Page 55 of Up in Smoke

Asylum, Oklahoma.

The Alley.

For several long minutes,I stared at the canister, narrowing my eyes as I considered what I’d seen. “Sandro, how unusual is it that I can judge the date something happened?”

“It’s pretty damned rare,” he replied. “A lot of scryers might get a feel for the location and what happened, but sensing the time is up there in the upper tiers. It’s on par with what I can do here with my poetry. I take it you know the dates something happens?”

“Sometimes even the time,” I admitted. “But less often the specific time unless it’s really important. It’s usually not.” Holding up the canister, I wondered what other secrets the film within held. The first canister I’d checked, which featured the pictures of the funeral pyre for Frankie’s husband, waited on the coffee table. “That one’s special.”

“Why?”

“She burned her husband’s body alone, and she watched the storms form. Then, on this second canister, she talked to her husband where she’d burned his body. In as early as 2030, she’d clued in the storms were always forming in the same location, somewhere to the west of Tulsa.”

“Okay, you have my attention, and I will not lie, I’m really concerned now. That little comment about heading west with the scryers hadn’t seemed that important, but if there are storms developing to the west of here reliably, there’s something going on. But what? Why?”

“Frankie had figured out there was something wrong, and she was complaining about the courtesan system coming into the Alley, and that someone here was trying to convince the locals that everyone would be using the courtesan system to pick spouses for themselves.”

“That’s a different approach.” Sandro grabbed his laptop and typed up notes. “Give me all the dates you know so far.”

“Including Peace’s history?”

“Yes. I’m assuming everything is potentially involved until I prove it’s not.”

I took my time, thinking back over everything that had happened from the day he’d begun chasing after my tail. As requested, I told him everything I knew.

He raised a brow at Peace’s history. “Well, I’m glad she seems to like you, because she does not joke around when she’s angry.”

“I’m hoping Mansfield makes her angry.” My heart hurt, and I wondered what other secrets Frankie’s camera would tell. I checked the film canisters to discover she’d dated them, including a range of when she’d taken the photographs. “Oh, they’re dated, Sandro.” I showed him the tiny script on the bottom of the label. He took both canisters and added the dates to his notes. “Is it bad of me that I respect her so much more after scrying through her film rolls and her camera?”

“No. It’s not at all bad of you. It is a good reminder that people are rarely what we think, though. There’s so much more to her than you knew—and your growing respect for her is due to that new knowledge. The regret is probably a bitter pill to swallow, though.”

“It’s pretty bitter. I feel like I hadn’t done enough.”

“She gave you the pictures of her husband’s final moments, Jade. She gave you her most important memories.”

I worried about what else the film would show me. “She loved him so much. I had no idea her love had run that deep or lasted so long after his death.”

Sandro paused in his typing and glanced at me. “And thus it becomes easier to understand why she wouldn’t extend things. She’s been missing half her heart for years. What a remarkable human—and what terrible grief. Beautiful grief, but still terrible. She never let him go, did she?”

“No, she didn’t. I’d always thought he hadn’t died that long ago.” I set the canister down, regarding the box warily. “Can we skip some of the canisters for now?”

“If I handle them, will it hurt your magic?”

I shook my head. “No, it won’t. The magic decides. But I’d like to look at something else first.”

Sandro leaned over and took the film canisters out of the box, checking the dates on the labels and registering them in his laptop before setting them aside. “Okay. All of the canisters are out. Why not try one of the presents next?”

I nodded, and I admired the pretty wrapping paper, in a rainbow of colors. “I wonder where she got the paper. It’s so pretty.”

“That is a good question. I can’t remember seeing any wrapping paper in stores here for years; it’s just not a necessity. Most people use the brown paper to wrap things since it’s useful for a lot of things.”

I selected a blue box, which likely had held a pair of shoes once upon a time. The wrapping paper didn’t trigger my magic, and I set it on my lap, rubbed my hands together, and debated how to get into it.

“Personally, I find just tearing into it is the most satisfying.” Sandro gestured as though he tore the paper to shreds with childish enthusiasm. “I like to fling the paper, too.”

I’d never done something like that as far as I could remember. “Is that fun?”

“Please tell me you have had presents before, Jade.”