I shiver at the thought that someone out there, for whatever reason, wants more of my family dead. I’m not sure I can protect them.
“The big question is why,” Luca says. “You’re the proprietor’s daughter, which could be the reason. But how well does Villiam know your family?”
“Well enough.” That sort of thing is private. I’m not about to share our family business with him.
“They don’t seem close.”
I purse my lips in annoyance. “They do not spend as much time with Villiam as I do, but they are still family. Not that it’s your business.”
“So if the killer did this to get to Villiam, they’re not doing a very good job, are they? Villiam hardly seems affected. So the killer must have a different motivation.”
I squeeze my fists until my knuckles whiten. There are kinder ways to say something like that. My father isn’t as dismissive as Luca seems to believe. No, he doesn’t always invite my family to dinner, but he helps provide for them. He buys presents for all of their birthdays. He asks about them whenever he sees me. He’s devastated for me.
Luca looks over his shoulder in case anyone is eavesdropping, but it is still early enough in the afternoon for the paths to be quiet. Even the nosy fortune-worker who lives beside us is still asleep—the best gossip is witnessed late in the night, when drunk patrons stumble back to Skull Gate or when her friends flock to her door to share the latest news.
“And there is still the question of how the killer is doing this,” Luca says. “You’re convinced the illusions are simply illusions. And since you’re the only illusion-worker I’ve heard of in the past few centuries, I’m not inclined to question your judgment on the matter. I’m thinking the killer might have an unusual sort of jynx-work. The kind that might be able to kill someone who isn’t real.”
“You didn’t say anything like this yesterday,” I say.
“I was thinking it. But it seemed unlikely. I thought Gill was probably killed by an Up-Mountainer—however, most Up-Mountainers suppress their jynx-work, so the perpetrator is statistically less likely to be from there. But now we have a proper killer on our hands. Someone with jynx-work whodoesknow how to use it. Where is there a large collection of jynx-workers nearby? Here, in the Festival. Which also makes sense, as it seems odd that someone outside the Festival would target you so specifically. You’re not that important.” He speaks so quickly I almost grow dizzy.
“You’re wrong,” I say.
He furrows his eyebrows as if he didn’t understand my words. “What?”
“I am important. I’m the proprietor’s daughter, destined to be the next proprietor.”
“Is that what Villiam thinks the killer’s motive might be?”
“Yes.”
“Is that what you think?”
I hesitate. Like Luca said, no, my illusions aren’t particularly close to Villiam. He grieves for them more because he grieves for my own pain. Plus, Luca repeated my thoughts earlier about the killer having an unusual form of jynx-work. Maybe the answer is not in my blueprints but in the killer’s abilities. At least someone is validating my opinions, even if he has less tact than a swarm of desert hornets.
“We can work together,” he says. “I’ll start profiling the type of jynx-work that might be able to kill an illusion. We could find them together in Gomorrah.”
“I’m already working on an investigation with my father.”
“Do you or do you not believe the killer is targeting Villiam through your illusions?” He digs his walking stick into the dirt.
“I... I suppose I can’t be certain,” I admit.
“Good. We’ll meet tomorrow night. At ten.”
“To what?”
“To begin,” he says. “You can continue your investigation with Villiam—” his tone seems to indicate that his own is more important “—butwecan investigate everything you and Villiam aren’t. It will cover every aspect of what happened to Gill and Blister. Between all of us, we’ll find who did this to your family.”
“And you’re doing this why? Out of the kindness of your heart?” I don’t trust that he’d just show up here and change his mind. He’s an Up-Mountainer, not Gomorrah-born. He probably wants something. A favor from the proprietor’s daughter, perhaps.
“I was rude to you yesterday. I feel like I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“All right, then, yes, out of the kindness of my heart.” He watches me seriously with his brown eyes, and for a moment, he reminds me of Villiam. Like he can see right through me. He knows I’m going to say yes. If it’s an opportunity to protect my family, I’m going to take it. Even if it means swallowing my pride.
“Fine. Tomorrow. At ten.” I turn around and head back to my tent.
