“Why…” Daron could hardly string a coherent thought. “How did you get in here?”
Aaros raised a hand. “Thief.”
Lottie closed her notebook and arched her brow at Daron. “You look like hell,” she said. “We got a quick tip that something happened at the hospital. Though it looks more like you came back from a wrestling pen.”
“You got a tip?” Daron deadpanned. “You have informants slinking around the city now?”
“Even I’m not that nefarious.” She shook her head as if offended by the idea. “Let’s just say the circus is always watching. And they seemed worried.”
Canary. She’d been at the hospital, but surely couldn’t have relayed the information so quickly. The mere idea of her worrying over anything concerning Daron, enough to inform Lottie and Aaros, was laughable. “And what did these ears hear, exactly?”
“You tell us.” She glimpsed past his shoulder, down to the door, which was most likely still as locked as when he’d kicked it. “Given that we’re all stuck with you.”
Reluctant at first, he paced about the room to unclench every muscle in him before the words all came back to him. And the line that haunted him, still.
Look for the gate, and you’ll finally find her.
He’d been so close. If it were anyone else, they might’ve thought it pure nonsense. But to Daron, those words were light, even if the whole picture was not yet complete. The man had even claimed to have drawn him a map, for Zarose sake, and Daron hadn’t even been able to secure solid evidence of that. By now, everything surrounding the mayor’s hospital bed was no doubt in the possession of the Patrons. Just like all of Glorian.
“Mayor Eilin … who would’ve thought?” Aaros blew out a low whistle, a confused laugh rolling out after. “I knew the man was traditionally backward, but this sounds like he’s going a whole other direction entirely.”
“Don’t knock it just yet. We’re either dealing with madness or truth.” Lottie tapped her pen against her mouth,. “There’s a fine line between both.”
“Don’t tell me you’re actually entertaining this?” Aaros tipped his head toward the window with a groan. “There are so many other pressing issues. We’ve got Patrons running around everywhere now, and if we don’t get them out of the way, they’ll stomp all over the Alastor Place.”
“As if you haven’t already swept through that building four times over,” Lottie said. “And since nothing else has popped up, I don’t want to waste time on another dead end.”
Aaros’s lips screwed tightly, a rare expression from the usual grin. Just as Daron had taken to the Dire Woods, Aaros had taken charge of the Alastor Place. The ballroom, in particular, had been left in shambles after the last night of Spectaculore. Rather than let the ruins rot as they had before, Aaros was among the group sorting the building back to rights. He’d thrown himself into the work, hoping something might surface from the destruction.
“Well at least I found something,” Aaros fumed, digging into his pocket. “That’s more than either of you can say.”
His hand emerged with a crinkled cloth, a battered rose with ever-falling petals stitched across the other side. It was a strange bit of fabric, but undeniably Kallia’s. She’d never gone anywhere without it. The cloth never left Aaros’s pocket, since its discovery beneath shards of mirror. Every time it was in sight, Daron remembered when Kallia had last held it, for luck or comfort, just before they took the floor together and performed their last act.
Looking at it was as painful as it was hopeful.
“You found that scrap ages ago. It’s hers, but tells us nothing about where she is.” Lottie tilted her head in challenge, waiting for a rebuttal. “Logic over sentiment, boys. Consider yourself lucky you found it before the Patrons did.”
“You wish to play the logic game, when you’re suggesting we listen to a man who just woke up from a coma?” Aaros folded the cloth within his fist. “This is ridiculous.”
“Any more ridiculous than your boss disappearing through a bloody mirror?” Lottie fire back. “Because if that’s the baseline, then nothing’s off the table.”
“So you believe all the rest, then?” Daron leaned against the wall. “All that talk about memory?”
Aaros barked out a laugh, “No!” just as Lottie shrugged with, “Well, why not?”
Doubt trickled in freely, Daron couldn’t help it. The idea was so outlandish, it sounded like something out of a dark, strange nightmare. Surely if something like that were even possible, he would’ve heard about it. But he’d never known any magician with the power to mess with memories. A magician with such skills was impossible, dangerous. And if that were the case, that meant everything else the mayor had said was just as false.
Look for the gate, and you’ll find her.
It’s much closer than you think.
The words all rang in Daron’s head, louder and louder.
“… really, Aaros, you are the local among us. Have you never questioned anything?” Lottie snapped. At the silence, she sent a withering glare to Daron next. “Wait, am I the only one who’s asked about this so far? You came here to learn more about this place, after all.”
Daron’s face went hot. “It was not exactly research I was trying to advertise at the time.”
Back when he’d been trying to investigate Eva’s disappearance in connection to the strangeness in Glorian. Back when his purpose in the city had been to play a role.
He’d enjoyed playing the role a little too much, dropping his search day by day. His focus, elsewhere. On someone else entirely.
Daron was not proud of it, and the judgement spearing through Lottie’s tone was more than a little deserved.
“The incompetence, I swear.” She huffed, tilting her head up at the ceiling as if in prayer. “Tell me everything you know, assistant. About your life here, the city, some morsel of truth to prove the mayor wrong since you insist it.”
“How is any of this relevant, for Zarose sake?” Aaros bit out.
“It could lead to nothing, or to something. Never hurts to explore a question sitting right in front of you,” Lottie said, her eyes narrowing. “Or do you simply have no answer for it?”
“No, I…” Aaros’s brows raised, defensive at first. Faltering, the next. “Those … those were vague questions—”
“Who’s your family, would they know?”
“Didn’t have much family growing up,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Ira looked out for me, though she doesn’t like to admit it.”
“Ira?” Daron and Lottie repeated in unison.
“Older than old seamstress over in the Ranza Fold. A bit of a nightmare to everyone, loves me to pieces though.” The faint smile on his face fell as fast as it had appeared. “And Kallia. She took to Kallia real well, too.”
A stillness filled the room whenever her name emerged.
How she would laugh, if she could see them all right now.
“Older than old, you say?” Lottie cleared her throat. “Perhaps she’ll remember something useful, then.”