“This is awfully formal to be meeting some boy,” Hawk says. “Do you really like him or something?”
“Um, this isn’t about that,” I say, reddening. “It’s about Gill and Blister.”
The room sobers immediately. Nicoleta peers up at me with round, warning eyes. I know this might start a panic, but I can’t help that. The best way to protect everyone is to make them disappear, and, for that, they need to be informed so they won’t be constantly fighting me to get out.
“I’ve been working with Luca for a while, trying to figure out how Gill and Blister died, as well as with Villiam,” I say. “Because of some things we’ve discovered, we think it’d be best if, while in Gentoa, we keep you protected. And the best way to protect everyone is to keep you locked in my head.”
“The entire time we’rehere?” Hawk screeches. “I have things to do.”
“Like what?” Du says.
“Things.”
“What is significant about being in Gentoa?” Nicoleta asks.
“Well, Gill died in Frice, and Blister died in Cartona,” I say, stumbling over my words. I wish I could explain things as logically as Luca. “If thereisa pattern of some sort, we want to take precautions. It’s better safe than—”
“So you’re saying Blister was murdered?” Unu nearly wails. “You’re saying there’s someone after us?”
“I’m not sure,” I lie. “But it’s still better to be safe, isn’t it? You’ll be out for the shows, and during the morning so you can sleep. Other than tonight, anyway.”
“You can’t just lock us up for everything but our performances,” Hawk snaps.
“I’d like everything to at leastappearnormal. And it won’t be like that. After tonight, you’ll be under the watch of the guard. Your time locked up will be minimal.”
“Normal is Unu and Du playing the drums until sunrise. Normal is Venera yelling at me while trying to comb my hair. Normal is chaos,” Hawk says. “Everyone will notice if we’re being quiet.”
“Everyone would probably be grateful,” Nicoleta mutters.
“You’re not going to let her do this, right?” Unu asks Nicoleta, the unofficial mother of the group. You’d think it would have defaulted to Crown because of his age, but this entire time, all he has done is keep his head down.
“I think Sorina’s right. Better safe than sorry,” she says. “How would we all feel if we woke up tomorrow morning and found you two cut right down the middle?” She means it as a joke, but the morbidity does not suit the situation. Unu pales.
“At least I’d be free of him,” Du grumbles, earning a slap in the face from Unu.
“Then it’s settled,” I say. “While we’re in Gentoa, you all get some extra sleep.”
One by one, I concentrate on them disappearing. To accomplish this, I have to locate each of the illusions’ Strings, the thin bonds between them and my mind. I untangle one illusion’s Strings from the jumble and then reel them in like a fisherman with a fresh catch. The Strings and the illusion go into a Trunk, a mental compartment where they’re safe, which makes their physical form disappear. They each vanish one at a time, leaving the room empty, except for me and Luca. My head feels heavier, and there is a constant knocking on each of their Trunks like the pounding of several headaches.
“This is going to be exhausting,” I say. And Venera isn’t even here yet.
“I have faith in you,” Luca says.
It’s strange to see him sitting at our table, where Unu and Du’s lucky coins are spread out across everything, including dirty plates and brushes for stage makeup. “Do you want something to eat? We have kettle corn and...” I glance into our food trunk. “Kettle corn.” Guess Crown hasn’t been feeling up to cooking or buying more food since we’ve gotten to Gentoa.
“Go right ahead,” he says. I fill up a bowl and place it on the table.
“I’m sorry I don’t have any gin.”
He smiles. “I’ll manage.”
“Is this the part where I get to ask you questions? Where I get to find out the gossip-worker’s secrets?”
“I’ve made up my mind to tell you anything you ask.” His tone is light, but the expression in his eyes shows the weightiness of this statement.
I blush and look down. “You don’t have to share anything.”
“No. I want to,” he says. “I’ve been living in Gomorrah for almost a year now, collecting other people’s secrets, and not once have I told anyone mine. I’m not usually comfortable enough to do so.”
