Before Kali could reply, Queenie bustled in, jewelry clinking, skirts billowing around her. The too-sweet scent of her rosy perfume mingled with Osiris's salty ocean scent for an overpowering combination that left Kali longing for fresh air.

"You did absolutely nothing wrong, darling," Queenie said. "We've all had our own little hiccups from time to time."

"This was more than a hiccup, Queenie," Kali said.

"Well, don't fret about it for another second. And don't pay any attention to Lark's accusations." Queenie pitched her voice lower. "You know she runs her mouth off. She doesn't mean a word of it really."

As she talked, Queenie's fingers plucked at the air as if she played an invisible harp, conjuring a pair of gloves on Kali's hands. They were too pretty for Kali's comfort – black silk, studded with delicate diamonds and chunky rubies at the wrist, making it look like a cuff of fire.

Definitely more Queenie's taste than Kali's.

But they covered her blisters. Concealed the evidence of her mistake. At least the gloves were only an illusion. In a few hours, they would wear off, just like everything else Queenie conjured in Pandemonium. An illusion was merely a trick of the light and the dark, woven together. Eventually, when light faded or shifted, the illusion frayed and fell apart.

Kali flexed her hands, studying the gloves. It felt wrong, wearing the false finery of someone else's magic in order to hide the ugly reality of the burns that would scar her palms.

Lark growled under her breath, muttering, "No one listens to me."

With a buzz of wings, she took off. Her white hair streamed out behind her as she disappeared among the stars and the tents.

Then the shadows began to whisper, signaling Boss was on his way. A minute later, he emerged, with a bounce in his step as he rubbed his hands together, clearly in a good mood.

"What are you all standing around for?" he said. "I don't pay you to nap like lazy cats. We've got a show to run!"

Osiris retrieved his crutches from their resting place against Kali's wagon.

"Actually, I believe you don't pay us at all," he replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Boss held up his hands in a gesture of surrender with a laugh.

"Come on, we've talked about this! Who needs wages with three square meals, a warm, safe place to rest your head, and a circus to call home? Every night is filled with magic. Do you have any idea how many people would kill to be in your shoes?"

Without waiting for a reply, he clapped his hands in quick succession, changing the topic of conversation.

"Now, let's move. We have an excellent audience so I need you to perform your hearts out tonight. Get into that Big Top and show them what you can do."

Kali plucked at the magic gloves Queenie had conjured for her.

"I think I should sit this one out," she said.

Wren made a small noise of concern.

Boss's smile faltered. Only for a moment. Then it flashed back to full power again. He wrapped an arm around Kali's shoulder. She recoiled at the smell of cigar smoke, clinging to his jacket. Even though it was sweeter and lighter than the smoke of her fire, it was still smoke and the scent of it made the memory of flames rage into the forefront of her mind all over again.

"Don't tell me you're upset about the opening act," Boss said. "It was brilliant."

Kali pulled away. "People could have been hurt. They could have died."

Boss pressed his lips into a thin line of disapproval. He turned to the remaining crew and tilted his head toward the tents.

"The rest of you should get going." His voice was carefully measured this time, instead of the jovial tone he had used a moment ago. "Kali and I will catch up. If we're late, you can cover for us."

Osiris looked like he wanted to protest. Wren tugged a wing around her shoulder like a blanket with a worried look. But Queenie rounded them up and herded them toward the tents. Just before the shadows concealed them from view, Queenie glanced back over her shoulder to Kali with a nod, as if to say, everything will be all right.

Boss took a firm hold of Kali's chin and raised her head until she looked him in the eye.

"What's going on with you?" he said. "You're acting...sheepish. As if you did something wrong."

"I almost burned this city to the ground with everyone in it!" Kali blurted.

Instantly, she regretted her outburst as light blazed from her skin so bright that it glowed from beneath her long sleeves. She bit her tongue so hard, she tasted blood and the light fizzled dark again.

"And the audience loved it," Boss replied with a small, impish smile.

Kali blinked. Even though Boss didn't have magic of his own, he still understood the severity of her slip during the opening act. And he liked it.

"You always play it safe, Kali," he continued. "Today, you finally decided to throw caution to the wind – "

"It wasn't a choice."

" – and we're reeling in crowds like we never have before."

Boss cupped Kali's face in his hands.

"Don't you see? Our audience is searching for that fine line between danger and entertainment. It's exciting. It's thrilling. It makes them feel more alive than anything else."

Kali gazed up into Boss's face. The gleam in his eye. The hunger emanating from him for more, more, more.

"I know you're scared," he added, his voice a little lower, a little softer this time. "But we have this audience because of you, Kali. They applauded and cheered for you. Don't hide in the dark now. If you do, we'll lose this crowd. And a circus is nothing without its audience."

Kali fidgeted. All she really wanted to do was retreat and lick her wounds.

Then the echo of Lark's words rose in her memory.

We always knew something would go wrong with Kali eventually. She's never been exactly stable.

It stung, realizing her crew – the only family she had in the world – expected her to break at any moment. She had slipped today, endangering them. But if she backed out now, the audience might leave, disappointed that the show they were promised never happened. Where would the crew go if there was no circus anymore? What would happen to Kali?

This was her home. And she had to fight for it.

Kali took in a shaky breath to steady herself.

"I need my cat."

Boss grinned. "Of course you do."

He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew the wooden figure of Kali's familiar, Zira ­– a tiger barely two inches tall and rather poorly done. The neck was too long, the feet unfinished, shapeless lumps. It was only the only thing Kali had brought with her when she joined the circus, leaving her old life behind.

Boss made it a rule to keep Zira in his pocket for the opening act, for traveling on the open road. That way, we don't spook the audience too early, he insisted, and it makes for a bigger reveal later on. But Kali and Zira were a pair – a witch and her cat. Separating them, no matter how brief it was, caused problems. It left Kali vulnerable, weakening her.

Would she have slipped if Zira had been by her side today?

Just as Kali moved to take the wooden figure, Boss pulled it away.

"Oh, forgot to mention one little thing," he said.

Kali faltered, fighting back a huff of impatience. She wasn't in the mood for Boss's theatrics right now. She wanted Zira back, no bells and whistles, no show. Just her cat.

"If I think," Boss continued, speaking with maddening slowness, "that you are not fit to run your act, I will decide to pull you out. Not you. Don't make that kind of announcement in front of the crew again before you've discussed it with me. Got it?"

Kali's gaze fell on the wooden figure, her dearest Zira, so close and yet just out of reach. Boss's tone was clear: if Kali didn't agree, Zira would remain in his pocket. She wanted to argue, to protest, to explain. She hadn't intended to challenge his authority. Her sole concern was making sure people were safe. From her.

But it didn't matter what her reason was. The only thing Boss cared about was the fact that she'd crossed a line.

"Okay," Kali said. "I'll talk to you first next time."

Boss smiled and pressed the wooden figure of her familiar into her palm with a little more force than necessary. The sharp angles bit into her skin, the illusionary fabric of Queenie's gloves doing nothing to serve as a barrier between her hand and the wood.

"Good," Boss said. "Now go. You've got an act to perform."