the public records, useless as they might’ve been. Perhaps he had overlooked a detail, missed something.

  Eva was still out there, somewhere.

  He couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

  When Daron arrived, the doorman waved him through in recognition. His ears were ringing, head still heavy, but he’d never been more prepared to fall into the solitude of research. The smell of warm wood and worn books, even the dust in the air, soothed him. Only the rustle of paper and the wooden screech of a chair interrupted the silence. Usually the scholar overseeing the meager records collection could be found sleeping soundly at his desk, but no snores met his ears as he entered the main room. Only the testy tick of a tongue, right by the papers stacked over the main table.

  Lottie de la Rosa.

  For once, she was without a notepad, and he tensed even more at the absence. He edged back and turned as softly as he could, taking each step with care.

  “If you’re going to run away, at least make it fast.”

  His jaw snapped shut. Lottie had not even looked up as she turned a page. “Fleeing slowly only drags out the torture more.”

  Muscles frozen, he genuinely thought about making a run for it, but felt ridiculous enough already. With a sigh, he pivoted back calmly. “You always did have good senses.”

  “No, you just have bad feet.” She finally lifted her chin up as he took a seat across from her. An edge of triumph in her eyes. “You never were the graceful one on stage.”

  His pulse started up, like a gear kicked into place. “What are you doing here, Lottie?”

  “Ah, countering a question with a question. Good tactic.” She grinned. “There are many answers. Obviously, I’m in Glorian to cover a show. But right now, in this poor excuse of a library, I’m here to learn. Best way to get my hands dirty is to know what they’re touching. It’s time to see if any of the rumors of the lost city in the woods are real.”

  “Trust me, you won’t find much of anything in here.”

  “So you’ve been here already?” She didn’t even sound surprised. “Looking for what?”

  Her way of asking was always more for confirmation than answer, for she always knew. Just as he knew. Fury still lingered beneath her shiny, dagger-sharp veneer.

  He reckoned he’d have to meet it someday.

  “Silent as always, Daron. I suppose you also won’t say where your partner has gone off to? I thought you’d only just left with her.” Lottie pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “Trouble in paradise?”

  She’d barely gotten a glimpse of his face, and already could see the broken pieces of his partnership. It was her job, after all. To find the loud in the quiet, unearth the chaos in the peace.

  “What, so you can write another story about it?”

  “And crush the dreams of my readers rooting for you two?” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Join me. It
’s the least you could do since you’ve returned all my letters rudely unread over the years. If anyone in this room has the right to be agitated, it should be me.”

  Daron scratched the back of his neck. “Can you blame me, Lottie? I needed time.”

  “I needed time, too, but I didn’t go dark on the world to get it,” she said.

  “No, you chose to spin stories for your own gain, for the people. As you always do.”

  She barely flinched, staring hard. “That’s my job, Daron. And it’s what Eva would’ve wanted—”

  “Don’t.” He shook at the scalding rise in his blood. “You don’t know what she would’ve wanted. She’d never want to be headline news like that.”

  “Clearly it’s what you wanted, too, since you didn’t fight me on it. You didn’t do anything.”

  Do something. Do anything.

  Blame. Fresh and sharp as it had been that night, when she’d thrown it in his face.

  “Despite what you think of me, I’m looking for answers. I’m still looking for them.” Lottie slammed her book shut. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing since she’s been gone, but I thought maybe you’d be looking, too. Especially when I heard that, of all places, you ended up here.”

  He crossed his arms. “What I’m doing here is none of your concern.”

  “It is if it concerns her.” She took off her glasses, as if to ensure every dagger she glared his way aimed true. “I’m not oblivious. Why else would you go out of your way to judge a small circus show like this? In Glorian, of all places, which we know—”

  “Is only a dead end,” he finished. “There’s nothing here of interest to you. You should go, while you still can.”

  “You can’t be serious. Dead end or not, there’s something not right about this city, and you know it.” She gave a slight shudder. “It’s too quiet.”

  “What did you expect from a town that’s been reclusive for decades? It’s no New Crown.”

  “Certainly not.” Lottie huffed, setting her books aside. “You mean you don’t find it strange, how the people here act like there is no past—how they know nothing about what goes on beyond their gates? How their buildings are modeled after symbols of families no one really talks about?” she posed, before gesturing roughly at the small library. “How this is all the history they preserved for a city that’s stood just as long as all the other cities in Soltair?”