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Printed in the United States of America.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including written, electronic, recording, or photocopying, without written permission of the author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
The Fading Dusk by Melissa Giorgio
© 2015 by Melissa Giorgio. All rights reserved.
Published by Melissa Giorgio
Cover by Regina Wamba at Mae I Designs
Map of Dusk and image of lark by Merritt Sloan
Book designed by Nadège Richards at Inkstain Interior Book Designing
The characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Existing brands and businesses are used in a fictitious manner, and the author claims no ownership of or affiliation with trademarked properties. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental, and not intended by the author.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Acknowledgements
About Melissa
THE MAGIC WASN’T REAL, BUT I loved it all the same.
Bantheir traveled the city of Dusk, relying on tricks and sleight-of-hand to make his living as a street magician. From courtyards to backyards, we worked tirelessly to fill our battered old hat with coins from our patrons. It was gritty and glamorous, unpredictable and exciting, full of uncertainty and wonder, and I cherished every single moment as Bantheir’s assistant.
“COME ON, COME ON, IRINA,” Bantheir scolded with a grand sweep of his hands. Everything Bantheir did was grand. He always believed he was onstage, performing for his adoring fans. Never mind that we never performed on a stage, nor did we have fans. Patrons, yes. Generous patrons? Sometimes.
However, I understood why Bantheir acted that way. We relied on the shows—and those generous patrons—for our livelihood. If they didn’t reward us with coins after our performances, we wouldn’t be able to eat. Worse, we wouldn’t be able to afford our rent, and we would have to pack our things from my beloved house and live in the slums.
I would never go back to the slums. Never.
“Coming, Bantheir,” I said, wobbling under the weight of a heavy pack crammed with props. It was so large it completely blocked my vision, and I didn’t notice Bantheir had halted in his tracks until I nearly plowed him over.
“Watch it!” he hissed, blue eyes flashing.
“Why did you stop?” Stumbling like a drunk, I attempted to peek around the pack to see what had caught his attention. Bantheir made a noise of impatience and grabbed the pack out of my arms, setting it on the ground with more force than was necessary. I was about to ask him what was the matter when I noticed the huge crowd that had already gathered.
A crowd that wasn’t meant for us.
Their bodies pressed together tightly as they strained to catch a glimpse of two figures, one male, the other female, standing on a large wooden stage erected in the middle of the courtyard. The male figure raised his fist over his head before hurling something to the ground. A large explosion rocked the courtyard, and a dark-green cloud of smoke spiraled up from the ground, blocking the figures from view. When the cloud dissipated, only the female remained, still in the same spot she’d been standing in before the explosion. Putting one hand on her hip, she gestured toward the empty spot with her other hand, and the crowd went wild, screaming their approval.
“Simple fireworks,” Bantheir said loudly, stroking his goatee with an air of disdain. “And obviously there’s a trapdoor below the stage. So simple, even a child could figure it out.”
Considering the adults in the crowd were cheering even louder than the children, it wasn’t as simple as Bantheir proclaimed. Before I could tell him to lower his voice, a person emerged from the crowd to clamp a hand down on Bantheir’s shoulder.
“Look who came to see my show! It’s Bantheir!”
Bantheir went bright red, and I cursed under my breath, praying that he wouldn’t make a scene. Flashing a grim smile, Bantheir ducked out from under the hand on his shoulder and practically purred, “Parnaby.”
Parnaby the street magician smiled pleasantly, his brown eyes sparkling kindly. “And look, Irina is here as well! Elyse, Irina is here!”
Now it was my turn to flush hotly as the crowd scrutinized me. Already I could hear their whispers as they compared me with the assistant onstage. Soon they would lose interest and turn back to Elyse, and I couldn’t even blame them for it. Of course they’d want Elyse. Who wouldn’t, with her perfect golden-blond hair and wide blue eyes? She was beautiful and sweet and always smiled at the boys, who showered her with coins and compliments alike. More than once Bantheir had pleaded with me to be more like Elyse, as if I could somehow straighten my flame-red curls and make my hazel eyes more green than brown. I stared at the ground as the whispers increased to a steady buzz, wishing myself invisible.
“How do you like the show so far, my friend?” Parnaby continued, oblivious to our discomfort. Parnaby was sweet, but a bit… clueless. He had no idea that Bantheir would rather die than refer to himself as Parnaby’s friend. In Bantheir’s eyes, they were bitter, bitter rivals.
And it always bothered Bantheir that Parnaby, with his wild brown hair and raggedy robes, was infinitely more popular than the well-dressed, self-proclaimed gentleman who practiced his stage moves in front of a large mirror in his bedroom.
With a loud snort, Bantheir bent over and reached into the pack to remove his bright red cape with a practiced flourish. I stifled a groan as he tied the garish thing around his neck. He wouldn’t, I thought desperately. Not here! Tossing the scarlet fabric over his shoulder so it flew in the air like a shiny red wing, he put his hands on his hips and boomed to the crowd in his stage voice, “When you’re ready to see some real magic, come to the adjacent courtyard to see the one and only Bantheir!”
Completely ignoring Parnaby, who was still smiling kindly, Bantheir marched away, hands on his hips, leaving me to haul the heavy pack up into my arms and scramble after him.
As soon as we reached our new destination, Bantheir ordered me to set up while he called to the few curious people who’d already gathered around. “Come one, come all to see the great street magician, Bantheir!”
A youth frowned and loudly said, “Oh, I thought it was going to be Parnaby. Wasn’t he doing a show today?”
“And Elyse,” his friend said with a dreamy sigh. “Now that’s a magical assistant.”
I watched as Bantheir clenched his jaw, his hands balled up into fists. Somehow he managed to swallow a bitter retort and continue working the crowd, but I couldn’t let that comment go unanswered. Maybe we were both jealous of
Parnaby and Elyse, and maybe we were only the second best street magicians in Dusk, but we were still good. I wouldn’t stand by idly and let them talk about us like that, not after Parnaby had already unintentionally embarrassed us in front of a huge crowd.
But before I could respond, someone else quickly said, “Irina is better.” I paused in my work, surprised. Had someone just defended me?
Who had spoken? I stood on tiptoes, scanning the crowd until my eyes landed on a blond boy, probably my age, gazing at me openly. When he noticed me staring, he flushed and ducked his head, losing himself in the ever-growing crowd.
Bantheir was still addressing the spectators, but he cleared his throat loudly when he saw me just standing there, searching for my supporter. You’ll find him later, I told himself, hurrying to unpack Bantheir’s props. First came a purple blanket, torn in one corner and embossed all over with tiny gold stars. I spread it over the ground, using candles to weigh down the corners. Next came a few props that were just for show: a beat-up wand, a yellowed skull, and vials that contained mysterious liquids in a range of colors. They were just water with food dye added, information only me and Bantheir were privy to.
Finally I reached once more into the pack and removed a deck of cards. As he recited the last lines—always the same—I sidled up to him and handed him the cards. “Who wants to see a trick?” he asked. “Raise your hands!”
The children in the crowd jumped up and down, imploring me to pick them. I settled on a dark-haired youth missing his two front teeth, gently guiding him to the front of the crowd. As he ran up to Bantheir, I paused, feeling someone’s heavy gaze on me. It wasn’t uncommon for some in the crowd to pay more attention to me than Bantheir, but this was different. Darker, somehow.
I turned slowly, brushing my curls out of my face. The silver bracelets on my arms chimed together softly like the peals of a church bell. Scanning the crowd, I saw no one of interest—
There!
I took an involuntary step back. A burly-looking man who towered over the others in the crowd was watching me, a sadistic gleam in his dark eyes. There was something about his gaze, like he knew me, when I was certain I’d never seen him before. When he caught me looking, he flashed me a wide grin; I shuddered and looked away.
For the next hour I helped pick volunteers from the crowd, leading them to Bantheir, who “magically” picked their cards out of the deck or produced little pieces of candy from their ears, which he then rewarded them with. The tricks were simple, but they delighted the crowd, and when it was over, the collection hat I carried grew heavy from their generous contributions. Bantheir beamed, bowing again and again as people applauded. I watched, pride in my heart. Let them talk about Parnaby now, I thought smugly.
The show over, Bantheir went to talk with a young couple, leaving me to clean up. After safely storing the coins, I was reaching for the candlesticks when someone took a firm hold of my curls and yanked, causing me to stumble with a frightened gasp.
I pulled away, just barely restraining myself from spitting a curse in my assailant’s face. And it was a good thing I did; when I looked up, the burly man from before stood over me, that same cruel grin on his face once more.
“Surely the assistant does more than collect coins and look pretty?” he asked in a deep, rumbling voice. He had dark, closely-trimmed hair and thick bushy eyebrows that hung low over his brown eyes. His nose looked like it had been broken once or twice, and a thin white scar ran down the right side of his face. His sort belonged in the slums, not Way, the middle section of Dusk populated by people who worked hard to make their livings. This man looked like he made his living by robbing those same hardworking people.
I grabbed the money purse, holding it close to my chest. Bantheir would have a fit if I let the man steal from us only moments after we had earned the coins. The man followed the movement, his gaze lingering uncomfortably long on my chest, and chuckled.
“I don’t want your money.”
I quickly scrambled to my feet, brushing dirt from my skirt. “Then what do you want?” I asked, sounding braver than I felt, for my heart was tripping in my chest as I stared up at him.
It wasn’t unnatural for men to ask me for certain favors after a show. I would always politely refuse, and most gave up afterwards. But the burly man? I could tell just by looking at him that he would never give up.
He snatched my wrist, squeezing tightly. I let out a cry, my eyes darting to Bantheir. The street magician was laughing with the young couple, completely oblivious to my plight. “Let me go!”
He pulled me close, in a twisted sort of embrace. The top buttons on his shirt were undone, and I could see a gleaming silver chain wrapped around his neck. As he brought his head close to mine, a pendant—a small yellow star in the middle of a blue circle—hanging at the end of his chain slipped out. “What do I want?” he hissed. “Your master has stolen something from us, and I want it back.”
Stole? And us? What was he talking about?
I looked at Bantheir again and groaned. What if he’d cheated this man and his friends at cards? It wasn’t unlikely; many nights Bantheir went out to drink and play cards, always returning with a sizable profit in winnings. I begged him not to be too obvious about it, but he always swore no one ever suspected him of cheating.
Until today.
“Listen, I’m certain if we talk about this, Bantheir will repay whatever he owes you—” My words were cut off by another squeak as the man squeezed tighter, lifting my arm up high over my head.
His eyes were blazing with barely repressed anger. “What he took is priceless! Coins are worthless!” To emphasize his point, he knocked the purse from my hands. It fell to the ground, opening and spilling the contests noisily against the cobblestones.
That got Bantheir’s attention. He squinted over at us. “Irina, whatever are you doing?”
As Bantheir began making his way toward me, the man dropped my arm and took a step back. “We won’t stop until we have it.”
“Have what?”
The man turned on his heel and left without answering.
“Irina, honestly!” Bantheir huffed, crouching to the ground and collecting the scattered coins. “I don’t work myself to the bone so you can just throw it all away like this!” His light, sky-blue eyes flashed indignantly.
I massaged my tender wrist, the outline of the man’s hand already a dark red stain against the pale white of my skin. “That man was threatening me.”
“Which man?”
I groaned. Bantheir was nearsighted, so he hadn’t been able to get a good look at the burly man. I squatted next to him, gathering the loose coins. “He said you stole something from him.” I shook a finger. “I told you to be more careful when you bet!”
He shrugged sheepishly. “Maybe I should frequent a different tavern from now on.”
“Maybe you should.” We put the last few coins back in the purse and stood. Bantheir tied the purse to his belt before reaching up and loosening the cape from his neck.
“I’m going to dine with that husband and wife,” he said, indicating the couple he’d been talking to. They were waiting to the side and smiled when I glanced at them. Young, maybe a few years older than me, and clearly in love with one another. The husband had his arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulders, and she was leaning her head against his chest. He leaned over to kiss her softly on her forehead and I looked away, scowling.
“I suppose I’m not invited,” I said. “As usual.”
“They just want to see the magician, not the assistant,” he replied, stroking his goatee in that smug gesture I’ve always hated. “I did warn you to smile more often, Irina.”
“I was smiling!” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I was really good this time, Bantheir! I didn’t slap anyone!”
“And yet why did that man threaten you?”
I shut my eyes briefly. “Because you cheated him out of his money!”
“Regardless,” Bantheir said, ignoring me,
“for once I’d like to have a performance that occurs without a single snag or problem caused by you. Why don’t you go home and reflect on that, Irina?”
His comments stung, but I wouldn’t let him see. Instead, I busied myself with packing up. For once, I wished Bantheir would let me go with him. Free meal aside, I’d like to talk with the patrons, maybe make a friend of my own. The married couple looked amiable; maybe they’d like to get to know me? But no, Bantheir had once again successfully maneuvered things so it was all about him. I was just the forgotten assistant who should be more like Elyse.
I was certain Parnaby never neglected Elyse.
But I wouldn’t let Bantheir know I was unhappy. I would never let him know, lest he decided to throw me out on the streets and find himself a new assistant. Someone like Elyse, perhaps.
Finished with the packing, I stood and hefted the heavy sack over my shoulder. Giving him a bright smile, I said, “I’ll do just that, Bantheir. Have a nice time.”
He watched me carefully for a moment. “Straight home, Irina. And don’t invite anyone in.”
An icy chill swept through me at his ominous words, and goosebumps rose on my skin. “What do you mean?”
But the street magician had already turned and walked away.
I HEADED EAST, THE SUN a brilliant orange orb in the sky behind me as it began its descent. The streets were crowded as people made their way home after a long day of work. Dusk was split into three sections: Rise, Way, and the slums. The north, Rise, housed the rich; people who indulged in excessive finery and never had to worry where their next meal was coming from. The middle part, Way, where I lived, was the biggest section of Dusk. Here, everyone worked hard to keep their families fed and housed. While living in Rise was a desired—albeit nearly unattainable—goal, we all knew slipping down to the slums, the southern section of Dusk, was all too easy. Miss a few payments on your rent, lose your job after showing up late a few times, and suddenly you were on the streets, begging for a living. The thought of going back to the slums kept me up at night, teeth chattering with an uncontrollable fear. Bantheir had never threatened to kick me out, but I knew all too well that he could.
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