“You remember why we’re here, don’t you?” Luca asks.
“You’re going to ask me questions.” He sets his beer bottle down, leaps off the stage and staggers for a moment before collapsing in an audience seat. “Ask away.”
Luca doesn’t make eye contact while asking his questions. He examines the bottom of his walking stick and then taps it against the toe of his shoe. “We were curious about your ghost-work. It’s not very common, is it?”
He jabs his thumb at his chest. “You’re looking at the only one.”
“I’ve seen your act before,” Luca says. “I imagine you simply use your ghost-work to fall right from the coffin through the floor, right?”
“Yep. There’s space under the stage. I keep snacks down there.”
Luca smirks. “What kind of snacks?”
“Beer.”
This man doesn’t seem like he could have killed Gill and Blister. Not only does he lack a motive, I doubt he’s smart enough to have committed two murders and thrown suspicion off himself each time. And his ghost-work doesn’t seem to be the kind that would make illusions killable. Not that I know what that jynx-work might be, but this one doesn’t feel right.
“Have you been busy lately?” Luca asks. “The show performs every night, does it not?”
“Every night. I usually get one night off a week, but lately I’ve been staying on. Babies are expensive. So my girl keeps telling me.”
“So were you working two nights ago?”
“Yep. Working every night except when we were traveling.” He finishes off his beer. “Gets me away from my woman.”
“Uh-huh,” I say with disgust, thinking of Venera’s troubles. People like him are the reason I have trust issues. “So do we get to see your ghost-work?”
“Sure, if you want.” He holds out his hand. “Shake it.”
I reach for it but swipe only at air. I wiggle my fingers in the empty space that appears to be Narayan’s wrist.
“Almost like an illusion,” Luca says. He grabs my arm and pulls me back toward him, and then he leans down to my ear. “What do you think of his jynx-work?”
“He’s not smart enough,” I whisper back.
“That’s not his jynx-work.”
“And he has an alibi that we can verify with the manager of the Show of Mysteries.”
Luca sighs. “You’re not much of an outside-the-box thinker, are you? He could be lying. There could be something to his jynx-work we don’t know about.”
“He’s a drunk, Luca.”
“I’m certainly not disagreeing with you about that.”
Narayan points between us. “You’re both jynx-workers?” We nod. “What kind?”
“Poison-worker,” Luca says.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I can’t die, even if you kill me.”
“No shit? Can I try to kill you? Uh, if you don’t mind—”
“I have a show in the Downhill. Pay up and you can.”
Narayan nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, I think I will. Sounds fun. No offense, but you look like you’d be fun to kill.”
“What do you mean?”
Narayan makes motions over the top of his head. “Your hair. It’s too everywhere. It annoys me.”
“Well, that’s rather harsh.” Luca turns around, twisting a blond strand around his finger. “Does my hair annoy you, Sorina?”
My face warms. Why is he asking me? As if I cared about his hair. “Your hair is fine.”
“I think that’s all of our questions,” Luca says. “Thanks, Narayan. I know you’re a busy man. I’ll send your wife a gift for the baby.”
His face softens with a loopy grin. “Our fortune-worker said it’s a girl. She’ll be a pretty one, like her momma.”
When we leave the tent, I say to Luca, “You’re awfully formal to a drunk.”
Luca shrugs. “So what are you going to get his daughter?”
“Me? I didn’t agree to that.”
“It’s polite,” he says.
I mutter a curse under my breath. I suppose I could ask Kahina to make the baby a life quilt. She loves making those.
“We’ll go see the next person tomorrow,” Luca says. I almost demand to know why we’re not seeking out anyone else tonight but catch myself, remembering that Luca has a whole life of his own outside this investigation. He probably has a prettyman to share crumpets with or something equally as absurd to do later. And I can’t expect progress to be made overnight.
“Same time?” he asks.
“That’s fine. But I’m not leaving yet. I’m following you to the Downhill. I need to talk to Jiafu.”
We pass through the food market at the back corner of the Uphill that caters to Gomorrah residents, not to visitors. It’s been months since we’ve been in the Down-Mountains, so most of the food is local. Fresh apples and pears. Beef, poultry and deer meat hang from wooden stakes, rubbed with salt for preservation.
Luca waves to a few of the vendors and calls them by name. I grimace. I’ve come here my entire life to shop for food, and I don’t know any of their names. Luca’s lived in Gomorrah for less than a year, and he’s managed to make friends with half the Festival. How am I supposed to be proprietor if I don’t know anyone?
“What do you do for Jiafu?” Luca asks.
“Don’t you already know?”
“Yes. I do. I’m just making conversation. Does Villiam know that you help Jiafu steal from patrons during your shows?” His voice lacks the judgmental bite I’m used to from Nicoleta and Gill about my side work.
“Villiam doesn’t know,” I say.
“Ah, Gomorrah’s princess doesn’t have as clean a nose as Villiam believes.” Luca smiles the way our fortune-worker neighbor smiles when hearing a fresh piece of gossip. It occurs to me that Luca is simply a paler, younger, male version of her—the local gossip, only with more entitlement. “Why do you need to meet with Jiafu?”
“He still owes me my cut from the last job. It’s time for me to collect.”
“That sounds quite amusing. Would you object to me spectating?”
“Go ahead.” Usually Jiafu isn’t difficult about paying me, but I’ve never had to ask for it so long after the job. An audience could be advantageous. Jiafu is uncomfortable being the center of attention.
We pass the fence between the Uphill and the Downhill. Above us, the crescent moon glows dimly over the mountains. In a little over an hour, the birds will start chirping, and the sun will rise, and drunks will skulk outside in the Downhill.
I lead Luca in the direction opposite the path to his tent, where Jiafu’s caravan is parked in between a brothel and a tavern. Black paint covers every inch of it, so it practically blends into the darkness. Appropriate for a shadow-worker. Having a flashy caravan would be bad for business, when business hinges on not being noticed.
I knock on his door. “It’s me,” I say. It’s early enough that Jiafu will be awake but not out and about.
“’Rina?” he says from inside. “What’d I do to have to see your ugly face again?”
I wince. Maybe having Luca as an audience wasn’t the best idea. “You didn’t pay me.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Don’t shit with me.” I knock harder on the door. “Open up.”
He swings open the door. On the ground below him, his shadow twists and curls in the torchlight, marking him as a shadow-worker. His left eye is sporting an impressive shiner.
I smirk as I climb inside, Luca behind me. “Who gave you that?”
“I gave you your money two days ago. I handed it right to you.” He flicks my forehead. “Don’t tell me you lost it, cousin.”
“Lost it? You never gave it to me!”
He grabs fistfuls of hair in each hand and yanks his head back. For a shadow-worker, he has quite the dramatic flair. “It was two days ago. In the late afternoon. You were coming back with your whole lot of illusions from the baby’s funeral. I put it in your hand. I offered my condolences, and I left. Are you mental now or something?” He glances at Luca. “And who’s this Up-Mountainer? Your boyfriend? Come to convince me to pay you twice? He’s not much of a muscle, ’Rina—”