Schneewittchen, the white girl, had collapsed onto the marble floor. The English ventriloquist rushed to her side and knelt there, lifting her head in his hands and pulling her somewhat into his arms. I, however, was more interested in the knife that had embedded itself into one of the gold buttons on Erik's dark coat. The knife quivered, and I realized the throw had not been accidentally harmless to Erik, for I heard no frustrated noises from any of the group.

Nor could I perceive who had thrown the knife when I turned to the company after exchanging an incredulous look with Erik. He was still as I inspected the five who remained behind me, that is to say, the three acrobats, Moses Bazzi, and Kizzy Ferko. Jorge, Carmen, and Hugo were tensed; they seemed prepared to pounce should Erik move. Moses Bazzi stared at me still, eyes remaining unblinking, and Kizzy Ferko had one hand still in Moses Bazzi's and the other slightly over her mouth in distress.

But I could not figure out who had thrown the knife so perfectly with such short notice. Such a talented thrower would surely be extremely valuable to the sultana. I am sure Erik realized it as well, for I turned back to him to see his eyes narrowed behind his mask. He strode forward, but the three acrobats stepped in his way. I imagine they had bared their teeth at Erik, which was a ridiculous notion in itself; the three of them seemed much paler next to the black European suit he wore. He met my gaze over their heads; Erik had always been much taller than most people I had known, and he towered over the three siblings.

I smirked and looked down at Jack White and Schneewittchen; the Englishman was covering the white girl once again in her heavy, concealing garb. I looked back up as the three siblings tensed themselves again, preparing for a physical attack from Erik, but I knew his methods were much subtler than that.

Erik lifted a gloved hand, and a sudden bang and puff of smoke from his outstretched arm startled me, but had little effect on the siblings, who merely pounced upon him. Only a few moments passed before he had one of the boys (I could not tell them apart) lifted into the air with a hand around his neck. The other two fell back, and at a look from me Erik tossed the boy backwards into his siblings.

"Daroga," he said, "please tell me this is not that group of tricksters the khanum ordered you to fetch."

I only gave him a pointed look, and his golden eyes narrowed at me before he swept past the three siblings and Jack White and Schneewittchen to stand mockingly before Moses Bazzi and Kizzy Ferko.

"I see that you have wasted your time," Erik continued, "for the sultana will find none of them worth her while. They are too young to appreciate her morbidity."

Moses Bazzi raised his eyebrows, and Kizzy dropped Moses Bazzi's hand and set her own on her hips, indignant. I was surprised that would insult such a juvenile girl, but it did inform me she understood Persian. She reached out and pulled the knife, which still stuck out perpendicular from Erik's chest, from the button; the button, however, refused to be budged and it ripped from Erik's vest along with the knife. Kizzy Ferko pried off the button and tossed it to her side. It skittered along the floor.

She inspected the knife with a casual air about her, then suddenly flipped it in her hand and made as if to stab Erik with a downward thrust.

He was too quick for her, and he slid backwards effortlessly so that the knife only cut into his coat. I realized with a shock it must have been Kizzy who had thrown the knife, and Erik must have realized it just then as well, for he narrowed his eyes at her and asked, "Would that have touched my skin?"

Kizzy looked him straight in the eye. "No, but you would have lost another button."

Erik gave a snort of amusement, and Moses Bazzi smirked wider than ever.

"You caused her to faint," came a dangerous voice from the air before Erik. Kizzy rolled her eyes and spoke in some European language to Jack White over Erik's shoulder; though I understood not a word of it, I figured she was scolding him. He replied in a similar fashion, and then Erik laughed. I did not understand what had passed between Kizzy Ferko and Jack White, but Erik must have. Their exchange greatly amused him.

Schneewittchen stirred just then, giving a tired moan in her strange voice, and Erik turned to her for a moment before sweeping away in his dangerous consuetude. Kizzy Ferko turned to watch him go, and when she turned back the knife in her hand had disappeared somewhere into the folds of her clothes.

I faced the curtain when a eunuch told us the shah and sultana were ready to see the group, and I snapped to garner their attention. They all turned to me, and I led them into the room where the shah and sultana waited, possibly the most impressive room they would see on their stay here if they did not bring great amounts of pleasure to the sultana.

I doubted, however, that the sultana could resist another ventriloquist, or a girl white from nimble fingers to overlong toes. Not to mention Kizzy Ferko and her knives, and the promise of dazzling talent in the three acrobats. I still knew nothing of Moses Bazzi's talent, but I suspected his was no less honed than that of Kizzy Ferko's or Carmen and her brothers'.

I was not disappointed.

---

Later that day; Kizzy Ferko

Moses was the one who began the show, bowing very deeply to the sultana and shah, almost as deeply as he had bowed to the man who had drawn away the dwarf singer from us in Egypt.

He started by creating a mist that flowed out from his fingers, and it soon covered the entire floor of the expansive room; Jorge-Carmen-Hugo lay on their stomachs and disappeared in the haze. No one knows Moses's secrets, not even I, and he is the most talented illusionist I have ever seen. Not that I've seen many, mind you, but I know Moses will be greater than any I do encounter.

He drew fire from the air, and created animals that revolved around him in a primal dance. One lion even roared, though I have always suspected that to be Jack White's own trick on Moses, and it startled the shah so badly I had to smile.

He did more things with his fiery animals, making one become a cloak for Carmen, who rose up and did such amazing things with her body I could scarcely believe they weren't illusions as well. When she had done something so complicated I couldn't hope to describe it, the fire-cloak Moses had made around her suddenly became no more than a cloud of mist in which Carmen stood with one foot in the air and her head thrown back. Her skin shone with perspiration, and she rose from the ground, seeming to float until her two brothers appeared beneath her.

Moses had made his way to stand beside me, and he caught my eye. The sultana and shah were watching the triplets move in that way of theirs, and so Moses and I exchanged funny faces until Schneewittchen gave a little snort of laughter, causing every gaze in the room to go to her robed form.

Jack White sensed the change of atmosphere, and spoke in a whisper. He spoke so it seemed he was right between the shah and sultana, and they seemed transfixed by whatever Jack White said. At a simple movement of his hand, Schneewittchen's robes folded around her and her white beauty was for all to see.

The sultana seemed very pleased by Schneewittchen, and I heard her say, "Another Angel of Death for my collection."

---

I was very curious to know who the masked man was.

Having been taught much of my throwing skills by an easily annoyed cousin, I had grown up believing it was better to play detective than to simply ask the person in charge, who in this case was the shah or sultana. And in this case, I was quite sure that principle would get me far more answers.

From the brief encounter I'd had with the man, I knew quite a bit about him. First, he had been in the shah and sultana's presence, which said mountains. Second, he was a magician, or something like that, seeing as he'd flicked his wrist and caused a great puff of smoke and a bang. Third, he was older than all of us, or thought he was, and was morbid, though I'm not sure how the two connect.

And he was also quick on his feet, which gave much more information about the man than anything else. Being quick on your feet meant you were aware of many things. I assumed the masked man had power in the court, and thus knew his power came with an ever-present promise of sellout. It was also obvious the man had much to hide, and he would go to any length to keep it hidden. Even if it meant wearing a mask, it seemed.

So I made it my little project to identify this masked fellow.

We were set up in a grand and complex apartment in Mazanderan Court with three bedchambers. Schneewittchen strangely requested I share a room with her instead of Jack White, so Jack and Moses were forced to room together. Carmen joined Schneewittchen and I, leaving Jorge and Hugo in favor of spending time with other females.

I told the girls of my project, and Carmen's eyes darkened with anger. He had, after all, almost strangled Hugo. Schneewittchen, however, perked up at the mention of the masked man, and so I turned to her and let Carmen simmer down.

"May I help you?" Schneewittchen asked, in German. She'd been very surprised and pleased when she learned I knew the language. I nodded, and she explained that she'd felt a connection to the man. "I am always hiding, Kizzy, for fear someone will think I am a ghost." If it was anyone else speaking, I would have laughed, but Schneewittchen's fears were not completely ungrounded. I'd met an albino boy who'd been called both angel and ghost, and I mused on the sultana's exclamation upon seeing Schneewittchen.

"He has his mask," I reasoned, "and you have your robes and veil." She nodded, and toyed with a bit of her white skirt. "Yes?" I prompted.

Schneewittchen looked at me hopefully. "Kizzy, what's it like to be in love?"

I was nothing short of thunderstruck by Schneewittchen's innocent question. "I, I don't know," I told her, and her shoulders slumped. "I mean, it's very nice. I never thought about it, really, I just knew it."

"Knew what?"

"That I was in love?"

Schneewittchen seemed confused at my uptalking, but Schneewittchen's probing was rather disconcerting. It was easier just to believe I was in love with Moses Bazzi than actually think about if it was true or not. And I did love him, very much. I sighed, and rested my hands palm-up on my knees. "Look, it'll make your heart stop. So they say."

"Who?"

"Everyone." I shrugged. "Why do you ask, anyways?"

Schneewittchen played with her skirt again before looking me in the eye. "I think Jack White loves me, Kizzy, and I don't love him. At least, I don't think I do."

I gave her a little smile, pitying her. Of course Jack White loved her, how could he not? He cared for her; he adored her beyond anything. How could anyone doubt his affection for her, after he'd stood up to that masked man? After a moment, I pushed a bit of her white hair behind her white ear.

"Don't worry, Schneewittchen, everything will turn out for the best."

"I do hope so, Kizzy," she said, smiling a little. "You are very lucky, to have Moses and love with him loving you back. It must be very wonderful."

Carmen spoke for the first time, in Arabic. "I don't understand why you have to talk in some godforsaken Germanic language," she snapped. "It's very annoying, you know. I can't understand a word of anything besides your names."

"I'm terribly sorry, Carmen," I said, laughter in my voice. "We were talking about how funny it was when you fell off that camel when we got here."

Carmen flushed and proceeded to throw a pillow at me. Chaos ensued, and we laughed in our childish amusement.

I lived for those moments.

---

The first person I went to was the Daroga, though it took a few days for me to encounter him alone. He was wearing a bit of a dejected air, the sort Moses wore on the anniversary of the death of his adoptive family, at which time he was usually quite clipped in tones, even to me.

So naturally, I approached the Daroga with a rather low expectation.

He was surprised to see me, but bowed politely. "Salaam, Miss Ferko."

"Salaam, Daroga." He seemed to size me up, and I spoke before he could. "I was wondering if I might inquire after your spirits."

"I beg your pardon?" The Daroga seemed quite shocked, but recovered. "I am well, thank you."

"I was also wondering if I might inquire after that strange fellow who we met on our first visit to the sultana."

"Erik?"

I smiled. Surprise was the best element, and even the Daroga seemed surprised that he let the name slip. "Yes, that is who I mean." The Persian fellow slipped me a sideways look. "For I have not seen hide nor hair of him since that encounter, and I was hoping to apologize for ruining his coat."

The Daroga gave a dismissing wave of his hand, but I noted he was slightly unnerved. "It is of no matter. I shall tell him you apologize."

"Ah, but Daroga, it is very impolite not to beg forgiveness where I am from. I am sure you understand."

This was, of course, nonsense. Where I was from, you were lucky to get away from any misdeed without having shed blood or starved for a few days. Apologies were for the higher circles, and people who moved in them.

The Ferko family certainly never had moved any higher than I was moving right now.

The Daroga smiled at me. "Of course, Miss Ferko. I shall ask Erik if he will deign it in his power to meet with you. I must warn you, though, do not be surprised if you are disappointed."

"I doubt it, Daroga," I said, sweetly. I bowed to him (I never curtseyed) and left him standing in the courtyard for a moment before he left in the opposite direction I was going in. He disappeared behind a building, and Schneewittchen suddenly appeared at my elbow.

Had I not been used to her appearing from thin air, I surely would have screamed. Her nose was mere inches from mine, and I hastily took a step back.

"His name is Erik, Schneewittchen," I said, "and he will meet with me so I can apologize for ruining his coat." At Schneewittchen's frown, I explained to her how I had thrown a knife at him when she had fainted. She gave a little laugh.

"You shouldn't worry about me so much, Kizzy, I have Jack for that." I rolled my eyes at her, and she sobered. "Kizzy, he is very good to me."

"He treats you like a child," I reminded her, "and you do not love him as he thinks you do." Schneewittchen looked away, and we were both pleasantly surprised when Hugo and Jorge came from where the Daroga had been going. They were pushing each other, like regular brothers did, and I smiled and waved to them. Hugo came and linked his arm in mine.

"I just saw the Daroga, my friend, all in an uproar. What did you do to him?" he teased. Jorge punched him on the arm. "Hey, stop that." Hugo turned back to me, but I disengaged myself when I saw Schneewittchen's clouded expression. Hugo frowned, having noticed the same thing. "What's wrong, little one?"

I realized for the first time Hugo calling Schneewittchen 'little one' was because of her innocence, not because she was taller than him and it was funny.

Schneewittchen looked at all three of us, and suddenly laughed aloud, startling all of us.

"Why, can you not feel the promise of rain?"

So perplexed were we that we let it slip that it never rained in the Persian summers.

---

The next day, the sultana summoned Schneewittchen and myself to her private chambers. Jack White covered Schneewittchen in dark clothes and went with us, always reluctant to leave her side, but the sultana's odalisque told him only 'those two' were to enter. Had I not given him a look and flashed him one of my knives, he would have made such a scene that I would not have been surprised if the sultana ordered that he be cut down straightaway.

But he left, glaring daggers at the odalisque, who shuddered and made me laugh. She led us into the sultana's chambers, and I found myself pausing in the threshold before moving forward to bow.

The masked man, who I now knew to be Erik, was glaring at me. Clearly, he'd had no idea we were coming, and the sultana's badly veiled smiled confirmed my suspicions.

"Ah, my second angel of death."

The woman spoke in Persian, and Schneewittchen glanced at me, a frown in her features. She'd taken off her veil to show her face, but no more. The sultana frowned at Schneewittchen unresponsive facade.

"Does she not speak Persian?" she demanded of me.

"No, sultana, she does not, I'm afraid," I said, looking the woman in the eyes. Her lips thinned, rather unattractively so, and she narrowed her eyes at Schneewittchen.

"The Daroga was telling me of your knives." I nodded; I'd expected as much. "My angel of death—" she gestured at Erik— "was rather surprised by you."

"Yes, he does not think us old enough to appreciate anything morose."

"And is he wrong?"

A challenge! I never backed down from a challenge. "Certainly. He does not seem so old himself." Erik gave me a clear view of his wish for my instant death. "Unless he uses India ink to dye his hair. And I cannot tell if he has wrinkles on his face."

I knew I was pushing it, but I needed to gauge out the sultana's personality. And since she was genuinely amused by my comments, I could not back down from how I was acting. But what she demanded of Erik was something I was not eager to have instigated.

"Show your face, my angel of death," she ordered. "Let's see how old she thinks you to be then."

Erik's hands twitched, and his hands rose to his mask very, very slowly, his gaze boring into me.

But it was Schneewittchen who saved me from certain death, for she rushed forward, her concealing clothes pooling around her feet as she pulled the mask off of Erik's face in a strange act of impatience.

I tried to make my eyes lose their focus; I had no idea what was beneath the mask, and I knew knowing such a thing so early in our nonexistent relationship would make my project to know him futile. Secrets should be told in confidence, not ripped away forcibly.

The sultana had an audacity and a total disregard for privacy that I'd never seen before. Even my prying grandmother was nothing compared to this woman.

But of course, my profession once again failed me. I could never not focus on a target. So it was with a heavy heart that I took in the mixture of repugnance and horror in Erik's eyes, and let my gaze rest on his face.

Erik was European, beyond a shadow of a doubt. The left side of his face was even what I might have considered handsome, if it hadn't been almost as pale as the white mask in his hands. And he had thick dark hair, something I'd always admired in a man.

But the other side of his face captured my attention.

It was... wrong. The skin was too loose in places and too taut in others; his nostril was too wide and it was just wrong.

It was so wrong that I think a tear formed in my eye, even with the sultana proclaiming the wonder of her angel of death.

Angel of death, indeed. This man was no angel. He was more of a devil than an angel, and from the look in his eyes, he knew it.

Devil's child.

Something jogged a memory. A gypsy fair, with signs proclaiming the devil's child. I remembered half of a babyish face, still getting used to being a man, and then I realized this was him.

Erik was the devil's child.