Page 13 of To Clutch a Razor
“It’s a shadow,” he says, his voice rougher than usual, and grating. “Only instead of following you the way a shadow does, it’s inside you. Shifting, like a flame flickering inside a lantern. Like smoke spilling from a thurible.”
He opens his fist. The red recedes from his eyes. His hand is still bleeding.
“I frightened you,” he says. There’s no point in arguing. He can probably taste her terror.
Ala tries to steady herself. She’s trembling again.
“I don’t know if you know this, but we can’t create visions that feature the markers of a Knight,” she says.Breathe,she tells herself. “The eyes, the hands—they simply don’t appear. Many of my kind have tried. An illusion that makes a zmora look like a Knight… our magic doesn’t allow it.”
“Strange,” Dymitr says. He’s giving her a concernedlook. “All the illusions you can create, and you can’t make red eyes?”
Ala shrugs a little.
“Our magic doesn’t like your magic—theirmagic,” she says. “So while I can’t make myself look like a Knight, I think, based on what you just told me… IthinkI could still trick a Knight into seeing me as a human instead of a zmora.” She pauses. “But in order for you to do that, you would have to be a much more accomplished illusionist than you are now.”
She’s tried to teach him the art of it, but not every zmora has the same gift for it that she does. He has a sensitive, remarkably well-developed sense of smell, but his illusions are flimsy at best.
“So you do think the book is worth something,” Dymitr presses.
“I do,” she says, and it’s true—the Knights guard their secrets closely, and a book of their curses is a weapon more powerful than she can imagine. “But I think letting any of them lay eyes on you now that you’re a zmora is a bad idea.”
“It’s the only idea I have.” There’s a note of pleading in his voice. Hardly necessary—she knows the situation he’s in. Troubled by pain, and the only hope of respite he’s been offered is to kill the woman who raised him. A minor heist does seem like an appealing alternative, even if it’s going to be like trying to steal an egg from a pit of vipers.
But there’s another solution: Joanna could die bysomeone else’s hand. That way, Dymitr wouldn’t have to do it himself. A small mercy.
“I’ll do it instead,” she says.
Dymitr is already shaking his head. “No. There’s no way you’re going anywhere near them—”
“I know what they are. I know what they can do.”
“There’s knowing and there’s knowing,” Dymitr says firmly. “They’re expecting to see me. They have no reason to suspect that I’veturned into a zmora—as far as they know, it’s impossible. Why would they even check?”
“Of the two of us, which one can make a Knight see whatever they want, you or me?” She gives him a hard look. “Let me help you, at least. You’ll be safer with me there.”
“Ala. No.”
“You don’t get to say no like that. Like you’re a parent.” She feels the barest hint of a tremble in her chin, and she clenches her jaw to control it. “Your grandmother used that book of curses to kill my family, one by one, remember?”
He winces. She feels that twinge of guilt again.
“I remember,” he says softly.
“Well, I want it out of their hands more than you do,” she says. “So I’m going.”
She knows she has him, and he seems to know it, too. He nods.
6A FULL BOTTLE
Ala pays for her own plane tickets. Dymitr tried to insist, but it would have depleted all of the money his family gave him for this mission if he’d paid for them both. When he asks her how she can afford it on a bartender’s pay, she gives him a level look and says,Just how old do you think I am, exactly?He has no idea, of course.
One of the great lies that humanity tells is that time produces wisdom. Oh, Ala will concede that time creates more opportunities for a person to become wise, but it’s hardly a guarantee. And for those who don’t fear death as much as the average human being, wisdom is even harder to come by. The short mortal lifespan makes the acquisition of wisdom feel urgent, like a survival skill; a long lifespan, by comparison, makes someone feel they have all the time in the world for a slow, contemplative life… later.
So Ala doesn’t think she seems as old as she is. She certainly doesn’tfeelas old as she is. Her face and body suggest anywhere from twenty-five to thirty; her recollections of recent history, perhaps fifty or sixty. She watched the rise and fall of the boombox, the Walkman, the CD player,the MP3 player, and now the smartphone; she learned to type on a typewriter; she still writes most things in cursive. But in many ways, she’s the same age as Dymitr, just finding her footing, uncommitted to anyone but herself.
Her bank account, though, reflects both her age and her dedication to humble living. Her mother was the one who told her that a zmora can’t afford to have nothing squirreled away. She might have to flee at a moment’s notice, and fleeing is expensive.
When they go through airport security, Ala gets a glimpse of Dymitr’s passport. It readsDawid Mysliwiec.At her questioning look, he rolls his eyes and explains that everyone in his family has a legal name and a Knight name. The legal name has to be approved by the government, so it needs to be Polish—but Knights name their children after other Knights from all over the world. She teases him by calling him Dawid all the way to the plane. He refuses to respond.
