Where Dreams Descend

by Janella Angeles

  A dark, burgundy liquid now occupied the glass. The ease of the trick unsettled her; she could barely conjure a flame in her state. How much power would it take to banish him like last time? To banish him for good, if it were possible?

  “Don’t bother tiring yourself out, firecrown,” he said, knowing her too well. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Everything hurt more with him there. To see him see her like this, no longer strong and powerful. Nothing like the magician he’d known in the House.

  “Well, I don’t want you here.” She curled away from him. “You’ve done quite enough.”

  “And what chaos have I wreaked this time?”

  It was too much to unpack. All the disappearances and accidents, her disastrous performance, the city closing in on her—they hung from his finger, ornaments swaying before her eyes. Delicate, and at his mercy.

  “Don’t forget, I did tell you things would go awry the moment you stepped into this city. I warned you.” He set down the glass on the small table before them. “You chose not to listen.”

  “Is this your way of punishing me, then?” she demanded. “Destroying my prospects and everything I worked for? Trapping me here so I couldn’t escape it?”

  Every scornful glare and taunt, she stomached. Every trick and act, she executed until her muscles burned past feeling.

  All for the applause. For a moment.

  All ruined, after tonight.

  “What do you mean, trapping you here?”

  The crease in Jack’s brow only fired up her temper. “Like you don’t know. The gates are gone, which means I can’t leave. I saw two other magicians try to flee and they too—”

  “You were trying to leave?”

  Kallia didn’t know what infuriated her more: the curiosity or hope in his voice. No matter how he tried to mask it, it tugged at her. “Not for you.” It was unbelievable he could even entertain such an idea. “To get rid of you.”

  His jaw clenched. “And how might you go about doing that, I wonder?”

  “Lucky for you, I guess we’ll never find out.”

  “Oh, firecrown. You honestly think I had anything to do with it?” He threw his head back with a low laugh. “This city is the one you should be pointing fingers at. I didn’t want you to come here in the first place.”

  “Why? You did,” she demanded, breath ragged. “Don’t deny it, you’ve been here and have returned perfectly fine. Why can’t I? What exactly is your business here, Jack?”

  His smile faded, as close to a flinch as she’d ever seen from him. And still, he wouldn’t answer, unwilling as ever to show her even the slightest truth.

  “I saw you in the mirror,” she said, suddenly remembering the conversation she witnessed in her dressing room. Real or not, the way it forced him back an inch told her more than he ever would.

  “During your performance?”

  “That was just your shadow.” She glared at him. “No, I saw you clear as day somewhere else, saying—”

  The world of humans and mortal magicians can rot for all I care.

  The reminder stilled her, reaffirming what she’d always thought but feared deep down. That Jack was powerful in a way other magicians weren’t. Not like her, or anybody else she knew. Power like that could easily turn a house into a cage. A city into a trap, with all the strings pulled from above.

  “Don’t listen to the mirrors,” Jack muttered, his manner terse. “You failed to heed one warning, don’t make the same mistake again with another.”

  “What are you so afraid of me seeing? The truth?”

  “No. Lies that you’ll all too freely believe and follow, no matter where they take you.”

  “After living with you for years, I think I know the difference,” she said, looking down. Dark smoke misted over the floor where his feet should’ve been. A man made of shadow. Not real, but for whatever reason, still here.

  “It wasn’t all lies, Kallia.”

  The searing intimacy in his tone made her shiver. A reaction he saw immediately, like the first sign of a light in the dark. “I’ve got an illusion running your act back at the club,” he said softly.

  She’d been replaced by an illusion. An odd feeling swept over her—imagining another girl descending from that chandelier—shifting from anger to confusion, leaving her hollow. “You got exactly what you wanted. A perfect puppet.” She shrugged. “If you had the option all along, I don’t know why you even gave me the role.”

  “Because it made you happy.”

  Her heart clenched. Lie, she insisted. It was all a lie. He didn’t care, he never did. Though everything about him stilled, too, as if he didn’t quite understand it, either. “I did a lot of things, to make you happy.”

  Lie. She bit the inside of her cheek, the pain stinging. “It wasn’t enough.”

  “And any of this is?” His face blanked as he gestured his hands widely. “Seems you’ve gotten more than you bargained for here. And unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do for you anymore.”

  “Good,” Kallia seethed, wanting him to hurt. To make him as raw and angry as she was inside. “Leave, then. You’re not really here anyway. If you were, you wouldn’t hide behind—”

  The table between them disappeared.

  And his hand lashed out to her wrist, bringing her close to him.

  Jack glared down at where he had trapped her hand—against his chest, solid to the touch. Kallia was sure he must’ve willed these parts of himself to become corporeal to unnerve her, and she hated how it worked.

  For it felt like an embrace. A cruel one. Arms crushed her to him, bringing them close enough for her eyes to trace the hard shadows of his jaw, the slight scar over his left eyebrow.

  If he could seize her so easily, why hadn’t he taken her away already? Why was he so bent on remaining a voice in her ear, a shadow in the corner that took shape only when she was alone?

  Kallia couldn’t tell what Jack was thinking when he looked down at her, but it softened his grip. Warmth coursed through her, a betrayal. The fist she held to his chest faltered as she unfurled her fingers slowly, curiously. If he were really here, she would feel his heart, and her palm went searching for that steady beat.

  Nothing. Only hard, cold muscle, with their breaths quieting in the dark.

  “I wish I could’ve done things differently.”

  There was something mournful in his tone, and she almost asked what he meant. Instead, she glanced down, at her feet lightly veiled through the smoke. His legs, nowhere they were supposed to be. Just like his heart.

  A noise rustled outside.

  Kallia froze at the sound of feet and a muttered curse.

  All at once, a new cold entered her. She mustered enough strength to push away from Jack, but he still had her in his grasp. He moved her, slipping his hand to her shoulder and turning them both in view of the door. “Ah, the weak one is back.”

  He thrust his arm over her shoulder, palm facing the door. The force from his hand shone across the entrance like a light, baring what lay beyond. The frame of the door, the thickness of the wall, had faded into a translucent barrier.

  Kallia went still at the sight of Demarco on the other side, digging through his pockets. Noticing nothing amiss. A one-way trick.

  Go, she screamed in her mind, barely breathing. Please, just go.

  “Seems the poor fool has lost his key,” Jack whispered close to her ear. Demarco had unearthed his hands in empty fists, giving a furious, futile pound to his door. A kick. And still, the slab of wood remained stubbornly shut. “But what is a closed door to a magician if not an excuse to use magic?”

  Because magic was never an excuse for him. That, and he was drunk. She could tell even from here as he braced his hand against the door, steadying himself. Trying the handle, fruitlessly, again. “He’s just trying to get into his room,” Kallia seethed. “Why are you wasting my time with this?”

  All the malice in her voice couldn’t ward him off. “Curiosity.”

/>   As if he could somehow hear them, Demarco stopped. He dropped his raised fist and looked behind, at the closed door of Kallia’s suite. His brow creased, gaze lost.

  He began stepping closer, hesitantly.

  “Stop it, Jack,” she scoffed in a measured tone. “Leave him alone.”

  “I’m not making him do anything,” he replied just as evenly. “Go on, open it. Looks like he wants to come in.”

  What would Jack do if she didn’t? An unpredictable energy radiated from him, his smile dark as a storm. His face, cut from lightning. Expectant. Kallia glared over her shoulder as she moved, every muscle clenched. Wrestling with the question that wouldn’t stop beating for Demarco. Why are you at my door again? She had strictly ordered no visitors, and still, he came.

  Why?

  Was it to turn her in? To tell her the Patrons would come for her in the morning?

  Kallia slowed her movements as she watched him through the door. The way his knuckles grazed the surface, tracing the lines and indents, before he shook his head at himself. Raking one hand through his hair while sliding the other against the door frame, staying there.

  She stayed, too. For once, she could study him without looking away. His eyes, an honest brown. Much softer than he betrayed. Out of focus and slightly glassy from the few drinks in him. Their haunting effects had taken hold, guiding him.

  Kallia had no such excuse. She traced every inch of his face in a devouring sweep, and his was handsome. Kallia had thought so before. Now it hit her in full force, when she was close enough to see how a face so carved from stone could carry so much. Confusion, sorrow, curiosity all in one. Stone could not do that.

  She almost flinched back when he raised his fist again to knock. He waited a beat, and another, before unfurling his fingers back over the door. A frustrated sigh.

  What are you waiting for?

  Across the plane of the door, their eyes met—the world falling away, becoming all color and the racing beat of her heart. Until a flicker of movement forced him to glance over his shoulder.

  The door to his room had swung wide open to the darkness of his suite.

  The sight jolted him, and he stepped back swiftly. As if her door were on fire, like he never should’ve been near it in the first place.

  Don’t leave.

  An ache bloomed inside her as he turned away and disappeared into his room.

  Kallia stood there, even as the entire wall of her suite returned. Solid and dark.

  Surprisingly, Jack hadn’t joined her. He’d barely moved from where she’d left him. “Be careful with that one,” he said. “He’s not as powerful and mighty as you think.”

  Kallia gave a harsh laugh, shaky at the ends. “You’re kidding. In case you didn’t see earlier, he performed magic I’ve never seen before. Magic to protect me.”

  Jack’s brow rose high. “Don’t be impressed so easily.”

  “Why are you so threatened by him?”

  With a have-it-your-way shrug, he swished the drink in his glass. “You’ll soon see, if he even makes it past the next round.”

  The threat pricked at her. His certainty promised disaster, and she felt even more helpless over it here than she had in the House.

  “What’s it going to take for you to stop?” she asked through gritted teeth, walking toward the hearth. “I can’t go back. I can’t even leave.”

  It was like the city had turned on her, becoming the place Jack had warned her about all along. None of them could leave, which only meant more people would get hurt. More accidents, more nights like this—and she could only watch, wait until the puppeteer tired of his game. “What do you want?”

  “It’s not about what I want,” he said. “It never has been.”

  Her temper rose. She whirled around to demand an answer, only to find his glass abandoned on the small table. The couch empty, the room undisturbed.

  No sign of Jack, anywhere at all.

  The sight of him gone angered her more than anything. He didn’t get to be the storm who blew through whenever he wanted, upending everything in his path. Hadn’t he done enough?

  A splitting pressure cracked in her chest. Her nostrils flared.

  Hadn’t he done enough?

  Before she knew it, she was moving across the room to his abandoned glass, the rim still wet. Breath shuddering, she threw it as hard as she could. It shattered against the wall, the remnants of liquor dripping down like blood.

  Tears seared her vision, hot and unwelcome.

  Stop it.

  She dragged them away with the backs of her hand.

  Stop.

  But one tear became more. And soon they streaked down her face without end as that rawness she’d shoved inside broke open. Finally.

  The scars of the House splintered back at full force. The ghosts and illusions, the memories she’d remembered. The ones stolen. And Jack, the worst lie of all, who made sure she’d been all out of choices. Who’d given her everything, as much as he’d taken away.

  Again, and again.

  Even now. Even here.

  Kallia sank to her knees, crossing her arms tightly about her. The pain so great, so sudden. She’d held it off thinking she could stop it. That if she buried it far enough, it would never be felt. It would never stop her if it couldn’t take her.

  And so she’d left the House. Gone to Glorian. Risen in the competition. After all, she was more powerful than weakness, harder than hurt. She had to be.

  “Kallia?”

  She jerked up at the door’s slam, her vision swimming as a figure rushed to her in a blur. Aaros. His face cleared right before hers, and she’d never seen him looking more alarmed. “Zarose, Kallia, why are you out of bed? What happened?”

  More tears leaked out, and this time, she let them fall. “I…” She filed through every excuse, the habit second-nature. “Everything hurt too much, I just needed some air.”

  “So you got it by smashing a glass against the wall?” He glanced at the broken remnants that stained the surface. “Tell me the truth.”

  “That is the—”

  “You need to stop pretending and acting like everything is fine,” Aaros muttered, his jaw set. “Trust me, I know what it’s like to live on excuses with the hope that nobody catches on. Eventually someone does.”

  His dark eyes fastened on her, razor sharp. Expectant.

  Filled with concern. So much. It hurt her for him to see her like this. Yet the sight darkened him as well, as if her pain twined with his the moment he entered the room.

  Before she knew it, Aaros had propped her up against him on the floor and wrapped his arms around her, careful not to squeeze her wounds. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Helping you keep everything together.” He placed his chin over the top of her head, and proceeded to smooth his fingers through her hair. “You don’t need to be alone to do that.”

  It was what she was used to. Recovering alone, processing alone. Taking on everything alone, because she’d rather do that than let anyone see what a mess everything was. Especially when nobody could help her.

  “Let’s get you to bed, now,” Aaros said. “You’ve had … a night.”

  She didn’t even have the energy to snort. “I’m too tired to move.”

  Too scared to be alone, to close her eyes.

  They were drifting now, the darkness whispering at the corners of her vision.

  “Then rest.” He sighed, settling more comfortably on the floor, shifting her in his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Promise?”

  If he answered, the warmest sleep pulled her under before she could hear it.

  26

  Daron stumbled into his room sick to his stomach, berating himself over two very important points.

  He shouldn’t have had that last drink.

  And as soon as morning hit, he should request to switch rooms.

  Daron wandered, lingered, stared at her door each time he passed. At this point, he’d c
ommitted the fixture to memory. Every intricate carving around the frame, the slight scuffs around the doorknob. After his last visit hadn’t gone well, he’d resolved never to touch it. No matter what he heard.

  This time, he’d almost knocked. For no reason at all.

  Daron raked both hands through his hair at a sudden thud. A glass smashed, or some other noise from his imagination. He ignored it. A chill settled in his bones as he strode deeper into his room, nearly stumbling in the dark were it not for the patches of moonlight haphazardly lighting his path.

  Light. He needed light.

  Fire. Candles.

  It used to be so easy.

  His common room fireplace, a pit of shadows and ash, glimmered with the dark orange flare of embers dying within. Drawn by the warmth, Daron dropped his jacket on the edge of the couch, missing his target. It landed with a soft thump on the carpet. He nearly dropped to the floor with it, dead tired. Not just from drink slowly drifting from his system, but magic.

  Daron’s muscles trembled.

  His body so unused to the surge of adrenaline after so long without.

  Tremors continued running through his wrist, alive with residual energy from the light he’d cast hours ago. Over Kallia, for the whole show hall to see.

  The moment felt more like a fever dream now.

  His tremors turned into a violent shiver. Glorian was cold as anything, especially at night when the air went frigid and unforgiving. Daron stared heavily at the embers darkening in the hearth, too fatigued to grab the materials on the overhanging ledge to build a flame.

  Darkness. It was a better place to think, anyway. And he needed to think. This had not been part of the plan.

  This … changed everything.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands together for warmth. They wouldn’t stop shaking.

  Maybe some of the rumors are true.

  Daron inhaled sharply.

  If there was a source of magic, a different kind, well … that’s something worth hiding.

  Eva’s voice returned, but for once, he wanted it gone. The reminders and riddles she’d posed years ago had all been dead ends. Nothing had ever rung true, and he supposed that made it easier. To come up empty so he could keep searching. Always searching.