1865, Galway, Ireland

Kali twisted a thread of red-hot magic between her fingers. It glowed in the darkness, illuminating the worn wooden walls of her wagon, a lumpy straw mattress tucked in the corner, and a battered old trunk at the foot of her bed. Her modest, spare accommodations certainly didn't amount to a glamorous life. But she didn't care. All she wanted was the comfort she found in the shadows anyway.

The thread was barely longer than her thumb and yet it wouldn't take much more than a flick of her wrist, a breath, a thought, to send it into a sweeping, swirling storm of fire. She felt the magic pulse, like a second heartbeat beneath her skin. Ready and waiting to escape. Seeking space to expand like a star. Hotter. Bigger. Brighter.

Let go, the magic whispered. Let go, let go, let go.

Kali wrapped the thread around a small pebble and snapped it off to form a single, short spell, firmly tied with nowhere to go. The only thing it could do was burn itself out once she released it.

Kali never cast raw spells if she could help it. Years ago, she had learned the hard way what an insatiable appetite her magic held when it wasn't anchored. She had woken surrounded by a halo of ash and cinders where her home used to be. But she had remained untouched, unburned.

That's when everyone knew without a doubt she was a witch.

A burst of laughter drew Kali from her thoughts. For the past three days, the caravan had been rolling its way to a new city. The only sounds Kali had for company were the creaking of the wagon, punctuated by the dull rhythm of the horses' hooves that spoke of endless countryside and a plain, dirt road.

Then the rushing whisper of the ocean joined the journey's cadence. And now, there were voices. People. Kali would soon have an audience and the thought made her stomach churn with dread.

The clamor of civilization grew louder and closer with every passing mile. Shouts and murmurs of conversation. The echoing clang of a blacksmith's hammer against an anvil. The rasp of a fishmonger's voice calling out, "Bass! Herring! Cod!"

Kali crawled to the door and eased it open just enough to peer out.

Puddles lined a cobblestone street like muddy mirrors, reflecting grumbling gray clouds overhead. Small, neat houses were tucked together, cozy alongside a bakery, a tavern, a few shops, a smattering of inns. Beyond the buildings, Kali caught a glimpse of a long wharf, stretching out into the sea. A handful of moored fishing boats bobbed gently on the rise and fall of the tide as gulls squabbled at each other.

Five more wagons trailed behind Kali, one for each act of the circus. People stopped in the streets to watch the caravan pass by, curiosity piqued by the purple and gold letters painted along the wagons' sides.

Pandemonium: when the darkness descends, let the dreams begin.

Heat prickled Kali's palms, ignited by anxiety. She ducked back into the shelter of her wagon. This was the worst part. The waiting. Wondering what the audience would think of her when she released that first anchored spell.

Some were fascinated by her. The witch with fire at her fingertips.

Others hated her on sight. The witch who could burn them all to the ground.

She never knew what greeting she might receive. And she always worried, just a little, that she would find herself in that halo of destruction again. Rubble all around her. Guilt heavy on her shoulders. Smoke thick on her tongue.

"Don't be ridiculous," she chided herself, though the words felt hollow, lacking the reassurance she'd been hoping for.

Ten years with the circus and she hadn't slipped. Not once. But she'd been careful. Painfully, studiously careful. With every spell she cast, there was always a chance, no matter how small, that this time she might not be able to hold on. It wouldn't take much for one of her spells to spark a wildfire, blooming into a beast too wild to tame.

Kali tucked her hands under her arms, stifling the light that emanated from the threads criss-crossing her hands and arms. She folded over herself, willing calmness to settle the itching heat that bubbled in her blood.

Slowly, the wagon rolled to a stop. Any minute now, she would be called out for the opening act. Kali gulped at the thought and hugged her knees tighter.

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

Boss's voice boomed like a drum, no doubt turning the heads of everyone within listening range.

"On this dreary morning," he continued, "I bring you a show full of the strange and the weird, the beguiling and the bewitching. What you will witness in Pandemonium, you have never seen before. Nor will you ever see again as long as you live."

The sharp clip of Boss's boots on the cobblestones approached Kali's wagon. Her threads of magic hissed with the anticipation of impending spellwork. Kali closed her eyes, longing to wish it all away.

"I know what you're thinking," Boss went on, the rhythm of his footsteps drawing ever closer to Kali's door. "I'm peddling lies. Fancy notions of little substance. It's only natural that a stranger like me must prove myself worthy of your time. So allow me to introduce you to a very special girl - Kali Singh, the fire witch."

Boss pulled the door open. Hinges shrieked in protest as sunlight slashed through the anonymity of darkness. Kali squinted against the harsh glare, fingernails digging into her palms. Magic pooled hot in her fists but she tightened her grip, refusing to release the press of spells crowding into her hands.

She thought about burrowing back into the depths of the wagon. But she was born a witch with fire in her blood. She was never meant to live in the shadows, no matter how much she might want to. She would always burn the darkness away.

Boss stood there, waiting, his gloved hand outstretched to her. He cut a striking figure in a cherry red tailcoat, shiny gold buttons, and spit-polished boots. Kali was shabby by comparison in a tattered waistcoat, scuffed shoes, and trousers with an array of patchwork at the knees.

But Boss had no magic of his own, no fire clawing to escape the confines of his skin the way Kali did. He donned a fine wardrobe to command attention, to make the audience look at him and know that he was a man who belonged on the stage. Kali wanted to blend in. Disappear. But her magic wouldn't allow that. It leaked out of her with a faint glow she could never stop, signaling to anyone that here was a star, walking the tightrope between illumination and impending destruction.

Boss beckoned to her. "It's time."

Kali placed her hand in his, allowing Boss to guide her out of the wagon and into full view of the audience. Dozens of blank, expectant faces stared at her. She rocked back on her heels, arms stiff and straight at her sides.

"Looks like a scrappy mutt to me," a voice from the audience called.

Kali suppressed a flinch. She tugged her sleeves down over her knuckles even as her magic spat with indignation.

Boss stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Don't let them see you're afraid," he whispered.

Then he stepped back, granting her the space she needed to start the opening act.

Slowly, Kali reached into her pocket and retrieved the spell she had anchored earlier. As it sat in her palm, a ring of light emanated from it, but there was no heat, no burn. Nothing but a little flash of fire now for entertainment, all threat of danger snuffed out.

Kali thumbed it into the dirt.

The spell ricocheted off the ground and bounced up again. With a pop, it burst in mid-air, unfurling into a fiery butterfly, golden and luminous against the gray sky.

The audience gave a startled noise but they remained where they stood, mesmerized.

For a few seconds, the butterfly drifted along. Then the wings faded. Ash scattered in the wind. The butterfly fizzled away into a yellow ribbon, unspooling like a loose thread. Tied to the end of the ribbon was a scrap of paper, lined with gleaming silver like stardust.

Boss plucked the ticket out of the air and held it up for the audience to see. Written in looping purple ink, it read: Admission for one entrance into Pandemonium.

"What you just witnessed is only a taste of the wonders my circus holds in store for you," Boss said. "But if you want more, you'll have to catch your own ticket."

This time, Kali retrieved a handful of anchored spells from her pocket and sent them flying into the air. Butterflies swarmed overhead, ribbons twirling, tickets sailing by like snowflakes.

The audience burst into action. As the butterflies dissipated into puffs of ash, every ticket was captured in eager hands. Every ribbon was scooped up and tied onto wrists or looped through buttonholes. Every scrap of magic was claimed with wonder.

"Witchcraft!"

The black, bitter word cut through the air like a scythe, curved, vicious, sharp.

Kali scanned the crowd, searching for who had spoken. Boss swore under his breath and stepped forward.

"I can assure you, there is no danger here - " he started.

"Don't trust the witch! She'll burn us all to death!"

The audience began to churn, unsettled and wary. They plucked at the ribbons they had admired a moment ago with nervous fingers.

Then a rock sailed out of the audience and struck Kali's temple. Pain exploded in her head. Gingerly, she reached up and found sticky wet blood leaking from a cut just above her right eye.

Heat barreled down the threads on her arms.

Too much. Too fast. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't pull it back. It flooded to her fingertips, threads blazing white. A roar whooshed in her ears as giant ropes of fire surged from Kali's hands.

Boss shouted, his voice muffled and distant.

The audience scattered.

"No, no, no," Kali pleaded.

A moment ago, Kali's magic had conjured butterflies. Delicate and harmless. Now, it scrabbled against the cobblestones, blackening the earth with scorch marks. It chewed through the roof of a nearby inn, hissing and spitting like demons.

Magic boiled from Kali's skin. She felt like a feverish blister, bursting apart. Every muscle in her body trembled from the power hurtling through her, rattling her teeth so hard that her jaw ached.

For a split second, time seemed to stand still as the fire rose in a livid wall of flames. If Kali didn't get her magic under control, there would be nothing left. Nothing except her. Standing amid the desolation, her fingers stained with soot.

She grabbed a fistful of her magic, threads as thin and slippery as fishing line. Power hummed like a vibrating guitar string, crackling in her grip. But it didn't burn her. Kali yanked as hard as she could, pressing her weight deep into her knees for leverage.

The fire strained against Kali's hold. It dragged her forward, boots skidding on the cobblestones.

Then the flames cut into her palms. Pain seared up her arms, hot and vicious. Magic pulled her down, bringing Kali to her knees. Her body felt like a bolt of lightning, paralyzed by the heat in her bones and the ashes in her mouth. Fire tore out of her grip and her vision went white with agony.

You are free, her magic whispered. Free to burn.

***

A/N: I would dearly LOVE to hear your thoughts and predictions on Kali's story! What do you think will happen next? Can Kali control her fire? Or will it control her?

Please feel free to share in the comments below!