I awoke with a stomachache and a mind full of dread.
Not over the roomful of blood. No, I’d had hours to wrap my mind around the concept. Or the fact that my amulet had barely protected me from it. That was more concerning, but Jember was sure to know of a way to make my amulet stronger.
That is, if he was willing to help me.
I rolled out of bed and dressed in the clothes I’d arrived in that first day. If I hurried I could catch Jember before he left church for the day—he worked all night, and if I didn’t catch him before he went to sleep he would be twice as ornery. At least at church there was a chance he would marginally behave in front of the priests.
I took some money from my hiding place behind the wardrobe and tucked it into the hidden pocket in my satchel. Then it was time to pray that Tom or Emma would give me a ride.
The servants’ quarters had none of the wide-open doors like the rest of the house, none of the sun streaming through large windows like gossamer kissing wood. It was a narrow, low-ceilinged hall. Cold, in the figurative sense as well as literal. The doors of vacant rooms locked on either side of me, like tombs. I was thankful that voices drifted from the only open door—part of me had been afraid I’d have to search the whole house for them.
“Why can’t we just go?” Emma said. “We have enough money saved to get back to London, and there are plenty of friends we could stay with while we get settled with new jobs.”
“A few more weeks and we’ll have enough to make a life of our own.”
“At what cost?”
I stood in the doorway, but they weren’t looking in my direction, or else I was just better at blending into the scenery than I thought.
Tom raked his hand through his hair. “Give Andromeda time, I’m sure she’ll—”
“We’re out of time, Tom. Edward has vanished, just like the rest of them. All we have is each other.”
I cleared my throat. The pair turned to me quickly, Emma nearly leaping out of her skin.
“Good morning,” I said.
When I tried to look at Emma she turned away to adjust the blanket on the bed.
Tom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What can we do for you, Andromeda?”
“Would you be able to drive me into the city?”
Emma jerked around, her face dropping as if gravity had given up on it. “You’re not leaving us, are you?”
I tried to give her a reassuring smile, but I’m not so sure how convincing it was. I wasn’t looking forward to this trip any more than she was to me leaving the house. “Just have to pick up a few things from the market.”
“Sweet Jesus, yes!” Emma grabbed a small purse from the side table. “I need an escape from this treacherous place.”
There were two specific entry gates into the city within the questionably sturdy stone wall that surrounded it—one on each opposite end of the wall. It was fifteen feet high, easily climbable, and would’ve been the way I’d taken in if I didn’t have company.
Tom steered the horses down one of the two dust roads wide enough for this giant coach, at a crawling pace to avoid all the shoppers. Superfluous coaches with cushioned seats weren’t a novelty to this city anymore. But I’d lived here for seven years, ever since Jember was hired for this position with the church, and I had rarely seen one parade through the streets like this. Usually they were only on their way out.
About a mile from the center square where the church stood, the two main roads ended and became one large circle around the inner section of the city. Here there was an expansive goat market, a station where travelers could leave their animals, and where the rich left their coaches. There were already a few camels, donkeys, and horses in the stalls. I got out of the coach just as Tom climbed down from his perch. He handed the boys who walked up to us some money, and they began unhitching our horses without a word.
Tom held out his hand to Emma, who took it and used the other to press her wide-brimmed hat wider. Despite her face being completely shaded, she grimaced. “It’s already so hot. We shouldn’t stay long.”
I eyed their clothing choices, as I’d done before we left, but it was a little too late to say anything. Although they weren’t wearing their wool, it was a similar style that seemed too heavy and constricting for the climate. The waists of Emma’s dress and Tom’s pants were right up against their bodies like they were tempting sweat. The truth was it was barely hot yet, but anyone would feel stifled so bound up in fabric, no matter what the weather.
“How long is ‘long’?” I asked.
“Well, we want to make the visit worth the long drive.” Emma looked at Tom to agree with her. “I could probably stand an hour.”
He nodded. “That’s long enough for a little breakfast. We’ll need that energy for when Peggy rails on us.”
An hour. When the drive round trip was twice as long. Illogical, but the least of my worries at the moment. “An hour it is,” I said. “I’ll meet you back here then.”
I didn’t go straight to the church. Instead I went to the goat market and bought some tej from the herder—the wine he made was stronger and better, not to mention less expensive, than anything the regular food market had. I had a feeling I’d need some liquid courage today.
For a moment I just marveled at the honey wine before indulging in a gulp. Sweet, then bitter, a little spiced, burning. It made me a little light-headed. Last time I’d lived with Jember was the last time I’d had any … it tasted like home.
And at that thought, the wine turned to poison in my mouth.
I put the bottle in my satchel and rushed into the protective net of roads. While the two main roads and marketplace were dust, the rest were cobblestone alleys, no wider than to allow either one cart or two adults walking comfortably side by side. And, on either side of the streets, a line of ten-foot-tall squared-off buildings made of concrete and cement, separated only by either the bright colors some had been painted or a perpendicular alley to continue the net.
The city had been designed to withstand war—if the enemy managed to get through the wall’s defenses, they’d be met with a labyrinth to navigate if they ever wanted to reach the epicenter. But of course, wars had bypassed it completely, to the disappointment of the architects, I’m sure. Now the only people available for the labyrinth to confuse were tourists and drunks.
I wove through the streets quickly, trying not to seem rude as I greeted people without stopping.
Only when I reached the main square did I slow down.
The church was the oldest building in the city, weathered red-stone raised on a platform of a dozen stairs. As regal as Thorne Manor, but more elegant and dignified. Even without the platform it was three times as tall as everything else, four flat walls attempting to reach the heavens.
I pulled my netela out of my satchel and covered my head, securing the scarf around my neck, before heading up the stairs casually so as not to draw negative attention.
The soothing rhythm of chanting grew with every step, opening up into an echo as I removed my sandals and stepped inside out of the sun. The colorful paintings of saints on the walls and pillars of the entryway greeted me with kindness and scrutiny in turns. Incense nipped and tickled my nostrils. A large white curtain blocked my view of the sanctuary, simultaneously blocking me from being instantly noticed. Everything was just as I’d left it.
It wasn’t my home anymore, in the physical sense, but my mind felt more peaceful than it had in weeks.
The main sanctuary took up most of the first floor. Painted pillars surrounded it, creating a small walkway around the perimeter with a few rooms along the walls, their doorways blocked by heavy white curtains. In between each pillar was a large vase, all full of either water or various herbs, and I alternated between hiding behind those and the pillars. There were a handful of people standing in prayer in the direction of the altar, where Jember sat on the stairs constructing an amulet.
He wore his official debtera attire: a white turban—made slightly larger by containing the dreadlocks he refused to cut—and white robe striped with red, green, and yellow along the hem. And his official Jember attire: red leather gloves, a tall black boot on his left leg, and a peg leg made of dull metal on the right. His beard was unkempt, but his clothes were neat.
Mixed feelings rose up in me, watching him work. The first was that I’d missed him. But if I hadn’t been witnessing him cutting intricate patterns with expert speed, that feeling might’ve been the last. It was the only admirable thing about him, really. His work.
Which was why not too far behind it was anger, an emotion I’d need to quell if I was going to stomach asking him for help.
I tried not to move, not only to respect the ritual, but to keep Jember from seeing me before I wanted him to. It was only a few minutes before he began a chant, the signal for the praying people to drink the small cup of holy water on the floor in front of each of them. I leaned a bit farther around the pillar to see what sort of Manifestations the amulets were for—a mistake. Jember glanced in my direction, not missing a note of the chant he was singing.
Maybe he didn’t see me.
Right, Andi. Maybe the desert isn’t hot.
That meant there was no surprising him. I had to be ready to approach him as soon as the ritual was over. No greeting, no small talk—Jember didn’t have the patience for that. I would have to be clear and quick.
Finally, the prayer was finished, and each worshipper made the sign of the cross on themselves, touching forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder. Jember wrapped each amulet in a simple cloth before handing it to each person in need, which they accepted with a bowed head and nothing but the sound of their footsteps as they left.
I slipped out from behind the pillar to prepare, and because I was curious about what sort of amulets he had made. For house hauntings, debtera had to go directly to the source. But if someone was having sudden bad luck, or sickly livestock, or their crops weren’t doing well, a basic amulet for that purpose would usually deter the influence of the Evil Eye.
Those were the first types of amulet designs I learned to construct, even before Jember actually had a mind to teach me. It was the ritual that made them take a long time, not the construction itself.
I waited until the last person was leaving before stepping up to the altar. “Jember, I need your help.”
He didn’t bother to look at me as he gathered his things. “Just give me the name.” His voice sounded strained.
I bit my lip. I’d had specific instructions—extremely specific, with equally graphic consequences if I were to disobey—from Jember while he was throwing me out: Don’t bother him unless I was in danger. Couldn’t find food? Figure it out. Nowhere to sleep? Not his problem. But if anyone threatened or tried to hurt me? That was the one and only issue I was allowed to bring to him.
I was pretty good at staying out of danger, partly because I’m small and know my physical limit and so try to stay out of people’s way. But mostly, because I never wanted to have to go to him for help. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing him on his terms.
But I didn’t have a name, and it didn’t feel right giving one just to make him stop and listen to me, especially since whomever I named might end up dead by the afternoon.
“It’s about a job,” I said quickly. “This Manifes—”
He walked away without a glance. His legs were far longer than mine, so even with his limp I rushed to catch up.
“I just need to know if I cleansed it correctly,” I said.
He still didn’t stop. He was almost to the room at the back of the hall where—as an unlicensed debtera—I wasn’t allowed. It was where the priests changed from their street clothes into their holy robes before services.
I ran in front of him to block the entryway. “Jember—”
“Don’t bother me, girl.”
Instead of allowing me to move of my own free will, he shoved me with the spine of the book he was holding against the side of my face. I stumbled to the side, grateful he hadn’t full-on hit me, but angry at myself for not grounding myself better.
And then he disappeared behind the curtain of the room and I stood there for a moment in shock. A shock that was quickly turning to silent rage, like my head might burst like a pressed tomato. I wanted to call his name, but I felt ridiculous standing in the hall, begging for him to listen.
I took a deep breath. There was only one option. Well, two. I could do it the long, quiet way—wait until he was finished with everything and meet him at home. That would probably be another hour or two, and I might not get the information I wanted. Then there was always the quick way, which was … questionable. But I didn’t have an hour or two to wait around.
So I took a deep breath …
I hadn’t screamed so wildly in so long, it nearly shocked me to silence again as it echoed off the stone walls. But, immediately, I heard the desired reaction from the couple of priests on the other side of the curtain in the form of vague frightened exclamations and frantic footsteps. None of them left the room, so I screamed again.
Then, I saw Jember’s bloodred glove peek through the curtain before he shoved it aside, his eyes glinting wild like those of an agitated lion. He still wore his turban but had shed his robes, leaving him in his white pants and undershirt—the same shirt he’d been wearing since I was five, so worn thin in places it looked on the verge of spontaneously tearing. He gripped his maqomiya, the long prayer staff grinding into the floor like it was trying to drill through it, and I couldn’t fight the wince my body had long been conditioned to perform at the sight of it. I backed away a few steps, even though my mind rationalized that Jember hadn’t disciplined me in years, and never within the walls of the church.
Not where the priests could see, anyway.
“Have you lost your mind?” he growled, approaching as quickly as I retreated.
“If I say yes will you listen to me?”
“I could lose my position if they find out it was you out here screeching like a—”
“There’s a dangerous Manifestation that almost—” My bare foot faltered on the uneven stone floor and this time my cry was genuine as Jember caught the front of my loose netela, twisting it to bind it closer to my head, blocking me from escaping.
He used the fabric as a leash, half dragging me into a closet, then shoved me ahead of him. There were no candles inside, but there was enough light coming through the doorway that I could catch myself against the shelves with my hands before I slammed into them face-first.
“I’m shocked, Andi,” he said, slight amusement in his voice. “What would God say about your underhanded tantrum back there?”
I ground my teeth and shifted so I was on the side wall instead of completely boxed in. “God is merciful. Unlike you.”
Jember shifted with me, half a snarl visible as the sun lit the side of his face. “I am merciful,” he said, all the humor gone. “You can walk out on your own two legs or I can beat you unconscious and drag you down the front steps.”
I’d pulled my knife, but now knew it wouldn’t be necessary. I couldn’t really see his face, but he was gripping the hand that had grabbed my scarf with his other, as if he’d punched a wall. He’d overreached, accidently touching my neck. For him, touching human skin was unbearable, even through those gloves. Like shards of glass going through to the bone, he’d said one day when I’d asked what it felt like.
It was due to his missing leg, which was due to the Evil Eye in some way. But asking him specifics was partly the reason I now winced at the sight of his maqomiya, so eventually I’d decided a little mystery in my life was best.
That being said, I should’ve been numb to his pain by now. I shouldn’t have cared. I wished I didn’t. But God, it still hurt my heart to see him wince.
Focus, Andi. He doesn’t care. Why should you?
“Why are you determined not to help me?” I said.
He rested his painless hand on the horizontal handle on top of his staff, leaning his chin on his knuckles and taking the weight off his peg leg. “Why is an unlicensed debtera worried about Manifestations?”
It was a logical question, but still stung like an open wound. “I wouldn’t be here asking for help if you hadn’t thrown me out.”
“Yes, you’d be married like the rest of the girls your age, irritating your husband right now instead of me.”
I scoffed. “You didn’t raise me to take much stock in marriage, what did you expect?”
“I expected you to make a decision based on good survival habits. You chose the street rather than a safe home and steady income.” He dropped the hand he’d been soothing, gripping it into a fist and standing upright again. I should’ve found a safer place to stand during his respite. “You have three seconds to decide whether or not you walk out of here.”
“I’ll walk,” I said. He wasn’t going to beat me just now, despite his threat. He’d been up since the early hours constructing amulets. He was much bigger, and strong, but I’d always been faster. We both knew without it being said that he didn’t have the energy.
Still, if I pushed him much more, a small dose of rage-adrenaline might be all he needed, and I had no desire to wake up behind the church with my eyes swollen shut.
“The room flooded with blood,” I blurted quickly. “And it’s done it before.” Jember lifted his staff off the ground, and I took the opportunity to rush out into the hall. “He said the last time it happened it drowned him alive.”
Jember knocked the staff against the stone wall, testing its strength. “He saw the Manifestation, assumed he’d drown, and the fear made his body mimic symptoms.”
I paused. “That’s possible. But—” I stumbled sideways and pressed my hand to the side of my head, nearly biting off my tongue. Sharp pain radiated through my scalp and I blinked a few times to clear my vision from the impact, only for it to be clouded again by tears. Stupid eyes, tearing. Traitors. “So it wasn’t a dangerous Manifestation? Nothing to worry about?”
“You cannot drown and also be alive.” Jember was in no rush to pursue me, walking, tapping the staff against the wall. “How did you secure a client without a license?”
I backed up to match his approach. This time I wouldn’t be caught off guard. “He considered no licensure a benefit.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “In order to pay you less?” I could tell his mind was running through all the options of my circumstance, and it wouldn’t be long before he landed on the correct one. Would he help me if he knew I was working a job he himself had refused?
“He paid me enough. I haven’t starved to death, have I?”
He’d nearly herded me out to the main sanctuary, but suddenly stopped. “You can’t keep this up much longer without a license. And you don’t have the skill level to pursue a patronage.”
“Whose fault is that?” I felt my face get hot, hate for him rising up again. “You said marry a stranger or live on the street. You gave me no choice but to take matters into my own hands.”
“Are you looking for a new mentor?”
“What do you care, old man? You left me to die.”
I stumbled back, the wind of the maqomiya’s rush tickling my nose. I winced as it splintered against the wall, bracing myself against the opposite one to avoid the end that snapped and skittered across the ground. We were silent as it rolled and finally came to a stop. I never saw it, only heard, because I was glaring at him as he glared at me. Hate knotted the back of my throat, trapping my voice … hate to cover the pain, that mingled with fear, that tainted my longing.
His leg was hurting, I knew, because he didn’t come after me. Instead he gripped the ruined staff and watched me hate him, without giving me a reason to contradict myself.
Jember was truly heartless. I’d always known it, but now it felt confirmed. An empty shell of a human being. God, the thought of it made me want to weep, but I fought back the urge. He didn’t deserve to see human emotions felt on his behalf … he didn’t deserve to know that I wished—longed—for him to feel something for me in return. Something human, unprompted by necessity.
I winced, but the broken staff didn’t come at me again. Instead he dropped it at my feet.
“Stop acting like a child, Andromeda,” he said, his voice dark. “You chose this. Don’t blame me for your poor survival habits.”
He turned and left me longing for and hating him, the urge to cry building by the second.
I swallowed the tears back before they could cloud my eyes and rushed out of the church, the saints watching me go in concern and disappointment.