everyone leaned in. Kallia pushed their noises away. Focused only on the power she delivered like a prayer.
Separate from all else.
Magic thrummed through her veins.
You are your power.
The words struck inside her heart and made her stronger. She, alone and separate from the world. Powerful, because of it.
Finally she released a deep breath, jutted her chin toward Meg. “What do you see before you, in the mirror?” she asked, half with hope, half with exhaustion.
“Speak up!” someone called. A judge. “What do you see?”
“I-I see a dagger before me,” the girl exclaimed, blinking. “But in the mirror, it’s a rose … a bright, red one.”
The nods of the people in the front rows confirmed the observation. Others dared to walk down the aisle for a closer look. Down at the judge’s table, most of the men stood, their faces hard as stone yet unable to mock what was seen in the mirror.
“I see a rose, myself, and the audience around me,” Meg confirmed with breathless wonder, before her head started to tilt. “And something else. A shadow.”
Kallia blinked. The hot stage lights hitting her skin grew cold.
“A shadow, child?” Erasmus inquired, craning his head around Meg’s form to see. “Of what?”
“I’m not sure,” she went on. “But it’s coming closer.”
Kallia’s blood iced. She’d conjured no shadow, had done nothing but manipulate the reflection of the dagger.
This wasn’t part of her trick.
“Keep going, kid!” a spectator yelled. “Tell us what’s coming. Is it the circus?”
That earned a light shower of laughter, but Meg only shrank back from her reflection. “It’s the shadow of a man.”
Kallia’s heart raced. She thought of the voices in the mirror, of Jack looking out from it, and frost inched over her skin, down her back. Spearing through her ribs.
“He’s walking closer.”
The confirmation tore through her.
“And he’s reaching out to—”
No.
Kallia flicked her finger and sent the dagger straight into the mirror.
She’d meant only to crack. Instead, the tip pierced the surface and it exploded. Screams ripped from the crowd as Kallia instinctively shielded Meg from the shards of glass, and the wave of angry black darts that flew from the empty rocking frame as if freed from their cage.
Not darts, birds.
Kallia’s breath caught in her chest as she pushed the girl to the side, into Aaros’s arms before the birds or jagged pieces could touch her. A few shards and birds raked against her back, but she barely felt them. The creatures continued pouring from the frame, swarming the ceiling overhead before violently diving through the aisles.
Cries of panic rose. Kallia’s knees buckled to the stage, over mirror pieces that pierced her dress, her skin. She ignored the pain and gathered what was left of her, building everything inside—
Released, as she brought her hands together.
A bone-shuddering force ravaged the air, right through the frame and the theater—vanishing the violent, hawking birds as suddenly as they arrived, into black petals falling soft as snow. Or rain, from the pattering applause that suddenly echoed in the back of her mind.
The impact of the force sent her staggering back, unable to bow.
Her thoughts, blurry.
Blood ran down her arm as both hands met the floor in a jolt. Pain burned through her. She winced at the crushed glass digging into her palm, sprinkling over her head as the mirror groaned and teetered in place, the rest of the pieces, jagged icicles dangling along the frame.
The first one crashed by her fingers.
The screams around her went mute as she closed her eyes, tired. So heavy.
So exhausted.
Until light.
The warmest light surrounded her in a cloud, circling and doming around her body like mist. The glass that would’ve struck her fell off the sides, plinking onto the stage away from her.
She wasn’t doing this. She couldn’t be.
Wavering in and out, Kallia peered through the mist surrounding her. Someone in the audience stood with his hand outstretched toward her, light streaming from his palm.
Demarco.
The last thing she remembered. His trembling form, the panic in his eyes.
Before darkness carried her away.
24
People wouldn’t stop clapping for Daron or patting him on the back as he passed them in the after-show party of the hotel foyer. He cringed, each time.
Wrong. It all felt wrong.
As soon as the ominous mirror had arrived in full display, he had to force himself not to run as he’d been tempted. One moment, he was in his chair observing the act, and the next, he was on his feet. The instant the dagger met the mirror and the shards of glass fell, one