her. To tell her.
Soon, he’d always say to himself, knowing what a lie that was.
If she found out, one thing after the other would unfold.
And ruin everything.
The master sipped at his short glass of emerald whiskey, ignoring the fluttering of cards and the gaggle of girls sauntering nearby. His stare lingered on the black sea of the ceiling, expecting the panels to open any second.
When he realized he’d started his second drink, his brow deepened.
The room’s energy was off. Usually, her performance revived the air, fallen stagnant at his instruments’ continuous melody.
Unease prickled through him. He clawed his armrests and rose to investigate, before the sudden start of drums halted him. The welcoming blare of trumpets followed, and finally, he relaxed.
Only a small delay.
Lowering back into his seat, he savored a slow sip of his drink. At the darkening of the lights, the entire crowd took a collective breath. The first hints of the chandelier tips gleamed, and as it descended, the cheers began to rise like a song before petering out into silence.
The master of the House stilled, fingers tight over his glass.
Nothing.
Just an empty, glittering chandelier.
The applause scattered and thinned to confused murmurs. Was this some other trick? Had the girl gone invisible? What sort of show loses its star?
Hidden among his guests, the master was grateful nobody approached him. Whatever expression hardened in his eyes could only be as icy as the sharp coiling in his gut.
Something was very, very wrong.
No more than a second later, his nose scrunched. He rose from his seat suddenly, knocking over his drink. For it was only then that he heard the desperate shriek from backstage, followed by the distinct smell of smoke.
5
Kallia tightened the clasp of her cloak and hiked her wide-strapped bag over her shoulder.
She had to move fast.
Music from the House pumped into the night, unwilling to let her go just yet. With enough distance, she’d never have to hear another entrance song, or be lowered from another damn chandelier. Hopefully the little surprise she’d left for Jack in her dressing room carried the message, loud and clear. Anything she could do to buy her some time. But the moment he realized she was not among the ashes, he would look for her.
And he wouldn’t stop.
Kallia squeezed the old cloth secured in her pocket for strength. She soldiered on, her sturdy boots weathering the marshy, damp grounds near the stables.
Most of the horses’ heads drooped out of their stalls. As Kallia passed, some were curled up in the hay, resting before they were needed to transport their masters back home. Jack kept a few, in case there was ever a rare need to ride into the forest.
Dark, solemn stares and long faces followed Kallia all the way down the stalls. A few shifted restlessly in place, as if they could feel a charge rippling off her. Eager for it themselves.
Once she reached the last stall, she smiled at the familiar pair of glassy eyes staring back. In her daydreams, she’d always picked Sun Gem to leave with her. The stunning black mare was a little older than the rest, and just like her, more than ready to leave. All saddled up.
It was the calmest she’d been all night as she reached out. “Hey there, gir—”
A scream came from outside.
Then another.
A stream of drunken protests followed, sounding more from a large gathering than a passing group.
Kallia’s heart sank. Hellfire House was closing early. Once Jack realized she was gone, a search would follow. But the distraction of the club should’ve given her a little time, at least. He never officially closed down the club except on designated off nights.
Or on nights when his main act vanished after setting fire to her dressing room.
A curse flew off her lips. If she dashed off with Sun Gem, she’d be exposed instantly. She could try escaping in the crowd, but Jack would still find her. Always.
Pulse spiking, Kallia quickly ran through every option before a damp nose nudged her arm. Sun Gem pawed at the floor in soft, insistent strokes. All the horses stirred, rising in their pens with restless shakes of their heads.
Her elbow rested on the paint-chipped half-door, before she heard the dull metal thunk of the lock giving way. Her skin prickled at the sound, at the line of doors down the length of the stable, the horses’ heads bobbing as if nodding. Yes. Do it.
With a steady call to her magic, Kallia gave a quick flick of the