When Night Breaks

by Janella Angeles

  “Don’t waste coin reading garbage, Demarco,” Lottie advised, shaking her head. “Waste it on the Soltair Source instead.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a conflict of interest at all.” Though Daron could admit, it was damn near impressive how well Lottie had kept her word. With each passing day, he woke up bracing himself for the streets to be buzzing with issues of the Soltair Source chronicling details of their search. It had all the makings of an exciting story; the steady stream of letters pooling in his courier case still begged for a comment or updates after Kallia’s disappearance, and the aftermath of Spectaculore.

  Miraculously, none of it had made front page news. Not when readers were already itching for the next fresh story. Another mysterious show, on the horizon.

  “Look, I’ve written nothing remotely juicy in weeks.” Lottie let out a groan, rife with agony. “The self-restraint is killing me, so you owe me. Especially if you’re supporting my competition.”

  As if she hadn’t been reading stacks of other issues not too long ago. Daron shot her a pointed stare once they stepped off the sidewalk toward the Alastor Place. “Weren’t you the one who suggested reading what the public is believing? To see what’s actually taking, if any of what we’re doing is working?”

  “Of course it’s working,” Canary said, leading them through the circus tents. “Like I said, I know how to work a crowd.”

  It had only taken days for Glorian to begin whispering of a new show in the streets. A welcome change of pace. After the dreadful silence since the end of Spectaculore, the emergence of this show with no name sparked a strange new light in the city. They no longer talked of the missing showgirl or her fraud of a mentor, nor the disastrous last night that ended in a ballroom of smashed mirrors.

  Like bugs swarming to sugared water, the buzz spread swiftly as wildfire over the city. “Spectators never change.” With an edge of glee, Canary observed all those around them without breaking her stride. “Always eager to find their next talking point or hit of entertainment. Must be nice to be sitting safely in those cushy seats.”

  From the newfound fervor in Glorian, Daron still couldn’t fully tell if the crowd hoped for a genuine spectacle, or another disaster. There were moments when even he fell for the mystique a little, from the barest scraps Canary would tease. He was surprised she’d even brought them through the tents with all her secrecy. Not even Aaros had been invited to catch a glimpse of the inner-workings of the false show.

  For a false show, the Conquerors still prepared like no other.

  On their way through the flaps of the circus tents, it was all madness and preparation on the other side. Contortionists and aerialists stretched together in a line, legs splayed in effortless splits as they glided their reach from the back leg to the front. Birds of all colors flew overhead, with one girl across the tent snapping and whistling out a language only they could understand. The twins Daron recognized before cursed after them for the mess the birds had made on their thin mats, which they grudgingly dragged through another set of door flaps leading to a completely different section of the interconnecting tents.

  Everyone seemed to thrive on the chaos, welcoming the work toward something, rather than dwell on all that had happened before.

  Daron welcomed the distraction as well.

  Amid the commotion, a Conqueror pulled Canary aside for a quick word, which ended in the sharpest curse and panicked glare.

  “You’re kidding me—where’s Aya? How does one lose a lion?”

  “She’s a cat.” The Conqueror gave an exasperated shrug.

  “You better pray she’s not hungry.” Squeezing the bridge of her nose, Canary glanced briefly at Lottie and Daron. “Stay put. You do not want to play hide-and-seek with a man-eating lion.”

  “Does she really eat men?”

  “Would you like to find out, Demarco?” Brows arched, Canary backed away to join in the whistling and high-pitched kissy noises of a small group that swiftly disappeared through another set of tent flaps. More strange sounds to add to the ever-growing cacophony of the Conquering Circus.

  Daron jerked once his back found the wooden edge—a long plain table covered in all manner of props. A few masks studded with multi-colored pearls, jars of glitter in all shades and shines, a stack of wooden cups beside bottles both empty and half-full. So many more objects littered the surface, a maelstrom of color as unruly as the tent itself.

  “You know she would’ve loved this.”

  Lottie sidled up next to him until they both leaned against a table covered in all manner of props. It was rare that Lottie ever caught him alone, aside from their last carriage ride through the Dire Woods. Even rarer, how he didn’t mind it now.

  “She would’ve.” Overlooking the chaos, Daron could’ve sworn he heard Kallia’s laugh in the midst of it. And another’s. “They both would’ve.”

  Her hand paused over one of the props, a fake flower in full bloom that appeared more real than any he’d ever seen in any garden.

  “Do you think…,” he began, his breath hitching on a hope he’d never uttered once before. “What do you think the odds are that Eva’s still out there, too? That maybe both of them…”

  He’d never asked the question out loud. Kallia was their focus, the strongest chance they had with all the evidence gathered, and timing on their side.

  Whereas Eva had been gone for years, now. Either by force or by choice, there was a far better chance neither of them would never find the truth.

  After a long pause, Lottie sighed against the table. “I’ve wondered that. Now more than ever.” Her absent gaze drifted across the tent that stood far less rowdy than before. A few Conquerors packed up, departing in small groups as dusk dimmed the fabric of the tent overhead.

  “When I’m on a story, I’ve always trusted my gut. Most times, I’m right. But then there are the times when I’m wrong, when even I’ve wondered how true a feeling may be. Is my intuition alive because deep down it’s true, or only because I wish it to be?”

  The fear was mutual. It pricked at him in every glimmer of pity in the eyes that followed him, in all the well-meaning condolences after Eva’s disappearance that made him want to shatter every window in his house. He learned to shut them out and play the mourning magician, certain that she could be found if he only searched hard enough. If he only followed that heartbeat echoing deep in his bones, all the way to where she had to be.

  Only now, he questioned whose heartbeat he actually heard: hers, or his own beating louder all along?

  “How can you tell the difference?” Daron swallowed hard, the world gone much darker and quieter around them.

  “If only I knew. It would make my job a lot easier knowing how the story ends every time one comes my way.” Lottie blew out a low breath. “But alas, no attempt is in vain. It means we’re trying. When we don’t have those answers, we make them. We build stories and find paths to take us in any direction.” She blinked slowly. “It keeps us moving forward, the hope that something might lead somewhere.”

  Might. The past couple of weeks had been for the sake of might—following leads that might lead somewhere, asking questions that might get them the answers they wanted. Wanting was not enough to make something true, not even with all the magic in the world.

  Daron dug his heel into the hard-packed dirt. “Sounds like we’re only fooling ourselves, then.”

  “You’re only a fool when you give up too early.” She pushed off from the table, dusting off her hands. “Especially after all of this effort, might as well see it through. What’s the harm in a little possibility?”

  Where’s your sense of imagination, Dare?

  Daron tensed as the memory washed over him. The tent fell completely silent. The walls, slowly closing in, as he remembered winding down that night with Eva after one of their shows with a usual card game. One of the last conversations they’d ever shared, her words unfurling like a riddle of a prophecy.

  “What’s wrong?”
<
br />   The poke in the shoulder snapped him back. “Nothing, I just … Eva used to say that.”

  Her face cracked under a snort. “That thief.”

  Whatever small smile started on his lips drifted. The last time he’d spoken of her, really spoken about her, was with Kallia. And just like then, he felt that pinch of pain transformed into a searing burn. Guilt.

  For so long, he’d blamed Lottie. When all along, he’d been the reason Eva became a ghost in the first place.

  “We could’ve been looking for her together, earlier. We could’ve found something much sooner.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “If only I had just—”

  “Don’t go down that bottomless hole of what could’ve been, you’ll find nothing there. Trust me.” She folded her arms. “Don’t blame yourself for something that cannot be changed. We’re looking now. And in my opinion, we have far more to work with.”

  “A lot more questions, too.”

  “They’re more promising than you think.” Lottie shrugged, staring straight ahead. “More questions mean something’s still happening, that you’re getting—”

  A crackling explosion boomed outside the tent.

  Then another, and another.

  As they grew louder and louder, his pulse thundered. He shared a wary glance with Lottie before they sprang for the exit at a cautious pace. The Conquerors’ domain breathed with an unnatural quiet without any of its members in sight. Hardly any lanterns lit, they hoped every next set of tent flaps they encountered would be their last.

  When it was, Daron almost didn’t trust it as he gulped in a cold breath and found nothing but night.

  A faint flicker of color rippled through the sky. Like a bright purple comet, it surged high, disappearing for a blink before breaking apart in spirals and sparks.

  Fireworks. They shot up in the air in quick succession, one after the other.

  When a fast and steady beat thrummed distantly beneath the explosion, Daron knew. Just as Lottie knew, as their heads remained tipped toward the sky painted in Conquering Circus purple.

  And the show had just begun.

  19

  Even in sleep, he haunted her.

  The moment she closed her eyes, Demarco was there. He looked just as she last saw him, mere steps away with his back to her.

  The dream was good to her, which meant it could not be trusted. It became clearer the more she called his name, and the way he did not turn.

  It wasn’t until she started walking toward him that he showed any sign of life, and began walking away.

  Demarco.

  Her heart lurched as her shout was met with silence.

  So she broke into a run. So fast, she tripped to the ground and skinned her knees, but kept going. Desperate to beat the distance and catch up.

  Yet the distance between them rapidly grew, as if every step she took added five more to her path.

  Demarco.

  Every time she called out his name, it was a whisper now.

  Her throat burned from her quieting screams because it wasn’t fair. How every time she ran, it only made her slower. How every move she made fed the distance.

  Please turn.

  If only she could see his face.

  If only he could see her.

  Every muscle in her tensed when Demarco paused abruptly, as if he could hear her. Somehow.

  When he turned, she caught a horrifying flash of black bleeding eyes, before the world suddenly plunged into darkness just as cold.

  Kallia startled awake, shouting his name.

  She forced herself upright, shoving away the tangle of silk and plush pillows before clutching at her chest. Beneath her hand, her heart drummed at such a painful tempo, realizing a dream was just a dream.

  Drawing in a shaky breath, Kallia pressed hard at her eyelids, the soreness of them. Massaging them brought no relief when she discovered the short dry streaks that had trailed from the corners.

  She used the heel of her palms to rub them away. Only when all evidence was gone did her breaths start to even. Dreams, even the worst ones, were nothing to cry over.

  Though if tears were to fall, then at least they fell in private.

  Kallia forced herself to drink in a breath, stretching out her arms and spine for that long-awaited crack of bones that never came. A sinfully comfortable bed would do that, even after a terrible bout of sleep that took her for a few hours.

  There was nothing well-rested about her when she stood, her toes sinking into the plush carpet. Next to them, she found the black brass knuckles basking in the candlelight.

  Kallia watched them like she would a spider, moments before ending it with her shoe.

  Never again. She no longer feared the object, at least. Now she despised it and wished she’d never taken it in the first place.

  Jack.

  All that she’d seen came crashing back. Everything she’d said to him, how they’d moved around each other, and how she’d touched him. It all now sat proud as a memory refreshed, bursting with the fullest color.

  Why had he wanted her to forget?

  She was glad she had no answer, especially when a quick knock came from the door.

  She kicked the brass knuckles under her bed and shoved away everything that came with it.

  When Kallia reached the door, she dragged her hands down her flushed cheeks before squaring back her shoulders. The icy picture of composure.

  Her expression cracked almost instantly at the sight of Herald on the other side of the door, greeting her by taking another bite of the too-red apple that matched his spectacles. “You look well-rested.”

  “What do you want?” Kallia fumed.

  She hadn’t forgotten. He’d hunted and herded her in the city streets, and somehow, he had the nerve to look offended. “Oh, come now, showgirl. No hard feelings. Can’t blame a magician just doing his job, can you?” he implored with the tilt of his head. “I apologize for the deception, but I come in peace now.”

  Now. How temporary and changeable and entirely expected.

  “Goodbye.” Kallia reached over to slam the door, stopped only by the flash of folded gold trapped between his fingers.

  “It wouldn’t be wise to ignore a message or its messenger around here,” Herald warned. Once satisfied by her rapt attention, he presented her with the gold note stamped with a solitary black triangle in the palm of his hand. Wings as sheer as a dragonfly’s rose from the gold of the paper, fluttering open before her eyes.

  Once you’re fully rested, please join the headliners and me to dine in the Green Room. We still have much to discuss and much to prepare for.—R

  Kallia frowned. She recalled nothing in her conversation with Roth about preparations for anything. Before she had a chance to reread, the winged note crumbled suddenly in the air. Nothing but gold foil dust, falling to the ground.

  “Messy little bastards, aren’t they?”

  Whirling around, Kallia found Herald somehow in front of her grand wardrobe, throwing both doors wide open. “If you’re going to be dining with headliners, then you’re going to have to look as good as them…” He took another bite of apple, sending a pitiful glance over his shoulder. “And certainly better than that.”

  He was lucky her powers weren’t at full strength at the moment. She would’ve ended him where he stood. “I did not invite you in here. Get out.”

  For his convenience, Kallia sharply pulled back the door she’d almost closed.

  Until it swiftly flew shut on its own.

  “So commanding, you truly are an Alastor.” Herald lifted a hand over his chest, bearing an expression of astonishment that dropped with the pursed line of his lips. “Look, showgirl, Roth only told me to deliver the message. I’m just here to help you.”

  He proceeded to dig through her wardrobe, slinging garment after garment over his shoulder. A ridiculously impossible amount considering the wardrobe. For its moderate size, it could’ve been an endless abyss from the heaps of clothes he kept yanking off
the row of hangers inside.

  “I don’t want your help.” She stomped over the mountain of clothes. “Get out—”

  A testy hand met her face. “If I don’t help you, then someone from the style houses will be in to doll you up. And most of them are mean as piss if you don’t fit their beauty quota.” He stopped to look her up and down in consideration. “Did you just wake up or something?”

  She resisted the urge to cover herself. “Yes.”

  “Looking like that?”

  Zarose, she was going to kill him.

  “I’m joking, of course. A natural look has its moments.” Shrugging, Herald finished off his apple. Vanishing away the core in a flash, he gave a definitive nod at his latest wardrobe find. “Yes, here’s a winner!”

  “What the hell is going on?” came a sharp demand from the door, now opened.

  Jack stood waiting within the frame, his expression dark as a storm. Possibly because he appeared as exhausted as her—or from the way his face became like stone upon noticing the intruder. “Why are you here?”

  Nothing was more gratifying than the way Herald stiffened ever so slightly.

  “Why weren’t you, bodyguard?” he shot back with the strained, impetuous lift of his chin. “Off wandering when she’s got a date with headliners? The showgirl is going to need all the bodyguarding she can get.”

  All irritation froze to ice when Jack’s eyes locked with hers then. How different they looked to her now, after one night. Not at all like the stranger’s who smiled gently at her in the memory, conflicted and warm, though nothing came of it.

  More.

  Kallia gritted her teeth in disgust. With an eye roll more for herself, she aimed it straight at Jack. “Be late again, and I’ll tell Roth I want you torn limb from limb instead. Got it?”

  Her voice cut harshly enough that it earned a snicker from Herald, while Jack blinked. “It … it won’t happen again.”

  “It better not.” Cruelty was not a difficult mask to wear. Sometimes she enjoyed it, when it was deserved. But it felt like a prop mask more than ever, though he caught on quickly with a mask of his own: his head bowed in subservience before he stood off to the side in watchful silence.