The twirling stops, and Roman lifts me down, holding me for a moment as I find my legs again. His hands that were so cold a moment ago feel hot against my rib cage.

He pulls his six knives from the board and turns, speaking to the audience for the first time.

“Again?”

Like we practiced, I shake my head. “Your turn.”

The crowd laughs. I want to let the sound sink into me, fill some part of me always longing for appreciation. I barely register it.

Roman pulls my shoulder bars out and stands in my place, using the higher bars already installed. I grab a discreet handle and yank the thing into a spin, stepping back with what I hope looks like the stealth and grace of a knife thrower.

I pull my first knife from my ankle, twirling it between my fingers. The crowd claps and then goes silent, letting me concentrate. The magic pools in my fingers, and I send the knife flying. It hits just to the left of his foot. Exactly where I aimed.

I shift my stance as I bend for the next knife. A charred queen of spades pokes out from under the toe of my boot. I pause for a fraction of a second before grabbing the second knife, twirling it as the magic rushes.

Half the queen’s face is gone.

Aristelle and Xander twist and burn in my memory.

My magic grows cold a second before my knife leaves my hand.

There’s no comforting sound of metal hitting wood. Metal hitting flesh just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

A few people in the audience cry out. Roman doesn’t.

Willow has already stopped Roman’s spin. My knife protrudes from his thigh.

I utter a word I probably shouldn’t say onstage and dart forward, but Roman’s already jumped down from the board with movements too graceful for someone who just got stabbed. He removes the knife from his leg, ignoring my startled face as he strides by me and grabs my hand, squeezing it like I’m the one who needs support as he wipes the bloody blade on his own pants and pulls me to center stage again.

“Put a mask on,” he says gently.

I don’t have to ask what he means. I turn my panicked face to stone as we stand before the silent crowd. He holds the knife out for them to see, slaps it against his palm to show that it’s solid. Then he uses it to tear away the fabric of his pants, revealing his flawless leg. No wound. No blood.

The crowd claps, half from excitement and half from relief, but the fear they felt moments before drowns their enthusiasm. I feel only half the magic I felt from the other performance. I’ve cost us some.