Luca turns his head and assesses me coolly, as if examining a rabbit turning over a spit. I dismissed Nicoleta when she claimed Luca was dangerous. He’s only a few years older than me, with less muscle tone and far less tact. But there is an emptiness in his expression that makes me doubt. Because it’s not empty—he’s too intelligent for that. So what truly lies behind his blank stare?
“What?” I ask.
“I was waiting for you to guess that I’m the killer. I have a unique ability.”
“For getting yourself killed. Not other people,” I say.
“Glad that isn’t an issue.” He rubs his hands together. “There are eight in Gomorrah, excluding your illusions, who are, well, freaks and don’t count.” He pauses. “You don’t suspect any of them, do you?”
“Of course not,” I snap. “Besides, they were all together when Gill died. And mostly together when Blister disappeared.”
“Even Tree?”
“You know the names of my illusions?” The only ones I’ve told him about so far are Blister, Gill and Nicoleta.
“I know everyone in Gomorrah,” he says simply. I find that difficult to believe. Villiam doesn’t even know a third of the people in the Festival by name.
“Well, first off, Tree isn’t as violent as people assume,” I say. “And you think in an area as busy as the games neighborhood with the dunk tank, no one would notice a half man, half tree walking around?”
“I was simply asking. Tree would be strong enough to smash the glass of Gill’s tank.”
“So would anyone with a proper weapon,” I hiss. Tree may be prone to tantrums, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone, least of all Blister and Gill.
“So it wasn’t Tree.” Luca sits up in one graceful motion and spends a few moments counting off on his fingers. “I think the unique-ability idea sounds like a better option. So those eight people in Gomorrah are our suspects. Seven, excluding myself.”
“You want to question them and figure out who could’ve killed Gill and Blister?” I ask.
“Well, yes and no. The problem with people with unique abilities is that no one knows for certain every aspect of their jynx-work except that person. It would be easy to hide something. It’s smarter to try to determine if any of them would want to kill your illusions.”
“But that line of thinking means someone else in Gomorrah could also be hiding an ability,” I say. Unease prickles down my neck. Anyone in Gomorrah could be hiding their powers from us. And their motives.
“Yes, it does,” Luca says. “If all seven suspects seem innocent, then we’ll have to move on. Then we can think of anyone, jynx-work or not, who would have a reason to attack them. But that’s broad. The seven are a better place to begin.”
He pulls his golden pocket watch out of his vest and checks the time. It’s a beautiful watch, with ornate engravings all over its case. If he sold it, he wouldn’t need to perform that ghastly show of his. But maybe it has sentimental value. Strange—Luca doesn’t strike me as a sentimental person.
“Tomorrow we can visit the first suspect,” Luca says. “Are you free?”
“Yes. Later tomorrow night.” We won’t have any shows for the rest of the week in mourning of Blister, but I imagine I will be spending most of tomorrow with Villiam.
He stands. “Excellent. Tomorrow.” He grabs his black top hat off the books I brought him and then pauses. “Would you like me to walk you home? The Downhill gets dodgy this late at night.”
“You look like you have a place to be,” I say.
“I was going to have tea and biscuits with a prettyman known as the Leather Viper, but that can wait until you’re safe back in the Uphill.”
“The Leather Viper?” I smirk.
“Maybe I should just call him my friend Ed,” he says. “So how about that walk? I have time to spare.”
“Are you really that good of a bodyguard?”
“Truthfully, no. I usually just save myself the trouble and let them kill me.”
At home, such a morbid joke wouldn’t sit well at the moment. But I’m not at home. I don’t feel like home Sorina.
“Fine. You can walk me back to the Freak Show tent.”
We step outside into the green light of the Downhill. It’s roughly three in the morning, the high point of the night for business. The air smells of torch smoke and sweat, even though Cartona’s forests provide cooling shade. Rhythmic music plays from somewhere behind us. It sounds like a party Venera might attend. There aren’t quite as many people on the paths as there were earlier, as most of the visitors have found their ways into the tents of prettywomen or taverns by now, where they will remain until Skull Gate closes at dawn.
“Do you actually know everyone in Gomorrah?” I ask.
“No. Maybe a fifth or so directly, and about half through information.”
I smirk. Not quite as impressive as he makes himself seem.
“And you get all your information from...prettymen and prettwomen?”
“A lot of information but not quite. I also make friends with everyone who sells necessities, like food, water, the tax collector. Because if you know them, you’ll have a connection to everyone in Gomorrah.”
“I suppose that makes sense. But why bother with any of this? Why are you a gossip-worker? You don’t get paid for it, like you do for your shows.”
He shrugs. “Like I said, the people here interest me. They’re nothing like the people at home, who are bound by the rules of Ovren and purity.” The bitterness gives his voice a sharper edge. His walking stick clacks against the shards of a broken beer bottle, and he kicks it. “You know, now that you’ve seen one of my shows, maybe I should see one of yours. When is the next one?”
“Probably once we reach the next city.” No one feels in the mood to perform without Blister or Gill, but unfortunately, we’ll run out of money if we’re not generating ticket sales. Villiam gave us the rest of the time in Cartona off, but once we reach Gentoa, we’ll need to put our performance smiles back on.
We pass a bordello tent nearly five stories tall, leaning to the side and looking like a strong wind could blow it over. The tent is entirely bright pink, and dancing outside the door is Yelema, the prettywoman who was having tea with Luca when I first walked into his tent. She waves at him, and I try not to stare too much at her dancing, even if I’m a little transfixed by her suggestive routine.
Luca waves back with barely a passing glance.
“I’ve heard there’s a man at your show whose hair is made of nails,” Luca says.
I pull my gaze away from Yelema’s hips. “That’s Crown.”
“Now, I don’t know a lot about how illusion-work is done, but I’m assuming you came up with that idea. My question is...how?”
“Not exactly. I imagined all my illusions in vivid detail before creating them, but I never imagined them to be, well, freaks. That part is beyond my control. I don’t know why. Villiam thinks it’s my subconscious.”
“Your subconscious?” he asks.
“I’m a little unique.” I tap my mask. “So I tend to like people like myself, apparently. And it’s hard to run a Freak Show if we’re all normal.”
“I can see the sense in that. People who are different—freaks, as you say—tend to enjoy the company of those like themselves.”
We near the stake fence at the edge of the Downhill, with all its trash and charms. Lightning bugs blink throughout the Uphill, gathering around the glowing paper lanterns or along the dewy grass. Luca reaches out and cups one in his hand.
“I used to put them in jars as a kid,” he says. “Don’t worry. I let them out afterward. I recall your sentiments about cockroaches.”
“There are huge lightning bugs in the Great Mountains called blinking beetles. They’re the size of hummingbirds.”
Luca lifts up his cupped hands and peeks at the lightning bug inside. “Another bit of information I’ll never need to know.” He lets the bug go, and it hovers between the two of us, blinking.