“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.