With a deep breath, Kallia rose from her vanity seat. She smoothed her fingers over the long black satin gloves stretching to her elbows, along the fit of the evening gown that wrapped around her hips like liquid before spilling at her feet.
The invitation had simply said to dress well. Kallia had only snagged a few dresses from her wardrobe at the House. Decidedly not in the Glorian style, they were bold statements, each one of them. She would have to find a dress shop soon to add to her selection, but tonight, she aimed to be memorable.
She admired her handiwork in the large, shell-shaped mirror, leaning closer to inspect for smudges of red at the corners of her lips.
A shadow fell across her, the room around her dimming.
Her skin chilled. When she looked up, her entire surroundings were cast in utter darkness. No furniture, no Prima suite, no Aaros.
Cold. Her bare arms shook, her back tremoring under a shiver.
For when she looked into the mirror, darkness stared back.
Slowly, tendrils of white fogged the surface, like whispers from behind. Kallia jerked away when someone steadied her by the elbows. “Careful, or you’ll ruin the suit,” Aaros chuckled, before his gaze sharpened. “What’s wrong?”
The next time she turned to her reflection, she saw her room. Herself. Aaros beside her, watching with concern.
“Nothing.” She swallowed, hand clutched at her collarbone.
Always think first before trusting your reflection.
Jack’s words slithered, coiling around her. Kallia hated how naturally they came to her. As if he were right at her ear, in the mirror.
“Nothing,” Kallia repeated, keeping her back to the vanity. Cool, composed. “I rarely keep mirrors around me. Bad luck.”
Aaros inspected the surface. “Really? You were just—”
“Remembering why I don’t look at them in the first place.” Hopefully he wouldn’t notice later when she covered it for the remainder of their stay. “Performance superstition.”
Raising his hands in a small, placating way, he chuckled. “Fine, whatever makes you tick. Regardless, that dress looks and fits you like sin. Hope you know that.” Aaros gave an approving nod. “Now be nice and say something grand about me.”
“I don’t need to be nice to say you look good.” The nerves had already begun to leave her as she straightened the collar of his new suit. Aaros was good at changing the subject. He’d even made no complaint when she dragged him out to buy a proper suit. Tonight, he looked a far cry from the thief who’d tried to steal from her. More dashing than devious, though the latter lurked beneath.
They made a striking duo as they exited the suite arm in arm, descending the stairs like a dark pair of devils. Any guest ascending instinctively stepped back. The attention made Kallia’s lips curl with satisfaction.
The chill of the late hour hit instantly as they stepped out of the Prima and onto the street. Night hung over the city in a black velvet curtain offset by the frostbitten lampposts. Even under the trembling lights, she devoured the scene she was a part of, joining the sea of strangers. Kallia could barely contain her giddiness, occasionally lifting up onto the balls of her feet to take in as much as she could. Aaros merely snorted.
At the faint beat of drums, she dropped back on both feet. The noise persisted, cutting through the night. The rhythmic clang of metal. The sly blow of a trumpet ringing over the beats.
Music.
It called to Kallia like a hunger. A memory she’d been missing.
Her skin rose in bumps that had little to do with the cold. Aaros had set them on the path to the mayor’s mansion, but Kallia turned them toward the music.
“Taking us back toward the Alastor Fold will make for quite a roundabout way,” Aaros muttered, following. “You sure you want to be late?”
“Lateness makes for grander entrances,” she stated. “Don’t you hear the music?”
Years of music day and night gave her a natural sense for wherever it pulsed. The dancer in her craved to match the melody, and meet it.
As they passed familiar silhouettes of darkened buildings, Kallia realized they were walking toward the Alastor Place, where the sidewalks quieted even as the air did the opposite. Music had a way of raising flames from the shadows, and Kallia breathed in the smoke, following it.
The trail of sound led to the Conquering Circus tents, no longer still as a snake’s old skin, but alive and sinuous in the night breeze. Lit lanterns were strung across the