None of us are safe.
Why? Why would someone want to kill any of us, especially a baby?
I’d give anything to turn back time. To have waited one more day to talk to Luca. To have stayed home and watched Blister so he couldn’t disappear. To notice the person lurking by our tent, waiting for someone to turn their back for a moment while Blister wandered outside.
“Does anyone have a match?” Crown asks. “I...forgot to bring some.”
We rarely needed matches. Blister lit our candles and charcoals for us.
“Here.” Villiam pulls a brass matchbox out of his pocket and hands it to Crown, who thanks him quietly and bends down to position the firework in the dirt.
It shoots off in a streak of gold. I wince at the sound of the explosion.
Boom, I hear the echo of Blister’s voice.
Tree gathers up the shovels and thuds back toward the Festival. Hawk spreads her wings and flies into the distance to be alone. The rest of us linger. And when we do begin to tread back to our tent, Crown lingers still.
I walk beside Villiam, the hot summer wind whipping my hair across my face and the grass against my ankles. “Why would anyone do this?” I ask.
He frowns. “Nicoleta told me that Blister’s death was an accident.”
“She’s in denial. First Gill and now Blister, barely a week apart? That’s too much of a coincidence. And Blister never would’ve gone near a dunk tank on his—”
“It’s not proper to speak of such things at funerals,” he says. “Let’s go—”
“Then when do you want to talk about it?” I snap. “Because all I could think about the whole time is that we’re out in the open, that the killer could be here watching us and we’d never notice. Who has to die next before you realize that these aren’t random—”
“Sorina.” He puts his hands on my shoulders, and I’m so rigid and anxious that I have to hold back the urge to shrug him off. I want space and air and for my heart to stop pounding.
“I... You’re right. Of course you’re right,” Villiam says. He leans down to kiss my forehead, but I pull away. I don’t want him or anyone else to touch me. “The timing of these two tragedies is unusual and terrible. I can’t imagine what you must be going through. I am looking into Blister’s death, as well. I’m doing...” His voice cracks. “I’m doing everything I can.”
“Are you? I don’t want you to just look into it. I want a full-scale investigation, and I want to help. I want to make sure my family is safe.”
“Sorina... I really don’t think this is a good time for you. You know that I like to involve you with my work, but this is a decision I’ve made as your father, not the proprietor. Trust me to do my job. I’m trying to protect you.”
“How can I trust you with this when you think Blister’s death was an accident?”
His expression looks wounded, as if I’ve insulted him. Maybe I have. Of course Villiam is doing everything he can. He has a hundred things on his plate at the moment, all dire. “I will begin the ‘full-scale investigation’ you want. I will question everyone in Gomorrah if that protects our family. Of course I will. I’d do anything for you. But you need to promise me something.”
Why is it that every time I ask someone to do something reasonable and necessary, they always ask for something in return? At what point do my requests stop being opportunities to teach me some kind of lesson? I’m not acting like a child. Whether or not I’m an adult, I’m allowed to be scared. I’m allowed to be worried. It isn’t some fault in my character that I demand the right to ensure my family’s safety. The childish thing to do would be to dismiss the facts in order to avoid a truth you don’t want to face. I’m facing the truth head-on. Even if it hurts.
“Promise you what?” I don’t mean for my voice to sound so harsh, but it does.
Villiam winces and then hesitates before he answers. I swallow my guilt in a dry lump.
“All right. If you want to be part of my investigation, you can.”
My mouth drops open in surprise. Villiam never changes his mind.
“But,” he says, “the investigation methods will not be as you think. Based on a few interviews with your neighbors and a lack of evidence to the contrary, I’m starting to suspect the perpetrators are trying to get to me through you.”
“Perpetrators? You think there’s more than one person behind this?”
Villiam glances at the others walking ahead of us with sad eyes. He lowers his voice. “Tomorrow evening. Come to my caravan like you normally would for your lessons. There is much to talk to you about.”
“Like what?”
He embraces me, and I am overcome by his familiar scent of cologne and white tea. With his breath close to my ear, he says, “I wanted to wait until you were older, eighteen, before formally beginning your training as proprietor. But the burden of our legacy has reached you earlier than I ever wanted.” When he pulls away, his eyes glisten. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen Villiam shed a tear.
“I’ll meet you tomorrow night,” I say, though I’m still not entirely certain what he means. Why would someone attack my illusions to get to Villiam? Who are his enemies? What legacy? But I’m too taken aback by his emotion to ask any more questions, especially out here in the open. “I love you,” I say.
“I love you, too.”
* * *
The rest of us silently return to our tent. There won’t be a show tonight.
Kahina cooks us couscous and lamb, and though she’s outside at the fire pit, we can all hear her hacking coughs, a symptom of her snaking sickness, from inside.
She could die next. Or Hawk. Or Unu and Du. Or Nicoleta. Any of us.
I lean my head on Venera’s shoulder and stare at one of Blister’s toy tops lying on the table. Each time I finished making one of my illusions, Villiam gave me a gift for them from him. A birthday gift, of sorts. This is what he gave to Blister, and it always was Blister’s favorite toy. I grab it and spin it. The purple-and-pink-painted swirl spins in a never-ending spiral. Until it stops.
Venera strokes my black hair and twists it around her finger. “Do you think Kahina will mind if I don’t eat anything? I’m not very hungry,” she says.
“She won’t care.” I spin the top again. “Are you going out tonight?”
“I think so. I need to escape for a bit.”
I press my finger on the top’s handle until it slows to a stop. “Be careful.”
“Always am.”
After Venera leaves, Unu and Du gather everyone around for a game of lucky coins to keep us distracted. We clear off the table to make room for our play. The game is mostly luck with a hint of strategy, but, by far, the surest means of victory is a hefty wallet to purchase the best coins. Unu and Du, who save their allowances specifically for this, own the strongest collections. The Beheaded Dame has a nearly indestructible defensive bonus. And the Iron Warrior has no attack penalties. The only one with a collection formidable enough to defeat either of them was Gill.
Halfway through our third game, only my weakest coins still defend my playing field, leaving me wide open to attack. Someone clears their throat outside.
We all pause. “Who is it?” Nicoleta calls.
A man’s silhouette appears by the entrance of our tent. He is a member of Gomorrah’s guard, wearing all black. Villiam must have assigned him to watch over us tonight.
“There’s a boy out here who wants to speak with Sorina,” the guard says. “He calls himself a poison-worker.”
Luca? What would he be doing here? I’m not sure if I am more confused or annoyed that he’d have the gall to pay me a visit.
“What’s a poison-worker?” Hawk asks.
“Just wait here for a minute. I’ll be right back.”
“But the game isn’t finished,” Unu yelps.
“I was going to lose anyway.”
I slip outside to find Luca waiting for me behind the tent. He wears a grim expression. After one look at his hideous, quilted vest and his uncombed blond hair, I am reminded of the details of our conversation last night, and how his words so easily manage to be even more offensive than his clothing. I’m already dreading whatever he has come here to say.