For her, there was nothing worse he could ever do to her that he hadn’t already done. He’d opened the cage and locked her in, forged friends and memories she’d soon forget, fed her lies until she was full of them, and more. So much more.
We’re not so different, you and I.
The truth scared her far more now than it ever had then.
“The timing, at least, was perfect. Not too long after the devils delivered me, the last illusion in Hellfire House was about to fade,” Jack continued. “I had my instructions, knew your face from the mirrors, and how best to lead you through them. Make you want them.”
The calculation of it all. So cold, so callous.
Except none of those things had happened. Nothing even remotely close. “So you could choose, then?”
It was a long while before Jack rose to his feet. Too restless to sit still, to stay grounded. “It didn’t hit me or anyone else, until I crossed over, what might change once I reached that true side.” Some memory lay behind his wistful expression. “Because as soon as I left and walked out through the Dire Woods, my first thought was not of you.”
Kallia blinked. “What was it?”
“I was so damn cold, and I just wanted a drink.”
He said it so plainly, soft-spoken and unlike him, that the pressure in her chest built into a laugh she couldn’t hold back. So loud, even Jack whipped around with such alarm, one would’ve thought he’d heard a scream.
“A drink?” Kallia only laughed harder until tears found the corners of her eyes.
Far too many beats later, his expression remained sharp with regret and unsmiling as ever. “Keep cackling and they’ll figure out where we are.”
She gasped in a breath, then another. “Of all the things you could want for yourself in the world, you chose a drink?”
“Why is that so funny?” Jack bristled defensively. “There are always fancy bottles all over the place here, and Roth never allowed me to have any. Just to serve them.” His bitter frown deepened. “Not that I could ask, even if some part of me wanted to.”
Kallia clamped her lips shut at the soft realization dawning on her. Every memory of Jack, more often than not, included him with a drink in his hand. Sometimes he’d sip at it, other times it remained untouched. That never made any sense to her, but now it did.
Her shaking soon fell to tremors as she gathered herself together. She hadn’t laughed like that in ages, and the dizziness got to her. She could barely recall the last time she’d shared anything with Jack not coated in sarcasm or disgust.
I was made to find you.
The drop of the cold reminder was all it took. The slap in the face to wake her up, to never let her forget. “You still managed to complete the job. By finding me.”
Jack was not her friend. Never had been, either. He was nothing more than a means to an end to her. And to him, she was just an order. Those lines were still drawn between them.
Jack had done everything to keep her away, for it meant never returning himself.
No wonder Roth hated him as much as he did. The last deal you ever want going bad is one made with the devils.
“What was your reason with me, then?” Kallia’s glare was unwavering. She deserved that at least.“You could’ve let me go off on my own. You didn’t have to keep me in that house and play that whole charade with me. You very well could’ve left me on my own somewhere else.”
“Alone, with no family? Nothing?” He grimaced, as though the idea offended him. “He would’ve found you, eventually. The mirrors would’ve found you.”
“Not good enough.” A being with such immense power had little room for excuse. “You kept me from mirrors easily enough, you could’ve hidden me wherever I landed. Maybe set me up in some town far away, sent me to an academy, left me in the care of some lonely folks whose memories you’ve stirred to oblivion.”
So many lives stretched out before her, so many options and far easier ruses. That Jack chose a life at Hellfire House, the hardest of them all, went against everything she knew of him. He never wasted an effort, and never decided on anything without thinking five steps ahead. At one point, he must’ve predicted the entire act would crash all around him, one way or another.
“It’s because you chose to stay.”
His voice sounded so near, Kallia turned and found Jack sitting beside her now. She didn’t even startle at his proximity. “What?”
“When we first met, I gave you a choice,” he said quietly. “To go elsewhere, or stay.”
That night unraveled behind her eyes. How ready she’d been to leave, to be free from a house that had held her all her life. And how quickly it had all changed, the moment Jack closed a hand over her fist, and offered her more.
“I don’t know why I even asked, back then. I don’t even know what I was saying that night, it wasn’t … part of my plan.” He cast the briefest sideways glance at her. “None of this was.”
She hadn’t known that. It changed much, and nothing at all. The intent was no matter, for it led to everything else regardless. He could’ve stopped the show at any time, inserted her into a new life rather than insert new people into hers.
She would drive herself mad, thinking of all the things he could’ve done. And how one choice on her part might’ve changed the course of it all.
“Be that as it may, it didn’t stop you from doing what you did.” Her trust bruised so easily now, so quickly, after being thrown against the wall too many times. “You can’t expect me to start trusting everything you say now, after something like that.”
Jack’s nostrils flared for a hard second, but he nodded. “Why keep me around, then?”
She had her reasons, but those seemed flimsy in comparison now to all the reasons to turn him away. To have a power like his at her side could be the difference between her finally returning home or staying locked on this other side. There was risk in it, like every step forward in this world and everything else.
“I don’t know when my magic will come back at full strength. If it ever will.” Kallia swallowed hard. She hadn’t voiced the worry yet, but it was every bit as terrifying out loud as it was in her head. “And in a world like this, that just won’t work in my favor.”
“No. It certainly won’t.” His words held a small smile to them, even if he bore none on his face at his next assurance. “And your power will return. Even if you’re without, I remain as much at your mercy as you are at mine.”
Such a ridiculous statement. Kallia rolled her eyes and pushed herself to her feet. “If that were the case, I’d throw you off this roof right now.”
Jack gave it some thought and shrugged. “You can, you know. I’d survive it.”
“Don’t give me ideas.”
Her snort went unreturned as his stare fell down to his pocket, fixated. Some mental debate went on in his head, before he eventually dug inside. “Here. Take them.”
His hand reemerged, outstretched and inviting.
And the black brass knuckles waited in his palm.
It was the first time she’d seen them not over his fingers. No point in it, she supposed, when there was nothing left to mask. Just a weapon, now. “You want me to hit you?”
“You could.” Jack didn’t sound opposed to the idea. He dangled the dark row of rings over one finger. “But that’s not why I want you to have these.”
Of all he could’ve given her, this felt the most like forbidden fruit. Because of the way it called to her. Because it was his. “I don’t need gestures, or anything of yours for that matter.”
“These are as much mine as they are yours.” His chest rose and fell as he drew the black brass knuckles close to him. “I never take without putting it somewhere else. Every memory I’ve taken from you … echoes in its weight.”
Her heart strained.
Memories.
He twisted at them so effortlessly, she assumed they were all lost for good. A rose ripped from a garden, discarded soon after.
The br
ass knuckles dropped into her palm with a cold weight, heavier than they looked. It was a wonder he once wore them every day. “Why would you give this me?”
Jack dug his hands into his pockets, gaze cast down at the weathered rug they stood upon. “I can’t take back what I’ve done, but I can give back what I’ve taken.”
There was a ringing in her ears. Her whole body tensed. Blood simmered.
“Doesn’t erase what never should’ve been touched in the first place.” She glared. “Giving back what’s already mine is not some grand gift.”
It felt dangerous, holding them. Any memories he took were ones she didn’t want to see. Zarose only knew what horrors made the weight of them so cold.
“Then at least you can see them for yourself, if you want.” Jack sighed. “At least you have the choice.”
16
They were following him. Daron was sure of it.
Over the past few days, it was more than obvious. The way the Patrons hushed whenever he passed, the hint of white always in the corner of his vision. More so than usual. On his walks, he took note of the two always stationed by the gates, the few patrolling along the city wall, and some simply walking through the streets at any given time. Their watch held an orderly rhythm over Glorian. The ones that followed him from afar, no matter how they tried to hide it, disturbed that clockwork melody. Aunt Cata might as well have been breathing down his neck now with every defeated step into the Prima Café.
“They know.” With a frustrated sigh, Daron pulled out a chair besides Aaros and Lottie. “I was tailed halfway across the city, right after trying the hospital again.”
“And I’m assuming that try was a fail,” Aaros supplied, dropping a lump of brown sugar into his tea. “Again.”
Daron simmered in his seat. Unhelpful, but not wrong. Their discussion with Ira confirmed that much more how he needed to speak with the mayor again. Without his aunt or any Patrons present, which was an impossible order now. Every morning and afternoon, when looped by the hospital for any opening at all, there were only more obstacles. From the Patrons passing through the building to the one stationed right by Mayor Eilin in his bed.
“That’s not suspicious,” Lottie murmured into a sip of her tea. “You don’t give someone a watchdog unless it’s to see who comes to them.”
Aunt Cata’s instincts never failed. Already, she was a few steps ahead, anticipating his moves. “My aunt knew I would try to talk to Eilin again.”
“Of course she knew.” A scoff burst from her. “She didn’t become Head of the Patrons by accident.”
“Then how do we get past her? Or any of them?”
Out loud, it sounded more like a joke. They were a scant band of fighters against an army of many. The only magician among them was Canary. Daron hardly counted, with the unpredictability of his magic. Though he feared it might become necessary, with however little time they had left until Aunt Cata raised the signal to the Patrons. A fresh new coat of paint to mask everything beneath.
“Let’s pray they find something more scintillating to focus on.” Aaros lifted his empty cup over his head to grab the waiter’s attention. “Shouldn’t be too hard. We’ve made so little progress, we’re practically going backward.”
“Don’t insult the one thing we know absolutely for certain.” Under the table, Lottie nudged at Daron with her heel. “Dare’s got devils and death hanging over his head.”
Daron aimlessly stirred at his coffee as the two snickered together. The Devils card haunted him more than he wanted to admit. He rarely trusted in cards to spell out fates, never enjoyed the ways such games guided decisions more than determined them.
But the seamstress’s reaction was enough to make him question.
“It was nothing but a game,” he muttered. “Probably to scare me off. It’s no secret that she doesn’t like me.”
“Don’t worry, Demarco. She doesn’t like anyone.”
“Speak for yourself.” Aaros dug a hand in his pocket, unearthing that tattered rose cloth out of habit now. With every glance, Daron hoped to suddenly find the rose in full bloom, but the petals remained fallen. A glimmer of life.
Still holding on, wherever she may be.
“We need to keep going,” Daron said, jaw set. “No matter what the cards say, we can’t just stop.”
“Oh yes, we can.”
There was a flash of ruby hair before the table rumbled. The force of Canary’s arrival toppled a half-full water glass, but her eyes glinted too brightly to care. “I know what to do.”
“Does it involve getting me another glass of water?” Aaros scowled up at her as he dabbed his napkin to dry his setting.
“The opposite, actually.” Canary grinned without apology and stole a chair from a neighboring table. “This strategy of laying low with private meetings has been a great bonding experience for us all, but it’s not moving the needle. Nothing will just fall in our laps. We need to make something happen.”
“Of course. Because were such a force to be reckoned with.” Lottie waved both hands over them, as if she needn’t say more. “Unless someone here has experience taking down established institutions, doesn’t seem like we’ll be making waves any time soon.”
“Pessimism will get you nowhere.” Canary snatched a tea cookie off Lottie’s plate, too quick to get properly swatted away. “It all came to me after what the seamstress said. If we stay quiet and cautious, we’re making it easy for the white gloves to roll all over us. Did you see how quickly they took over this city?”
Because the people saw nothing wrong in it, only due diligence. They trusted in the Patrons as much as the Patrons trusted no one to question their ways when all would soon be forgotten.
“So what are you suggesting?” Daron pressed forward. “We might not be a force, but we could be a minor inconvenience at best.”
“You all seem to forget that I have a circus.” With a sharp huff, Canary popped the cookie in her mouth. “So let’s give the Patrons a nightmare to clean up. Let’s raise some hell and set this city on fire.”
The crunch was all that could be heard amid the stunned silence across the table.
If Lottie’s brows arched any higher, they’d disappear. “Not sure I quite remember Ira suggesting that, but even I draw the line at arson and murder.”
Aaros raised his hand in agreement.
“No one is going to die.” Canary yawned with a shrug. “Just think of it as … a little well-timed chaos. A show that goes so gloriously wrong.”
There was both relish and readiness in her voice, amped enough to take to the streets now if need be. It piqued Daron’s interest. A quiet, deliberate plan of attack was more his style, but chaos was Canary’s specialty. And if anyone could orchestrate it well, it was the Conquering Circus.
“Didn’t we just survive one?” Aaros’s brow crinkled. “I’m sure nobody wants a repeat.”
“Sure they do.” A strange light of realization entered Lottie. “Everyone loves a good show.”
“And no one looks away from a bad one.” Especially not the Patrons. Daron propped his chin under his fist, shifting toward Canary. “You think you could clear the hospital, buy me some time with the mayor?”
“Every Patron on the street will have no choice but to come running to shut us down.” Her chuckle rasped up her throat. “You’ll have enough time to throw a tea party with him.”
Could it work? For a while, Glorian had become such a tricky game board. One wrong move could set him back, though no strategy at all could ever guarantee a clean victory. Not on a game board that was already broken. If the old rules no longer applied, then there was no need to play by them.
“My aunt, though.” His frown weighed down heavier. “She will figure us out in the end.”
“By that point, it won’t matter.” The fire-eater raised her chin, all smug as she tossed her long red hair past her shoulder. “I suspect they’ll be a bit preoccupied trying to stop the ship from drowning first before targeting who’s
responsible.”
A perfect distraction.
“Zarose help us.” Chuckling, Aaros reached into his coat pocket. Not for the rose cloth, but a small metal flask he emptied into the last dregs of his tea before raising the cup in a toast. “To weaponizing mayhem.”
No one clinked glasses with him. Instead, Lottie bounced in her seat with a notebook already miraculously in hand. “All right, how do we even begin constructing a show of that scope?” she started, her pen flying across a fresh page. “Do we get the word out about it now? Where should it—”
Canary plucked the pen right out of her hand. “Not so fast, poison, this is my domain. Leave all the planning to me, and just arrive on show night.”
Lottie’s fingers twitched at the loss of her weapon. “And when will that be, exactly?”
“Who knows…” With an impish giggle, the fire-eater twirled the pen over her knuckles. “It’ll be a surprise.”
“An event this important should not be left up to surprise,” Lottie replied, her death glare simmering. “If we don’t know specifics, how can we be sure this will work?”
“And that Rayne will even be on board, no questions asked?” Daron added, as worried. If not more. They only had one chance to genuinely throw the Patrons off guard without warning.
“Don’t worry about him. The man would slap his name on a funeral if you pitched it to him as a show.” Canary shook her head. “As long as he can get up on his little stage, he won’t ask questions. Leave everything to me.”
Lottie sat back, looking skeptical as ever, but Daron felt his lips tug upwards at the corners. Strange, the hope that came at the promise of disaster. That lightness stirring inside, no longer satisfied with waiting for answers to arrive.
It was about damn time they demanded the answers for themselves.
“As long as you don’t actually destroy this town.” Aaros waggled a finger in Canary’s face. “People still live behind those gates, you know.”
“I’ll be gentle with her,” she reassured with a snort. “She’s withstood much worse. What’s one more disaster behind her walls?”
When Night Breaks Page 17