Without drawing notice, he’d collected them all in one room, in case they might tempt anyone to start looking at them again.
The more separate each side remained, the safer all would be.
It was the most he could do with all that he’d lost, but at least it was something.
Until one mirror remained, and he couldn’t bring himself to break it just yet.
Just in case.
“I thought I smelled a monster.”
He glanced at the mirror’s edge, and there was a figure leaning against the door, filing her sharp nails like tending to knives.
She’d snuck up on him.
How the hell had she done that?
“What are you doing here?” He turned back to the mirror with a glare.
“What are you doing here?” Vain shot back, raising a brow. “Thought you were supposed to be dead.”
The fact that she displayed no shock, at least not her usual amount, meant she’d known for a while that he wasn’t.
“If you won’t tell anyone, I won’t,” he said, hoping she’d leave it at that. If they didn’t want anything to do with him, then he wanted nothing in return.
His head lifted in slight surprise at the sound of a cold heel taking one step in.
“I didn’t say you could come in.”
“You see, that’s the thing.” Another click of her heel. “You don’t make the rules around here. I do now.”
Jack snorted. “And why would I ever follow them?”
“Because I know how hard it is.” Behind him, Vain crossed her arms, tracing the golden frame. “Because I know it’s not all just breaking glass.”
At least they could agree on that. Breaking glass like this was severing something real. A connection.
Strong yet still fragile, for how easily it could be lost in a fractured surface.
“Think they made it?”
His eyes found hers in the mirror, and for once, she didn’t turn away. She held on with unwavering command, as if willing him to be the first to fold in this game.
“I don’t know,” Jack finally answered. Maybe they never would. Maybe it was better that way. “I haven’t looked to see, but if something were wrong, I’d like to think I’d feel some way about it. Some pang in my chest or alarm in my mind.”
After Kallia had left Hellfire House, there was nothing but wrongness the moment it happened. As soon as they’d left through the mirror, he’d felt no different. Still felt that way. At first it had worried him, though perhaps it was a silent blessing. A way to move on.
“I guess it’s not such a bad thing, to feel no worry. We don’t want it for them, and they wouldn’t want it for us,” she said, still watching him though she’d already won the game, before her piercing stare drifted away. “There’s only one thing left to do, then.”
Jack blinked down at the brass knuckles encircling his fingers before looking back up. Vain had disappeared on a different note than before. Still icier than winter, but on the cusp of spring. Though the next time she saw him, the expectation in her eyes would be clear.
It had to be done.
With one last inhale, he threw his fist against the mirror.
Quicker than a second.
Harsher than a stab.
Fragments of the mirror broke off and fell, joining the shards sprinkled across the ground. Large chunks of the mirror still remained, cracks webbing in jagged shapes against the frame. Just moments ago, Jack stood there whole as ever, but now there was barely half of him left. His face was cut in half by a thick slab of glass still hanging on.
He was a story half-told. Half-truth, half-lie.
He pressed his knuckles against the remaining piece until it crushed even more. He was glad to no longer see his face, nor himself, in the mirror anymore. Just an empty frame with a plain wooden backing, waiting to be filled with something different.
Something that could be.
He had seen it long before the city fell. He saw it now in the broken pieces of mirror scattered everywhere on the ground, in the headliner who walked around as if she wore a crown too heavy for her head already.
Jack didn’t care for crowns or what would come next, though he could see it all unfold with perfect clarity.
A broken land needed to be rebuilt.
Which meant it was time to raise another kingdom.
EPILOGUE
The star stood at her mirror, waiting for the show to begin.
It had been a while since she’d prepared like this. Her face painted and bolder than usual. Glitter dusted over her collar and bare shoulders. The neckline of her costume plunged into a scarlet confection of studded gems and feathered tassels that flounced whenever she twirled into a step.
The last time she’d worn an outfit like this, it was for another show that belonged in something of a dream. A dream far, far away.
That’s what she told the world when they asked her where she’d been. Why she’d gone, and how they had returned.
Were you abducted, miss?
Was it some powerful trick gone wrong, or were the Patrons involved in yet another scandalous cover-up?
Is it true you ran away with a second lover and decided the harlot’s life just wasn’t for you?
The press was a delightful beast. Hardly ever slept when it was hungry for a scandal. And she had all the knowledge to feed it. She could go on and on about a land dominated by endless night, full of parties and power games between all of its players. The best show magicians in the business whom the world would never know.
Surprisingly, no reporters came knocking at her dressing room door. They’d hounded her at rare outings with friends, or dining with her assistant, who was more than ready to punch any nosy stranger who got too close.
With the star’s grand return to the stage tonight after a year away, everyone wanted the story.
To the world’s displeasure, it was a story she would never tell. A star was entitled to her secrets, after all. Those memories were hers, and they were all she had of those who stayed behind the glass.
“I can’t believe this.” An annoyed scoff rose over the crinkle of a newspaper from the corner of her dressing room. “They’re still writing about him?”
“And you’re still reading in here?” The star could’ve laughed at the way he claimed to loathe the papers, yet always carried some issue to peruse while she primped. It helped that the press had at least stopped hailing him as “the powerless magician.” Some outlets had even graciously phased out labeling him as “fraud” and “liar.”
Chagrined, he peeked over the top of newspaper. Beneath dark, disheveled hair, his expression was the odd combination of charmingly boyish and stoic as stone. A handsome face no one could hate, especially when the star had returned with his hand in hers.
It was a magic trick, in and of itself. All the vitriol flung at him before, vanished. Every glare and seething rumor, gone in a blink. Yet somehow, with every issue, he managed to dig up the thorns instead of the roses.
“Why must you read those if they make you so angry?” She swiveled her chair toward the mirror once more, studying his reactions in the reflection. There couldn’t have been anything staining their names in recent articles. Once the press caught whiff of a new show in the works, it had been a feeding frenzy the moment the story broke. But soon after, it was total silence. A temporary peace from the media, perhaps the best present their friend with the poisonous pen could’ve given them.
“I’m not angry,” he bristled, flipping to the next section and read aloud. “Just listen to this … Erasmus Rayne, of the formerly known Conquering Circus, has been taken into custody after a dispute in the casino rings of New Crown when the man was found soliciting and propositioning young servers, maids, and footmen to join in his new entertainment venture he has repeatedly promised will make ‘everything that came before look like quiet afternoon tea.’” An aggravated grunt cut his next breath. “Why would anyone find that enticing?”
She flu
ffed her hair over her shoulders, amused as she watched him. “How is it that in a battle between paper and man, it’s the paper that’s winning right now?”
He chose to ignore that by reading on after a few skimming whispers. “Ah, yes—Rayne, who oversaw the disastrous run of Spectaculore that gripped all of Soltair, also recently came under fire due to claims of mistreatment of his performers—one of whom had been found unconscious and unresponsive during a troubling period of accidents, only to wake up weeks later to the proprietor’s demanding tour schedule. All members of Rayne’s Conquering Circus unanimously disbanded to form their own independent troupe, soon to start their first—”
“I could’ve told you that in less than a blink,” she scoffed.
“This was published today,” he said, scratching his head. “And we only just met up with them last night.”
“You vastly underestimate the power of a few stolen hours with a bottle of wine.” She chuckled, catching his stormy expression in the mirror. “You chose to skip last night’s gathering.”
“My partying days are over.” He folded up the newspaper before tossing it on the table. “I’m a changed and very exhausted man.”
“That last bit sounds either boring or promising, depending on how you hear it.”
The assistant’s ever-grinning face poked in through the door, narrowly ducking to avoid a small pillow thrown at his head. “Rude.”
“Says the one who strolls in without knocking,” came the thorny response from across the room.
“Don’t worry, if I ever catch you two in a compromising position again, I now know to avert my innocent eyes immediately,” the assistant quipped, dodging a small plush toy that bounced off the door instead.
“No fighting.” The star’s eyes darted between both of them as she leaned by the door frame. “How’s the crowd?”
“Show is starting soon, so…” The assistant’s conspiratorial grin mirrored hers. “The house is packed.”
“Excellent.” That’s what she loved to hear. “And what of the academies? Did the girls show up?”
“Queen Casine’s practically filled up the front rows. I think even some Valmonts boys are in the audience.”
It was more than she’d expected. Most spectators figured the first leg of her tour with the Conquerors would start in New Crown, kicking off where most shows launched in the heart of Soltair’s entertainment capitol.
No one expected a quiet strip of land between the academies in the southern region to be their first choice of stage. An odd one, but perfect, in the star’s eyes.
She made sure to send her assistant invitations by the cartload for every student curious to enough to come see the show.
Curiosity would be the first step to her greatest trick yet.
The setup began like the sky when dusk hits, that moment just before night breaks where the stars remain hidden in the wings, waiting for the first to appear.
Because once one star stepped forward, another would follow.
And more would come.
“Flirting time is over, kids. No more distractions.” The assistant crooked his finger. “She’s on in ten to open with Canary, so get your ass in the front row. It’s a sea of lovely and lovesick schoolgirls. You’ll fit right in.”
The star caught the next projectile—a velvet box of chocolates—before it slammed against the swiftly closed door. “If you throw one more thing in any of my dressing rooms these next few weeks, I’ll throw you out.”
He slowly rose toward her with a grin before plucking the box right of her hand. “No you won’t.”
The box clattered to the ground as he deftly spun her until her back hit the door.
His face hovered over hers. “Am I a distraction?”
It was unfair how close he was. The way his eyes grew hazy and flitted to her lips, too. “Now you are.”
“Good. Now you know how I feel after seeing you in this dress.” When his grip tightened over her hips, every fingertip burned through the fabric. She wanted more. Eyes heavy, she arched her neck up, lips catching the edge of his jaw.
“Your makeup.” He drew more firmly back, landing a swift kiss over her brow. “I’ll try not to be too distracting from the audience.”
“You’re such a liar.” Twisting the fabric of his shirt, she dragged his face down to hers and kissed him hard on the mouth. Every time he watched her perform, even during a casual practice where he walked past the doors, he always stopped to watch. If the house were burning, if she were conjuring the same exact illusion seven times over, his gaze would stay. As if she were crossing that stage for the first time.
He didn’t leave for some time, mostly to fix his face as thoroughly as she redid hers.
He left her soon after to find his seat in the front row. Best seat in the house, which he had happily claimed for tonight. Along with every show after.
Alone, for the first time all day, she closed her eyes and breathed. She counted every inhale and exhale, until all went quiet in her mind. That place she loved to go, just before she took the stage.
She imagined the descent of a chandelier from the ceiling.
The rise and fall of a slow-swaying hoop.
And the first real stage to touch her feet.
Her last ritual was the reflection. Every time she stared in the mirror, she couldn’t help wondering if someone was on the other side. If someone pressed luck to her fingers every time she brushed the cool, smooth surface before leaving her dressing room.
Now, she was ready.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If you’re reading this page, you’ve either reached the end or chosen it as your starting place. Either way, thank you for arriving here. And most importantly, thank you for picking up this book—my duology—in the first place. I’ve often talked about how writing Where Dreams Descend was pure joy. When Night Breaks, however, was entirely the opposite experience. Amongst authors, writing the dreaded Book 2 is a difficulty all on its own; that, on top of it being the end of a duology during a pandemic, amongst other life, mental health, and debut book curveballs, made for a truly dark and crushing time. For so long, I felt like this book had broken me as many times as I’d broken it, that it scared every other story left inside me. At one point, I feared I would never be able to finish When Night Breaks no matter how many times I tried.
While I viewed the first book as a dream and hoped the next would follow suit, I ultimately realized this sequel was a mirror. My mirror. A broken reflection created when I was not my best self, riddled with cracks on every page, scars I’d rather not remember, reminders of every delay and extension I was so desperate for and thankful to get, and every pain I had to push aside to work through. Although this experience is not uncommon amongst authors and creatives, this is what When Night Breaks will always look like to me.
Because writing this book often felt like writing in the dark, readers might sense that. And I’m truly sorry if you do. This book was made in dark times I’m still healing from, but being on that journey in the first place is what led me to this finale and all of its broken paths. A finale I never thought would happen. And the only reason that feat was even possible was 1000 percent due to the phenomenal people I’m lucky to have in my life, who kept me going all the way to that finish line.
Thank you so much to my brilliant agent, Thao Le, who first opened the door for me and never hesitated to hold my hand through all the good times and the bad. You always go above and beyond in ways I never knew an agent could, and I would not have been able to complete this series and feel that spark in writing again without you. I’m truly honored to be working with you after all these years. Thank you for all you have done, and all that you do.
Thank you so much to my incredible editor, Vicki Lame, who gave this writer a chance (many, in fact), gave a showgirl a spotlight, and gave us both a stage to tell our story from beginning to end. I can’t express how grateful I am to you for never once giving up on me or this book. For the endless support, patienc
e, and understanding that kept Kallia and me afloat. And most importantly, thank you for this unforgettable journey. An author could not have asked for a better guide and champion at her side.
I don’t even know how to properly convey my deep gratitude and love for everyone at Wednesday Books who helped bring my books to life, but especially those who paved the way for this tricky book during such tricky times. Thank you to Jennie Conway, Angelica Chong, and Sara Goodman. Thank you so much to those in my wonderful marketing corner, DJ DeSmyter, Alexis Neuville, and Brant Janeway; thank you to my amazing publicist, Meghan Harrington; thank you to my immensely talented cover art design team, Kerri Resnick and Micaela Alcaino, and Rhys Davies for the stunning map. And a huge thank you—so, so much—to the remarkable production department at Wednesday Books who tirelessly move mountains behind the scenes and truly went above and beyond to give me the time and space to write and heal. Thank you to Devan Norman, Elizabeth R. Curione, Elizabeth Catalano, Lena Shekhter, Jessica Katz, Carla Benton, Lauren Riebs, Melanie Sanders, and NaNá V. Stoelzle.
Every stage of this book felt like an uphill battle, and nothing about it was easy. Thank you all for braving that journey with me and supporting me when I needed it most. I’m proud to work with you all, and to have you all on my beloved Dreams team.
No journey is ever complete without a buddy system, and mine is without doubt the greatest. Thank you so much to my talented, tireless, Shrek-tastic cult for being the best kind of strangers to meet online. Thank you Maddy Colis, Akshaya Raman, Meg Kohlmann, Kat Cho, Christine Lynn Herman, Amanda Foody, Claribel Ortega, Tara Sim, Katy Rose Pool, Ashley Burdin, Melody Simpson, Alexis Castellanos, and Erin Bay. Thank you to Mara Fitzgerald, my Joseph, Hellmo, and Shrek buddy—I truly don’t know how I would’ve survived the doomed debut year without you, but I’m glad we can always suffer together. Thank you to Axie Oh, who never lets me blast off at the speed of light alone. *Stitch and robot noises* And an epic thank you to Amanda Haas, the cleverest fox I know who gave this book its True Name. So many hugs and thanks to Diana Urban, Julie C. Dao, Ashley Schumacher, Sara Raasch, Andrea Tang, Mei Lin Barral, Ellie Moreton, Roshani Chokshi, Hannah Reynolds, Susan Dennard, and Erin Bowman. Thank you for your endless kindness, wisdom, check-ins, support, and friendships over the years—and most of all, thank you for always being there. And to my fellow resilient Roaring ’20s debuts, thank you for all the strength, love, and tears shared online. Publishing is said to throw the lowest of lows and the highest of highs at authors who stay in the game long enough, and I truly hope things are only looking up for every person in our class. Now, let’s get those jerseys, because we definitely deserve them.
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