by Amanda Foody
After the show, Blister isn’t there to give out high fives.
“Luca wasn’t there?” Venera asks from her usual perch at her vanity.
“Is that the boy—” Hawk starts.
I flick her on the forehead, and she clamps her mouth shut. I’m already so nervous that my stomach is cramping up. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to see him now.” My words sound brave, but it’s all a farce. I wipe off my rouge, and it smears pink down my cheek. I look like a clown.
“A date?”
“Sure,” I lie. If you can call hunting down the murderer of your uncle and brother a date. Nothing we’ve done has ever been even remotely romantic. Even the party was a business rendezvous for Luca.
“Make sure he comes tomorrow night,” Venera says. “So I can decide if he’s worthy.”
* * *
I decided to leave on my black lipstick from the show to remind Luca—without needing to tell him outright—that the Freak Show has reopened. When I enter his tent, relieved that he is indeed all in one piece, I catch him staring at my lips from where he’s sitting on the corner of his bamboo floor, and he quickly shifts his gaze to his hands.
My stomach churns.
“How was reopening night?” he asks.
“Not so dandy,” I say. “Tree was on his absolute worst behavior, and Unu and Du’s language made a few audience members gasp.”
“I’m sure your act was mesmerizing,” he says. “And I’m sorry I missed it. I intend to catch tomorrow night’s show.”
I mentally decide to wear my scarlet mask, which Venera always tells me is alluring.
“Should I start wearing makeup for my show, too?” he asks. “I could paint my lips blue, like a corpse.” He smiles at his own morbid joke.
I wince. The memory of his head rolling off the stage to my feet now seems more like a nightmare than a dark parlor trick.
I sit beside him. As soon as I open my mouth to speak, he rises to pour himself a glass of gin. I watch—impatiently—as he finishes the whole glass.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says.
“Is that a good thing? You told me you drink gin to make yourself nicer.”
He white-knuckles his glass. “Have you heard what people say about me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
“You’re missing eyes, Sorina, not ears.”
I cross my arms. Yes, I’ve heard the rumors—from both Nicoleta and Venera now—but I don’t know what to think of them. If I even believe them. “Is there something you want to tell me? Because I’d rather hear it from you.” I probably don’t have any right making demands of him, but I really want to hear what he has to say.
“As I told you, I’ve never been in this position.”
“What position?” I snap. I initiated the kiss. I’m the one who feels completely mortified. What position could he possibly be talking about?
“This.” He gestures wildly between the two of us. “I spend my free time investigating people, studying people. Every single aspect of their lives. And half of my information comes from prettyworkers. I know people’s desires and the most intimate details of their relationships. And I’ve never understood them. I’ve never wanted or needed that in my life.”
“And what is that?” I ask.
“The thing you’re asking for. The thing everyone expects.”
“I’m not asking for anything.” I’ve never seen Luca get this worked up. Not about assassins, not during the havoc in Cartona...but apparently one kiss is enough to cause a breakdown.
This is altogether mortifying. I wish I hadn’t kissed him at all.
“You’re asking for things that I can’t give you,” he says. “I can’t promise to give you everything that you want.”
So Venera was right. Luca isn’t interested in any sort of romantic relationship. But then why doesn’t he just come out and say that?
“Well, what do you want?” I ask.
“Things I never thought I would.” He runs his hand through his hair. “But, mostly, time.”
My chest lifts from a tug on my single strand of hope. “I can give you time.”
“Thank you.” He takes a seat at the table. “You don’t have to keep sitting on my floor.” He holds out his hand, and I grab it and slide into the opposite seat. When I envisioned this conversation in my head, this is not how I pictured it—Luca, across the table, fidgeting in his chair and looking everywhere but at me. We sit at a respectable distance apart, our postures rigid. Like a business meeting.
“Is your family all unpacked?” he asks.
So this is what we’re doing. Small talk. “Yes. And the show was decent, and how about this weather?” I smirk. “If we’re going to change the subject, I actually have something I want to discuss with you.”
“Go ahead.” He refills his glass of gin. “Do you want some?”
“No. That stuff is vile,” I say. “Yesterday, I visited a fortune-worker. And she told me to warn you.”
“I don’t put a lot of stock in fortune-workers.”
“She’s a good one. I’ve known her for a long time—”
“I know whom you’re referring to,” he says. “Kahina. The one with the snaking sickness.”
“I can’t decide if I prefer it when you pretend you don’t know everything about my life, or if it’s convenient that you do.”
“I’ll admit that I didn’t know all of this when I first met you. I may have asked around after we started working together.”
“I’d rather you not pretend to be all-knowing.”
“There’s little fun in that. So, tell me about this warning,” he says, sounding bored.
“It was imminent doom.”
“Naturally.”
“You should take these things at least somewhat seriously,” I say. “Since, you know, I wouldn’t like to see you meet imminent doom.”
“There’s a fortune-worker several tents down who drops to his knees whenever I pass and foretells of my upcoming demise,” Luca says. “As he’s been doing for about three months now, this Saturday. Forgive me if I’m not immediately convinced.”
“You’re impossible,” I say.
“So said my mother, many times. Then I ran away to join the circus. And you’re not half as scary as her.” He takes a swig of his gin. “Well, I’ve spent most of today and yesterday interrogating the rest of the people in Gomorrah with strange abilities.”
“You questioned them without me?”
“Yes. You were getting too personal with it. Too sensitive.”
“And did you let them all go after hearing their made-up logic?”
He leans his head back, as if asking the heavens why he has to tolerate someone as annoying as me. Well, he doesn’t. He doesn’t have to help me if I’m tormenting him too much with my concern. I can’t help it if I can’t detach myself from what we’re doing—we’re searching for whoever murdered members of my family. I’m not sorry for caring. And I’m not weak for doing so.
“I thought we were going about this as a team,” I say. “Partners.”
“I felt it was more efficient to go alone. You’re busy with Villiam, anyway.”
“Is this about efficiency or you being uncomfortable? Because it’s pretty shitty and high-handed of you to do all of this without me. This isn’t a game. I’m trying to protect my family.”
“Which is why you’ll want to hear out my theory,” he says calmly.
“No. I want to hear about the other people you talked to.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“It is if you’d like me to keep my composure.”
He sighs and twirls his finger around the rim of his glass. “No one was worthy of note. There was a man who could perfe
ctly imitate anyone’s voice—to be honest, I’m not entirely certain that’s actually jynx-work. A woman who can turn gold into lead but not back. Not particularly useful. Another man—he was more interesting—had two types of jynx-work. Fire-work and charm-work. He’s the one who makes the torches in Gomorrah glow white and green—in regular charm-work, fire is not considered an object and it can’t be manipulated. He was not someone who could kill an illusion, but we had a good conversation. He’s missing an arm, his left arm. Yet he can pick things up if they’re close by. They look like they’re floating. It’s very bizarre. He calls it a phantom limb.”
“You said he had two types of jynx-work?” I say.
“Yes.”
“Tuyet had two types. She’s missing her heart, yet her blood pumps. He’s missing an arm, yet it’s as if he has one. And I’m missing eyes...yet I see.”
Luca considers this. “I’ve never heard anything to suggest having two types of jynx-work alters your body in such a way. But it’s possible. That amount of magic could have physical repercussions.”
Do I have two types of jynx-work? I would know if I did, wouldn’t I? I can’t see the future. I can’t bless charms.
But maybe this is the missing piece of my jynx-work. In those books I borrowed from Villiam, nothing I read about illusion-work mentioned anything like my family. Maybe they aren’t proper illusions at all.
I mention this theory to Luca. “And if they’re not illusions,” I say, “then what if we’re going about this the wrong way? What if it doesn’t take any special ability to kill them? The killer could be anyone.”
I have the urge to kick something. And then cry, but kicking something would be less embarrassing. “One moment,” I say, then step outside his tent and, as hard as I can, kick Luca’s Gossip-Worker sign. It flies across the air and lands in the grass with a satisfying thump.
Luca stands at the entrance of his tent. “Feel better?”
“Not really,” I say. “Because all the work we’ve been doing up to this point might have been pointless. And because maybe anyone can kill the illusions, which means our suspect list has grown from eight to every person in Gomorrah.”
“First of all, it wasn’t pointless,” he says. “We wouldn’t have come up with this theory in the first place without meeting Tuyet and the other suspects. And, no, not every person is automatically a suspect. Not every person has a motive.” He grabs my shoulders and turns me to face him. I’m so startled by his touch that I freeze. The last time we were this close, I kissed him.
“You need to take deep breaths and calm yourself.”
“Right,” I squeak. I’m not taking deep breaths. I’m barely breathing at all. The air in the Downhill is too sweet, too smoky and Luca’s sandalwood smell makes me a little light-headed. “Do you think I’m right about this? About my jynx-work?”
“I think you might be. It hadn’t even occurred to me until now, but I see the sense in it.” He pauses. “I feel I really should tell you about my theory now.”
“Go ahead,” I say dismissively. I’m still caught up in my potential discovery.
“We know that Gill died in Frice, and Blister died in Cartona. Now we’ve reached a third city, and if the killer is operating under some sort of pattern, he may strike again extremely soon. I think you need to protect the illusions while we’re in Gentoa.”
My stomach sinks. “The best way to protect them is to make them disappear. I can do that, but it’s difficult. They reappear the moment I break my concentration. Including while I’m sleeping.”
“We’re going to be in Gentoa for a week and a half,” he says. “You can’t keep that up.”
A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the night breeze. He’s right. There’s no way I can handle that for so long. “They’ll also have to be out during the Freak Show. And...this will involve telling them that I think they’re in danger. I never make them disappear, especially not all at once.”
That won’t go over well. Crown has still refused to consider Blister’s death as anything more than an accident. Hawk and Unu and Du will be terrified at the idea of being targeted. Tree will be in a constant state of panic, which is dangerous for everyone around him.
“I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” I say. “I can’t just not sleep for eleven days.”
“Why don’t you just command the guard? You’re the proprietor’s daughter.”
“Villiam doesn’t know I’m working with you.”
“Why haven’t you told him?”
“I... I don’t know. It didn’t come up at first, and now I feel like I’ve been lying to him.” Now that I know Villiam’s, Agni’s and Chimal’s true feelings regarding those born in the Up-Mountains, I’m even more reluctant to reveal my relationship with Luca to my father. I don’t want him to feel betrayed. “I may be able to ask the guard tomorrow. We’re just arriving in Gentoa. I can say the new city is making my family anxious. But I don’t want to wake them now and make them suspicious. It’s already so late.”
A man approaches us carrying hundreds of cheap hookah pipes for sale. I’m about to snap at him—simply to snap at anyone—when Luca pleasantly waves him away. I wish I could be so cordial.
I need to lie down and take deep breaths. I need a glass of water. I need fresh air not polluted with ancient smoke.
“Jiafu’s cronies could be paid as bodyguards,” Luca says.
“Jiafu and I aren’t on the best of terms at the moment.” Considering he pulled a knife on me last time I saw him.
“That doesn’t matter,” he says. “I know what will convince him. You and I can go visit him tonight.”
He leans down and whispers a secret into my ear.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As predicted, Jiafu isn’t happy to see me waiting for him at his caravan with Luca. His eyes bulge, and he walks toward us, stumbling in a zigzag pattern with the smell of the tavern on his breath.
“I told you not to show your freak face here again,” he spits out.
“Nice to see you, too, cousin,” I say. “This is Luca.”
Luca leans lazily against his walking stick, but I can tell he’s upset because of how tightly he grips it. He examines Jiafu the way a tarantula might inspect a fly already caught in its web. Even though Luca’s skill with fighting begins and ends with him getting killed, he has managed to appear intimidating without needing to speak a word.
“Kudos to you, freak, for managing to find someone even freakier than you are. Yeah, I found out who he is,” Jiafu says, as I startle slightly. “You don’t seem the type to hang out with an Up-Mountainer. What would Villiam have to say?”
I expect Luca to react to the accusation, but his face remains impassive.
“I have a favor to ask of you,” I say.
“Like hell I’d do anything for you.”
“Well, it’s not exactly a favor. More like blackmail.”
Jiafu raises his eyebrows. “If you turn me in, we both go down.”
“Oh, I’m not talking about that,” I say lightly. “I’m talking about the boy who works at the Menagerie. The boy named Zhihao.”
He’s been very careful, Luca told me earlier. His half brother, Zhihao, works cleaning out the manure in the Menagerie, and he lives in one of the orphan tents in the Uphill. He’s ten years old and probably the only person who matters to Jiafu. Jiafu won’t want anyone finding out about him, because anyone associated with someone in Jiafu’s business could be in danger.
Jiafu stiffens as if something has grasped his shadow. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Ten years old,” I say. “You have the same mother, don’t you?”
I told Luca that, as much as I dislike Jiafu, I wasn’t prepared to expose his ten-year-old brother and thus put a kid in danger. But Luca a
ssured me it wouldn’t come to that. Hopefully Jiafu won’t figure out that this is all an empty threat.
“We can talk inside,” he grunts and then slides his key into the door of his black caravan. Luca and I climb inside. It still smells of burnt coffee and feet.
Why can’t Jiafu just work a safer job if he cared about his brother so much? I asked Luca.
Because, he said, he loves his job. He lives for the danger of it.
“How did you find out about Zhihao?” Jiafu asks once he shuts the door. “He hasn’t been telling people, has he?”
“It doesn’t matter how we found out,” I say. “I have a favor to ask you. I need some bodyguards tonight.”
“Are you paying me?”
“No.”
“Then how am I supposed to pay for men?”
“I don’t know. You pay them,” I say. “I definitely don’t have any money at the moment. I may be able to get you some later but no more than ten gold pieces.”
“That’s not enough.”
“It’s all I’ve got.”
He narrows his eyes. “What do you need bodyguards for?”
“Because someone has been killing my illusions. Two are already dead,” I say.
“I heard. How do you kill illusions?”
I glance at Luca. Should we be telling Jiafu this much? I wish Luca would take over—he always chooses his words better than I do. But he only nods for me to continue. “We’re not sure,” I say, “but we’re starting to suspect that it’s the same way you could kill anyone else.”
“I can’t get any men so soon. It’s already so early. I can give you some starting tomorrow...for the ten pieces.”
“I need them today.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
When I sleep, the illusions will be vulnerable. But it’s only for one day. I don’t have to sleep. Tomorrow, I can get the guard. I’ll stay up all day and keep them locked away, protected, in my head. I know this plan is working under the assumption that the killer is operating with the pattern of one illusion per city—when that may not be the case—but if there’s any chance my family is in danger, I need to protect them.
