“Zarose, Robere. That was only a rumor.” The magician next to him scoffed. “The judges would never allow it.”
“I saw her waltz through the Prima myself, strutting like she owned the place,” Robere insisted. “And she has a male assistant, can you believe that?”
The master pressed closer, ignoring the taps on empty glasses around him aiming for refills.
The girl.
Only a few days and already she was stirring up trouble.
“Well, is she at least something nice to look at?” the one with the tall top hat asked with a large belch.
Cackling laughter exploded, off-putting as broken glass. It took everything in the master not to drag them by the necks to the memory den, but he was curious what more would spill from their lips. News from the outside was like cards, and each patron came in with a different hand.
It was the reason Hellfire House existed, after all.
“Either way, she’s not here to stay,” a redheaded man spoke up. “Girls never last in these games. Never have.”
The others nodded and tipped their glasses in assent.
Though he detested the band of magicians, the master hoped they were right. If she were no longer in the game, he might have a chance to fix this. Wipe the game board clean, and start over again. Leaving all else in the dark, except him.
The only one in his way, now, was her.
And them.
The thought dropped cold in his stomach, the fear creeping back in.
“To us.” Ives raised his glass once more, and the others followed. The master’s fist tightened until his metal bands dug into bone. Silent, he listened as he always did, to the conversations webbing around him all over the club. To the series of clinks pouring into the air.
“May the best magician win.”
9
Days later, an invitation arrived at Kallia’s door. No matter how she’d adored wandering through the Prima, ordering teas and sampling desserts of all kinds down in the café, she’d been restless for news of what would come next. Part of her wondered if it had all been an elaborate joke, the other half fearing she would wake up one day only to be escorted from the premises for they’d changed their minds.
To her delight, a dinner party would be held the following night. The judges had finally whittled down their choices to ten competitors. Nine men Kallia would have to best if she wanted to stay in the game, and she was determined to remain the front-runner.
“Don’t you want to be in the middle?” Aaros asked, combing back his swath of black hair in the mirror. “Play it safe until it really matters?”
“I don’t know how to play it safe.” Kallia’s mouth parted as she applied kohl against her eyelids in a smooth line. She’d missed this, the process of pampering as much as preparing. For the first party she’d be attending where she wouldn’t have to wear a mask, she wanted to look her best. Unforgettable. This was the first time all the contestants would be in the same room, and she needed to dress and act like a winner. No hesitation. Only confidence.
Aaros made for a good subject to practice on, though it was only a matter of time before he started asking more questions. Until she ran out of easy lies.
Kallia’s fingers paused over her brush. She hoped it would never come to that, losing his trust. He’d already become the strangest sort of anchor. In the early mornings, she’d trudge out of her private room, more than a little disoriented to be surrounded by golden hues and city sunlight, and find Aaros awake and staggering around just as floored. Even more so. The streets he roamed had little luxury to them. It was one thing stealing bits of it to get by, and a whole other suddenly drowning in it for a living.
They grew used to their surroundings together, and though she’d never admit it out loud, there was comfort in not having to face this newness alone. The unfamiliarity. Worse were the days when Kallia found herself unconsciously looking for Jack. The routine of seeing him every day left her with an odd hollowness, a longing for the House. Applying makeup as she would before a performance at the club, Kallia felt that same old thrill sparking beneath her skin. Putting on the gown to perform, descending on that chandelier to a sea of faces