“In theory, could you recreate Gill or Blister if you tried?”
I grimace at the idea of trying to replace them. That wasn’t what Luca was implying, but that is what his words conjure, nonetheless.
“No. I could, I suppose, create peoplesimilar, but much of their personalities—and their abilities—weren’t in my original plans. I could make up, for instance, another two-year-old boy, but he may or may not turn out to be like Blister, regardless of how much I try.” I picture Blister in my head, his sweet face and big, brown eyes, and the anger and grief settle in my stomach, heavy and hollow. “And usually before creating that sort of illusion, I feel, I don’t know, a spark. Inspiration, I guess.”
“You just said your inspiration was family members,” Luca says.
“I don’t know how I do it, exactly. But the idea comes to me somehow. To make a sister. To make an uncle. I wake up picturing them in my head, and there is aneedto create them, like an empty space in my mind that needs to be filled. It’s the same space they go when I make them disappear. The locked Trunks.”
There’s a pause. “Maybe you could elaborate—”
“It’s hard to explain. Why does this matter?”
“I like having the whole picture.”
“But it’s not an exact science. It’s an art.”
“You’re not a thinker, are you?” He runs his hand through his chin-length blond hair while I seethe at the insult. “I’vebeen doing a lot of thinking about jynx-work,” he says, sitting on the floor and motioning for me to join him. “About all the different sorts. Where I come from, people only spoke about them as if there is one type: demon-work.”
He slides into a seat at the table, and from this close, I can smell his sandalwood soap. “Where are you from?” I ask.
“The city-state of Raske,” he says matter-of-factly. I’m surprised he even answered at all. He seems the sort who’d be private about himself. Or maybe I only think that because he’s so different from everyone else in the Downhill, all clean and polished. “Very minor city. In the northeast. The one with the clock tower.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” I say.
“You’ve never heard of the Tower of Raske?” Now that he says it...maybe. In one of Villiam’s lessons.
“Isn’tvon Raskeyour name?” I recognize it from when Nicoleta was talking about him.
“I just go by Luca now.” He drums his fingers against the bamboo floor. I remember that we’re not friends; he has no obligation to share anything about himself with me. “So, jynx-work. It appears to me, from the time that I’ve spent in Gomorrah, that there are three extremely common types: fortune-work, charm-work and shadow-work. Seems like eighty percent of jynx-workers here practice one of them.”
“Are you just going to ramble the entire time?”
“Yes, I am. It’s not like you’re paying me. The least you could do is listen to me ramble.”
“Do you do this to all of your clients or just me?”
“What would give you the impression that you’re special?” He lies down on his back so that I can’t see him because of the table between us. Always moving. It’s hard to keep track of him. “There are also a few less common forms of jynx-work that are still well-known. Like fire-work and mind-work. I’d put illusion-work in this category, because almost everyone has heard of it, but you’re the only illusion-worker I’ve actually met.”
“There isn’t another illusion-worker in Gomorrah,” I say.
“So I assumed,” he says. “Now, there’s one last category of jynx-work. The abnormalities. The ones that only one person is known to have, particular to that individual. Like my poison-work.” Luca’s words begin accelerating beyond the point of comprehensibility. I wonder if he’s even talking for my benefit or simply to hear the sound of his own voice. “I want to focus on the possibility that these incidents have nothing to do with your illusion-work and everything to do with the jynx-work of the killer. Assuming that your illusions are, in fact, entirely illusions, and unable to be killed without the use of jynx-work.”
“Do you always do this?” I ask.
“Do what?” Luca asks.
“Talkatsomeone rather thantosomeone. So fast I can’t keep up. ThenIend up looking like a fool.”
“I always just assumed youarea fool,” Luca says from the floor. I open my mouth to retort, furiously, but then hear him chuckle softly. “Joke. I was joking. Don’t look at me like that.SometimesI make jokes. I’m not a total freak.”
The wordfreakmakes me tense. It’s not a word I associate with many others except myself and my illusions, so it’s strange to hear it from someone else’s mouth in reference to themselves. Luca may be an Up-Mountainer in Gomorrah—a rarity—and have a rather unusual jynx-work ability, but is that worthy of being called a freak?
“Did you leave Raske because you were a jynx-worker?” I ask.
“Why the personal questions?”
“You don’t have to answer. I was just curious.” I look around his tent, which lacks any personal possessions besides a few books and essential furniture. Even when misfits run away from home to join Gomorrah, they take a few things with them. IfIwere going to run away somewhere, I’d take my bug collection. Judging from his home, Luca doesn’t have anything he truly values. If he could only take one item with him, he’d probably reach for his bottle of gin.
