“Then drink up.”
“I wanted to thank you for helping me earlier. That man could’ve run off with a lot of money, and I’m not quite as rich as I used to be. So...can I get you anything else?”
“I’d rather we talk about Blister and Gill.”
“Of course. I—”
“I don’t think we should work together.”
He sets his glass down on the table with aclunk. “Does your father disapprove?”
“I haven’t even told him—”
“Good. I doubt he’d like to know his only daughter is spending her nights in the Downhill.”
“Anyway,” I say with annoyance, “Villiam believes the perpetrators are from outside of Gomorrah, looking to shake him. I agree with him.”
“Didn’t you tell me the other day that you didn’t believe that? SomeoneknewGill slept alone in the other tank. Someoneknewhow to kill your illusions. You think a group of Up-Mountainers, however cunning Villiam believes them to be, could accomplish that?” Luca stands, abandoning his drink, and begins pacing his tent. “It has to be someone inside Gomorrah. Someone targeting your family, not Villiam. If they wanted to target Villiam, they would have simply killed you. That would have been easier and more efficient.”
“Why don’t you have more of that gin?” I mutter.
“You agree with me, don’t you?” He stops pacing to examine me.
“I... I don’t know what to believe.” Both he and Villiam make sense. I wish I were smarter, able to weigh each perspective equally. One argument from Villiam or Luca is enough to sway me, and I am rocking back and forth like a seesaw.
“It doesn’t matter,” Luca says. “You don’t have to decide. But it makes sense to research both ways of thinking. Just...stay. Hear me out.”
“Why are you so eager to help me?” Doesn’t the gossip-worker have better things to do? If he is right about the killer being in Gomorrah, I don’t want to abandon the opportunity to find him by only investigating Villiam’s political enemies. But I wish I understood Luca’s motives better. Especially if we’re going to become partners.
“This is a fascinating puzzle,” Luca says.
“I’m glad you find the murders of my family so fascinating.”
“What did you think I would say? That I’m a saint? That I love coming to the rescue of damsels in distress? We both know that I’m no hero and you’re no damsel. Sorry, princess, this isn’t that sort of story.”
I purse my lips at his condescension. Luca is hardly my idea of a fairy-tale hero.
“Fine. I agree with you—the killer could be in Gomorrah,” I admit. “We can be partners. We don’t have to be friends.” My voice is biting.
He hesitates. I can’t possibly have offended him after that speech of his. “Fine.” He resumes his pacing. “It strikes me as odd that Nicoleta is the only one without any strange abilities.”
I suppose the pleasantries are over.
“Nicoleta does have abilities,” I say.
“But she doesn’t have an act.”
He’s certainly done his research.
“That’s because she’s terrible at performing. We need a stage manager, anyway,” I say. “Nicoleta is much stronger than she looks. She could probably snap iron, if she wanted to. She just...isn’talwaysstrong. Only when she’s upset or scared, so it’s hard to work something like that into the show.”
“And you didn’t plan the abilities, right? They were, um, born that way?”
I wonder how he could possibly know this and hesitate before giving my answer. “Yes.”
“What is your inspiration for each illusion?”
“I wanted them to be my family.”
