Where Dreams Descend

by Janella Angeles

  Behind the curtain at her right, Canary and the Conquerors waited with their instruments in tow to play to whatever mood the performance called for. Aaros stood at her left, ready if needed. Her best cards on her, even if they stayed at the sides. She just had to play them right, and at the right time.

  Through the trapdoors of the stage emerged a small cloth-covered table at the center, and an immense cloaked object that towered behind it. A myriad of oohs and ahhs burst from the audience at the rise of the new arrivals. Her props.

  “Your prompt for tonight’s act is as follows…” Erasmus sent her a conspiratorial wink before deepening his voice. “Down in the world below, the magician could not escape. Not without mystifying the gatekeepers within.”

  As if by command, the cloth lifted from the small table, revealing a silver-handled tool upon it. “A dagger.” He pointed behind, where the cloth descended from the clasps of the tall, looming prop. “A full-length mirror, and…”

  Kallia tensed at the razor-sharp edges of the mirror frame, searching for the last prop. “And?”

  “A member of the audience to be part of your act.” It was the mayor’s turn to beam. “And no, you can’t choose your assistant or from the circus you’re no doubt hiding backstage. That would be cheating.”

  The bite barely dug at Kallia. She’d never performed with an audience member. A dance at Hellfire House, yes, but mixing big magic tricks with a drunken patron was a liability if she ever knew one. Especially in this scenario, when nothing was planned beforehand. With all three props revealed, her mind worked to combine them as safely as possible.

  No room for error, with a spectator playing a role in her act.

  Thankfully, Kallia had grown used to looking out into large crowds without a drop of panic. Across the seated figures, some perked up to be chosen while others withered into their chairs to avoid notice. She nearly gave into the temptation to choose one of the judges just to see them sweat, but she needed someone who would cooperate. Someone willing, curious.

  Her searching gaze slid away from the more elite attendees and landed down at the front, where she met a set of wide, unblinking eyes. The girl couldn’t have been more than ten years old, decked out in a ratty sweater that hung off her like a potato sack, but she stared at that stage like she belonged on it, and it lit her up like a flame.

  Kallia crooked her finger invitingly at her. “Would you like to come up and help me?”

  Whispers swept across the theater, some intrigued and others confused. The girl’s brow crinkled, looking around as if there must’ve been someone else she was addressing. The older boy to her right shook his head. “You don’t want my sister. She’s a shy thing,” he called out, rising from his seat with his chest puffed out. “I, on the other hand, would—”

  “Be more than happy to escort your sister to the stage?” Kallia finished, arms crossed. “Such a gentleman.”

  The boy’s bravado deflated. Head hanging low, he nudged his sister roughly in the arm, all petulance as he kicked back into his seat. The girl yanked him in the ear before racing out of her row and down the aisle, eager. The sight of her approaching made Kallia smile, until the mayor stood with a huff. “Excuse me, but you cannot bring children up there. It’s too dangerous for little girls to be involved.”

  The little girl in question threw the fiercest glare at him on her way to the stage.

  “You said I could select anyone in the audience.” Kallia planted both hands on her hips, daring him to refuse her. “Just be glad I didn’t choose any of you, because the temptation was certainly there.”

  The judges collectively pressed back, saying no more as the girl reached the stage. She faltered when she met Kallia’s gaze, as if suddenly remembering herself—prey caught wandering in the hunting grounds. Scared, but she didn’t want to be.

  “It’s all right.” Kallia was surprised by the gentle encouragement in her voice. She bent her knees a bit so as not to appear so much taller. “What’s your name?”

  “Marjory,” she said quickly. “But everyone calls me Meg.”

  “Well, thank you very much for joining me, Meg.” Kallia walked closer to give her a proper handshake before sweeping an arm out to the crowd. “Can I please have a round of applause for my guest?”

  A delightful burst of applause rang out, and Meg’s cheeks bloomed red. It struck Kallia, how she’d rarely spent time around children. Hellfire House was certainly not the place for them. But in flashes, she remembered herself as a child under Sire’s care, running down the halls of that large, empty home with a strange sort of freedom she’d lost the more she’d gotten to know the House. But the moment she’d tapped into her power, everything changed. Everywhere she stepped became a stage rather than a prison.

  “Are you ready to see some magic?” Kallia winked.

  After swallowing a belly-deep breath, Meg nodded. Kallia guided her toward the front of the stage, gesturing for Aaros to stay by the mirror. At the snap of her fingers, the musicians to the other side began playing, trying to find the heartbeat of the act—the slow curling whine of a violin, met by the soft rapping of drums beneath. A hypnotic reel made for shadows and night.

  Perfect.

  Kallia’s mind worked better with music lifting the air. Her eyes flitted between her props and Meg, quickly formulating an act.

  The crowd hushed at her back, anticipating how she would use the props in harmony. They would probably be disappointed to not receive the same fire and strident beats of the first performance, but Kallia hoped it would be enough.

  She nodded at Aaros to keep moving the mirror until it stood right by them at the center of the stage. An old mirror, large and grand with the gilded frame of a magnificent portrait. Kallia imagined queens and empresses beholding themselves before this mirror, now nothing more than a prop.

  It’s only a prop.

  “Tonight,” Kallia said, and the music bowed to her voice. “You will learn to always think first before trusting your reflection.”

  The words fell from her lips naturally, but it bit at her to bring any of Jack’s lessons onto the stage with her. She took up the dagger, tilting the blade into the light so that it gleamed like a smile. “For tonight, I will bend what the mirror shows you and give you something else.”

  Whispers unleashed across the audience, a few in protest and disbelief.

  Illusion, not manipulation. It was the only distinction she could bear, for she would never mold minds and make them her own. Even if it were easier, when minds were so malleable.

  The girl’s probing gaze wandered from the dagger in Kallia’s hand to the mirror, uncertain.

  “It will be all right, I promise,” Kallia reassured her. “All I want you to do is stand right here—with a large step between you and the mirror … yes, there you go—and when I ask, I’d like you to tell me what you see.”

  Meg nodded, her hesitation melting away. She stood directly in front of the mirror, the huge frame dwarfing her so parts of the audience could still see themselves reflected. Additional credibility. Kallia needed it, even for an illusion as small as this.

  She moved a few paces away from Meg. Head held high, weapon in hand.

  As the soft violin notes floated back into her ears, Kallia spun the dagger in the air, but it never fell. Gliding away from her, like a slow-moving arrow with the blade facedown, it traveled to the space between Meg and the mirror.

  Kallia washed away the faces in front of her, shoving them out of focus as she concentrated on the object. The dagger. A small, familiar object, though that had nothing to do with the illusion. Jack had hardly taught her the trick when he’d presented it, but she’d always been quick to figure out the truth behind the magic.

  The power lay not in bending what the beholder could see, but in convincing the reflection it was something else.

  The blade is not a blade, she thought. The hilt is not a hilt.

  She imagined the opposite of sharp edges and deathly points, her thoughts dri
fting toward green-leaved stems and soft petals wet beneath sunlight.

  Her garden. Her greenhouse. It looked exactly as she’d left it, unfurling an ache inside her. Her heart, bruising sweetly at the sight.

  It was a welcome visit, until the strain started to hit. Hands still raised to keep the weapon levitated, the imagery vined around it. A chant spoken again and again, to give it more power, more strength.

  Not a blade. Not a hilt.

  Beads of sweat slid down Kallia’s neck as that voice of the wind returned, joining hers. Whether real or imagined, her temple began to throb. The act of focus and willing magic into another tugged inside her, but soon, the pressure eased. Her fingertips tingled. Her heartbeat pounded vividly in her ears as the dagger began to vibrate in the air.

  The shivering was undeniable, emitting a subtle hum. The object listened, trying to obey. It would’ve been much easier for Kallia to turn the dagger into a flower, but who ever preferred the easier challenge?

  At once, the theater burst into exclamations, a wave of chairs creaking as everyone leaned in. Kallia pushed their noises away. Focused only on the power she delivered like a prayer.

  Separate from all else.

  Magic thrummed through her veins.

  You are your power.

  The words struck inside her heart and made her stronger. She, alone and separate from the world. Powerful, because of it.

  Finally she released a deep breath, jutted her chin toward Meg. “What do you see before you, in the mirror?” she asked, half with hope, half with exhaustion.

  “Speak up!” someone called. A judge. “What do you see?”

  “I-I see a dagger before me,” the girl exclaimed, blinking. “But in the mirror, it’s a rose … a bright, red one.”

  The nods of the people in the front rows confirmed the observation. Others dared to walk down the aisle for a closer look. Down at the judge’s table, most of the men stood, their faces hard as stone yet unable to mock what was seen in the mirror.

  “I see a rose, myself, and the audience around me,” Meg confirmed with breathless wonder, before her head started to tilt. “And something else. A shadow.”

  Kallia blinked. The hot stage lights hitting her skin grew cold.

  “A shadow, child?” Erasmus inquired, craning his head around Meg’s form to see. “Of what?”

  “I’m not sure,” she went on. “But it’s coming closer.”

  Kallia’s blood iced. She’d conjured no shadow, had done nothing but manipulate the reflection of the dagger.

  This wasn’t part of her trick.

  “Keep going, kid!” a spectator yelled. “Tell us what’s coming. Is it the circus?”

  That earned a light shower of laughter, but Meg only shrank back from her reflection. “It’s the shadow of a man.”

  Kallia’s heart raced. She thought of the voices in the mirror, of Jack looking out from it, and frost inched over her skin, down her back. Spearing through her ribs.

  “He’s walking closer.”

  The confirmation tore through her.

  “And he’s reaching out to—”

  No.

  Kallia flicked her finger and sent the dagger straight into the mirror.

  She’d meant only to crack. Instead, the tip pierced the surface and it exploded. Screams ripped from the crowd as Kallia instinctively shielded Meg from the shards of glass, and the wave of angry black darts that flew from the empty rocking frame as if freed from their cage.

  Not darts, birds.

  Kallia’s breath caught in her chest as she pushed the girl to the side, into Aaros’s arms before the birds or jagged pieces could touch her. A few shards and birds raked against her back, but she barely felt them. The creatures continued pouring from the frame, swarming the ceiling overhead before violently diving through the aisles.

  Cries of panic rose. Kallia’s knees buckled to the stage, over mirror pieces that pierced her dress, her skin. She ignored the pain and gathered what was left of her, building everything inside—

  Released, as she brought her hands together.

  A bone-shuddering force ravaged the air, right through the frame and the theater—vanishing the violent, hawking birds as suddenly as they arrived, into black petals falling soft as snow. Or rain, from the pattering applause that suddenly echoed in the back of her mind.

  The impact of the force sent her staggering back, unable to bow.

  Her thoughts, blurry.

  Blood ran down her arm as both hands met the floor in a jolt. Pain burned through her. She winced at the crushed glass digging into her palm, sprinkling over her head as the mirror groaned and teetered in place, the rest of the pieces, jagged icicles dangling along the frame.

  The first one crashed by her fingers.

  The screams around her went mute as she closed her eyes, tired. So heavy.

  So exhausted.

  Until light.

  The warmest light surrounded her in a cloud, circling and doming around her body like mist. The glass that would’ve struck her fell off the sides, plinking onto the stage away from her.

  She wasn’t doing this. She couldn’t be.

  Wavering in and out, Kallia peered through the mist surrounding her. Someone in the audience stood with his hand outstretched toward her, light streaming from his palm.

  Demarco.

  The last thing she remembered. His trembling form, the panic in his eyes.

  Before darkness carried her away.

  24

  People wouldn’t stop clapping for Daron or patting him on the back as he passed them in the after-show party of the hotel foyer. He cringed, each time.

  Wrong. It all felt wrong.

  As soon as the ominous mirror had arrived in full display, he had to force himself not to run as he’d been tempted. One moment, he was in his chair observing the act, and the next, he was on his feet. The instant the dagger met the mirror and the shards of glass fell, one word had roared in him: no.

  Not again.

  Not her.

  It unleashed something in him, unlike anything he’d felt before. Magic that leapt without thinking, without waiting.

  “For someone who barely uses them anymore, you’ve got quick hands, Demarco,” Judge Silu said, a burning cigar hanging from his lips. “The Patrons would be proud. Could’ve gotten gory up there.”

  Daron grimaced. He didn’t need more praise, or the visual. Once his protective shield had faded, Aaros had collected Kallia and rushed her off the stage. All the while, the audience applauded with almost mindless joy, thoroughly entertained by Daron’s display.

  He was no hero. Not used to being treated like one, either.

  Of all the protection Kallia could’ve conjured the moment the mirror shattered, she’d chosen her own body as a shield. The little girl came out of the performance shaken, but without a scratch. Kallia had taken those hits without so much as a cry of pain, even as the birds tore past her into the air. And even still, she continued performing magic to protect others. For a powerful magician, it was a wasteful pain. For her, it had been instinct.

  Daron took a long sip from his glass, waiting for the burn to kick in. For his nerves to calm.

  “… a shocking night, indeed.” Erasmus’s voice rose above the crowd, tutting softly as his group made their way to the bar. “It’s almost as if the show isn’t over, even after the curtain’s dropped.”

  Daron cringed at how the man could fashion a tone both solemn and garishly amused. Tonight’s show had stopped after the incident—not like there needed to be any eliminations after a handful of performers hadn’t even bothered to come. But when he saw the opportunity that was the chaotic end of Kallia’s performance, he milked the sympathies of every attendee to cross his path.

  “But that ending, that girl! And the judge!” One of his companions gasped. “Such a dramatic performance. Was it all planned?”

  “Of course it was.”

  Mayor Eilin approached with his crew of top hats, their disdain und
eniable. Thankfully, no one had yet noticed Daron cradling his drink at the bar. But even with his back to them, his hackles rose.

  “Oh really?” Erasmus challenged. “And you know this how?”

  “She’s the talk of the night, isn’t she? I’ve never seen a performer more determined to orchestrate the entire world around her.”

  “How can you believe she would orchestrate an act that would cause harm to herself?”

  “Are you admitting that your dazzling star has finally dimmed?” The mayor laughed, his group heartily accompanying him. “Good. If anything, tonight was an important lesson in the consequences of the bold. Maybe her new scars will teach her not to wear such brazen dresses.”

  Daron’s fingers clenched around his glass at the sounds of assent and laughter. A curse crawled up his throat, wishing to shut them all up.

  “For a herd of respectable judges, you spend an awful lot of time staring at her clothes.”

  Aaros’s easy voice broke in, and Daron stole a quick glimpse over his shoulder. It was the exact war he’d been imagining: Mayor Eilin with the judges to one side, and Erasmus and his guests to the other. Enemies meeting on the battlefield. And squeezing himself into the center of it all was Aaros, rolling his eyes as if he’d never witnessed a more disappointing brawl.

  The mayor sniffed. “What do you know, boy? You’re an assistant.”

  “To the best performer in the entire damn show,” Aaros finished coolly.

  “Oh, you’re that dashing boy!” a woman from Erasmus’s side gushed, and the mayor’s face hardened at her reaction. “Tell us, was that dangerous act all a trick?”

  “Magician’s secret, my lady.” Aaros delivered a charming wink over his shoulder that sent everyone back into a flurry of debates and criticism.

  “This won’t stand,” Mayor Eilin roared. “I’m penning a summons to the Patrons tonight.”

  “You will do no such thing—it’s finally getting interesting!”