Tears gathered again, and she cursed them. She couldn’t put him closer to the line of fire than he already was. The thought of him injured, or disappeared altogether, made her want to retch.
“Not here,” Kallia whispered, clutching him. There was no use in pretending anymore, no protection in it. “Come with me.”
44
The Ranza Estate came into view ahead, its proud tiled roofs and sun-kissed stone exterior a sight so familiar, they might as well have declared this section of the city as their own. A home.
“Why are we here?”
Demarco had been quiet the entire way, keeping up with her pace without question. Even though he clearly had many burning inside. It didn’t seem fair, after he’d told her so much.
“It’s the only place where I’ve never felt watched.”
“By who?” he asked, shutting the door behind them.
She didn’t know how to begin. How to say anything, when she always carried that sinking feeling of Jack looking over her shoulder. Always watching, listening.
She gripped his shoulders, unable to stop herself from glancing around the room. She couldn’t be certain of anything, not even a house without mirrors.
“Have you ever felt like you were trapped?” She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering. “Like you have all this power, but in the end, you’re still … powerless?”
The sharp edge of Demarco’s mouth softened. “Yes.”
Of course he knew. Better than anyone. That didn’t make it any easier, but she wanted him to know. A truth, for all the ones he’d given her.
“Before all of this, I had an old friend who taught me a lot…” Every word traveled on one strained breath. They were so foreign, heavy. “He’s a very powerful magician.”
“Would I know of him?”
She winced at the laugh that shuddered from her. “No, he keeps to himself, mostly. Very private—”
“Did he hurt you?”
Her eyes flashed up at him. “Why would you ask that?”
He studied her. “Ever since I met you, it seemed like you were running away from something. Someone. No one runs unless it’s from somewhere bad.” His jaw ticked when she didn’t deny it. “So it’s true?”
The way he looked at her just then, she couldn’t define it. Softness but also anger, simmering underneath in a promise. A certainly. A question, there in his eyes, seeking a way out. To her.
She had to look away.
“Not the kind of hurt you’re thinking of.” It was wrong to justify what sort of hurt mattered and what didn’t. Anything that left scars came from hurt. Only now was she realizing the scars she bore and had trained herself not to see.
“I’d stayed,” she stated, owning her choice. “Only because I didn’t know all that was out here. What I’d been in.” The shadow of the monster from her dreams returned, and the cold silhouettes of dark trees surrounding her. Images that would follow in the back of her mind forever.
“But sometimes,” she continued, “it feels like he’s still everywhere around me, watching. Waiting for me to…”
“To go back to him?” A harsh noise erupted from the back of his throat. “When you win, you’ll have no time to look back.”
“And if I don’t?”
Ever since she’d arrived in Glorian, everything had always been a when. An eventually. Never if. Confidence came with armor. She wore it the night she left Hellfire House, the day she seized the audition, and every moment on stage after, never taking it off. To never doubt meant she had nothing to fear. There was only one option: win.
She couldn’t afford to give doubt a voice.
Didn’t mean it never whispered.
“Win now. The rest will come later,” Demarco stressed. “Focus on what you do best, better than anyone else in this competition, and things will fall into place. Whatever happens after, we’ll figure it out.” Her eyes widened slightly as his shut tight. “You. I meant you…”
“You said we.” Her pulse raced.
With a groan, he looked up at the ceiling. “Unless you were thinking of leaving me in the dust after this town.”
He said it half-jokingly, his smile unsure. As if, for once, he couldn’t get a solid read on what was to come after.
After.
It was difficult to imagine a clear after for herself, but she knew this much: the prospect of one without Demarco already filled her with loneliness. In Glorian, they’d become many things to each other, but the friend she found in him surprised her most of all. Whatever this was, she couldn’t see herself leaving the city without it.
“This…” Kallia swallowed, her hand gliding up his arm. “For now, this stays between us.”
Demarco tilted his head at her touch. “Embarrassed to be seen with me?”
It wasn’t too long ago she’d scoffed those exact words at him, and she gave his shoulder a playful shove. “It’s good like this, when it’s just you and me.”
“Trust me, so many others saw this coming way before we did. We’ve honestly got nothing to—”
“Please.” Her breath wavered. “Only until the show’s over. Letting this go public would make everything that much harder, and you know it.”
A brief frown creased his features. As if he didn’t entirely believe her. But it disappeared in a smile, and she wondered if she’d imagined it as he curled her knuckles to his lips. “All right, no one will know.” He kissed her inner wrist. “For now.”
“Does this mean you’ll be my partner again?” she asked, suddenly still. “Be on stage with me?”
He dropped her wrist between them. “I don’t have magic, though. Not in the way I should, I’m not—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Her temper flared. “It doesn’t matter. You’re my partner, which means I can’t do this without you.”
And I don’t want to.
It was strange to no longer feel those thorns of lies, coursing through her with excuses. Freer, lighter. Even he appeared just as struck by it, though it was far from the first honest conversation they’d ever had. Just the first without those last walls. The tallest, most impenetrable ones that were never built to fall, but had done so anyway.
“What do you have in mind?”
Her face shifted from sweet to sly as she leaned forward, sliding his hand to her waist in a familiar position. “Just follow my lead.”
With a snap of her fingers, the instruments lifted from the cases they’d lain in for too long, and began to play.
45
The night of the ball loomed nearer every day, the final performance of the show not too far behind. Daron ought to feel more flustered at how little time was left, but he couldn’t afford to slow down. Neither of them could.
“Again,” he said at the end of the song, swiping the sweat off his neck, the dampness reaching down his spine. He would’ve taken his shirt off, but they’d barely gotten through the routine the last time he did. There would be no props for their final act, no rules except that the contestants deliver one hell of a performance.
Naturally, Kallia chose a dance.
A complicated collection of movements on the sort of stage no other would dare cross.
Even in his performance days, Daron had never pushed himself so hard to hit every move right, nor had he ever been so distracted. Behind the doors of the Ranza Estate, even more so when they were in public. Everyone watched them with eager eyes, renewed interest at the sight of them together again. He could hardly believe it himself.
“We should take a break,” Kallia suggested, stretching out her feet and legs. She sounded weary, but would never admit it. Neither would he.
Practice. It was a word drilled into his head the moment Kallia had devised her act, and Daron long ago made his peace with the whole theatricality of it, throwing all of his focus into playing the perfect part. He couldn’t give her power, but he would be her partner every step of the way.
And by some miracle, that was enough.
“Again,” Daron repeated, smoothing back the damp ends of his hair.
“And I thought I was hard on myself,” Kallia said from the ground, her breaths finally evening. “You’ve got the steps down fine.”
He stretched an arm out to her. “I don’t want to let you down.”
“Who’s the mentor here, again?” She took his arm, lifting herself up before looping her arms around his neck. “We’re due for a break.”
His focus cracked. Before he could lean in, pulling her by the hips, she spun away. “A real break,” she tutted. “Let’s get something to eat. If I’m hungry, I’m guessing you are, too?”
He shook his head but couldn’t stop smiling, grabbing his coat with a shrug of defeat as she buttoned up hers. Like clockwork, before leaving, they overlooked each other’s appearances—rubbing away lipstick smudges, smoothing back messy hair, straightening collars from disarray. She clucked her tongue at him when he reached for her hand, which she shoved in her pocket.
He almost grabbed it back anyway, to pull her from the door. To remain as they were inside. But as much as he wanted to slide back onto the floor with her, he wanted more. He wanted days and nights. He wanted all that time would give.
Until he heard the telltale click of his courier case.
A letter.
It had been a while since his aunt had written, and the weight of a newly arrived piece of paper filled him with dread.
After arriving back at the hotel, Kallia went up to her room to freshen up, and most likely kick Aaros awake before he slept well into the day. Daron nursed a cup of tea at the Prima café. He flicked the seal off and unfolded the letter, filled with far fewer words than he was used to seeing.
Daron,
I’ve read the papers. They can be so useless, littered with false alarms, but I saw your name. I saw the headlines.
Is it all true? Or just some publicity stunt?
Let me know that you’re all right, or if I need to come. Please.
—Aunt Cata
It wasn’t a long letter, but his tea had gone cold from how many times he reread it.
Please.
He could almost hear her saying it.
“Bad news?”
The chair across from him scraped backward, by none other than Lottie in a serpent-green jacket and skirt that clung primly to her form. He should’ve caught sight of her right away, so out of place amongst the soft golds and pastels embroidering the café.
Too late, Daron swallowed and quickly folded away the correspondence. “No, just family business.”
“Same difference.” She rapped her nails along the table. “How is good, ol’ Cataline anyway? I’ve heard things are not looking too good out east.”
He didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, only that he wanted to end whatever this was immediately. “What do you want, Lottie?”
“Breakfast.” The journalist tried to hail a waiter, only to find them all occupied. “And a chat.”
“We chatted the other day. I thought I made myself clear—”
“That you want nothing to do with me? Yes, that was obvious. And rude, by the way.” She gave up and clasped her empty hands together. “Though I don’t think you’ll maintain that stance once you hear what I’ve found out about this place.”
“How?” He shook his head. “You’ve not even been here two weeks.”
“I’m good at my job. And not as easily … how would you say it?” She danced her fingertips against each other. “Distractible.”
His face heated. “You could be lying.”
“I don’t need to lie to get what I want.” The coyness slipped from her voice. “And even so, Daron, why would I lie about this?”
It was impossible to meet her eyes, to see more than the steeled, searching gaze of someone digging for secrets. Anything softer would convince him she cared. About Eva, about him. About the truth.
“I can be ruthless, but I’m not a monster. I want to get to the bottom of Eva’s disappearance as much as you do.”
“You believe she disappeared?” He bit back a hard laugh, recalling all the headlines and write-ups after his last act. Daring Deed Ends in Tragic Last Act. Demarco Deals in Death on Stage. When Fatal Accident Meets Assistant. All alliterative nonsense, all hooks Lottie could not resist. “The woman who blew all the whistles about her death?”
“Death is a faster story to accept. No one listens to disappearances. I know that all too well.” Something new reared up in her voice, a bitterness so sharp it bled. “And I think you know, too, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
Everything she was saying was exactly what he’d wanted to hear—someone who believed him, believed in this—which was the trouble of it. It was a long, deep inhale after having no air for years. Eva had trusted Lottie far too quickly, and it had led to lies about her in the papers. An end to her story, when there was far more to it.
Suddenly, he imagined what would’ve happened had Lottie published the truth instead. The assistant of the Daring Demarco walks through a mirror, leading her Zarose knows where, only to never return. A story like that would result in either dead silence or utter chaos. The papers would hound him, Aunt Cata and the Patrons would descend. The world would watch.
Surprisingly, Lottie chose the story with less questions.
Death, the most believable ending.
Daron lifted his cup and sipped at the last, cold remnants. “So what did you find?”
Pleased, she leaned back comfortably in her chair. “I spoke with the mayor the other day. The man seems to be in the weirdest daze of resignation—not that I blame him. The mess Raz has unleashed is worse than any he’s ever left behind, that’s for sure.
“But there’s something curious he said that went beyond stress,” she continued, her finger dragging in small circles on the table. “He’s very adamant about not talking about the city’s history, always looking forward. Except when I asked him a simple question—how long he’s been mayor of this city—he couldn’t remember.”
Daron paused. “That’s it?”
“What do you mean, that’s it? Surely if you’re the leader of anything, and as prideful about it as he is, the least you could do is remember basic facts,” Lottie said pointedly. “I even asked who his predecessor was, and he gave no answer. He just up and left.”
“Because he’s hiding something?”
“No, I know the look of a person who’s hiding something.” She stole a quick glance at him before returning to straightening the silverware beside her. “Mayor Eilin looked like he had absolutely nothing to hide, nothing to say. Not even a lie to cover the nothing, that I would’ve at least expected.” Lottie bit her lip. “It was the same when I asked a few other locals. They all had the same look, the same nothingness.”
A chill ran through him. “What do you think happened here?”
“You tell me. Eva always thought this place held a strange sort of power,” she said. “It makes sense. People are disappearing, accidents keep happening, locals remember nothing, and you lot can’t leave for whatever reason. I can only wonder what else is wrong—or what else could go wrong.”
As the café quieted around them, a waiter approached to clear Daron’s empty cup. Lottie didn’t even look up as he whisked away, not even to ask for the coffee she’d wanted.
“I haven’t had a chance to ask the others,” she began, “but has your magic been feeling … different, lately?”
He stared down at his palm, the words racing up his throat like they couldn’t get out fast enough. He swallowed them down.
“I know you don’t perform anymore, but I heard you cast some protective magic over Kallia during the second night. Stopped the show altogether,” she continued. “I’m assuming you two patched things up since you’re looking to be in much better spirits.”
At the sudden hunger and intrigue in her voice, his guard shot up. It was a wonder how little it had taken for it to lower. “We’re not here to talk about her or me.”
“Sorry, bad habit.” Her smile lingered, her writing hand restless against the table. “I just thought maybe the strangeness of this place couldn’t be all bad. Maybe it could’ve offered some key to finding Eva.”
It was what he’d hoped, too, but whatever magic had seeped back into him changed nothing. It only made him more unpredictable, more dangerous. “Maybe the key is still here.”
“If it is, then someone sure spent a lot of effort to make everyone forget about it.”
46
“Look at you, a vision in…” Aaros trailed off, circling Kallia after she stepped out of the dressing room. “Red.”
Kallia smirked. “It’s not too much?”
“Oh, it definitely is.” Canary waltzed around with a greasy paper bag of day-old caramel spiced popcorn. “Those top hats will be reduced to nothing but a pile of scandalized tears. Can’t wait to see it.”
“You can’t eat in here!” Ira marched back in with her pincushion. Canary bared her teeth, exposing the kernels stuck in between like bone and flesh. The seamstress grimaced. She’d seen what Canary could do with a fire-lit baton between her teeth. It was quite a sight, Ira intimidated by anybody that wasn’t her own reflection.
The seamstress stood beside Kallia, her cool demeanor returning as she scanned the fit of her dress in the mirror. “You will be turning heads, that’s for certain.”
“Was that a compliment?” Kallia teased. “Have I finally worn you down?”
“Keep fishing and I’ll take it back.” The seamstress inched away, hand pressed to her temple, her frown deepening.
“What’s the matter?”
When Aaros tried to support her, she swatted him away. “Nothing. I … I haven’t been sleeping well, is all.”
“Anything we can help with?”
“Stop trying to be heroes, children. It doesn’t suit you,” she grumbled. “It’s only the old memory box giving me a kick, so get a move on before you make it worse. I’ll ring you up.”
They watched the old woman hobble away to the front of the store before Aaros broke the silence. “So, what’ll Demarco be wearing?”
Where Dreams Descend Page 37
