A talent for giving pain certainly explained Charles’s reputation. The memory of his words when he shook Jac’s hand made him shiver.I bet I’ve made her scream louder than you.Jac recalled the scars on the den manager’s arms—wounds he hadn’t actually needed to inflict with his talent, when all it took to give pain was a touch.
The sound of Sophia’s voice dropped lower, like she’d slid down to the floor.
“I know Charles’s invitation is for a fight,” she said. “You won’t be able to outmatch him, even though you’re stronger. Not with his talents.”
“How does he know who I am?” Jac asked. “About my past?”
“Hospital records, probably. He can get access to those things.”
Eventually, Jac decided to sit by the door, where it was easier to listen. It would’ve been even easier if he let her inside, but he wasn’t ready for that yet. He’d meant it when he told her all or nothing.
“I explained to you how good and bad deeds can manipulate luck. I carry charms. Uncle Garth used to be all about charities. But our father had other methods. As you might know from the Faith, there’s more than one type of penance. Charles, Sedric, and Delia all preferred the physical variety.”
Jac’s stomach turned. TherewereFaith stories that included that, but he’d never known anyone to practice them.
“I remember the scars Sedric had on his back, like grooves,” Sophia whispered. “My father started Delia and Charles on it young—too young—but he coddled me. Charles always had to sneak behind his back if he wanted to torment me. He used to hurt himself just so he could give the pain to someone else. He loved to play with people’s fears—or give them new ones.”
Jac realized, for all the secrets he demanded of her, he didn’t want to hear about this, so he quickly asked, “Why do Charles and Delia see another face when they look at you? I saw that picture of you as a child. You only look older, not different. But they see someone else.” He’d never heard of a skin-stitcher who could do that. They were usually hired by rich people to adjust their noses or jawlines. The procedures were long, painful, and permanent.
“This is the part where you stop believing me,” Sophia murmured.
“Try me.”
Jac could almost sense her stiffen on the other side of the door. If there’d been nothing between them, he might’ve reached for her hand, given her some sort of assurance that he was grateful for this information. But he was also protecting himself. He hadn’t forgotten where they were, and how small his apartment was beyond his bed. He hadn’t forgotten the way she’d looked at him and touched him at Liver Shot. How he’d liked it.
All or nothing was as much a demand from her as it was a promise to himself.
“Do you believe in demons?”
Jac shuddered and repeated Harvey’s words about malisons from last night. “Strictly speaking, according to the Faith, demons exist whether you believe in them or not.”
“And what about the Bargainer?”
That story didn’t come from the Faith—it came from a legend, one of the oldest and most ludicrous of the North Side. The subject of it had many names—the Bargainer, the Devil. In the stories, you could bargain with them for anything...even your own soul.
“Not every street legend is true,” Jac answered.
“This one is.”
An icy dread filled his chest that even the nicotine couldn’t send away.
“After my father died, I ran away,” she said. “I can’t remember if I went looking for her, or if she found me. And I swear, it was just like those Faith stories. I remember her red eyes. I remember I asked for her to make me unrecognizable to my siblings, even if I stood right in front of them. To Delia and Charles, I’m a different person entirely—different face, different voice. It was incredible, the first time I tested it.”
But if the Bargainer did exist and really was like Faith’s stories, then what she’d given Sophia wasn’t a gift—it was a curse, a shade. And no doubt it came with a price.
“What did she take in return?” Jac asked, chills creeping across his skin.
“My split talent. I don’t know why—I don’t remember it. She carved it out and all my memories of it, too. It’s like I’m nothing but a Torren.” Her voice shook, and Jac realized she was crying. He hurriedly stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. “I told you I’d sacrificed for this, and I meant it. Destroying Luckluster is all I have left. I’m nothing without that.”
He opened the door, making her jolt and fall back. She scrambled to her feet and wiped at her eyes. It took a moment for Jac to realize what he’d done by letting her in.
All or nothing, he’d promised himself.
Jac had always wanted what was no good for him, but wanting Sophia felt different. Jac had used Lullaby to fill himself whole, if only for a few hours. To make him forget how he felt trapped and lousy and worthless, only to make him feel twice as awful when he woke.
This wanting felt like the opposite. Like each step toward her led to a destination instead of an escape.
Sophia wordlessly closed the door behind her.
