It was Daron’s turn to shudder. He’d allowed himself to forget the strangeness, living here long enough to accept unanswered questions as one of Glorian’s quirks.
Or perhaps he’d forgotten to question altogether. So distracted, so selfish. Lost in a dream he’d only just woken from.
“What are you suggesting?” Daron asked. “Another conspiracy theory to add to the pile?”
“For Zarose sake, you and the others can’t even leave the city. Nothing is too unbelievable to be true … at this point.” She paused, tracing her fingernail up and down the wrinkled spine of a book. “It would be easier if we worked together.”
He kept quiet. If the written word was Lottie’s weapon, silence was his.
“We need closure. We wouldn’t both be here if we didn’t,” she insisted. “Tell me what you know, your side of the story, and we could piece everything together. It’s what she would’ve—”
“Don’t use her to manipulate me,” he bit out. “I won’t give you more material for your next piece.”
“That’s not what this is about,” she whispered. “She was my friend.”
“Yes, and just like then, I still can’t trust you.”
Her nostrils flared. Her fingers tapped along the surface, by her pen, as if fighting the urge to write. “Fine. But I’m not the only one in the wrong here. You are just as much to blame for how things unfolded, and if it comes to it, I’ll fill in the pieces on my own.”
Daron’s face grew hot. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t leave the business simply because of good ol’ loss and heartache, did you?”
Everything in him stopped cold.
Her gaze contained more than curiosity. There was certainty.
“People who leave always have something to hide,” she said, donning her glasses to return to her reading. “And before those secrets start to slip through the cracks, at the very least, your partner deserves to know.”
Show no reaction, no emotion. No matter how well she poked and prodded. No matter how much it hurt. “You talked to Kallia?”
“Yes, some nights ago,” she supplied rather drily. “I thought surely she must think the world of you, to be able to ignore your background. But imagine my utter astonishment when clearly she knew nothing of what happened before. Of Eva, your career. The accident.”
“And you didn’t seize the opportunity to stir the pot? How unlike you.”
A muscle ticked in her cheek. “She wouldn’t have believed me anyway. Only you.”
His chest tightened under a new, unfamiliar weight.
“Then again,” she said, slowing rapping her fingers against the table’s edge. “A Most Dark and Daring Past has a nice, timely ring to it. I’m sure this city would like a refresher.”
How could Eva have possibly been friends with someone like this?
Glaring, Daron shot up from his seat and stalked away, the rage rushing in his veins so forcefully, almost like magic. And fear, slowly stopping him short of the exit. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because when something is broken, you need to tell the truth. And I’d hate to do that for you, because Kallia’s your partner. Which means she’ll find out, one way or another,” Lottie shouted at his back, as he resumed his departure. Away from her, away from everything. “The truth always comes out, in due time. Out of you, and this city.”
To the master’s displeasure, the morning papers spoke of nothing but the show.
Spectaculore Speculation:
Players Entrapped in a Wild Game
MISSING PERSONS
and Comatose Contestants
Magicians Mentoring Magicians
for Magnificent Finale
Each headline ran with a ridiculous note, the images and stories accompanying them even more so. And yet the master read them whenever the news crossed his table. Wading through the scandalous phrasing intended solely to seize readers’ attentions, he saw the underlying truth. The danger beneath the gossip that turned everything into a farce, until they truly believed it was all just a game.
Such thoughtless moths, following the spotlight.
Feeding it.
The master crumpled the paper before throwing it aside. He’d ignored the mirror long enough, the summons from Sire to put an end to all of this, like he should’ve done long ago.
He could’ve waltzed into that city, and wiped the whole game board clean once more. Even if she tried to stop him, even if they sensed him on their grounds, at least he’d have done his duty. Served his only purpose on this worthless land.
And now he was too late. Everything was too far beyond his control, and the countdown had begun.
Four magicians missing. Three unresponsive.
Two more hospitalized.
And then one.
Almost
Almost
Almost
Their whispers ticked in the back of his head as surely as a clock, waiting.
ACT IV
ENTER THE SHADOWS:
THE TRICKS OF LIGHT, THE TRUTH FROM LIES
42
The bleak morning trickled through the windows above as Kallia strode down the aisle of hospital beds. Two magicians, Soloce and Lamarre, remained comatose, their bodies turned by the staff every so often to bring movement to their muscles in hopes of waking them. Only Robere’s bed stood empty. He’d been discharged early in the morning so no one could see the wraps across his face. Similarly bandaged, Judge Bouquet slept soundly in his bunk, mostly due to the nearly empty bottle of heavy tonic consistently replenished at his bedside.
The bitter stench of coffee stirred no reaction from the bedridden men as she walked past, carrying a tray with a freshly filled pot and two cups. Seated by Juno’s bed at the end of the row, Canary perked up. “Bless you, prima donna. I’m in need.”
“Thought you would be.” Kallia set the tray on one of the side tables. “Last night went late, yet here you are.”
Ever since the first night of the circus’s opening, Kallia had freely offered her talents to the Conquerors. Special effects, extra assistance, adding flair wherever it was needed. Even more so now, ever since Juno and the magicians fell. After nights of watching the Conquerors take their stages with Juno missing from hers, it was all Kallia could do.
The girl appeared just as sickly as the other magicians lying near. Her brown hair, tied back and dulled. Her tattoos, last fashioned as long-stemmed feathers pluming against her hands, neck, and face, had faded considerably to a gray tinge. Her eyelids, fluttering every so often. Asleep, though not entirely at peace.
“If she wakes up and no one is around, we’ll never hear the end of it.” The flame-eater knocked back a hearty gulp from her cup, shuddering afterward. “Also, you’re one to talk. You don’t look any better than me.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean that as kindly as possible. Something isn’t right.” Canary spoke into a yawn, observing her. “Everything about you seems … smaller, somehow.”
“I’m fine.” Kallia concentrated on the black liquid steaming the edges of her cup. The first few nights, she’d stayed up with the Conquerors as they wound down with a few drinks and some music around a silver bonfire. Of late, she returned to her hotel room, too exhausted to even change before hitting the mattress, escaping into dreams to rid this heaviness hanging over her.
Every trick was a trial, and nothing was worse than someone noticing.
“You want to know why I really dropped out of the academy?”
Canary stared pensively into her cup, letting the steam swirl against her face. “I actually thought I could do it all on my own, and I’m not even that skilled a magician.”
Her voice was not the same as it usually was amongst the Conquerors. Loud, boisterous, on the edge of laughter. A leader’s gaiety, to lift any low spirits. But this softness struck Kallia all the more, the rareness of it. “You made it, though, right?” she supplied. “You run the Conquerors.”
“I run
with the Conquerors,” she corrected. “Nothing can be done alone. Nothing worthwhile, anyway.”
“But what if you want to make it alone? To prove something to yourself?”
“And what exactly are you proving?” Canary countered. “You don’t often find good people in this business, but when you do, it’s precious. Nearly impossible.”
Impossible. She’d been lucky then, to find them as she did. When she first walked through the gates of Glorian, nothing had felt right until she met Aaros. Her nights had been empty, until she found Canary and the Conquerors.
And Demarco.
Her heart gripped. For so long she’d envisioned only herself on the stage, an image that always kept her going: basking in the spotlight, hearing her name and cheers over everything else.
Strange how applause was just noise, when you were all alone.
“Boss?”
At the sudden snap of fingers, Kallia blinked awake. In the Prima. It took her a moment to place herself sometimes. Glorian often felt like a blur now, of firelight and endless cheers, to hospital visits and circus tents deadened under daylight. Before it was Canary, but now Aaros sipped at his coffee across from her, his eyes piercing her over the rim.
“I can’t take this anymore.” He set his cup down with a clatter. “It’s only been a few days and it feels like the parents are fighting.”
She blinked wearily. “We’re not fighting.”
“No, you’re not talking.” His frown deepened. “You’re not trying to do anything.”
If only he knew. As a friend, Aaros was relatively safe. Jack hadn’t brought him up as a threat in any way. And selfishly, she was not ready to give him up. To lose anyone else.
Even though he could still annoy the guts out of her.
“Sure, take his side,” Kallia snarled.
“Listen, we’re all on the same team. It’s not like Demarco’s doing anything, either.” He sighed, frustrated. “He’s been just as much of a shut-in, doesn’t even go to the Ranza Estate anymore.”
Her breath quieted when she thought of the greenhouse. How long would it take for flowers like that to die? There was no way she could go back. It would be too hard.
“So boring, really,” Aaros continued. “He spends most of his time going to this town’s shoddy post office when he’s not in his room.”
Kallia shot him a look. “You’ve been following him?”
“I knew you’d be curious.”
She scoffed, though the tight coil in her chest relaxed. He wouldn’t leave Glorian, even if he could. He had more dignity than to let her coldness defeat him. The same could not be said for her. She cringed, remembering the things she’d said to him.
Her finger traced her lips, remembering that, too.
It had worked all too well. Jack hadn’t appeared in her room or showed hints of his presence in the dark. No accidents, no one missing or turned up injured. Whether or not his silence marked his approval, it was a temporary peace.
Aaros abruptly kicked at her seat. “Look alive, boss.”
Her brow drew at the shadow falling over the small table from behind her. She inhaled stiffly, catching that fresh clean smell edged with a spice she couldn’t name. She hated these little pieces of him she’d collected, that her memory would not let go.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Demarco said, looking between them.
“Not interrupting at all.” Aaros rose. “I was about to use the restroom.”
Kallia glared daggers across the table. “Funny, I was about to do the same.”
“No, you were going to order me another cup.” He threw her an impish grin before tipping his hat. “Nature calls.” He all but skipped away from the table, in the opposite direction of the public facilities.
“Does he know he’s going the wrong way?”
“Taking the long route, is all.” She rapped her fingernails slowly against the table’s surface. “I was actually about to pick up the check, so I don’t—”
“Let me get it,” he murmured, gesturing at the nearest waiter before Kallia could. He thanked the man, scribbling his room number and signature on the bill. It was such a normal scene, them at a café table, and she almost wished she could play along. With him next to her, the act only grew more difficult. The air between them, infinitely tighter.
Damn it.
“What do you want?” she blurted out.
Never one to act oblivious, Demarco exhaled. “If you humor me, this won’t take long.”
There was something removed in his gaze, the straight line of his mouth. Like looking at a stranger, and it tore a hole in Kallia worse than any lie.
Just say it. Just leave.
“Will you come with me to my room?”
Kallia lightly braced herself against the table. “E-excuse me?”
Normally, he’d be stumbling over his words, citing decorum and polite intent. Here, he was calm as ever. “I want to show you something.” His brow hardened. “I have to.”
Panic quietly flared through her. “Why can’t you do it down here?”
“It’s … private.”
“You don’t need to tell me everything, Demarco. If it’s something better unsaid, it might be best to leave it that way.”
“I’m guessing it won’t stay that way for long,” he said, lips flattening. “Regardless, it’s something you should know. Something I want you to know, from me.”
That seized her attention. This answer held weight, the kind he’d never give on their walks. No questions, until now.
“Please.” The cracks in his calm and composed mask gave way in the trickle of sweat at his temple. His breath, deliberately slow.
He was nervous.
So was she. So nervous, that a rational part of her mind objected. She was better off leaving him, closing the door altogether. Locking it.
It’s precious. Nearly impossible.
Her muscles tensed, heart squeezed.
“Make it quick, Demarco,” Kallia heard herself say as she rose. Her heart blared in refusal, but her mouth kept running. “Lead the way.”
* * *
Daron had no idea what he was doing. And still, Kallia followed.
There was no going back, after this. It was a wonder the other judges hadn’t raised his issues before, though they’d probably spoken at length behind his back. Men caught up in scandals and tragedies so often walked from them unscathed.
And he was one of them. So lost in his search of Eva, that he hadn’t noticed he’d come out of it with barely a scratch.
How foolish, to think it would never rise back to the surface.
As they reached the first floor, it struck him how easy it had been to turn back into strangers. Too easy. Their laughter gone, light manners replaced with impeccable posture and footsteps matching the other’s almost too perfectly.
He gripped his room key in his pocket, the metal teeth biting at his palm as they veered toward his door. Daron had always thought his room far too big for one person, but as Kallia entered and strode right into the common area, everything fit. The large fireplace was not so menacing. The windows, not as towering. The couch, once too big, now just right when she sat on one end. “Demarco?”
So often, he’d imagined her there with him. The reality was far more intimidating. He blinked. “Sorry.”
“You don’t … seem well.” She sounded wary. “Maybe it’s best if I—”
“No, I’m fine.” Get it together. Daron inhaled, already stepping toward the dining table he’d pushed against the wall. “Over here.”
Every inch of him tensed at the entire surface covered in ripped brown packaging envelopes on one side, and newspaper spreads on the other. Kallia’s gaze immediately fell to them, widening at the large-lettered headlines dancing across each stack.
“Demarco Dares Once More,” she read slowly, her finger pausing over the black-and-white inked picture of a young magician bowing on a stage. “This is you.”
“Just a few years ago, when I was t
he Daring Demarco.” He smiled sadly at the images splashed across the table that showcased him as the centerpiece of the act. If one went by the images alone, you’d think he’d accomplished every spectacle by himself.
Foolish are the ones who believe anything great can be done alone.
“Weather storms onstage, floating sword fights, saving a burning boarding school?” She traced every headline, finally looking up. “You used your magic like that?”
He shrugged, though the school incident was one of his prouder moments. He traced the crisp papery surfaces, not old enough to yellow, but faded. It was a miracle Gastav had been able to send them from Tarcana so quickly. Even the manager at the post office long ago stopped dragging strange looks his way with his visits. No shipments of strange plants to fill an empty greenhouse this time, but a collection of his glory days immortalized in print. He’d never bothered to read them, barely recognized himself between the words.
Dread gusted through him as she reached the end of the table.
The last of the issues.
Daron hadn’t been able to look, immediately facing it down. His shoulders bunched at the sound of paper crinkling before she flipped it over. He forced himself to look at it from over her shoulder. The mirror he could never fully avoid.
A photograph dominated the center, of a closed coffin lined with flowers.
“Daring Deed Ends in Tragic Last Act.” No more than a shaky whisper as she read on in silence. It tormented him, watching her. Remembering the first time he’d read Lottie’s words, how the walls closed in on him like a prison.
Outside of Glorian, it was a story that followed him relentlessly. A promising young performer and his charming assistant, a talented pair who never failed to light up a show together. A true stage match, with a tragic end.
“You loved her, didn’t you?”
Where Dreams Descend Page 35