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My body automatically tenses against the idea. I don’t step in; I don’t get directly involved.
But I already am. How could I bemoreinvolved in this woman’s life than hosting her soul alongside mine?
It isn’t as if I could create a worse disaster than the retribution of the gods, right?
My gaze lifts to the ceiling of its own accord. A shiver passes over my skin.
HowdidI end up absorbing Julita’s soul, exactly? What if the gods have noticed me after all, and this is a strange test they’re giving me?
I’m not sure what the right answer would be, but completely ignoring the problem definitely seems like a wrong one.
And hey, once I give this ghost what she wants, maybe her soul will depart for the peaceful beyond and leave me be. Even if she’s only ephemeral, I can already tell that she won’t be easy to ignore.
When you add it all up, it isn’t even much of a decision.
I wet my lips, square my shoulders, and nod. “Fine. Tomorrow I break into the royal college.”
Five
Idon’t usually give a roach’s ass how I look, as long as I don’t look any way that’s going to make people notice me. So the urge to catch glimpses of myself in the reflections on the shop windows we pass is strange both because it’s unfamiliar… and because of what I see looking back at me.
I can’t help eyeing the swooping hairstyle I assembled my reddish-blond waves into with my ghostly passenger’s coaching after my dip at the public bathhouse. Or the way the berry juice I turned into makeshift rouge brings out my cheekbones and my lips.
Between all that and the faux-silk dress that’s the one noble-ish item in my small wardrobe, I’ll be drawing a lot more eyes than I’d normally be comfortable with. I’m not going to kid myself that I’m any great beauty with these knobby arms and the pallor to my skin that looks more sickly than creamy, but I need to pretend I think I’m something special.
Because if I show how ridiculous I feel, this con isn’t going to last more than the time it takes me to walk through the college’s gate.
People believe what you show them. I’ve learned that time and time again.
I just have to put on my best noble-esque airs and act like nothing could be more natural than my strolling through the city center toward the Sovereign College.
Julita’s voice peals through my head, full of her own self-assurance and more upbeat now that she’s gotten her way.You look fantastic. No one would ever think that just yesterday you were scrambling around in the muck.
I bite back half a dozen snarky remarks I could make, because talking to one’s self while taking a stroll is going to draw an even worse kind of attention. I’ve tried thinking back at her, but while she’s obviously aware of what my body is doing, my unbidden guest can’t seem to read my mind even when I want her to.
Maybe I should be grateful for that small mercy.
It would make having a conversation in public a damn sight easier, though.
We’ll get there right in time for the meeting,Julita goes on in a bright voice I think is meant to be reassuring.You’ve conned people like this before—no need to worry about it.
I have, which was why I own the dress, but never for more than a few minutes. Just popping into a business or approaching someone on the street to pilfer a bit of information I need or set the stage for a more surreptitious comeuppance.
I’d rather be lurking under the charm merchant’s blasted wagon than taking this walk.
At least I won’t need to deal with laying the heaviest news on Julita’s friends. When we worked out the plan, she insisted that she doesn’t want me telling them that she’s dead.
Neither of us has any idea exactly who murdered her. She suggested that telling them would only distract them from the bigger picture. Even if her body has been found and her friends have heard about it, she wants me to act as if it’s a surprise to me.
I’m going to claim I’m one of Julita’s friends, visiting from her hometown. I’ll say she was embarking on a more in-depth investigation and suspected she wouldn’t make the meeting, so she gave me the means to turn up in her place.
Then I’ll recite whatever information the ghost in my head instructs me to and walk away.
The idea of leaving her friends in the dark about just how far the scourge sorcerers have gone still makes me uneasy. But it’s not as if I could tell them I’m hosting her soul without sounding mad.
And it does take the pressure off. I won’t have to deal with any anger or grief over her loss from these strangers.
Noble strangers, whose grief could overflow with pompous indignation or hysterical panic for all I know.
