This is altogether mortifying. I wish I hadn’t kissed him at all.
“You’re asking for things that I can’t give you,” he says. “I can’t promise to give you everything that you want.”
So Venera was right. Luca isn’t interested in any sort of romantic relationship. But then why doesn’t he just come out and say that?
“Well, what doyouwant?” I ask.
“Things I never thought I would.” He runs his hand through his hair. “But, mostly, time.”
My chest lifts from a tug on my single strand of hope. “I can give you time.”
“Thank you.” He takes a seat at the table. “You don’t have to keep sitting on my floor.” He holds out his hand, and I grab it and slide into the opposite seat. When I envisioned this conversation in my head, this is not how I pictured it—Luca, across the table, fidgeting in his chair and looking everywhere but at me. We sit at a respectable distance apart, our postures rigid. Like a business meeting.
“Is your family all unpacked?” he asks.
So this is what we’re doing. Small talk. “Yes. And the show was decent, and how about this weather?” I smirk. “If we’re going to change the subject, I actually have something I want to discuss with you.”
“Go ahead.” He refills his glass of gin. “Do you want some?”
“No. That stuff is vile,” I say. “Yesterday, I visited a fortune-worker. And she told me to warn you.”
“I don’t put a lot of stock in fortune-workers.”
“She’s a good one. I’ve known her for a long time—”
“I know whom you’re referring to,” he says. “Kahina. The one with the snaking sickness.”
“I can’t decide if I prefer it when you pretend you don’t know everything about my life, or if it’s convenient that you do.”
“I’ll admit that I didn’t know all of this when I first met you. Imayhave asked around after we started working together.”
“I’d rather you not pretend to be all-knowing.”
“There’s little fun in that. So, tell me about this warning,” he says, sounding bored.
“It was imminent doom.”
“Naturally.”
“You should take these things at least somewhat seriously,” I say. “Since, you know, I wouldn’t like to see you meet imminent doom.”
“There’s a fortune-worker several tents down who drops to his knees whenever I pass and foretells of my upcoming demise,” Luca says. “As he’s been doing for about three months now, this Saturday. Forgive me if I’m not immediately convinced.”
“You’re impossible,” I say.
“So said my mother, many times. Then I ran away to join the circus. And you’re not half as scary as her.” He takes a swig of his gin. “Well, I’ve spent most of today and yesterday interrogating the rest of the people in Gomorrah with strange abilities.”
“You questioned them without me?”
“Yes. You were getting too personal with it. Too sensitive.”
“And did you let them all go after hearing their made-up logic?”
He leans his head back, as if asking the heavens why he has to tolerate someone as annoying as me. Well, he doesn’t. He doesn’t have to help me if I’m tormenting him too much with my concern. I can’t help it if I can’t detach myself from what we’re doing—we’re searching for whoever murdered members of my family. I’m not sorry for caring. And I’m not weak for doing so.
“I thought we were going about this as a team,” I say. “Partners.”
“I felt it was more efficient to go alone. You’re busy with Villiam, anyway.”
