you were, you wouldn’t hide behind—”
The table between them disappeared.
And his hand lashed out to her wrist, bringing her close to him.
Jack glared down at where he had trapped her hand—against his chest, solid to the touch. Kallia was sure he must’ve willed these parts of himself to become corporeal to unnerve her, and she hated how it worked.
For it felt like an embrace. A cruel one. Arms crushed her to him, bringing them close enough for her eyes to trace the hard shadows of his jaw, the slight scar over his left eyebrow.
If he could seize her so easily, why hadn’t he taken her away already? Why was he so bent on remaining a voice in her ear, a shadow in the corner that took shape only when she was alone?
Kallia couldn’t tell what Jack was thinking when he looked down at her, but it softened his grip. Warmth coursed through her, a betrayal. The fist she held to his chest faltered as she unfurled her fingers slowly, curiously. If he were really here, she would feel his heart, and her palm went searching for that steady beat.
Nothing. Only hard, cold muscle, with their breaths quieting in the dark.
“I wish I could’ve done things differently.”
There was something mournful in his tone, and she almost asked what he meant. Instead, she glanced down, at her feet lightly veiled through the smoke. His legs, nowhere they were supposed to be. Just like his heart.
A noise rustled outside.
Kallia froze at the sound of feet and a muttered curse.
All at once, a new cold entered her. She mustered enough strength to push away from Jack, but he still had her in his grasp. He moved her, slipping his hand to her shoulder and turning them both in view of the door. “Ah, the weak one is back.”
He thrust his arm over her shoulder, palm facing the door. The force from his hand shone across the entrance like a light, baring what lay beyond. The frame of the door, the thickness of the wall, had faded into a translucent barrier.
Kallia went still at the sight of Demarco on the other side, digging through his pockets. Noticing nothing amiss. A one-way trick.
Go, she screamed in her mind, barely breathing. Please, just go.
“Seems the poor fool has lost his key,” Jack whispered close to her ear. Demarco had unearthed his hands in empty fists, giving a furious, futile pound to his door. A kick. And still, the slab of wood remained stubbornly shut. “But what is a closed door to a magician if not an excuse to use magic?”
Because magic was never an excuse for him. That, and he was drunk. She could tell even from here as he braced his hand against the door, steadying himself. Trying the handle, fruitlessly, again. “He’s just trying to get into his room,” Kallia seethed. “Why are you wasting my time with this?”
All the malice in her voice couldn’t ward him off. “Curiosity.”
As if he could somehow hear them, Demarco stopped. He dropped his raised fist and looked behind, at the closed door of Kallia’s suite. His brow creased, gaze lost.
He began stepping closer, hesitantly.
“Stop it, Jack,” she scoffed in a measured tone. “Leave him alone.”
“I’m not making him do anything,” he replied just as evenly. “Go on, open it. Looks like he wants to come in.”
What would Jack do if she didn’t? An unpredictable energy radiated from him, his smile dark as a storm. His face, cut from lightning. Expectant. Kallia glared over her shoulder as she moved, every muscle clenched. Wrestling with the question that wouldn’t stop beating for Demarco. Why are you at my door again? She had strictly ordered no visitors, and still, he came.
Why?
Was it to turn her in? To tell her the Patrons would come for her in the morning?
Kallia slowed her movements as she watched him through the door. The way his knuckles grazed the surface, tracing the lines and indents, before he shook his head at himself. Raking one hand through his hair while sliding the other against the door frame, staying there.
She stayed, too. For once, she could study him without looking away. His eyes, an honest brown. Much softer than he betrayed. Out of focus and slightly glassy from the few drinks in him. Their haunting effects had taken hold, guiding him.
Kallia had no such excuse. She traced every inch of his face in a devouring sweep, and his was handsome. Kallia had thought so before. Now it hit