The headline glared at him from the ground. The most recent issue of the Soltair Source.
His stomach dropped. He’d been avoiding the paper ever since Lottie rolled into town, dreading her coverage. Her commentary. He’d managed to avoid her spotlight for this long, he worried what words the Poison of the Press would spin about him now.
“Can I borrow this?” Daron asked as he handed the girl back her purse, gripping the paper.
“Keep it.” Her cheeks went pink as she and her friend departed in a burst of hushed laughter. Daron swallowed and flipped through the contents. Lottie’s style always read more like a story than a news account, adding edge and dramatics where she liked. Honesty with flair, Eva called it, endlessly amused. Daron, not so much. The piece chronicled the incidents of Spectaculore so vividly, he might’ve thought it all a hoax were he not in the thick of the madness. A thrilling tale to any reader, no doubt.
His eyes latched onto the section detailing the contestants and judges, and immediately regretted it.
… old, notable names of the stage, these judges come from “a long line of tradition amongst magicians,” Mayor Eilin states. A tradition the aforementioned contestants seem all too eager to carry on.
In contrast, nontraditional does not even begin to describe the pairing of Judge Demarco, the infamous Daring Demarco who’s emerged out of retirement—and the current crowd favorite, a notorious dark horse in her own right, Kallia. The two have reportedly been “inseparable” and “mad over each other” from the start; and sources say since teaming up, the partners have kept busy perfecting their final performance in private. Others, however, speculate with a question all of Glorian is really hungry for an answer to:
Amidst a dangerous, thorny garden, can a partnership bloom into something more?
For even in the darkest show business, the heart still beats. And if this show has taught its viewers any lesson, it’s that anything can happen behind closed doors.
Both parties refused to give any further comment—
“Judge Demarco! What a surprise.”
Daron suppressed the frustrated sigh firing up his throat for a morsel of enthusiasm. “Hello, Janette—”
He froze at the sight of the mayor’s daughter, eagerly smiling in a long, dusky-pink coat, arm in arm with a beaming Lottie de la Rosa. “Yes, Dare. Quite a surprise.”
She all but dangled his name in front of him, as casually as she’d raked it in the news. By the end of the piece, he’d been tempted to rip the paper to shreds but restrained himself by closing it, stone-faced. “Good morning.”
“How are you faring, after last night, Mister Demarco? It was quite a scare, what happened to those…” Janette’s face paled, a glimmer of remembrance before she shook her head. “I swear, this show has brought nothing but trouble.”
“At least it’s attracted some business.” Lottie assessed the crowded state of the Prima lobby, before honing in on the paper locked between his fingers. “And I see you’ve read the latest.” Her eyes gleamed. “Raz was right. I didn’t even have to do much of anything. It’s a wild ride all on its own. My kind of story.”
For Janette’s prior aversion to the press, she sure took quite an interest in silently staring at her feet at that moment.
“We’re not characters for you to play around with,” Daron bit out. “Our lives aren’t for you to sensationalize.”
“Don’t act put out because you don’t appreciate the angle I chose for you.” Lottie inspected her nails, shrugging. “You refused to chat with me, so I did the best I could with what I had. No lies, just deduction. And the readers obviously agree.”
She knew that last bit would stir a reaction in him, and he hated how much it had. He shouldn’t give a damn what people thought, but such gossip wouldn’t do him or Kallia any favors moving forward. False or not, rumors always consumed the truth. Not that Lottie cared which side won out.
Janette primly coughed, switching the subject. “If your schedule isn’t too filled, Lottie and I were going to have some tea. Would you care to join?” Her eyes trailed to his waiting palm on the bannister. “Or are you about to go up?”
His simmering anger deflated in a blink. “No, I’m waiting—just standing … here.” He seized his hand back. “I’m waiting.”
The journalist’s face subtly lit up. “For who?”
Janette sighed, as if the last thing she wanted was to hear the answer. “Tea and