Legendary (Caraval 2)

“Maybe I’m actually helping you.” He straightened the fresh black cravat around his neck as his gaze latched on to the door behind him, landing on a Caraval symbol etched atop the doorknob’s bulbous brass handle.

The entrance to the Church of Legend.

“I would have found it on my own,” Tella huffed.

“Of course you would have.” Dante continued to stand directly in front of the door, grinning a little too wide as Tella stepped closer.

“Weren’t you the one who said you see girls the same way we see party dresses, only to be used once?”

“Clearly I view you a little differently.” He reached for one of her errant curls and wound it around one tattooed finger, the black rose on the back of his hand spinning until it turned red beneath the ruby starlight. With every turn he drew her closer. He made it easy to ignore her achy legs and her dying heart. He twisted the hair around his finger in the same way she imagined he wanted to wrap her around his finger.

As if she would ever let him.

Arrogant. Overconfident. Vain. Impossible. She hated the way he refused to leave her alone, how he took her insults the same way other boys might take a compliment, and that his interest in her was clearly only part of his role. And yet she could never seem to push him away.

“If you’re here to learn about Legend,” he said, “I can tell you more than anyone inside there.”

“Would you tell me who he is?” Tella asked.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“You could if you were Legend.”

Dante’s voice rumbled with a laugh. “If I was Legend I’d definitely never tell you.”

“Because you don’t trust me?”

“No,” he answered slowly, gently tugging her even closer. “I’d hold on to my secret because I’d want to keep playing the game with you, and if I told you the truth it would spoil all the fun.”

His eyes stayed locked with hers, as if there was something unspoken he was trying to say. If another boy had looked at her that way she might have felt momentarily special. People rarely looked each other in the eye for prolonged periods of time. There was almost something more intimate about it than touching. When Dante looked in Tella’s eyes he wasn’t watching the rest of the world. He wasn’t looking out for himself. He was risking part of his person to focus solely on her.

Tella wondered if this was the true allure of Caraval, not the magic or the mystery, but the way Legend’s players knew how to make people feel. During the last game, Julian had constantly pushed Scarlett outside of her comfort zone. Dante was doing the same thing to Tella, but instead of pushing, he was pulling her toward him, attempting to reel her into his intoxicating sphere by pretending he cared, and that he didn’t merely want her, but a part of him needed her. She sensed it in the subtle way he held his breath as he waited for her answer. It was terrifying how such a small thing could hold so much power.

He was definitely good at his job. She knew he was only acting. That he didn’t actually care or need her. And yet instead of walking past him into the Church of Legend she found herself wanting to play along with him for just a little longer. “So if you were Legend and we were partners, would you be helping me win or sabotaging my efforts?”

“Definitely helping.” Dante began untwisting her hair, letting his warm fingers brush her neck, and then leaving them on her pulse as he whispered, “Even if I wasn’t Legend I would want you to win.”

He kept his eyes on hers as if there was something else he needed to say, and it scared Tella how much she wanted to hear it, even though she couldn’t have believed it. She didn’t really believe Dante was Legend either. As fun and clever as Tella was, so were countless other girls, and she imagined the master of Caraval had better things to do than follow any of them around. And yet, she couldn’t completely dismiss the idea, because as much as it might hurt later on, and as foolish as it could make her in the end, a part of her wanted it to be true, wanted to believe that something inside of her burned bright enough to capture Legend’s uncapturable attention.

Tella’s sluggish heart skipped a beat at the thought. With Dante’s warm fingers on her pulse she imagined he felt it. His eyes were shining brighter than his smile, but maybe it was because he could also feel her starting to give in to him, falling for the act he was inevitably putting on.

“I wish I could believe you.” She said it like a joke as she leaned back, until his hand fell away from her neck.

She started to reach for the door.

Then his fingers were around her wrist, tugging her back to him. There was something almost desperate about the way he held on to her. “What if I told you the real reason for this game? Would you believe I wanted to help you then?”

“Dante, I never believe anything you say.”

“But you remember my words well enough to repeat them.”

Tella didn’t respond, which he took as an invitation to continue. “Do you know how Legend gained his magic?”

“I thought it came from a wish, that one impossible wish we’re all supposed to get if we want something enough.” She said it skeptically. Although her sister had used a wish to bring Tella back to life in the last game, a part of Tella had always doubted Legend’s epic magic came from something so simple. And maybe Tella liked the way Dante responded when she challenged him, the way his eyes shimmered and his fingers tightened around her wrist, as if he didn’t plan on letting her go until he had the last word.

“Everyone does get a wish,” Dante said, “but each wish needs magic to help it along. And Legend wanted especially powerful magic. So he sought out the witch who’d cursed the Fates.”

“How did he find her?”