“We’re not the kind of city that dwells on the past,” Mayor Eilin had explained. “We’ve kept to ourselves for some time, away from the rest of Soltair. But we’re embracing a new history by looking to the future.”
After that, Daron stopped visiting the mayor’s mansion. His research resulted only in dead ends, and he suspected he’d landed on Mayor Eilin’s watch list for asking too many questions. A new history, she’d said. What did that make of the old one? Of the rumors that reached across Soltair?
What if that’s what they want you to think?
His sister was no fool. But the puzzle kept growing the closer he looked at the pieces, searching for the strange power between them.
“What’s the matter, Demarco?” asked Erasmus, observing the jittery rhythm Daron’s foot set against the table. “Excited for tonight?”
The grin oozed from the proprietor’s voice. Since rehearsals started, Erasmus had become all smugness, soaking in the energy of the room. Some of the judges who carried stern frowns actually perked up in their seats, watching the contestants on stage walk through the lay of the land over strewn tools and cans of paint, listening to the stage manager roll through the show’s instructions.
“The repairs aren’t even completed,” Mayor Eilin muttered to no one in particular, taking in the theater with all the tragedy of witnessing a sinking ship before lowering into his seat. His fingers dug hard into the edges of his clipboard. “Would it be the worst thing if we pushed ba—”
“No, no, no, no.” Erasmus shook a finger in the mayor’s face. “The show hall doesn’t have to be perfect, only passable.”
“Impatience breeds mistakes, Rayne.”
“And reluctance breeds nothing, Eilin,” Erasmus spat back. “I’ll be damned if I have to wait another day. Your people have had nothing to look forward to. What do you imagine they’ll think if you get behind schedule?”
Erasmus had a point. The people had practically nothing except the day to wake them. Nothing to fill their nights. The show, no matter how untraditional, would ignite interest. The first night was always one of hope and anticipation, for both the audience and contestants.
Not that anyone here took it all that seriously. The magicians milling about the stage levitated a stray scrap of paper over their heads like a game of toss and catch, unbeknownst to the stage manager. Each time the paper fell a little too close, they smothered their laughter, pretending to listen.
Daron looked away, a strange sense of loss pushing in like a blade. It was so easy for them. The level of camaraderie already surprised him. He supposed when they all had one common enemy, alliances would naturally form.
The common enemy in question, however, was late. And no one waited, with all manner of details left to finalize and run through. Most importantly, the order of performances.
Unsurprisingly, everyone wanted to go first.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!” Erasmus held his hands up, flustered by the match he’d lit amongst the group. The first performance always jump-started the night, the second would be held in direct comparison. And so on. One thing was for certain: nobody wanted that last slot—when the audience had grown so fatigued by the spectacle and ready for their beds.
The decisions were finalized right as the doors of the Alastor Place flew open. As if she’d timed it, Kallia strutted through, arm in arm with her assistant. The playful clicks of her heels stopped all chatter as she entered.
“I say,” Mayor Eilin declared, his face reddening. “We have a real show to put on. If you’re not going to take this competition seriously with a bit of punctuality, miss, you might as well turn in your keys and leave.”
“Admirable effort, Mister Mayor, but I’m quite all right with where I am,” Kallia called back as she and her partner continued down the aisle. A lioness stalking forward, meeting her prey more than her pride. “Besides, this rehearsal seemed more like a bit of hand-holding across the stage. It wasn’t even required, yet I came anyway.”
“At the expense of being placed in the last time slot.”
Kallia arrived at the foot of the stage, beaming. “Excellent.”
The corners of Daron’s lips tugged up a bit. Nothing would throw her. The men who had anticipated her disappointment appeared more agitated. Nobody more frustrated than Mayor Eilin, and nobody more delighted than Erasmus, who all but shoved past Daron.
“Oh darling, I’m so thrilled you’ve made it!” He clapped his hands eagerly. “Would you like a quick run of the—”
“No.” The mayor was the one wagging his finger now. “Showtime is upon us, and there’s simply no time. We can’t just favor a contestant with exceptions.”
“But we can sure single them out with insults, apparently.” Erasmus sniffed, straightening his shoulders. “Sorry, darling, I’m still fighting the stodgy old dogs for you.”
“No need.” Kallia gave a casual glance around. “A stage is a stage. I’ll manage.”
She was lying. She’d examined that stage this morning with all the intensity of an artist watching his muse before striking the canvas. She was far more focused than she let on. Maybe it was all part of her strategy: look the fool others expected, only to be three steps ahead.
When her eyes flitted over Daron, they paused.
“You be careful acting cocky so close to the show, miss,” one of the magicians on stage warned, in no way genuine. “It’s bad luck.”
“At least I’m here at all.” She threw her hands up. “I’m not the one who was so cocky he decided not to show up to rehearsal altogether.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re down a buffoon,” Kallia said flatly, nodding to the stage as if counting. “Where is Josev?”
The mayor glowered. “Impossible.” He studied his clipboard before him. “I could’ve sworn all our contestants were accounted for.”
“Then count again, Mister Mayor. Because I think the one who favors too much drink must’ve gotten himself lost onstage.”
Daron’s eyes swung back to the group, counting and recounting as everyone searched amongst themselves for Josev. But Kallia was right.
One of them was missing.
16
Josev was still nowhere to be found as the hours crawled into show night. Some swore they saw him in the group on the stage, while others vowed that the last time they’d seen him was the night before, lingering by the hotel bar. The only sign of a farewell was a note inexplicably left on the chair of his dressing room, bearing the words: Four of Flesh.
“That’s ridiculous.” Juno ticked her tongue sharply as she applied blush over Kallia’s cheeks. “It did not say that.”
“I swear,” Aaros said, shutting the door to her dressing room behind him. “You should’ve seen Rayne’s face, he was spitting mad when they discovered it.”
Kallia tilted her head up so the pearlescent dust on Juno’s brush could find the rest of her cheekbone. “Understandable. It’s odd that anyone would even think of leaving on opening night.”
“Odd last words for an odd departure.” Aaros shrugged. “A few of the contestants thought it sounded like some kind of club. Like the one out in the Woods. Might be others somewhere.”
Kallia’s gaze dropped to her lap. Her knees tensed. It was the first time she’d heard Hellfire House acknowledged in Glorian, and the mere mention had a strange power over her. Like the pull of a puppet string that refused to be cut.
No. She gritted her teeth, grinding them hard. She was stronger than string, than a place far behind her. It could not touch her here.
“That’s an interesting location for a club.” Juno traced the end of her brush by her chin, considering.
“If that’s the case, I’m sure he’s fine,” Kallia deadpanned. “If he’d rather run off and be a fool in the forest, that’s his choice.”
She stared straight ahead as Juno stood back, observing her handiwork. “And if it wasn’t?”
“You Conquerors get so dark about eve
rything, I swear,” Aaros snorted.
“Only because we know how dark the stage life can get,” she countered, setting down her brush. “In games like this, it’s so much more than winning and losing. There’s a lot of ugliness we hide from those who fill the seats.”
“Are you saying there are dirty secrets among the Conquering Circus?”
“We’re not all angels, but even still, we’d never hurt one another. Though I’m sure Rayne would certainly love to bottle cattiness for an act, if he could.” Juno tapped a finger along her blush tin. “Games between magicians always get cutthroat. You mix the primal urge to win and the ability to do the impossible, and it ends in chaos. The Patrons are always breaking up dueling magicians in New Crown because of it.” Finally satisfied with Kallia’s face, she clasped her tattooed hands. Tonight, they were marked like smoothly carved gems sparkling in clusters all the way to her brow. “You made a wise choice coming to me. Take a look.”
Kallia had her back to the vanity mirror, but before she could protest, Juno raised a small handheld mirror before her. Like a sudden flash of the sun, Kallia winced at her reflection and quickly glanced away. “Perfect. Thank you, Juno.”
It wasn’t practical to flee from mirrors forever, but she would avoid them as much as possible. Tonight, especially. The circus performer had all too eagerly accepted Kallia’s request to help glitter and paint her face into the fiercest mask it could be. It was a shame she couldn’t admire it, but she wouldn’t take any chances. Nothing would rattle her tonight.
As soon as Juno departed, the room quieted. Aaros’s fingers played an absent drumbeat against his knee. “Are you sure you had nothing to do with it?” he asked.
“With what?”
“The missing magician.”
“Not you, too.” Kallia reared her head back with a glare. “How many times do I have to defend myself? No. I had absolutely nothing to do with it. The man obviously couldn’t get his head out of the bottle. Why can’t we blame the fool for his own foolishness, for once?”
“Zarose, Kallia, I wasn’t trying to pin blame on you.” Aaros held his hands up with a lopsided smile. “I just want to understand what’s going on. You know I’d be miffed if you didn’t include me in your showman’s villainy.”
“Not to worry, thief. You’ll have your spotlight soon enough.” Kallia twiddled with the top of a perfume bottle. “Besides, I don’t play games that way. Only the threatened are desperate enough to stoop to sabotage. I’m the best. I have no reason to cheat.”
“Incredible.” He shook his head slowly. “Normally such ego would be incriminating. Only you could make it your saving grace.”
“It’s the truth. I’ve been taught that victories only count if they’re well-deserved. The only way to win is to truly win.”
“Whoever taught you that must’ve been quite an honorable game master.”
Honorable. Kallia felt everything inside her grip tight as a corset, squeezing the air from her. The last thing she ever wanted to do was bring up Jack. Like if she could forget him, and all the things he’d done, he would disappear. Clearly he’d forgotten her, or he would’ve come after her already. But since that dinner party? Nothing. No word, no warning, no nightmares. It wasn’t like him to threaten and retreat. Especially when she knew the truth, that he could waltz into Glorian at any moment.
So why hadn’t he come?
Her paranoia dug its roots into the calm quiet. She’d vowed not to think of it tonight of all nights. But snapping on her dress and toeing on her shoes carried the weight of a costume. Once more, she was back in Hellfire House, about to be called from her dressing room any moment now to don her mask and mount the chandelier. The music would start, and she would descend.
A smattering of applause traveled through the walls and shook her awake. Every clap muffled yet still sharp as percussion.
The sound twisted something new inside her. Something painful and thrilling. Different.
Everything about tonight was different.
This was not the House. Not his club nor his stage, nor his show.
Tonight was all hers.
Kallia allowed herself to turn to the mirror—one moment to see what the rest of Glorian would—and vain as it was, her chest swelled. Juno had done well, complimenting and heightening her features in the most effective places. Bold scarlet lips. Kohl-lined eyelids dusted with a pearlescent sheen that made her brown eyes appear almost black. Her face, without a mask to conceal it. Ever again.
Tonight was only the first step.
Into the dream she now lived, no longer a dream.
A shiver ran down her spine as her reflection shook from the force of boots stomping down the hallway outside her door. Stage hands and crew members barked out instructions in hushed voices, rushing into place. The world behind the curtain, finding its beginning.
Applause rang once more like the muffled start of a song, clearing and calling to her.
The show, at last, had begun.
* * *
“Once upon a time, a magician vanished into a world below, and found something quite … Spectaculore!” Erasmus uttered the haunting, opening words of the night to a shower of applause. It was a play on the closing of Zarose Gate, always a crowd pleaser. Some said before he closed the gate, Erik Zarose had fallen through first and found himself lost in a dream. In another world. Others spoke of the devils he met below, to spook children from misbehaving or else the monsters would see.
It was a fitting story for a competition, for just as one magician entered the world below, only one would make it back to the other side. But whichever interpretation Erasmus threaded throughout the entire competition was bound to be the most theatrical.
Daron clapped halfheartedly as the proprietor basked, an entirely different man from just a few hours earlier. After the no-show magician, Erasmus had spent the afternoon cursing up a storm of threats about Josev. But after hours of searching and showtime nearing, he’d had to accept they were down one performer.
One loss would not stop the show. If anything, the air was more charged than before, with Erasmus overcompensating in dramatics. The audience ate it up.
The prompt set the scene, broad enough for the magicians to build their act, to start the story with an amazing feat.
As the night wore on, Daron watched contestant after contestant take the stage, pulling off their tricks with as much showmanship as they could muster.
“Watch as I lift the water within this glass!” The magician now performing—Daron forgot his name, the men already blurring together in his mind—delivered a dazzling grin. Daron cringed at the man’s efforts to fill the silence. Good stage acts called for light conversation and engagement, but Daron never could stomach speaking to the public at length. Then again, he was never the one in his acts doing the talking.
He’d never thought the sight of every assistant who graced the stage would hollow him so deeply. Each time, it slammed him into his seat, the familiarity. The feeling of revisiting one of his past shows as an audience member, waiting for the worst to happen.
It took at least the first five dull acts for him to settle enough to notice the energy of the room had waned into restlessness. He stole a quick glance behind, surprised to find a couple of small families bundled across rows, and some stiff men and ladies dressed in their furs and formals as if this were the opera. The majority of attendees who seized the front seats were of the younger crowd, from children to almost-adults, scrappy with the streets still on their hands, and lights shining in their eyes.
Performance magic hadn’t graced Glorian in a long while, that much was clear. Even the most basic tricks were regarded with awe. An advantage for the first to go. The more applause, the better chance the magician had of staying. The more silence, the more forgotten he and his act were. The only equality in the playing field lay within the same prompt and props.
Once upon a time, a magician fell into a world below …
A glass of water, a black
round stool, and a dusty old top hat.
The test required quick thinking, which fell to predictable performances. Pouring water into the hat and pulling out some other object, sitting the glass atop the stool and making it disappear under the hat. Levitation, especially, was an overdone feat, and by the fourth magician who dared lift all three items, only a scattering of claps trickled from the audience. The magical ability was there, but these magicians lacked imagination.
They were playing it too safe.
Not like he was one to talk. He thought up a hundred different tricks with the combination of props, not sure if he could even pull off one after such a long time away from the stage. After—
A crash on the stage made him jerk. The contestant, red-faced, glared at his assistant who had sent his glass of water rolling across the floor. She assumed a pose as if it were all part of the act. After a smattering of snickers, the man had the dignity to call it a night and stomped off.
Sighing, Daron glanced down the table at the mayor. The timekeeper of the performances. The man’s head had drooped in slumber, until Judge Silu jostled him with the end of his small score paddle. Like ducklings following suit, each judge splayed out their hands across the width of the green velvet board. Fours and fives shone brightly down their row, like they had for all the performances thus far. Judging from the meager applause, Daron felt no guilt in pressing two fingers to his board and letting it shine out with the rest of the scores. A generous mark, given what he’d seen.
More applause was earned by the cleaning crew who came in to wipe the stage floor and reorder the props. They tipped their hats good-naturedly before bounding off behind the curtains.
A noticeable shift took the air at the commanding clicks of steps.
A collective breath held, Daron’s included.
Kallia wasn’t dressed in the sparkly getup she wore that first time she took the stage. Instead, a dark emerald dress clung to her, flaring out with an asymmetrical hem. No less bold, but tonight, she looked more like herself. In her element.
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