The Seat of Magic

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  Duilio waved his hand vaguely, dripping ink onto the paper. “She left her pelt on one of the Ramires boats. It was found by the fisherman, but he didn’t touch it until it started to smell. He told João, who told me earlier today. A patch the size of his hand wasn’t rotting, while the rest was.”

  They worked for some time, Duilio writing down details that Oriana saw no reason to include, but she had to bow to their greater experience with this bizarre method of theirs. When they collectively ran out of scraps of information, Duilio sat down next to her and peered at the two sheets of foolscap, now held together by pins to make a continuous sheet. Next to that lay a map of the city Duilio had produced from his map chest, defaced with red spots marking where each girl had been taken and where each body had been left.

  “There’s not a clear pattern,” Joaquim noted, “other than their bodies being dumped in poorer sections of town.”

  “Well, they did take them one at a time,” Duilio said. “Each girl taken after the last body was dumped.”

  “If there were only the three of them,” Oriana pointed out. “Could there be more?”

  Joaquim shrugged. “We’ll never know. There could have been bodies dumped in the river or the sea. We can only consider what we’ve got.”

  “Besides,” Duilio said. “They took one of each of the sea peoples. That’s a pattern in itself.”

  “Have they taken a human?” she asked.

  “None have been found who’ve been . . . mutilated like them,” Joaquim answered. “I asked Gonzalo to alert me if any showed up.” He was staring at her hand, Oriana realized, spread wide on the edge of the paper so that her webbing showed. His eyes turned away, almost guiltily.

  She kept her hand where it was. “So they held the otter girl a day before she was killed, the selkie girl two days, but the sereia girl only hours.”

  “Why did the selkie take so much longer than the others?” Oriana asked.

  “You may be right,” Duilio said with a nod in her direction. “Perhaps they didn’t want to kill her on a Sunday.”

  “There were three days between the first two killings,” Oriana noted, “but four between the second and third.”

  “No clear pattern,” Joaquim agreed. “We are dealing with more than one person, by the way. It would take two to get a struggling girl into a coach and drive it away. And someone who knows where to find nonhumans. Someone had to be watching your boats, Duilio, to have seen the girl come up onto the docks. The same with the doctor. They had to know he works with nonhumans.”

  Duilio’s lips narrowed. “A Sympathizer?”

  “Or not,” Joaquim said. “Someone who hates them.”

  “And why are they choosing the trophies they are?” Duilio asked. “That hints they know more than most about nonhumans.”

  Trophies? Oriana cringed at a sudden mental image of jars filled with preserved parts.

  Duilio scowled. “Or not. Dr. Esteves wasn’t certain an otter’s magic is in their tail; it was what he’d heard. Mother agreed a selkie’s magic is in their skin, though, or rather in the relationship between the skin and pelt, if that makes sense.”

  But a sereia couldn’t change form like the selkies or the otter folk. A sereia’s only magic was in her voice. Oriana laid a hand over her throat, and then snatched it back into her lap when she realized she’d done so. Neither of the two men said anything.

  Cardenas rapped softly on the frame of the library’s door. When Duilio looked up, he said, “Captain Pinheiro is here, Mr. Duilio. I told him you’re occupied, but . . .”

  “No, bring him on through,” Duilio said with a flash of a smile. “Rafael’s been working in Lisboa for the last two weeks.”

  Pinheiro was a captain in the Special Police, but not a threat in any way to Duilio or her. During their search for Isabel’s killer, they’d learned that Pinheiro was Duilio’s first cousin, the illegitimate son of Duilio’s detestable uncle, Paolo Silva. Oriana found Pinheiro quite likable, despite his questionable father, and from the first he’d seemed unconcerned that she was a sereia.

  A moment later, the captain entered the library, stopping to embrace both Duilio and Joaquim. Pinheiro didn’t wear his Special Police uniform, making this a social call. “Rafael, you remember Miss Oriana Paredes?”

  “Miss Paredes,” he said, pressing her hand between his. “It’s good to see you again. I’d been worried about you, but I’m glad to see I was right.”

  Although he was shorter and a bit stocky, there was a strong resemblance to Duilio—and Joaquim as well—in Pinheiro’s face. It made her like him by default. “Right?”

  “That you would come through your trials safely,” he said.

  “You knew?” Duilio asked sharply.

  Pinheiro laughed shortly. “I have been doing nothing but meditating these last two weeks and trying to control my gift, so yes, I knew, after a fashion. Nothing specific.”

  Oriana hoped she wasn’t the only one confused. “Control your gift?”

  Pinheiro sat down at Duilio’s gesture, picking a seat across from hers. “Anjos sent me to Lisboa to study with the Jesuits there, trying to pull my abilities as a seer into order.” He shrugged. “I inherited the gift from my father, but I’ve always ignored it, and therefore have probably missed more opportunities than I should. When I think of all the people who might have been helped had I worked to use my gift instead of brushing it aside, I cringe.”

  Duilio shook his head. “You can’t fix everything in the world, Rafael.”

  Joaquim leaned against a bookshelf near the door, his lips pursed in a pensive manner.

  “So you’re working for Inspector Anjos now?” Oriana asked.

  Pinheiro grinned lopsidedly. “Yes, I’m to be their group’s seer, although how successful I’ll be remains unclear. The Jesuits can train me, but not increase my natural talent.”

  Oriana nodded. That was similar to how a sereia’s call worked. There had to be natural talent before it could be trained as hers was. “I see.”

  “He’s actually a much stronger seer than I am,” Duilio told her. “Gaspar says my selkie blood limits my seer’s talent somehow.”

  Pinheiro rolled his eyes, but then turned his gaze to the papers on the table. “Is this what you’re working on? I think this is why I came by.” He glanced over at Joaquim. “Whatever you’re working on is related to the case Gaspar is working on. You need to bring him and Anjos in on this one, and combine the two.”

  Duilio closed his eyes for a second. Asking himself questions, Oriana decided. A moment later, he opened his eyes. “Damn. I never thought to ask that.”

  Joaquim stepped away from the bookshelf. “There’s nothing in common.”

  Pinheiro held his hands wide. “Sorry, cousin. I don’t know how they’re related. I spent hours trying to figure that out, but never could chase it down. Perhaps there’s someone linking the two cases.”

  That sounded similar to how Duilio described his gift as working. He had to know the right questions to ask himself, a harder feat than expected unless one understood the criminal’s design.

  Pinheiro turned back to Duilio, hazel eyes worried. “This is going to turn into a bloody mess. A deadly one.”

  Duilio pinched the bridge of his nose. “It already is, Rafael.”

  “No,” Pinheiro said. “It’s going to get worse, and you’re not going to be able to prevent the deaths.”

  “Then what’s the point of knowing?” Joaquim asked.

  “You’ll be there to clean up the mess afterward,” Pinheiro said to him. He swept a hand over the papers on the table. “This is all someone’s design. This goes beyond a handful of deaths. The repercussions from whatever they’ve set in motion, that’s what must be stopped.”

  Joaquim folded his arms across his chest. “Those deaths are not negligible.”

  Pinheiro inc
lined his head in Joaquim’s direction. “Sorry, cousin. I didn’t mean to say they were. But they’re already gone. Don’t lose the city trying to save one house from burning.”

  Oriana cocked her head to one side, considering. Perhaps they weren’t seeing the whole picture, but she had no idea what that whole was likely to be. She turned back to Pinheiro. “Have you talked to Inspector Gaspar or Inspector Anjos yourself?”

  Pinheiro shook his head. “I’m only passing through town. I managed to have lunch with my father, and then came here afterward. I did send Gaspar a note, though, so he’ll probably get in touch with you.”

  Duilio came alert at the mention of food. “Do you have plans for dinner?”

  Pinheiro checked his pocket watch. “Actually, I need to catch the train for Guimarães. My maternal grandfather has summoned me to his home. I’m expected for dinner there tonight.” He didn’t sound excited at that prospect.

  “I thought your mother was estranged from her family,” Duilio said as Pinheiro rose. “I mean, after . . .”

  “After she bore a bastard?” Pinheiro asked without heat. “Yes, but he asked, and he is my grandfather, so I’m going.” He nodded to Oriana and Joaquim. “Good day.”

  Duilio headed after him to escort him out, but Pinheiro stopped him at the threshold. “I’ll see myself out, Duilio.” He paused, and then added, “Do me a favor. Talk to Miss Carvalho. I believe her father has been pushing her to pursue you, and she needs be told there’s no point.”

  Duilio crossed his arms. “When did Miss Carvalho become your concern?”

  Pinheiro opened his mouth but didn’t answer immediately. Oriana could have sworn he was blushing. “I have had ample time,” he finally said, “during meditation to think about every last person I’ve ever met, even Miss Carvalho. Besides, Duilio, it does affect you, doesn’t it? Do you think the gossips have missed that she keeps visiting your mother?”

  Duilio laughed. “Whereas I’ve been avoiding her for the last two weeks. That should have been telling enough.”

  “Make it clear, cousin. Please.” Pinheiro glanced over at Oriana. “Or you do so, Miss Paredes, since he doesn’t want to be alone with her.”

  And with that, he walked off down the hallway. A second later, the front door of the house closed. Duilio turned back to Joaquim. “Well, that was interesting. Do you think our cousin has an interest in Miss Carvalho?”

  “They don’t travel in the same social circles,” Joaquim said doubtfully. “He is right, though. It would be kinder to tell the girl sooner rather than later.”

  Duilio sighed theatrically, and Oriana did her best not to laugh. Duilio hated confrontations. He preferred to endlessly avoid them. “Would you prefer I talk to her?”

  “And tell her what?” Duilio asked, throwing his hands up. “That she’s wasting her time?”

  “Yes. Exactly that. I doubt she would see me if I went to her house, but I suppose I can catch her the next time she shows up for tea with your mother.”

  Duilio’s lips pressed together. “Actually, we can find her earlier if my mother agrees. I’ll ask in the morning. Short notice, but Mother enjoys a challenge.” He turned to Joaquim before Oriana could ask for clarification. “Speaking of which, Mr. Monteiro and his younger daughter have accepted our invitation to join us for dinner tonight. You’re staying, aren’t you, Joaquim?”

  Oriana shot Duilio an irritated look, but he carefully didn’t meet her eyes. He must have been sitting on that information for hours, waiting to spring it on her at the last minute.

  “It’s not a formal dinner,” Duilio added to Joaquim. “It’s practice for a formal dinner Mother’s planning, a chance for Mrs. Cardoza and Cardenas to work out the kinks. It’s been a long time since we’ve entertained.”

  Lady Ferreira intended to throw a formal dinner party and have the Tavares family over, but hadn’t arranged it yet. Oriana held in a groan. Dinner parties weren’t her favorite event. While other ladies took off their gloves to eat, she couldn’t, and neatly handling a fork or spoon while wearing mitts could be challenging. Joaquim seemed to be contemplating the request still, though, so she said, “I’m certain Lady Ferreira would want you to stay. It would make the numbers even.”

  He shot her a doubtful glance. “I’m not dressed for dinner.”

  “Marcellin can fix you up,” Duilio inserted smoothly. “He can shoehorn you into one of my jackets.”

  Although Joaquim was heavier, he and Duilio were similar in build. It didn’t surprise Oriana that they could wear each other’s clothes. In the midst of collecting his notes, Joaquim nodded shortly, defeated. “Do you mind if I head back to my old room and take a nap?”

  “No, go on,” Duilio said.

  Joaquim replaced the last of his notes and closed up his leather case.

  “Would you like to look at my hands?” Oriana asked before he left the table.

  A silence fell over the room. Duilio frowned but didn’t protest.

  Joaquim cast a rueful look at her. “I apologize if I was staring, Oriana.”

  Joaquim had to have seen her naked when they found her on that island, but had likely kept his eyes averted the whole time. She went to stand next to him, noting when she did so that he didn’t smell like Duilio, no matter how similar his appearance. “It’s natural to be curious about something different.”

  She lifted her hand for his perusal, spreading her fingers wide so that the translucent webbing showed between them. The webbing anchored at the last knuckle on each finger, and stretched between the index finger and thumb. With her webbing fully spread, she could feel the vibration of his pulse and, more distantly, Duilio’s.

  “May I?” he asked before touching her hand, indicating that she should turn her hand halfway over. “This is sensitive?”

  “Yes. It’s how we sense movement in the water . . . the tide, the presence of fish and other animals, even boats. It looks delicate, but it’s difficult to tear and heals exceptionally well.”

  Joaquim’s brows drew together. “Do you intend . . . ?”

  “No,” Duilio said before she could answer.

  “No,” she echoed. “I am a sereia. I won’t live the rest of my life hiding that. Some of my people don’t mind living as humans, but I’m too stubborn to do so for long. So I’ll not have my webbing cut away.”

  Joaquin nodded slowly. “Do your gills . . . hurt?”

  “No. They’re fine as long as I immerse myself regularly. A bath will do, even. Would you like to see them?” When he nodded, she struggled to unbutton the high neck of her blouse. Duilio came to her side, carrying his scent with him, and his fingers eased the two top buttons free. Oriana drew down the high collar of her shirt far enough that her gill slits were exposed on one side. The edges would be visible, but not terribly noticeable. “They’re closed if I’m not breathing water,” she told Joaquim. “Or calling.”

  He moved closer to look and then drew back. “Thank you.”

  Duilio buttoned the neck of her blouse for her, his breath warm against her skin.

  “With those two exceptions,” she told Joaquim, “we are more or less human. And the color of our skin, of course.”

  “Weren’t you going to go take a nap?” Duilio asked Joaquim, irritation in his tone.

  Joaquim laughed, his eyes meeting hers briefly. “I’ll get out of your way.”

  He picked up his bag and headed out of the library, pointedly leaving the door standing open. Duilio shut it and turned back to her, a vexed expression on his face. “Which one of us are you courting anyway?”

  CHAPTER 22

  Duilio had never considered himself a jealous man, but his visceral reaction to Oriana’s offers had been to shove Joaquim out of the library. He knew it was childish, and apparently so did Joaquim and Oriana. “You weren’t planning on showing him your dorsal stripe, were you?”

  Ori
ana shot him an exasperated glance. “You know why I let him look at my gills.”

  The annoying part was that he did understand. She wanted Joaquim to get over any nervousness before her sister showed up for dinner. It was that simple. Among her people, nudity was tolerated or even expected in some situations, so Duilio knew plenty of men must have seen her dorsal stripe and her gill slits before. “That doesn’t mean I don’t mind.”

  She came to where he stood by the door. “I am not courting him. If you’re unclear about that, I must not be trying hard enough.”

  Duilio touched her cheek, ran his fingers down and along the side of her neck. Her gills slits were covered by her high collar now, but even through that, his touch made her shudder. Stepping closer, he ran a finger over her full lower lip. “How sharp are your teeth, exactly?”

  She smiled. “Not sharp as a razor, but sharp enough that you don’t want to surprise me.”

  He pressed one step closer, and her back came up against the door. “Are you going to let me kiss you? You could consider it a gift.”

  She didn’t try to get away. She didn’t say no. So he leaned closer and kissed her. Her hands slid under his coat, permission of a sort, and he touched her lips with the tip of his tongue. She opened her mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue inside and run it along the edge of those very sharp teeth. She drew a startled breath and pressed herself against him.

  This wasn’t like the first time she’d let him kiss her, sleepy and innocent, or the second interlude between them, where she’d been willing if not eager. This was different. He felt that right away. She was sure of herself this time.

  So he let her lead, let her guide the kiss. He settled his hands on her hips and firmly reminded them to stay there. She brought one of her hands up to cup his cheek. Her tongue touched his, touched his lips. He shuddered.

  When her hand wrapped about the back of his neck and tugged him closer, he didn’t fight. His body pressed hers against the door.

  It was glorious to feel her against him, her breasts brushing his chest, her legs against his. He reminded himself to stay composed, because this wouldn’t lead where he wanted, not today. Her touch calmed then, her lips against his but the passion slowing into a careful exploration as if she’d recalled that constraint as well. She kissed him once more, and then drew back enough to meet his eyes.