“Even magicians have limits. If there was a source of magic, a different kind … well, that’s something worth hiding.”
“Magic is not a treasure to be buried somewhere. You’re talking in tales.”
It’s what their aunt had said years ago, every time Eva had asked questions only a child with magic could. Is Zarose Gate really a gate? Does magic truly come from below? Do the trickster devils who live there come above to play?
“And besides, it’s impossible,” he continued. “Magicians have their limits. Thank Zarose magic like that doesn’t exist.”
“Not here, not yet. Maybe it depends on where you are.”
Daron shook his head, counting his cards. “If that were even a little true, Aunt Cata would never allow it. She’d have the place swarming with Patrons.”
“Not if she doesn’t know,” Eva posed. “No one knows what’s happening in there.”
He sighed. “See, this is what happens when you hang out with the press.”
“Don’t insult my friends. What’s the harm in a little possibility? Where’s your sense of imagination, Dare?” She kicked him lightly under the table. “Or does the spotlight suck that from your soul, too?” She always teased about the spotlight going to his head, both joking that if it ever found her, she’d be on a relentless ego trip.
“There’s no such thing as hidden magic,” he said. “And besides, that’s all impossible. Contradictory.”
“Most stories are. It’s like the difference between a good trick and a great trick.” A knowing gleam twinkled in her tired, kohl-lined eyes. “A good trick amazes, leaves everyone breathless in that moment. But a great trick truly deceives, keeps the audience wondering what happened, long after the performance. Like the Vanishment.”
Daron snorted. “All right, but the Vanishment is a showstopper. You can’t even equate it to Glorian, Eva. That’s like comparing a raindrop to the sea.” He threw down a card, smiling despite himself. “It’s just a dead city.”
“What if that’s what they want you to think?”
As soon as Daron had seen the flyer, it hadn’t taken him long to find an invitation to Spectaculore, a map leading straight to Glorian. He was far too established to be a competitor—thank Zarose for that—so he needed a spot on the judges’ panel. Determining which notable magicians might possess actual invitations proved easy. Astor and Atlas, the infamous Alexandros twins of New Crown always knee-deep in gambling debt, all but bowed out at the sight of Daron’s envelope of money. His old partying friend, Griff Kaysim, oh so conveniently had no care for the competition with all his other engagements lined up. And the rest, former friends and rivals alike, backed away from the event as soon as Daron appeared at their doors like a ghost come to settle a score after years without a word.
Certain he’d closed the playing field, Daron packed his bags and stack of invitations—hand-delivering them to the mayor as soon as he landed in Glorian. The white shock on the man’s face had been laughable, a precursor to the displeasure from the rest of the judges: older, esteemed magicians long retired before Daron ever took the stage, and they seemed to resent him more for the distinction.
The Daring Demarco. A name once cheered in theaters packed to the doors, now a joke to the weathered-faced judges who regarded him as a pet still learning tricks. But with the formidable Cataline Edgard, the current head of the Patrons of Great, for an aunt, no one could say no to Daron. As much as he detested playing the family card, he’d needed that extra leg up to earn a place here as an esteemed judge.
In the city.
Right where he wanted to be.
Daron’s jaw ticked as he leaned back in his seat. His gaze darted up to the proscenium arch of the stage, tracing the broken, rusted squares bent out of place. Like ugly cards thrown above, stuck in midair and forgotten by the dealer below.
The rest of the stage was no better, more a cold barren platform than the backdrop of a grand show. Much like the city itself. Still, he hoped today’s audition would end soon so he could explore more of Glorian. Eva had always framed it as an abandoned puzzle of lost pieces, one he refused to leave without solving.
For his sister.
Wherever she was.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to focus. Play the part: a judge in a competition held by the Conquering Circus, led by a ringleader who fancied himself a king of show business.
“Next in line—number