“No, it’s fine,” he says, in a way that makes me think maybe it’snotfine. But I don’t bother stopping him, as he’s already started talking at a hundred words per minute again. “For most of my life, I didn’t know I was a jynx-worker. I left after the last of my family died. I didn’t have any reason to stay. And if the people in the city found out what I was...they’d probably have burned me at the stake. Sometimes I amuse myself by thinking about what they would have done after Iwouldn’tdie.”
“Is that a joke, too?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. I suppose my jokes are rather morbid.”
He smiles his full smile, the one with the dimples, and I catch myself smiling back. I immediately stop. It’s not fair to my family to be smiling when everyone else is grieving. It’s not fair to Gill and Blister. Not so soon after their deaths.
“Back to where we were before,” Luca says, as though he never paused his initial thoughts. “You say your illusions can’t die. For the moment, let’s assume you’re right. So who can kill someone who can’t die? Well, someone with a unique ability to do so. The common jynx-work, like fortune-work and charm-work, hardly seem capable of that. Nor do some other well-known kinds, like mind-work or fire-work. It seems the best guess is that whoever did this has a unique ability, one like mine.”
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.Ihave a unique ability.”
“For gettingyourselfkilled. 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 wouldwantto 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.”
