Where Dreams Descend

by Janella Angeles

  Kallia didn’t look up from the paper, studying every word. Daron fought back the hardness working up his throat. Not once did the papers ever name her, not even in this one.

  It’s what she always wanted, Lottie insisted, and it only made Daron hate her more. Even the last story written about Eva had painted her as a lie.

  “My sister.” A burning began at the back of his eyes. “Eva.”

  He hadn’t spoken her name out loud to anyone in so long. No one would understand, no one would believe.

  A hand came to rest softly on his back, circling slowly.

  “I had no idea,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Daron.”

  He looked up at the ceiling, fighting the urge to pull her to him. To bring those hands around his neck, to feel something more than darkness.

  Would she believe him?

  He squeezed the bridge of his nose, hoping to siphon the pressure racing to his skull. “It’s not true, Kallia.”

  “What’s not?”

  “Eva. She isn’t dead,” he said, swallowing hard. “She disappeared.”

  43

  Grief did funny things to people, Kallia knew, even if she’d never properly felt it. The death of Sire hadn’t fazed her. The loss of Mari came close, but realizing someone wasn’t real couldn’t be the same as losing someone who was. However many times Kallia mourned a friend, she might never know; Jack swept her grief away so diligently.

  A small mercy, perhaps. But there was no puppeteer reigning over Demarco’s mind, no one to wipe the pain away before it festered into something worse.

  “What do you mean?” Kallia did her best to keep her voice even. She glanced furtively toward the papers to make sure she hadn’t misread. The picture of the coffin adorned with flowers remained, framed with words and phrases in bold. Tragic. Fallen. Vanishment. Last act. Funeral.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  Something in Demarco’s expression fractured as he walked out from under her grasp to the other end of the table. Kallia’s hand hovered a moment too long before she let it fall to her side. “If you don’t explain fully, how can I?”

  From the other end of the table, he shot her a look. Uncertain, dubious. She hated how someone had put that in his eyes—many people, it seemed.

  Yet he must’ve caught something in her eyes, too, for he relented with a sigh. Exhaled, as if breathing for the first time in a while. “Eva’s my older sister by two years. Same as me, she’s a born magician. Always had a sharp eye for the stage, a brilliant mind to entertain an audience.” He spoke slowly, with care. “But women were not allowed to perform when we first started. It was … just the way things were.”

  Kallia’s brow arched. “Were?”

  He had the decency to look chagrined. “There’s still a long, long way to go,” he amended. “But you, having a top spot in a competition like this? That would’ve been unheard of when we first started the show circuit. We found out the hard way when venues turned away our act for months. Nobody wanted the Daring Duo. And our aunt certainly wasn’t keen on Eva wasting her talents on the stage when she could one day lead the Patrons.”

  “Girls can’t take the stage, but it’s fine if they take over the magicians’ vanguard?”

  “The Patrons don’t exactly parade themselves across Soltair like performers do,” he explained. “It’s a respectable position, but not the loudest. One that comes with a lot of responsibilities Eva didn’t want to tie herself to for the rest of her life.”

  “Why didn’t you take over, then?” It seemed a natural fit. One that allowed him to use his power with purpose, favor the shadows over the spotlight. That he’d led such a notable performing career had been the biggest surprise of all to her when she’d first met him.

  “Eva was the better magician,” he admitted without shame. “Aunt Cata wanted her to inherit the Patrons, but Eva didn’t want to be the next Aunt Cata. Our aunt wasn’t the biggest supporter of the path Eva wanted, and neither were the venues. It was suggested we take on an assistant to incorporate more elaborate acts so no one could refuse. But Eva and I didn’t trust anyone else on the stage with us.” His brown eyes shadowed. “So she took on the role herself. Disguised herself, so no one would know.”

  Kallia frowned. “To get you through the door?”

  “For a chance to be on stage,” he said, digging his hands into his pockets. “She’d always say that even if everyone came for the Daring Demarco, the applause was for her. Even behind masks and costumes, she made her mark clear. She designed the shows, supplemented the magic, helped me brainstorm every trick to be better than the last.”

  “She sounds brilliant.” Kallia smiled, a little in awe. To hear of another magician like this—like her—made her feel that much more seen. As if she’d been alone, screaming into a void, only to realize others had been there with her all along. “I almost wish she’d left you in the dust and gone solo.”

  Demarco let out a quiet laugh. “You two would get along famously.”

  The way he talked about his sister, it was as if she might walk through the door at any moment. “What happened in your last act?”

  His knuckles whitened over the edge of the table. “The props for our newest set hadn’t been ready in time, so we decided to fall back on a popular trick from our early days. The Vanishment.” He uttered it like a ghost’s name. “All you need are twin mirrors—of the same make, from the same maker. Most theaters keep their mirrors uniform, so it was easy to cobble the act together when needed.”

  A chill ran down Kallia’s spine. “How does the act go?”

  “Have you ever walked through walls before?” At this, she shook her head. “It’s the same concept, but it’s tough magic that requires transfiguring your entire body. I was always shit at it so I didn’t even try, but when Eva encountered difficult magic, she took on the challenge until she could do it in her sleep. She spent over a year trying to walk through concrete and brick and all manner of stone—all to make gliding through material thin as glass seem easy as breathing.

  “So for the act, I would unveil a mirror. Floor-length, front and center. I’d knock against the glass like a door, confirm with the audience that it was indeed only a mirror,” he said. “And when the mood of the room lightened with laughter, I’d push Eva in.”

  Kallia tensed, envisioning the act.

  The dramatic silence, the alarmed gasps.

  “She was supposed to cross out of the other mirror, waiting in our dressing room, and walk out. People would cry out in shock, applause would sound.” Demarco blinked slowly. As if coming to after years asleep, the nightmare still clinging to him. “But something went wrong. This mirror was different.”

  “Different how?”

  “It fractured as soon as she passed through, and she never reemerged.” The moment weighed on him as he spoke, as if it never stopped. “No matter how long we waited, no matter how long I sat across from the other mirror, she … never returned.”

  A heaviness sank inside Kallia as if an anchor had dropped in her chest. “So they ruled it a death, and you stopped performing,” she murmured. “And you think she’s still out there?”

  “I’m her brother, I’d know if she was truly gone.” Demarco bristled, arms crossed. “The question is: where? I’ve been searching for years, and never had a clear lead until this show was announced.”

  “Glorian? What does Glorian have to do with anything?”

  “Eva was eternally curious, and I thought there was something to that. The city lost in the woods, she called it, always dreaming about it. Collecting rumors wherever she could—the more ridiculous, the better.” His small chuckle was a hollow sound. “She thought something existed here that didn’t want to be found. She had her own theories, convinced there was magic here. Spectaculore was my only chance in, so I took it to explore.”

  “But … there is magic here.” Kallia treaded cautiously. “There’s magic everywhere.”

  “No, a different kind. Something wo
rth hiding. The kind that could cross time and defy all reason. Power that could”—his jaw clenched—“bring someone back from anything—death or elsewhere.”

  Fighting back a shiver, Kallia shook her head. Jack never said it wasn’t possible, but he’d always dissuaded her from asking. There were some problems too unsolvable for magic. Or maybe that’s what they wanted everyone to think, to keep them from asking such questions in the first place.

  “Well, it can certainly explain how a city with a way in suddenly has no way out.”

  His gaze flickered to her face in disbelief. “You … you don’t think it’s complete nonsense?”

  “I’m the last person to judge what is and isn’t nonsense.” Kallia shrugged, considering him. “Question is, have you found anything that makes you feel like it’s not?”

  He looked down at the table, at his life laid out before him. So badly, she wanted to wipe the darkness from his face, to take the hurt away from the memory.

  She wondered if that’s why Jack did it, if he’d cared too much to let loss swallow her whole. Not that it justified the act, but Kallia could understand why she might do it. If she could rip the grief away, the ropes that bound him to this hurt, she would do it in a heartbeat. Even if he hated her afterward.

  “Yes, and it has to do with something else,” he said. “Something I haven’t told you.”

  Nothing shook Kallia inside more than his tone. All the times Demarco said nothing, never answered her, stretched raw across his face. “I’m not who you think I am. I haven’t been, in years.”

  The world shrank. “What do you mean?”

  He was all edges. He ran a hand down his face, his knuckles curling into a fist. “After Eva disappeared, so did my magic.”

  The silence was stifling. Kallia lost hold of her breath, her heart racing in her ears. Somewhere in it, she heard Jack. Laughing.

  “What?”

  No denial. Only pain.

  “That’s impossible.” It didn’t make sense. She didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t. “You’re … you’re a born magician.”

  “I know.”

  “Wait a second, you—” She pressed at her temple, the sudden throbbing. “You performed magic, I’ve seen it. Felt it.”

  The night of the second performance. That day at the Ranza Estate. Those hadn’t been imagined. Her bones still vibrated with that power from Demarco. The light between them, that force, had been real.

  “No, I-I don’t know … it comes and goes in bursts, but nothing I can control or take credit for. Not really.” Demarco’s voice grew hoarse, heavy. “My magic has been gone since that last act, until I came to Glorian. Until I met you.”

  She shut her eyes. Looking at him was suddenly too difficult. “So you’ve been lying to everyone, this entire time?”

  The pieces fell and fit before her in ways that hadn’t made sense before. The questions he avoided, the answers he withheld. His method of abstaining that others mocked. The way he’d agreed to mentor her, before cutting ties entirely.

  Weak, Jack had always called him.

  This was why.

  This.

  “How could you not tell me?” Tears simmered beneath her eyelids. She feared if she opened them, they would fall. “Me. Your partner. How could you lie to me?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said roughly, and all she heard was his pain. Raw, and truthful. “I-I wanted to … I was selfish. I didn’t know what I was doing. What I was thinking. I thought if I told you, you would see that I have nothing. I am nothing.”

  Her heart twisted. “What?”

  “I’m not powerful.” He looked away, his breath hitching. “I’m not the magician I used to be. My name means nothing.”

  She should’ve pitied the shame pouring from him. But nothing made her more furious. Like a lit match, catching across her skin.

  “I don’t care about your name, Demarco. I never did.” Kallia snapped. “I don’t care if you were a god or a king before any of this. None of that has ever mattered to me.”

  The tension in his face dropped. “It didn’t?”

  The hope she found there stirred something inside her. Memories, shaken loose. Jack, opening a door with only the jut of his chin. Him, adjusting the lights of the club to her routine with the wave of his palm. Him, waiting in her dressing room with another pouch of seeds to grow, and a bouquet of wildflowers still blooming and unfurling before her. Power, forever at his fingertips, had always been something to give, to glory in and share.

  And her first flower from Demarco: a broken rose he’d caught that had fallen from her hand. Not even the greenhouse, but that limp stem, petals falling off. It had even died, shortly after.

  It took her by surprise, how every flower she’d ever known paled in comparison.

  To keep steady, standing, Kallia gripped the edge of the table until her fingers went stiff. “Why are you telling me this, now?” She nodded down at the papers. “Why show me all of this?”

  Silence stretched between them, before he stepped forward. “You would’ve heard my story from someone else eventually. I wanted you to hear it from me.”

  “Why?”

  A lump formed in her throat the closer he drew.

  “Because even if you didn’t believe me, I knew you would listen.”

  Kallia pressed a hand to his chest, stopping him.

  “Because I wanted to give you something true. For once.”

  “Please.” Kallia said it more to herself, not realizing how much her hands had been shaking until his wrapped around hers, stilling them. She never thought he would get this close to her again, never realized how much the distance ate at her.

  His voice went thick. “Do you want me to stop?”

  He would, if she told him. He would pull away without another word, because he listened.

  Wordlessly, she lifted his hand to the side of her neck, watching his expression. Uncertain, but patient. Burning, as he touched only where she guided his hands—one at her hip, while the other at her neck rose to her jaw. His fingers tangled into her hair, the pins she’d speared through starting to snag back, undone.

  “What do you want, Kallia?”

  Even in doubt she knew. And without another thought, she pressed her lips to his.

  She wanted him to stop watching her like a stranger. She wanted him to stop looking at her like she would disappear. She wanted him safe. She wanted his hands on her. His laughter in her ears. She wanted them for more than a moment. She wanted more time.

  He kissed her back readily, relief slamming through them both. Warming her eyes, catching in their breaths.

  He held tighter as she gripped the back of his neck, pulling him close. As close as possible. The backs of her thighs met the corner of the table in a light hiss of pain that startled her, yet she didn’t break away. With a heated curse, Demarco lifted her by the waist and set her on the edge.

  Her thoughts swam as he kissed her jaw. “Wait, the newspapers…”

  Demarco gave a gruff hum against her skin as he dragged her to him with one hand, before his other swept behind her to the crash of papery stacks hitting the floor.

  Every nerve under Kallia’s skin lit on fire. She wanted to do away with her coat, her boots, every article of clothing so she could breathe.

  Every breath was torture, not enough air.

  Not enough.

  She began unbuttoning his coat instead. He shouldered it off as she went to work on the collar of his shirt while his palms rubbed along her thighs—

  “Hold on.” He stopped short, panting. “We should talk first.”

  Kallia’s gaze fell back on his reddened mouth. “We have been talking.”

  “And it was a lot. I just want to be sure.”

  “You’re so honorable, it makes me sick sometimes.”

  His smile curled deeper, changing his face entirely. The most relaxed and patient she’d ever seen it. Like he didn’t want to waste a single moment, staring at her just like this.

&nbs
p; “I only want to know where your thoughts are. If they’re in the same place as mine.” He placed a small kiss on her mouth. “Because tomorrow morning.…” Another kiss. “I don’t want you to shut me out like last time.” He paused, before drifting his lips beneath her jaw. “And I don’t think you do, either.”

  Need rolled inside Kallia so fiercely that she wrapped her legs around his, bringing him closer. He groaned. “Stop that.”

  “You’re the one who put me here.” Kallia leaned back invitingly, her spine touching the table. “There’s enough room for two.”

  “Nice try,” he bit out through a tortured grin. “How about you sit up so we can—”

  A crash sounded.

  The shatter of glass.

  They broke apart instantly and searched the room. The walls. Ice settled in Kallia’s chest as she observed the frame knocked facedown over a golden velour blanket, pieces of glass covering the carpet like silver rain.

  Mirror shards.

  “Holy shit. Did you feel the room shake or anything?” Demarco assessed the rest of the room, his jaw ticking. “Perhaps the nails broke off.”

  Kallia couldn’t rely on perhaps. She saw only the blanket, pooling beneath the shattered mirror frame. A shield secured over the mirror, like hers always were.

  Unless some other force knocked it off.

  Kallia slid off the table, discovering her legs were far more wobbly than she’d anticipated. “I-I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  Demarco’s face lost that glimmer of mirth. “Go where?”

  She fixed herself up, hurrying across the floor without stepping on the fallen newspapers. So fixated on her path, she didn’t realize Demarco was already there, stopping her by the elbows.

  “What happened? Did I do something?” he asked, peering at her face. Concern shadowed across his eyes. “Kallia, you look…”

  Remember what I said.

  The trembling had returned. Not even she could hide it now. “Let me go.”

  “Stay.” He spoke against her temple, pressing reassurances against her skin. “I can’t help unless you tell me.”

  “No one can help me.”

  “Let me try.” His voice grew heavy. “Please, let me try.”