An hour before Gomorrah reaches Gentoa, I slip away to the Downhill to pay Luca a visit. His caravan is empty, though nothing appears out of the ordinary. As I walk back to the Uphill, I tell myself over and over again not to worry. All of Gomorrah is about to unpack, which means people are scrambling about, preparing to set up their tents and belongings. He’s probably on errands. Or at one of his tea parties with his assassin and prettyworker friends. Not in danger, like Kahina predicted.
Still, falling asleep that night poses a challenge.
When I do drift off, I dream of Luca. I dream of him in such detail that it even embarrasses my dream self. The pout in his lips. The angular shadow cast by his brow bone. The slopes where his neck blends into chest, then shoulder. My imagination roams to other places, and I am more than a little humiliated at the level of intimacy. In the dream, I know every line of his body. I know every memory behind his brown eyes.
It all feels familiar.
I wake with Venera’s knee jutting into my back, her drool staining my pillow, the details of the dream already becoming distant and hazy. I shake Venera awake.
“Hmm?” she says, her eyes closed.
“I want to talk to you about something. A boy.”
“’Rina, you know I’m always ready to talk about romance,” she mumbles, “but did you have to choose ten in the morning to ask?”
“Never mind. Go back to sleep.”
She rubs her eyes and sits up. “No, it’s fine. I’m all ears.”
“According to Kahina’s fortune-work, there isn’t any romance in my future.”
“Fortune-workers don’t know everything. Tell me about him. Why are you thinking romance?”
“Because I kissed him,” I whisper.
Venera squeals and squirms closer to me. “How forward. I’m so proud.”
I hush her, not wanting to wake the others. “No, you don’t understand. I kissed him, but he didn’t kiss me back. And now I’m worried. He wasn’t in his caravan earlier. Maybe he’s avoiding me. Or he got himself into trouble—”
“One concern at a time,” she says. “How about you just tell me about him first?”
I squeeze my pillow to my chest. “Last week, I ran into him during one of his acts. He calls himself a poison-worker. People pay to kill him, and he always comes back alive. I watched him get beheaded.”
“How romantic. Your special someone sounds like some kind of demon.”
“I think he’d take that as a compliment,” I say.
“You should tell him you think he has nice eyes.”
“How do you know I like his eyes?”
She snorts. “Because you have a thing for eyes.”
I flush slightly but can’t help being a little amused at the irony. “His name is Luca. He calls himself a gossip-worker. And—”
“Wait, that Luca?” she says. “Luca von Raske? The Up-Mountainer? Sorina...I heard he isn’t interested in...romance.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, half his friends are prettymen and prettywomen, yet he never shows interest in them. He’s totally apathetic to that stuff.”
“To what stuff? My stuff? Or any stuff?”
“Any stuff. Apparently.”
I think back to last night, to how he tensed, to how he claimed that he needed to “think.” That makes much more sense now. Maybe he’s just inexperienced. Maybe he really does have to think.
But think about what? Our relationship? My face?
“Well...that isn’t what I was expecting,” I finally say.
“What did you think it was? Your appearance?”
“Of course I thought it was my appearance!”
“Has he ever commented on it? Has it come up before? You’ve spent a lot of time together, haven’t you?”
“Yes. He’s seen me without my mask on, if that’s what you mean, and he didn’t even flinch.” I roll over, press my face into a pillow and groan.
Venera rubs my back in circles. I feel childish, but her touch is very comforting. “Well,” she says at last, “you know my advice is always to go after what you want, with all the confidence you may or may not have. Because you’re so powerful that you can make grown men run in fear. And you’re imaginative enough to have thought up me—and I’m, I mean, perfection.” She tosses her hair at this, smiling at me, and I can’t help but laugh a little.
“And you’re helping to hold this family together even after...everything. If he’s half as intelligent as I’ve heard, then he recognizes all of these qualities in you.”
I sink deeper into my pillow, dreading seeing him tomorrow. Even with Venera’s kind words, I cannot help thinking I’ve ruined whatever friendship Luca and I have managed to create.
* * *
Our first night in Gentoa, we open the Freak Show after what seems to be years of nothing. It’s strange to see each other in our usual costumes—all pink glitter and black stripes and fake smiles. Without Gill’s and Blister’s acts, we had to lengthen each of our own to keep the show forty minutes long. I haven’t thought about what I’ll add to my performance—I usually improvise, anyway.
All I think about is that Luca might be in the audience. He promised he’d come see one of our shows once we reopened. Though he probably didn’t mean the first night, the thought of him watching gives me the jitters of stage fright. And I’m never nervous about performing.
“You’re awfully jumpy,” Venera says. Her white-painted face appears spooky in our candlelit dressing area. The effect is even more dramatic on stage.
“Luca might be here,” I say.
“You have black lipstick on your teeth,” Venera says, and I scramble to fix it before pulling up the curtain.
The performance does not begin well. Tree goes into a tantrum during his act, forcing me to take control before he starts tearing out his branches, which Venera works so hard to keep trim. Crown never smiles once through his entire performance. Unu and Du hiss at each other during their dance routine loud enough that the people in the first row definitely heard Unu call Du a “growth worse than toe fungus,” which will earn him one of Nicoleta’s tirades after the show.
During my act, I scan the rows for Luca but don’t find him anywhere. My stage smile falters a bit, but I regain my composure enough to produce the illusion of a giant bird, the size of the tent and more. Every person in the room rides on its back through thunderclouds that light the sky in blinding flashes of violet. It all runs smoothly until I trip on my Strings and fall, tearing a sizable rip down the side of my cloak.
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 perfectly 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.