“I slept terribly last night. It’s difficult to focus.”
“If there has ever been a time to focus, now is it.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head and then kisses my forehead. I wait a moment in shame under his questioning gaze. Then, to my surprise, he says, “It’s fine. I am more concerned about Nicoleta than you, my dear. You’re always spectacular. A born performer. Why don’t you go home and sleep?”
“Will Chimal mind?”
“Chimal is focused on Nicoleta. He probably won’t notice.” As I turn to leave, he adds, “But, Sorina, you must be more prepared tomorrow. Half-heartedness simply won’t do.”
* * *
Later that day, fresh from ten hours of sleep—thanks to the new guards stationed around our tent—I slip down my neighborhood’s central path to see our local charm-worker, Agatha. In my pocket, a jar with holes the size of needle pricks contains a rare northern cicada, which I found crawling over my pillow this morning, as if it were a present. I haven’t personally added a new bug to my collection in a while. It feels comfortingly normal.
Agatha is setting up her stand of charms and trinkets. Most of them are hand-crafted jewelry with charmed stones, some for peace of mind, some for strength or power or meditation. I scan the bracelets for one Venera, or even Nicoleta, might like.
“Sorina,” she says. She appears not a day over thirty due to one of her beauty charms, yet her frail voice hints at her true age. “I was wondering when you’d come back. It’s been almost a week.”
“A week? I haven’t seen you in a month,” I say, confused.
She furrows her eyebrows. “You came last week, with the butterfly. Probably one of the prettier of the disgusting insects you bring to me. Have you come with another?”
Last week? A butterfly? Maybe Agatha is growing senile in her old age. But then she produces a small glass vial, and within it, a perfectly preserved butterfly, its wings a vibrant purple.
“Are you sure I gave this to you?” I ask. “It wasn’t...a gift or anything?”
“Villiam had me charm that cricket, but that was a while ago. You gave me this butterfly.” She feels my forehead. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Dandy, as always,” I lie. Perhaps I didn’t sleep as soundly as I thought. Or maybe Agatha is just senile and doesn’t remember Villiam giving this to her instead of me.
I pull the jar with the cicada out of my pocket. “Here’s the cute little critter.”
Agatha grimaces, as she always does. “My daughter collects rings. I wish you’d find yourself a different hobby.”
I slide the jar toward her and lean against her stand.
“Here’s two copper pieces,” I say. The usual payment.
Agatha nods and ushers me inside her tent. The inside contains even more charms than on the outside. I sit on her floor cushion while she pulls the cicada out from the jar. To my left, resting on a table, is a handmade doll that resembles Agatha’s daughter.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“It’s a charm doll,” Agatha tells me. She cups the cicada within her hands and then kisses her thumb. “There’s magic in a kiss.”
When she opens them, the cicada is frozen, petrified. She roots around for one of the glass vials she uses to store my bugs. Once she finds one, she slips the cicada inside and hands it to me.
I take the cicada and then run my fingers through the doll’s hair.
“You shouldn’t touch it,” Agatha says. She gently takes it from me. “Charm dolls are linked to a person. This one is linked to my daughter. Whatever I do to the doll, she will feel.”
“How are they linked?”
“It’s very simple charm-work—it only requires a small item from my daughter, something important to her. I sewed the item inside it, and then I give the doll its life.” She holds the doll up to my ear, and I hear a heartbeat.
“What do you use it for?”
“Oh, all sorts of things. If I pinch the doll’s arm, my daughter knows to visit me. If I bless the doll, my daughter is blessed. But charm dolls do not have the best of reputations. Without proper protections placed on the doll, someone could use one to cause another harm. Even kill them. They are simple but powerful jynx-work.”
