But before going through the mirror, everything else had already fallen like a house of cards at the slightest shake. Once one fell down, the rest followed.
Not like him.
Soon it all cleared like that distant light, remembered. A memory returned.
Demarco. There had been light in his hands, when he’d been standing across from her in the Court of Mirrors. Light had always passed between them, so pure.
Like magic.
Kallia’s chest seized in horror as she drew back and turned toward the dark. Her breath cut into sharp pants. She didn’t even realize she’d broken out into a run until Jack’s shouts became muddled noise behind her.
She had to get out of here.
She had to go back.
A sob in relief gripped her when light flickered ahead. A flicker of something.
The closer she moved toward it, the more light rose up on all sides like veins of molten gold. The packed dirt of the ground thinned to bare polished tile, the glimmer of chandeliers sparkling overhead. Mirrors took shape over the rising walls.
The Court of Mirrors.
Kallia blinked, slowly turning in place before a phantom melody swirled in her ears. Chatter and clinking glasses drifted lightly over it. So familiar, rising louder as couples in long gowns and pressed suits pinned with bright scarlet rosebuds emerged around her, already dancing in unison.
The last night of Spectaculore.
Everything left, just as it was. Everyone in attendance. Kallia’s pulse quickened as she searched the room everywhere for any sign of Aaros. Canary.
Demarco.
She had to find him.
The desire consumed her as the ballroom glittered like a garden bursting from memory, welcoming her across the floor as it did before. A second chance.
“Kallia!”
The voice stabbed with ice. It didn’t belong. She wanted to sink into this dream, wake up right here as if—
At the high-pitched peal of laughter, Kallia’s eyes snapped wide open.
The Court of Mirrors had vanished.
An unsettling cold dripped down her back at the echoes of that chilling laughter growing nearer. More human. And it sure didn’t sound like Jack.
There was someone else out there.
“Hello?” Relief broke inside Kallia as she cupped her hands around her mouth. Her voice, dry and broken. “Can you hear me?”
A flicker of shadowy movement skipped into the corner of her sight. Instinctively, Kallia’s fingers poised to summon any illumination, until she realized nothing would come of it. Not even something so damn simple.
Her nostrils flared as she squinted, adjusting well enough to the darkness to make out a form. A girl, from the clearer sound of the laughter, then softly spoken words.
“What was that?” Kallia called back, following the voice. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“… such a lovely day in the garden,” spoke the stranger passing by, the sheer wisps of her frayed skirt moving raggedly behind. “The birds are singing so many songs.”
At her dreamy sigh, Kallia blinked at how she moved lithely through the dark with a melody’s grace.
“Oh, look at all of these red carnations.” The stranger spun into her next step, reaching down. “My favorites.”
Kallia’s gut twisted as the girl proceeded to claw at the barren earth, grabbing chunks of dry, crumbling soil that she inhaled deeply with delight. “Heavenly.”
Wary, Kallia stepped closer. “What’s your name?”
An unnerving smile took over the girl’s hollowed, dirt-stained face, eyelids partly closed. Lost between a dream and wakefulness.
This poor girl needed help. Kallia couldn’t imagine how someone came to be in such a state, in a place such as this. “Hello?” She reached out to her gently. “Are you all—”
A blood-curdling scream tore from the girl. She lurched back hard, her eyes almost completely white from how wide they’d gone, searching all around. “Wh-where did it g-go?”
Her broken cries flooded the air, cracked dry as if she hadn’t had anything to drink in days.
“Where did what go?”
The wails ceased, and the stranger’s stare cut straight to Kallia with animal hatred. “You ruined it.”
At the prick of fear, Kallia faltered back. Not far enough. Not fast enough. Everything went black as her jaw suddenly slammed hard to the ground. The girl would not get off no matter how Kallia thrashed, unable to do more than keep her arms up to shield her face as best as she could.
“They brought me home—why did you take me back here?” Between hoarse sobs came a clawed swipe. “Why would you do that?”
Kallia couldn’t breathe. With one last push, muscles screaming, she shoved off the girl and gulped in a deep breath, staggering back to her feet.
Run. It was all Kallia could think.
She tried. But every step forward soon felt like sinking. Kallia froze as she looked down at the dirt submerging her feet to her ankles, packed hard as cement. Every time she pulled, she sank a few inches lower.
“You ruined the garden.”
The girl stood before her now, an odd doll-like tilt of her head, the slight glow of her outstretched hand.
A magician.
Kallia’s pulse thrummed hard. Her fingers curled into her scratched palms, trying to concentrate as the girl’s off-kilter laughter rang around all her.
Please, Kallia begged whatever power lingered inside. There had to be something. Anything.
Please come.
“How about I make a new garden, then?”
At the girl’s proposal, Kallia sank deeper. She wriggled and thrashed to break from the ground, but nothing gave way. And nothing was coming.
Without her power, she was powerless.
Her heart stopped cold at the abrupt cry, forcing her to look back up. The girl was nowhere in sight, as if carried off by the wind.
Kallia tensed the moment the ground loosened.
And hands grasped at her from behind.
“Now do you see why you can’t go off alone?” Jack whispered hoarsely, vanishing hunks of packed dirt piece by piece as he pulled her out.
In a daze, Kallia didn’t even fight him off. Her thoughts swam so violently, she wasn’t sure what was real anymore. “What … what’s wrong with her?” She inhaled shakily. “Did you kill her?”
Once Jack fully pulled Kallia free, he sighed. “Of course not. Though it would’ve been a mercy. There’s not much that can be done for lost magicians like her.”
“Lost?”
A faraway giggle trilled in the air, ominous as a wolf’s howl. Kallia squinted through the darkness, locating a figure moving through as if nothing had happened. “Oh, marvelous—the sun!” Her form twirled in place once again, farther and farther away. “Such a bright, beautiful day…”
Like the strange melody of her words, she faded, chasing sunshine where there was only darkness.
“What do you mean lost?” An uneasy knot formed in Kallia’s stomach. “We can’t just let someone wander out by themselves like that.”
“So concerned about someone who would’ve gleefully drowned you in dirt just now?”
Kallia’s glare cut through him. “She needs help.”
“There’s no helping her. Or anyone else who happens to be stumbling around all starry-eyed like that.” Jack glanced about them cautiously. “Any magician is beyond help if they lose themselves to the devils.”
Kallia swore she’d heard him wrong and waited for the laugh to come. After a tense breath, it never arrived. “What tales are you trying to serve me now?”
“If they’ve only ever been tales for you, you’re lucky.”
“They’re not real.” He had to be testing her, seeing how much of a naive fool she could be to believe any word of this.
Devils.
The last time Kallia had heard the term, it came from a scolding tutor—one of many who loved to wave it around like a weapon, as if that would ma
ke her sit still. It sounded just as absurd to her ears now as it had then. Children must behave, lest the devils find them. Those beings who were tempted by trickery and danced below the surface, where magic thrived and Zarose himself journeyed to close the gate.
Those were the stories from the legend. Not the truth.
“Then if you’re so sure, try strutting out there and proving me wrong. The only thing easier than gullible prey is skeptical prey.” Jack brushed off the dirt from his pants. “You’ve been far too close already. Without me, you would’ve been bowing like some wind-up doll until you starved on that stage.”
Kallia swallowed hard. The stage had felt so real beneath her feet, just like the Court of Mirrors. That desire to fall back into those moments, those familiar sensations, nearly devoured her.
“In this world, illusions are not just for show,” Jack went on, his jaw clenched. “The traps the devils lay out are particularly tricky. The more you believe in these illusions, the more powerful it becomes. Like walking into the jaws of some beast, masquerading as a glorious feast.”
Kallia let out a noise too strained to be a laugh.
In this world.
The distinction set ice to her nerves. Wherever she and Jack were held nothing of where they’d come from.
Wherever this was, this felt somewhere else off the map entirely.
“In this world.” The cold shook her voice. “Are we…”
Jack’s face shifted from calm to shadow. It made the dark circles beneath his eyes all the more apparent, the slightly disheveled nature of his hair as though he’d raked his fingers through it one too many times. Nervousness hardly ever befell Jack, she almost thought it never touched him at all.
Somehow, this world brought it out in him.
“… are we dead?” Kallia finished, half-dazed, startled by Jack’s bark of laughter. A strange sound, it went on, chasing the shadows from his face as quickly as light.
She glowered. “It was a genuine question.”
“I know.” There was a smile to his words, something warm beneath them. “But alas, no. At the very least, we’re not that.”
There was nothing assuring in the way he said it as he turned and walked on. No glance behind. No need, with no other choice but to follow like a fool.
An even bigger fool would simply stay put.
The bleak thought pushed her forward, following the man who walked through the darkness as though he knew exactly where it would take him.
3
The last time Daron had seen his aunt, it had been at Eva’s funeral.
It was a dreadful day filled with shaky sobs and sniffles into handkerchiefs, eyes glistening all across the room. Daron’s remained completely dry as he stared at the mountain of flowers atop the closed casket. A symbolic memorial, as no body had been recovered.
No one questioned where that body had gone once it passed through the mirror—where it was now or what her true name had been. As if it wasn’t bloody obvious enough that this funeral was no more than a party for Soltair’s latest tragedy.
No one had known it was Eva behind the mask, yet they knew every wretched detail of their last performance. The story spread like a wildfire. So sudden, Daron felt at times he was stuck in a dream for how the world had become a stranger. Believing a story, but not the truth.
He glared at the empty casket, every inch of him wanting to scream.
She’s not dead.
The look his therapist had given him when he’d said that was not the most encouraging. He knew better than to bring it up again after that. The world saw what they saw first—his assistant disappearing forever through a mirror from magic gone horribly, horribly wrong.
He had Lottie to thank for that. Whether or not she had become friends with Eva in earnest, she was the Poison of the Press first. Her coverage reached everyone before Daron had even reached his home, more isolated than ever. Losing his mind to a different story no one would ever believe.
She’s alive.
Out there.
Not dead.
Daron was a man of logic, not impulse. And for him, the story had not ended that night.
His aunt, of all people, had to believe him.
When the room shifted around him, gone quiet and still, Daron knew she had arrived. A distinct chill hit the air, right on cue with the curious whispers behind handkerchiefs. The way the ground slightly shook at the orderly march of boots told him she’d brought the cavalry. The Patrons rarely made appearances as a unit for such occasions, certainly not with Head Patron Cataline Edgard.
Daron knew she would come. He’d expected it.
What surprised him was the white-gloved hand landing on his shoulder from behind. A touch of greeting, a gentle squeeze. Aunt Cata so rarely ever indulged in warm gestures, that Daron almost forgot to react.
She saved him the trouble by lowering into the seat beside him. From the way she perched at the edge, she wasn’t staying long. Always serving Soltair, without complaint.
Surely this had to be a case no stranger than what she’d come across. His aunt was always the first to question everything, to press hard until the desired result came about. And most of all, she knew him as only family could. No one else would believe him but her.
Shoulders tense, she stared straight ahead at the casket, ignoring the curious glances. As the seats around them creaked, Daron knew he only had so much time before she fled to avoid the crowds. A silent getaway.
“I can’t fix this.”
Her soft words halted his thoughts. Even as she stared stoically at the casket, her eyes as dry as Daron’s.
“Aunt Cata.” He spoke quickly under his breath. “I need to talk—”
“What you need is to stay away from this sort of life,” she snapped, fury hiding behind her lips. “I warned you both, and now she’s gone.”
Daron felt himself beginning to sink.
Gone. Such a hopeless word. A lonely word, which the whole world but him believed. Anything he said otherwise sounded like a story he told himself.
What if they were right?
The memory carved into his stomach now as he sat across from Aunt Cata in the carriage back to Glorian. For once, he wouldn’t have minded riding back with Lottie. Already, he missed having the room to exhale and stretch his legs. Even just the freedom to lose his gaze in the window.
This vehicle left no room for distraction. Ever practical and efficient, the Patrons’ compact carriages prioritized fast transportation, not luxury.
Their silence burned between them as they drove on together, every soft, uneasy bump of the ride sending a jolt up Daron’s spine. Like he was suddenly a little boy again, ordered to her study for making a mess with Eva.
Sitting across from her now, he felt just as small.
“These woods are dangerous,” Aunt Cata finally noted aloud. Nothing cut through silence more starkly than her clipped tone. “It’s troubling how it’s grown since I last came to this side of the island.” Her frown deepened at the window as the passing shadows outside flickered about her face. “And from the sounds of it, you’ve been riding through here frequently.”
That edge in her voice always sharpened whenever she reprimanded, but this was no scolding. No time for excuses.
Daron blinked slowly. “How did you know I’d be out here?”
“Already looking for a way to escape?” Her gaze slitted behind her slim spectacles. “And before you try switching the subject, you don’t get to ask the questions here. I do. It’s all I’ve done these past years.”
There was never any yelling to her anger, which made it all the worse. “Aunt Cata, I can explain—”
“Explain?” The carriage hit a hard, violent bump, but she remained unmoved. “Maybe you can also explain why you haven’t bothered to write me back even just once?”
The worry lines creased over her brow.
He’d put them there, carved them deeper.
“Not heard a single thing from you in over a year.”
Aunt Cata seethed. “The only reason I knew you were alive was because your courier case was still accepting letters. And of course, the press.” She slightly turned her nose up, as though some offensive scent entered the space. “The papers seem to be the only things willing to talk, nowadays.”
Daron’s jaw clenched. He had no good answers, all selfish. If no one would believe him after Eva, he seemed better off alone. No one could see him, or see what he’d become. What he’d lost.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. His heart pounded mercilessly against his chest. “After Eva … I needed time alone.”
“And I gave it to you, Daron. I gave you time, I gave you space—” Her throat bobbed hard. “You wouldn’t visit me, wouldn’t write to me, and still, I kept trying.”
Her voice never broke. Nothing about her ever did.
Remember to eat something green once in a while.
Don’t party too hard on an empty stomach.
Please write back.
Her letters flew to the forefront of his mind, each line skewering him. She’d always had a subtle heart, kept behind iron-forged bars. It’s not that she never showed warmth, it just wasn’t often. Like rations, doled out in the times when it was most needed, not when he would’ve liked.
The first time he’d broken his arm after he fell from a tree—a tree which, a day later, had mysteriously been chopped down to a stumpy trunk.
When he’d gone to bed far too drunk after a night out with some Valmonts boys, only to remember in flashes his aunt sleeping in an armchair right by his bed, bucket in hand.
Those were never just moments, but pieces that only connected for him now. Far too late.
He didn’t even have to question the disappointment spiking in her eyes.
He truly was a piece of shit.
“I’m sorry.” Daron couldn’t say it enough. Didn’t know how many times it would take. “You don’t deserve that. I should’ve done things differently.”
A quiet fell over them. Even the motion of the carriage had smoothed its course, a sign they were nearing the city on the worn paths many have traveled before. The trip back was usually much quicker, but Daron swore he’d never experienced a longer carriage ride in his life.
When Night Breaks Page 3