When Night Breaks

by Janella Angeles

  Kallia observed the man as he took one last draw from his pipe before tucking it away. The claws of smoke held over him like a mask, muddling his features slightly.

  Once it cleared, those brown eyes pierced through.

  Familiarity struck her again. And it didn’t end there. Not with the slight roundness of his nose. The confident air he radiated, that expectant gaze that only grew more bemused the longer their silent staring match continued.

  “You know,” he drawled, leaning forward, “most people can barely look me in the eye for more than a moment.”

  “Out of fear?”

  “Something like that. When you come to rule or achieve any bit of fame, it comes with intimidation.” He reached over to grab a small soft ball of pink dough from a bowl that he popped into his mouth. “That’s not foreign to you, I’m sure.”

  No. Kallia relished the way her competitors could throw taunts at her in a group, but could hardly face her directly. As if there was something within them, within her, they couldn’t bear to see.

  “I still can’t believe it.”

  Kallia blinked, uneasy with how he watched her over the rim of his cup. “What?”

  “You look…” He appeared as though he wanted to say more, the thought close to leaving his lips before he shook his head. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

  “I know you’re the Dealer.” Kallia blinked, crossing her arms. “That’s it.”

  “Ah, yes, that name. Makes me sound so ominous.” He gave a frivolous wave of his hand, though from the curl of his lips, he relished the infamy. “What else have they said about me?”

  He hungered to know, much like someone who enjoyed hearing himself talk.

  Oh yes. She knew exactly how to talk to men like this.

  “That you’re the magician behind this impressive city. Such a remarkable likeness to the Glorian I know.” Kallia softened under wistful admiration well. A smile here, a little sigh there. Even without magic, charm worked just as dangerously. “Like walking through a dream.”

  “You truly like it?”

  For some reason, her approval mattered to him. Interesting. And even better. “Absolutely,” she said, coyly turning away to hide her troubled expression. “It’s … all so overwhelming. I know nothing of you, when you obviously know everything about me.”

  Not just knowing, watching. The mirrors on the walls filled with her face—images of herself she would never forget, completely unaware. The one useful habit she’d taken away from Jack was staying wary near mirrors. If she hadn’t, Zarose knew how much more this world would’ve witnessed.

  The Dealer clasped his hands together eagerly. “Everyone knows who you are, my dear. The Court of Mirrors is the most popular joint in my Glorian, after all. My people love seeing glimpses of reality on the true side. And the show you and your lot have been putting on has kept us all on our toes to be sure,” he said, buzzing with excitement. “So much drama, so unpredictable! You, my dear, are infamous without even having set foot in my city until now.” He raised his glass to her. “Quite a feat.”

  Kallia lifted her drink similarly, her smile stiffening. His fascination with reality—her reality—chilled her. All this time, the game she thought she’d entered in Spectaculore had been far from the only show happening.

  It explained so much of her welcome. Those eyes and whispers following her since she stepped through the gates, the way Herald had tracked her down so easily. And fooled her, as well.

  “I didn’t realize my life had become your entertainment.” Kallia pressed back into her seat, jaw clenched. “If I did, perhaps I would’ve started smiling more.”

  His laughter boomed like a rumble of thunder. “Smiles or not, you still have many admirers, and, of course, the scathing haters—which is the truest badge of honor in the business.” He winked. “I certainly had to deal with a fair share of them, back in my day. And look at me now.”

  “Yes, impressive.” The leader of a city, the man behind an illusion so vast, she never dreamed such a trick could be possible. That such a magician could exist.

  With the casual lift of her glass, Kallia swirled the dark wine within. “If you’ve been watching me all this time, it’s only polite to at least get your name in return,” she said. “Aside from the Dealer, that is.”

  “Yes, it’s about time we’ve stopped acting like strangers. A bit silly, all things considered.” He brought his drink to his lips in a short sip. A wink. “Rothmos Alastor, but you can call me Roth.”

  It was a miracle Kallia didn’t shatter the wine glass in her grip.

  Alastor.

  She should’ve known.

  How simple. How infuriatingly obvious. They were in the Alastor Place, after all, filled with people with black triangles branded across their fingers. Those pieces had all been before her, but she never imagined an actual Alastor could be behind them. Or that any would still be living.

  In her world, at least.

  “How nice. You clearly recognize the name.” Roth unfolded a cloth napkin over his lap. “That was more than I expected, given how often the true side forgets.”

  “Glorian remembers the Alastor name, all right.” Kallia tapped her nails against the desk surface, recalling the power the family still had over Glorian. The way the mere whisper of the name could send a chill through any room.

  “Can’t say I’m shocked it’s not in an accurate light. History is only one side of the story, after all.” Roth dipped one of the serving spoons deeper into a dish filled with a creamy stew with flecks of gold. “And that history only lives on with those left standing to give it. Which leaves so many tales half-told.”

  With Glorian, the biggest one of all. Ever since she first stepped foot through the gates, she’d noticed the way the city was shrouded in shadows. From its ruin to its past, no one ever minded the questions. Especially those who lived within it. Even Aaros, sharp as a knife’s edge, went about his days wearing a blindfold like everyone else.

  “You wish to know the other half, don’t you?” Roth’s gaze stayed on her, all searing intent. “I can see it in you, that anger. That burning to know. It’s absolutely cruel that Jack chose to keep you in the dark. All this time.”

  He was right, and she didn’t like how easily he saw it.

  Because it meant he could use it: her desire to know, to understand, after a life of questions unanswered. A life with everything, and nothing at all.

  “I fail to see how any of this is relevant to me.” Kallia traced a finger around the rim of her cup. “Or why I should trust you if I couldn’t even trust Jack.”

  On a conceding breath, Roth steepled his fingers. “Ah, but I’m nothing like Jack. I’m a magician, and a man of my word. And the first thing you should know about me is that I would never lie to family.”

  Kallia stilled.

  She heard wrong. She had to.

  Family.

  It hung between them, a ghost of a word. For a moment she felt nothing, and then everything. Like falling into ice and fire, every part of her burning. Numb.

  He was mistaken. Strange men always said strange things. Especially when they were desperate.

  “That’s not possible,” Kallia started, treading calmly. “I’ve never had family. I was found—”

  “In the dark woods one day, only to be raised by some mysterious benefactor who provided you with everything you could ever need?” His brow curved up slowly. “Yes, I know the story. Crafted it myself. Rest assured, I always take care of my own. Even from this side.”

  Kallia plunged back into fire. Ice.

  Ice, fire.

  Breathe, she reminded herself. She had to.

  She grasped at what she could remember: scattered memories of Sire that were scarce, but real. The way he’d kept to himself, always hunched against the tall back of his chair or just about to ascend the stairs to his room. Rare glimpses revealed wrinkles upon his face, sometimes the occasional word or two, but not much more. Even his own domain
, up until he passed away.

  It had been odd, but it had been all she’d known. And when you knew nothing else, you didn’t think to question.

  Now the questions squeezed her by the throat.

  “You wouldn’t be the first to live among illusions, my dear,” Roth said. “Some are easier to cast than others from here. And depending on the make of them, they truly can provide a much kinder life.”

  “Kinder?” She couldn’t believe her ears. Her grip tightened on the edge of the desk. It was a miracle it hadn’t flipped over yet. “What’s so kind about throwing me in a box, all from the comfort of your throne?”

  Her heart stilled for a beat when that twinkle in his eye disappeared, darkened. “And what exactly was this box but a life of luxury, well-enjoyed? A string of tutors who taught you the basics of magic? A roof over your head, food in your stomach, clothes for your closet?” He listed every item without hesitation. “Most people happily walk through life on far less. Don’t act as though you suffered worse when you were provided privilege and power from the moment you were born.”

  Heat lanced across her cheeks the longer his shrewd assessment of her lasted. “My dear, I did what I could to keep you safe in that house. So you could grow stronger, more powerful, in peace. I never had any of that,” he said, absently taking in his plate. “You call it a box, but they would’ve had you in a much smaller one. Why, you’d still be in that sad girl’s academy out east, had I not pulled all the strings to break you out.”

  Kallia shook her head at the idea, the pure lunacy of it. She had no recollection of this. Any of it. “You have the wrong person. I’ve never stepped foot in Queen Casine’s. Never gone that far in Soltair, ever.”

  “Is that what you remember?”

  The words left behind ice. The reminder that Jack was on the other side of that door, his fingers marked by the same black triangles on the magician before her.

  “Fight me all you want, but you’re here now. So you might as well listen.” His lips none of the jovial smiles from before, long past pleasantries. “I’m the only one who’s willing to tell you the truth, Kallia.”

  He was willing to tell her a lot. But from a stranger, the truth could be anything.

  “No. This is ridiculous.” Kallia finally pushed back from her seat. If he saw no wrong in pulling strings over her head her whole life, she needed no further reason to leave.

  On a halfway turn toward the door, she froze.

  It was gone. Lost in the thick of black scales as though the serpent of the walls slithered right over it.

  Her entire chest seized as she threw a glare over her shoulder. “Whatever you want, if you don’t let me out, I’ll—”

  “Scream?” Roth cocked his head. “And who would come, even if they could hear it?”

  The churning in her stomach intensified as he continued licking at his sugared fingers after biting into a glistening pastry. “You could try letting yourself out, too. I’m not stopping you.” He shrugged. “It’s all just magic, in the end.”

  Not to her, but he knew that.

  He knew everything.

  Kallia bit the inside of her cheeks to keep the pain in one place, to stop it from reaching the backs of her eyes. She would rather taste her own blood than cry. Blood, she could hide. Tears, she couldn’t. Though her fear was enough to mask everything well, lifting the hairs on her skin.

  “Don’t look at me as though I would ever dare hurt you, my dear.” Roth chortled, too good-naturedly for the circumstances. “You are blood, after all. And we’re all that’s left of the family, unfortunately.”

  “I want proof.”

  “Any proof is long gone. Though you look a hell of a lot like your mother.”

  His certainty nauseated her. She pressed two fingers to the side of her throbbing temple, closing her eyes.

  This wasn’t real. She wasn’t an Alastor.

  She wasn’t.

  “Your reaction, I suppose, is not entirely unwarranted. With the lies you’ve been fed from Jack, from the true side even, it’s difficult to believe in anything.” Roth released a dark sigh. “But if you think I’m bad, just look at those in your world, the one you left behind. Your Soltair, your Glorian … it’s not real.”

  Jack was tired of waiting.

  Of watching, and being watched.

  The eyes that followed had not left since they’d dragged him back into the Green Room. A smart move on Roth’s part. A viper pit of magicians and devils might pose enough of a challenge to keep him back.

  Still, no one dared lift a hand against him.

  The collection of headliners scattered about had clearly heard about him. Among them, he recognized no one—all different faces from the last time he’d resided in the other side. Roth rarely kept performers up in the high nest forever. For the Dealer, talent was as fleeting as life. A prop with shine that dulled over time, and inevitably lost its luster. Its novelty.

  It was likely the only reason saving Jack from being ripped apart right now.

  The dagger looks that stabbed across his back were as sharp with envy as they were with fear. When it came down to it, they left him be. And Jack preferred it.

  Alone, he paced by the far end window, taking in the spectacular view offered from the jewel of the Alastor Place. The Green Room overlooked the Court of Mirrors in full swing, lost in a song and applause with no end. The glass thrummed against the rippling music—all dark, heavy beats and loud strings harmonizing like wolves howling at the moon.

  The same headliners from earlier were still at it. Magicians and illusions draped along glittering hoops that spun beneath the spotlight. In the center rose their leader in green. The vicious one with the claws about ready to scratch Jack’s face off. Not everyone was terrified of him, at least, though it seemed little would terrify her—all winks and blown kisses for the crowd, while fire slowly blazed around her.

  The whole group formed a dazzling spectacle worthy of the Alastor Place. The Dealer’s chosen headliners were not favorites for nothing.

  Though not even their next trick could compete with all that the glass reflected behind him. The occupants of the Green Room, waiting and watching at his back.

  And the shape of those doors to the study, as still as the moment they’d closed.

  Jack tensed whenever light flickered beneath the crease from the other side.

  What was happening in there?

  The thought made him ill. It was convenient enough that she already wanted nothing to do with him. The Dealer would press on that wound. Control the pain. Use what little she knew against all that she didn’t.

  If Roth told her …

  Hell, he should’ve turned around and fucking left when he had the chance.

  There would be no getting past the shadow servants by the doors now. Another reason not to look. Roth could order them to jump from the window to slaughter all of those partying below for his own amusement, and they would crash through the glass without question or guilt. Just obedience.

  Jack understood the cost too well.

  And like everyone, he wasn’t dumb enough to try fighting through them. They weren’t simple one-note illusions. Their thoughts were the thoughts of the devils, all of one mind and power with many forms.

  While they kept their eerie watch by the door, silent and still, it was all in lethal patience. Waiting to strike down any threat, if necessary.

  If only he could.

  “Care for a drink?”

  The nearby voice was a shock, as was the offering: a half-filled crystal glass wrapped in dark-skinned fingers marked with black triangles.

  Lifting his gaze, Jack relished the slight flinch the young man—the wily one with the spectacles who’d brought Kallia in. He didn’t seem like the performing headliner type, but those black triangles did not lie. Anyone working under Roth received the prestigious marks, a warning to others as much as to the beholder. No magic could get rid of them, not even with the skinning or burning of flesh. Jack tried
it all.

  They would only disappear at Roth’s release.

  For Jack to think hiding them under a mask was any freedom at all was only the first of many mistakes he’d made on the true side.

  Jack took the drink, the cold of it comforting in his hands. An unexpected kindness. Bold of the boy, to be so near Jack when no one else dared.

  A bold fool, but clearly not a stupid one.

  Before taking a sip, Jack eyed him. “What for?”

  The young man grinned and lifted his own glass. “Everyone deserves one last hurrah. Even you.”

  Perhaps he was stupid.

  “Is that so?” With the slow raise of his brow, Jack tilted his head. “You’re presumptuous for a headliner.”

  A cackle erupted. “Oh, I’m no headliner. The real magic is behind the scenes…” He gave a smug half-shrug. “I’m like you, I guess.”

  Jack highly doubted that and had no trouble hiding it.

  The boy pushed up his spectacles casually, though they hadn’t slipped down his nose even a little. “I have my uses. Though unlike you, I delivered quickly. So I’m here to stick around.”

  “That’s really up to the Dealer, I’m afraid.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes. And it’s clear Roth wasn’t pleased to see you.” Through his superior airs, he pressed up the thin gold frames. A nervous habit.

  Always the first things Jack took stock of when encountering strangers.

  “I wasn’t counting on it.” Jack dragged his gaze back to the window’s view, the madness playing out below. “And how do you suspect he’ll try torturing me to oblivion? By making me play his personal lackey—oh, that’s right…”

  The boy’s mouth pinched. “Some of us need to work to keep moving up. Not all of us get to enjoy breaks when you’ve got to make do to survive.”

  “I’m aware.” Jack understood far too well that surviving wasn’t always honorable. There was strategy and luck in it, more cowardice than courage in most cases. He certainly didn’t anticipate how his plans would turn. Especially where Kallia was concerned.