“They’re not exactly welcoming to show magicians.”
“What about labor magicians? I could pass as one, then work my way up. I mean honestly, all the customers—”
“Trust me, firecrown, that place isn’t worth it.” Jack leaned in close, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. “Besides, what more could you want that isn’t already here?”
More.
More than a stage she owned only for a night. More than a mask without a name.
Jack knew all of this, of course. And unsurprisingly, his refusals and warnings only heightened her curiosity. She’d asked so many times about the faraway city, even went to one of her private tutors after Jack demanded she never bring it up again. But even Sanja—who’d memorized encyclopedias and contained an endless well of knowledge at the ready—had sputtered out nonanswers.
When Sanja left her tutoring position soon after—for no one lasted long at the House—Kallia’s questions simply sat inside with her desires. Unspoken, unheard, but alive.
The breeze picked up, tickling the hem of her nightgown until it rippled against her legs. She nearly shivered from the sudden cold, but the sight of Glorian stilled her. Forbidden fruit to her eyes. She imagined dropping from the roof and walking through the Dire Woods barefoot just to reach it. She craved to know more. Something. Anything. For whatever waited in the unknown, it called to her.
As though it wouldn’t stop until she called back.
Kallia finally tore her gaze away, stretching her arms in a languid arch above her head. The morning chill dissolving into warmth over her skin from the rising sun.
She didn’t have much time left before Jack sent someone to fetch her.
Gripping one of the large roof shingles fitted slightly askew in the layout, Kallia loosened the stiff plaque from its place. There wasn’t much space underneath, only enough for a few pretty leaves, a lone tattered ribbon that had come to her in the wind, and her most guarded treasure: the thin, soiled cloth of a stitched burgundy rose in full bloom. From far away, it was an insignificant thing, hardly big enough to fill her palm. But up close, it was no ordinary stitching. The threaded petals moved and curled to a subtle breeze.
She’d stolen it back from Jack after his father died. The former master of the House. It was her only proof of a life before this, a small scrap tacked onto the lining of her bassinet when she’d been left in the Woods. From where and by whom, she had no answers. She’d been too young to question, until eventually, whenever questions rose, they were met with Jack’s silence.
Kallia pressed at the rose’s outline—a garden’s heart, forever in full bloom. As always, she held it close before placing it back in its safely hidden grave in favor of another.
The last of her collection: a crumpled piece of paper she’d folded thin enough to slide in. For its own good, and hers.
She unfolded the tattered flyer: a black top hat was inked at the center of the page, with words printed below in lettering bold and curved like a petal. Most of the message was mangled. A dream broken up into pieces, longing to be chased.
The Conquering Circus presents …
Competition
Magicians
Glorian
2
To Kallia, the cold of the wooden dance floors had always been the best place for plotting.
A magician’s competition.
In Glorian.
It’s all she’d wanted for so long, she must’ve willed it into existence. And if she couldn’t resist the chance to win the game, neither could Jack.
“Would you stop looking at yourself in the mirror already?” Mari lay flat on the polished turquoise floor. She lifted a small leg, stretching it back as far as it could go and switched to the next. “Your face will still be there, no matter how long you stare at it.”
Kallia jostled the other girl. “I’m thinking,” she said, still fixed on the walled mirror across. “Mistress Verónn always said those in search of answers would be one step closer to finding them after an honest look in the mirror.”
“Well Mistress Verónn is long gone. Thank Zarose, my legs would’ve probably split apart from any more of her high-kick practice regimes.” Mari shuddered, turning over onto her belly. “What sort of answers are you looking for?”
Kallia looked away, picked at the strap over her shoulder. She had to be careful with Mari. The two had become fast friends in the few months since she’d arrived to join the Hellfire girls, but Kallia never pushed into personal territory. It was safer. She’d learned the hard way with Sanja, who’d trained her to fight for the last word and wage war with wit. And Mistress Verónn, who’d first taught her to dance, to seize a spotlight in the dark and raise roaring applause where there was silence.
They’d both left so suddenly for other pursuits. No good-byes, no promises of visiting. Her heart couldn’t bear that ache again.
If one friend could stay, that would be enough.
“Nothing important.” Kallia splayed out her legs on either side of her. “Keep stretching. You still have morning warm-ups.”
“And you’ve got a lesson soon.”
“They’re not lessons. It’s practice.”
Lessons indicated he was her teacher, levels above her in every way when he was only showing her tricks to add to her repertoire. Even after several years, she didn’t know what to call their arrangement, but teacher and student felt too small a mold for what they were together.
Mari rolled her eyes. “Whatever it is, he’ll be expecting you soon.”
“He thinks I’m wandering around in the greenhouse. I’ve got time.”
The master didn’t like being kept waiting, but Kallia didn’t care. The flyer fluttered in her thoughts, each time she blinked. She wasn’t sure what a Conquering Circus was, only that she wanted to know more. To see it for herself.
She couldn’t ask Mari about it. Definitely not the House staff, all so loyal to Jack they might as well call him their god rather than their master. Even maids who’d spent years drawing baths and laying out clothes for Kallia kept the safe distance of an acquaintance. Such loyalties ran in only one direction.
How to get the master to run in hers posed the challenge.
“Actually, I’m thinking of skipping today’s lesson,” Kallia declared. Limbs loose and sufficiently stretched, she pulled her legs together and rose, agile as a cat. “The mornings are mine, after all. I deserve every last second.”
“The rest of this place doesn’t deserve his foul mood whenever you break schedule.” She sighed. “I’m already dreading warm-up. It’s always silent as a cemetery.”
It was early enough that the other Hellfire girls had yet to join them in the practice room. Mari, the youngest of the dancers, craved conversation and could hardly stand their quiet focus. Hearing four words out of them was considered a sociable practice, and more than Kallia ever achieved. Aside from Mari, none of them talked to her, and Kallia repaid them in kind. There was only room for one dancer on that descending chandelier, and Mistress Verónn had always told her to never be ashamed of it. Of her power, and the place it earned her in the House. With Jack.
Kallia glanced at the instruments laid out along the mirrored walls. The practice room possessed a smaller collection than what was played at the club. Different types of stringed instruments, some drums, flutes varying in shapes and metals. She grinned at them, old friends. “What shall we play today?”
“Save your energy,” Mari deadpanned, though her slight press forward betrayed her interest. “Go to your lesson.”
Without turning, Kallia aimed the first tune to pop into her head at the instruments—a light birdlike jig infused into the flutes. An easy task that hardly tugged at her insides. Magicians like her and Jack, powerful as they were, did not possess an endless well of magic as others might believe. Jack always nagged at her to slow down, for some tricks packed more muscle than others, but ultimately they all succumbed to her. And there was no greater satisfaction.
&nb
sp; “Show-off,” muttered Mari, despite her toes tapping along to the beat.
Kallia bit back her smile as cheery music filled the morning air. “I’m proud of my talents.” She gave a full body twirl. Her hair floated off her shoulders, sweeping close to her neck. “No shame in—”
“Starting without me, firecrown?”
The music hitched.
Kallia halted, eyes on the mirror. Behind her, leaning against the door, Jack managed to make even crossing his arms look regal. His gaze wandered lazily over the scene, before finally landing on her.
Firecrown.
She recalled the first time he called her that.
“Have you ever seen a firecrown?” he’d asked, amused at the disappointed shake of her head. “They’re rare night birds, red as rubies, and they don’t let you forget it.”
And so the nickname stayed, glinting in her ears brighter than any jewelry on her neck each time he spoke it. Sometimes the way he said the name was like a caress, a hot breath. Even now, from across the room, the words brushed over her skin.
Mari immediately rose to her feet. “Oh, sorry … I-I’ll just,” she stammered, a common reaction in Jack’s presence. “The other girls will be here soon. For practice.”
“It’ll be best if you all meet in the clubhouse today instead.”
At the dismissal in his reply, Mari scampered out of the room. Not without a quick, cautioning glance over her shoulder. Be good.
Kallia rarely heeded warnings around Jack. It was why he enjoyed her company so much. She wasn’t one to jump at the sound of the door closing behind her. Nor did she stiffen at the swift click of the lock pushing into place.
She sighed. “You didn’t have to scare her off.”
“I merely gave a suggestion. Not my fault if she took it.”
She turned, and the smaller room suddenly stretched into a sea of cold space between them. Empty, distracting. “We never take our lessons here.”
Jack’s fingers traced the door frame. “A change in scenery never hurts.”
“Well, you’re early.” She yawned to cover the thudding of her heart. “Noon bell hasn’t even rung. You may have kicked my friend out but I have a few more moments to myself.”
The trill of music leapt to a different chord. Jack stalked forward, slowly, holding her gaze in the mirror. “Are you … angry with me?”
Good. If he believed that, perhaps he would be in a mood to please her.
He came up behind her, his chest pressing at her back. The heat of him worked into the thin fabric of her leotard as his chin touched her ear. “What’s bothering you?”
Her lips raised at the corners, while his fingers wrapped around her arm. His signature black brass knuckles he kept on both hands brought a coolness to his touch. She fought the rise in her chest, focusing on the staggering tune of the flutes. It was all but impossible the moment the pads of his fingers turned hot, like small bites of fire running down her skin until his hand fell into hers.
“Tell me.” Jack nudged her, his grip warmer. “So I can fix it.”
Kallia turned, lifting her chin for a good look at him. Proud nose set between bold eyes, gleaming with charm at his best. Shadows at his worst. There was something naturally disarming about his face. Unlike his father. Sire, the staff had called him. A reclusive benefactor who took pity on a child left in the Woods. A girl who knew nothing of him, only the walls and silence of his domain. So much silence, she’d talk to her reflection just to speak sometimes. Not like Sire ever tried, always keeping to his rooms, sick with missing his son who lived on the other side of Soltair. All her life, it was like competing with a ghost, some rare creature others spoke of but had yet to be sighted. Based on her rare glimpses of Sire, she’d often imagined Jack’s face to be all cruel edges or wrinkled with age, too. A stranger’s face. A monster’s.
She had waited so many years to punch it—had slipped on all her sharpest rings just for the occasion on the night Sire had finally passed away. She’d felt no grief for the stranger who’d taken her in. But when it was announced his prodigal son would be returning, she armed herself. Prepared.
Her chance to finally leave, once and for all.
When she saw him waiting at the bottom of the stairs, he was not at all how she’d pictured him. Nothing like his father. More a young man than a master, built tall and sharp-muscled by the fit of his suit. A jaw that could cut glass defined his face, handsome even in its frozen expression as he studied her just the same.
Rather than take his gentle, outstretched palm, she balled her fist and aimed straight for his smooth brow.
He’d caught it with a smile, brass knuckles poised over hers. “Kallia.”
“Bastard.” A seething breath burst from her. No matter how hard she pushed or pulled, his touch stilled hers. “Who are you?”
And how had he stopped her? None of her tutors had been able to. Her rage burned past the skin. Smoke rose from beneath his brass knuckles covering her hand, fire bottled in her palm. The blood in her veins.
Unflinching, his gaze met hers through the smoke. “We’re not so different, you and I,” he mused. “Such power.”
“And I’ll use it,” Kallia growled. “Those basic tutors all but ran the moment I mastered their tricks. Easily.”
“I’ve heard.” The edge of his lips curled, as if he knew this song all too well. “What a privilege it is, to be capable of what we can do. To be taught—”
“To be trapped.”
She scoffed hard, but he only assessed her more intently. “Then why haven’t you left? You never once came at Sire with your fists, or was that honor for me alone?”
What a strange way to talk about his father, whose corpse was not even in the ground yet. “How do you know I didn’t?” she bit out, a lie. Sire rarely left his rooms enough for her to even hiss in his direction so much as fling a punch. “How do you know I wasn’t biding my time, learning all that I could to destroy this place when it finally suited me?”
Like tonight. She flared warning fire across her fist, so suddenly that Jack’s grip wavered. Still, he didn’t let go. “How would you like to know more?”
Abruptly the room blushed deep scarlet.
Their shadows, dark as blood on the walls.
With the flick of his free hand, the world was no longer red. The candles flared to a royal purple, shifting from cold blue to warm hues at the twirl of his finger. Begrudgingly, Kallia glanced around, her skin chilling and rising in wonder. How different the world became under all manner of colors. Full and alight.
Alive.
“That’s why you’re still here, isn’t it?” he said, restoring the candles’ natural light. Watching her. “Somehow, you knew there was more to magic than having it. There’s always more, and you look like you want it.”
Kallia said nothing. Only glared in the way she’d practiced so often in the mirror, to ensure nothing about her faltered. But the force of his gaze stole her fire. Stripped her entirely, until even her heartbeats whispered pain throughout her chest. Yes, yes, yes.
He loosened his grip, stepping back. “The House is mine now, and I’ll give you a choice. You can leave, but you’d soon see there’s not much out there for female magicians. Your power’s not what Queen Casine’s Academy is used to, but they’d take you. Mold your magic for a life of quiet work.”
Kallia cringed. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“I wish I were. The world’s become a bleak, unfair place, especially to those with the most power,” he said, eyes narrowing. “The most potential.”
The truth gnawed at Kallia. All her tutors had hesitated at her aptitude for learning. For her power. They’d gather small cloths for her to embroider delicately with magic, and she’d send the spools of thread ribboning in the air, weaving each colorful strand into a braid that filled the room. They’d give her lessons to levitate ingredients into stews and bread, and she’d come out of the kitchen with dishes that danced and flew off their plates like birds.
Kallia couldn’t bear a life of quiet work. “What’s the other choice?”
That had been a few short years ago, enough time to change how she thought of the House. Of Jack and his presence, which held a power that called to her. A likeness that drew them together.
The kind that pulled at the strings between them, now guiding her to his chest until their bodies pressed. Heartbeats met.
Hers ran rapidly.
His, slow and taunting.
The low noon bells tolled heavily through the thick walls of the practice room. Kallia could barely hear them as her music changed. The air dipped under the new weight of a slow, dark melody—heavier stringed instruments, shrouding the room in nighttime even as daylight brightened the windows.
“Morning’s over, Kallia.” Jack spoke just above her ear.
She steadied her breath, stared at her palm now within his. Her fingers slender and bare; his, armored as if ready for war. It was unfair, the way he slid her hand to his neck, already leading her in a dance before they’d even moved.
Sometimes he’d join her in the practice room, just like this. Sweeping her into a dip, their chests flush and rumbling with surprised laughter. Raising her in a full lift easily as water holding her to the surface. She enjoyed when dance became a spontaneous language between them. But she hated how he would always lead, finding an upper hand wherever he could.
This time, it would be hers.
Kallia cocked her head. “Show me something new, then.”
It was unclear who moved first. Their steps never belonged to a formal dance of rules and manners. Theirs were born from the rhythm, impossible not to follow. To feel a thread pulling, pulling, pulling until there was hardly space in between. No room for compromise.
Jack’s eyes lit with purpose as he pressed forward. “Look in the mirror.” He nudged his chin to the closest panel. “What do you see?”
She saw the two of them in the practice room, close. Entwined. “Just us.”
“Are you so sure?”
Kallia blinked at her reflection.
Smoke filled the room. Gradual and sheer as a gray veil, until it swarmed and blackened the entire space. An omen spreading its wings. Bright orange flames splintered through the darkness. A flicker, before the smell. The heat.
Where Dreams Descend Page 2