“It doesn’t look like it’s all for show,” she said. Creeds and any practice of the Faith were forbidden, and Enne didn’t think even the greediest citizens of New Reynes would display them just for the sake of profit.
“It’s not.”
They found the storefront for number nineteen, a place calledHer Forgotten Histories.A middle-aged woman with short curly hair sat outside on a rocking chair, her face hidden behind today’s copy ofThe Crimes & The Times,whose front-page headline announced the two-year anniversary of the disappearance of Chancellor Malcolm Semper’s daughter. The woman wore a wooden Creed around her neck, nearly twice as large as Jac’s.
“Do you think that’s her?” Enne whispered. “Zula Slyk?”
“I’m not sure,” he said.
A white cat purred and rubbed at the hem of Enne’s skirt. White cats supposedly brought bad luck, a thought Enne might not have considered if they were anywhere but a street devoted to superstition.
“Can I help you?” the woman called to them.
“We’re looking for someone named Zula Slyk,” Enne said.
She folded down her newspaper. “That would be me.”
Don’t get your hopes up,Enne reminded herself. There was an aching wound inside her from missing Lourdes, and these words wrapped it in a protective shell. If she kept her expectations low, she wouldn’t feel the throbbing. If she cut off all her emotions, she wouldn’t be so weak.
Zula inspected them as they walked closer. “I’ve always wanted to meet Vianca’s other boy,” she said. At first, Enne thought she was referring to Vianca’s son, which was absurd: Levi and Vianca had plainly different heritages.
“Ah,” Zula said, her gaze falling on Enne. “She never told me she had a girl.”
Then Enne realized what Zula mean—the omerta. But how could she know? She spoke as if Vianca’s shackles dangled visibly from their wrists.
Zula’s amicable expression fell as Enne drew closer. She squinted at Enne’s features, as though she recognized her from somewhere, or perhaps Enne reminded her of a person she would rather not see.
“Does Vianca know who you are?” Zula asked, her voice suddenly full of bite.
Enne stopped, her heart racing. If Zula knew who she really was, then surely she wouldn’t be another dead-end lead. “Do you?” Enne asked, nervously, hopefully.
Zula shakily drew her hand to her chest and stood up from her chair. “Come inside. I know why you’re here.”
Enne and Levi exchanged a cautious glance. “What if this is a trick?” Levi whispered.
“There were only three names on that bank account. Mine, Lourdes’s and hers. Lourdes must’ve trusted her.” She felt a pang in her chest. If Zula knew Enne’s true identity, then Lourdes had trusted Zula more than she’d trusted her own daughter.
Levi nodded, and they followed Zula inside.
A black printing press took up the majority of the room. Among the remaining space, desks were wedged against bookcases, papers dried on clotheslines tied to lamps and the backs of chairs. A framed painting of a martyr hung on the back wall.
Her Forgotten Historieswas a newspaper. That made sense, since Lourdes was a journalist. Perhaps that was how they’d met.
Zula drew the blinds closed over each of the windows, even shooed the cat outside. She motioned for both of them to sit at a desk.
“I should’ve known you’d come,” Zula said. “I always told Lourdes to give you my name—who else would keep you safe? But I didn’t think she’d listen. So obstinate. Never grew out of that.”
Enne drew in a shaky breath. That was definitely Lourdes. “How do you know her?”
“I’m her oldest—and only—friend.” There was an unmistakable sadness in Zula’s voice that Enne tried to ignore.
“Well, you weren’t wrong about her not listening,” Enne admitted. “Lourdes sent me to Levi, not to you.”
Zula barked out a laugh. “Vianca’s orb-maker? Ridiculous. As if she’d send you anywhere near a woman as powerful and terrible as Vianca Augustine.”
“But you know Vianca, too, don’t you?” Levi said. “That’s how you know about her talent. And us.”
“Vianca and I share some political connections,” Zula said carefully. “But no...that’s not how I know.” She closed her eyes, and a set of tattoos darkened on her eyelids. They, too, looked like eyes, though lacking pupils or any color. “I can see shades. That is my talent. Curses, secrets, regrets, passions, sacrifices, desires. I see them like shadows that cling to everyone.”
