Too curious.
Before she could act on it, she stumbled over a step. Instantly, his hand was at her back, steadying her. A quick, instinctive move on his part; a total halt of the body on hers.
“You’re exhausted.” He ushered her forward, sounding as concerned as Aaros. That she could endure, but not from a judge. Not Demarco.
When they finally reached the top, far from the gaze of the party, Kallia dove away from his hand. The spot remained too warm for her liking. “Don’t I have a right to be? I gave the performance of a lifetime.”
“At your own expense. I know the cost of tricks like that.” His jaw worked as he delivered each word carefully. “When delivered in such quick succession, without control … it pulls a lot out of you.”
“I have more up my sleeve than you think.” Kallia spun on her heel down the empty candlelit hallway of doors. He followed, though the act did not bring her even a sliver of satisfaction this time. “I’m neither weak nor clueless when it comes to my magic, so if you’re trying to educate me on myself, I think we’re done here.”
Nothing twisted Kallia’s gut more than underestimation. Especially tonight, the first time she’d been able to perform as herself. Truly herself, and not behind a mask.
And still, the wolves came out to tear her down.
“I wasn’t saying that.” Demarco’s breath hitched as he hastened to her side. “You just don’t want to give up the best you’ve got so early on.”
“And you assume that’s the best I’ve got?” Near their doors, Kallia turned, her brow raised in challenge. “I know what I’m doing. I play by my own strategies, and I don’t expect many to agree with them. But in the event they stop working, perhaps then I will come to you for whatever wisdom you’re trying to impart.”
“I’m only trying to offer some advice.” He crossed his arms, matching her scowl with his own. “So many magicians have ruined their chances on the stage because of a single mistake—a flaw, a misstep, an error in thinking—”
“Excuse you, but I made no mistakes,” she countered hotly. “Is that why you gave me only a four? Because I didn’t perform up to your standards?”
She wished she could take it back as soon as she heard the crack in her voice. He’d caught it, too, from the way he cast his gaze down to his feet. “You really shouldn’t be asking me that.”
No, she shouldn’t. His opinion should matter as little as his colleagues’, yet she’d fixated on his score. That four. Why did she care so much about what he thought? “Humor me, since you’re so forthright about constructive criticism,” she bit out. “What about my act docked a point off for you?”
A silence fell over them, one that stretched for so long, she wondered if he’d just let the question die between them and take off for his own room.
“You almost fell,” he finally said, his face unreadable. Everything about him, inscrutable. “You could’ve gotten seriously hurt if your assistant hadn’t been there. Or was all that part of your … strategy?”
The last word edged with doubt. Of course he’d caught that. While everyone enjoyed the music and fanfare, he’d been watching her. Falling hadn’t been the worst of her performance, though. Seeing those damn birds had stopped her heart more than almost breaking any bones on the stage.
“Absolutely.” Kallia plastered on a smile. “Everybody loves a good damsel in distress.”
“But only a fool would think you’d ever play one, which is why I gave you a four.” He straightened and made a sharp swerve toward his door, before he paused, holding out the wilted rose between them. “Here, take it. You obviously didn’t need the rescue in the first place. My mistake.”
His tone grated against her skin—a biting blend of sarcasm and disbelief that filled her with the strangest sense of shame. He sighed and went to withdraw the rose when Kallia snatched it by the stem, his fingers closing briefly around hers. His palm coarse, warm.
Neither of them moved.
Heat pooled deep in her stomach before she moved away. Demarco withdrew just as quickly without so much as a breath. Just an abrupt turn toward his door and the sound of it closing softly behind him, as forceful as a slam.
18
Insufferable.
Kallia shut her door and nearly threw the rose out the window. But the worn, stubborn flower had survived this long. It did not deserve her fury.
She scoffed and thumbed the stem. As her gaze shifted up, she nearly screamed at the shadowy figure startling across the room.
Clutching at her throat, she blinked and shuddered out a breath. It was only her reflection. The heavy fabric she’d used to cover the vanity mirror had fallen and hung limply over the wooden surface.
Her pulse thrummed a panicked rhythm. She should cover the damn mirror, look away at least. But her appearance struck her like it had before her act—her performance dress so different from the glittery corsets she’d once shoved herself into, her face bared for the whole world to see.
Applause rang in her ears once more, echoing as loud as it had on stage. The delicious, warm sound washed over her. A wave of sensation she longed for even more, now that she had a taste of it.
She drew closer.
Soon, her name became its own chant, vibrating throughout the room. The audience wildly cheering in unison, until they solidified into one voice.
Kallia
Kallia
Kalli—
She halted at an icy breeze. It brushed her temple, across her collarbone. Like the unwelcome edge of a knife.
A sudden slip of a shadow flitted across the carpet, and Kallia jerked back. Frantic. Finding nothing but dark, empty corners. The wind trailed over her again. Shivering, she turned to the window that had swung open. The sheer drapes rustled against the breeze, rippling like ribbons where the moonlight hit them.
In the quiet, she swallowed and stepped back.
The shadow returned, landing at her feet. Her insides seized in a panicked grip to find it was hardly even a shadow anymore, but a bleeding black mass, spreading like ink spilled over the carpet, forcing her backward. Her calf collided with a chair in a jolt of pain.
“Wh-who’s doing this?” She steadied herself. Surely this was nothing more than a prank. She swept a hand across the room, raising flames upon every candle in her suite.
Their light died almost instantly.
Kallia yelped at a hard brush of wind, her hair thrown over her shoulders. Fear caught in her lungs as the room went pitch black, but she forced herself to move. She rushed and fumbled her way to the door—only to find the handle rigid. Locked.
Kallia kept her back to the door, her chest tight. “Hiding in the dark is no way to fight,” she snarled. “Show yourself!”
She risked a glance at the mirror, and everything in her froze at the answering chuckle. The sound of hands clapping. Slowly, surely.
“I’m not one to hide, Kallia. You know that.”
Kallia’s pulse shattered at the breath grazing the shell of her ear. The brush of fingers traveling over her shoulders to her hip. Featherlight yet burning. She shivered and whirled around to—
No one.
Absolutely no one.
“N-not real,” she whispered furiously, eyes shut. Every muscle in her body shook with the need to run, but she couldn’t. It was worse than her nightmare of crawling away from a monster.
This was the part when the monster took her, once and for all.
As soon as Kallia thought it, the fingers drifted away. The air quieted. She dared crack an eye open, and blinked in disbelief.
Light warmed the room. The candle flames glowed as if they’d never gone out, and the fire crackled heartily, while the moon streamed in bright as a spotlight across the furniture. Even the mirror was covered. Undisturbed.
All looked as it had before, except for the imposing figure overlooking the closed window. From where she stood, he was just a tall silhouette carved from shadow, donning a familiar dark suit. Only when he moved out of the mo
on’s glare did the room’s light touch his warm-hued skin, glinting off the black brass knuckles on his hands she knew so well. The face, she knew even better.
Her first instinct was to scream. To run. To hide. But she would not give Jack a single morsel of fear. “Took you long enough to find me.”
“It wasn’t that hard, firecrown. You do leave an obvious trail.”
No anger in his voice. No fear, no relief. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he’d forgotten all about the way she’d left Hellfire House from his typical, cool manner.
But his eyes were too deep and expressive to play along. And Jack’s lingered on her for a long, burning moment. Like he wanted to say more, do more.
Blood thundered in her ears. She’d be lying if she said she felt nothing—she felt everything as she watched him in return, honing in on the familiar lines of his jaw, the set of his shoulder fitted against the black jacket. Slight shadows formed beneath his eyes, the only detail that made her believe he could be real. Here.
Until she looked down at his feet, swallowed in a mass of smoke spilling across the floor.
“You’re not really here,” she said evenly, still on edge. “If you’re not really here, why did you bother to come at all?”
“For you,” Jack said. “Because you must leave, while you still can. It’s not safe.”
“Safe?” She almost barked out a laugh, but her throat was already too raw. The cool mask dropped from her face, shattering in rage. “That’s rich. And what makes you think I would ever go back, after everything?”
All of it flooded back in a heavy wave. Sanja. Mistress Verónn. Mari. Countless others she couldn’t recall but was sure existed, buried deep in her thoughts. A collection of ghosts, passing through her life because of him. Memories displaced, because of him.
“How … how many illusions did you put me through?”
It shouldn’t have mattered. Whatever he said would only be lies, and still, she searched for the truth in them. Anything to stop the horror of it all from clawing inside her. Filling every vein and vessel, weaving between her bones.
She kept the hurt from her voice, refusing to give it to him. But Jack knew, he always knew.
“Any person I’ve conjured is based on someone real. A projection of an acquaintance I’ve met before.” He leaned against the window, releasing a soft exhale. “Kallia, it wasn’t all pretend.”
“That’s not an answer.” The ghosts danced in her mind, laughing at her. “How many times have I tried to leave, and you wouldn’t let me?”
“It wasn’t like that—”
“How often have you lied to me and twisted my mind?” Heat smarted behind her eyes. “How many times have you gone to Glorian, and told me that I shouldn’t?”
At that, Jack fell still. For once, he looked like the prey, and nothing was more satisfying than to see it from the other side.
“There are things at play here that you do not understand,” he said, nostrils flaring. “Though clearly you wouldn’t believe me now, even if I told you.”
“And who’s to blame for that? You chose to lie. To deceive me again and again.” Kallia bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood, just to keep it from trembling. “Until I had nothing. Only what you wanted me to see.”
A cage. It was all she remembered of the House now. Not a home. A gilded place of false friends and stolen time. Any lingering fondness felt fabricated, a syrupy-sweet taste she tried ridding from her tongue, for none of it had been real. Just an act.
The worst part was, he had no remorse over it. Or if he did, he hid it well.
“I gave you all that I could.” Jack drew the words out after a long, chilling pause. “To keep you away from harm. From here.”
“To keep me away from anything at all,” she growled. “Don’t pretend like it would’ve stopped at Glorian, Jack. You would’ve done anything to keep me in that House. Just like your father.”
His eyes flashed. No longer cool and collected, but burning. “I gave you far more freedom than he ever did. And you stayed.”
She stayed, and she’d learn more. That was the deal set years ago. No iron and force in the arrangement. Though it was easy when her answer was yes. Had she refused, she wondered what the outcome would’ve been.
“You broke our deal the moment you used my mind against me.” The words tore from her like a curse. “Though, in a sick way, thank Zarose you did. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Oh, right. Because of Spectaculore,” he said, lips thinned. “You hear a competition is in town, and suddenly it’s your destiny. And for what? Fame? Glory, attention—”
“What’s so wrong with wanting more? I got a taste of it tonight, and it was only the first show.”
“And who do you have to thank for that?” His brow arched. “You certainly didn’t learn all your tricks on your own. And you’re wasting it on a ruined city, a silly circus, and people who’d rather tear you down than throw roses at your feet.”
It wasn’t true.
She’d received so much praise, so many flowers, enough to wreath the hotel in spring. But that was tonight. Days’ worth of disdainful stares from the people of Glorian flickered back in her mind. From the judges and contestants, complete strangers who only saw what they didn’t like upon her arrival. She hadn’t forgotten. It wasn’t as if she’d believed making it here would be easy. Then again, she’d never anticipated how many people would also crave her failure.
No, she shook her head at herself.
It wasn’t true.
It wasn’t true.
“Better than swinging from chandeliers at the club every other night,” she muttered. “You honestly thought I would be content there for the rest of my life?”
“If you want more, I’ll give you more. Far more than this place ever could.” He pushed off from the windowpane, holding her gaze firmly. “Come back home. Let me show you.”
His voice wrapped around her; his promise, an outstretched hand that beckoned her back to the shadows. Into the night he alone ruled, that would never let her go if she ever returned.
She refused to go back into that dark.
“Leave.” She raised her empty hand to stop his next step. An oath, burning between her fingers. “Now.”
Jack vanished in one breath.
The room went cold and quiet. Kallia looked everywhere, heart pounding as her gaze fell to her hand. Her fingertips were on fire, palm searing.
A sudden breeze raked over her arms. A presence came up close behind her, gathering like a wind, into a hard wall of muscle, before the lightest fingertips trailed along her jawline.
“Your pulse is racing,” Jack whispered, the sound of it everywhere. In the room, in her mind. Right at her ear, as he palmed the side of her neck. “It’s not wise to try banishing me when you’re running on so little.”
He was trying to unnerve her. Distract her. “You came here as nothing more than a ghost,” she scoffed, tolerating the pressure and warmth of his touch, assured by the cool shadows brushing by her legs. “I’d say you’re running on less.”
The presence behind her dissolved, and Jack reemerged by the window. Her head creaked from the suddenness of the movement, and his amused smile hardened into steel. “Do you really want to put that to the test?”
He stalked slowly toward her. He could’ve simply appeared before her, but steps were far more menacing. Easy and certain, slow and confident. The walk of a beast closing in on its meal.
Chin raised, Kallia backed away. She would bring this entire room down on him if she could, if her powers were up to full strength. Her pulse thundered as she flicked her left wrist. The nearest objects obeyed her and shot across his path rapid as bullets.
A vase.
A pair of horned candlesticks.
A fire poker, which speared straight through him, dropping with a heavy thud.
“Come on, firecrown,” he drawled, continuing his pursuit. “I know you can do better than that.”
Heat clawed at her calves. The fireplace. With a slight flicker of fear, Kallia thought he might run her into the flames, and she wouldn’t be strong enough to hold them off. She fisted both hands at her sides, hissing at the prick of thorns against her palm. The rose, clenched tight in her fist. Jack’s gaze wandered down her wrist, frowning. “Who gave that to you?”
A pounding fist came at the door.
“Kallia?”
They turned toward the exit at the rough, muffled voice from the other side. Jack’s eyes darkened, Kallia’s widened.
Demarco?
Another round of knocks against the door, unanswered.
Panic. Sharp as glass, rising like bile. But she could hardly move, paralyzed the instant Jack turned toward the interruption.
“You don’t want to be rude, firecrown. Open the door.” A moment later, he was behind her. His hands traveled down her arms until he captured her wrists, guiding her forward. “Who is he?”
Kallia’s ears rang with the persistent knocking. “I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.” Jack squeezed her right hand until the rose stem snapped. “Did he give this to you?”
The words seized in her throat as Demarco’s fist kept pounding, pounding, pounding against the door. “Kallia, what’s happening? I heard crashes,” he called hoarsely from the other side. “Please, open up.”
“Go on, let him see what Glorian’s rising star is tangled in now.” Her pulse spiked under Jack’s laugh by her ear. “Let him see us, or make him leave.”
Leave now, she screamed silently at the door. She needed him gone.
Away from her, away from Jack.
“Let go of me.” Kallia ripped her wrists from his hold. The manner in which he stood back like a spectator filled her with dread, her heart thrashing in cold, stabbing strikes. She was more than ready to cut this show short. Approaching the door, she could no longer feel anything. Only ice. “Mister Demarco, what’s the matter with you? No need to break down my door, I’m fine.”
Where Dreams Descend Page 16