I was only six on the day that I encountered the gypsy fair that was carting the "devil's child" around. My cousin Vlastik was much older— he was seventeen, and he was the one who took me to the fair. If my uncle knew about it, he would surely have flogged my cousin, but I had no great love for my uncle and I was very close with my cousin. And one does not see what I saw that day very often. Even at six, I could recognize the magnificence of what I saw.

Vlastik had asked my uncle Milan if he could take me out, so I would not dwell so much on my mother's death. My mother, Evalina, had died at the beginning of the month, and I had loved her so much that I had cut off four inches of all my hair and buried it with her, so she might always have a part of me with her. Uncle Milan was furious, but there was nothing he could do about it.

But Vlastik was very happy, because now he could take me to the gypsy fair and pretend I was a boy.

So he put me in some of his old clothes, thanking me for having rough, big hands and big feet, and settled me on his shoulders, teasingly calling me little Max after my dead father, whom I had never known.

Up on Vlastik's shoulders, I decided I would be tall when I grew up, so I could see all around me easily. I also decided being a boy was much more fun, because being a boy let me sit on Vlastik's shoulders and be as unruly as I liked. He bought me an apple from a street vendor; I took bites out of the round fruit and was ecstatic when the juice ran down my chin.

The gypsy fair was a few miles south of Trnava, my city, and at the bridge that crossed the river, Vlastik made me swear never to tell anyone who might tell Uncle. I swore, and so he took me across the bridge.

It took us about an hour to reach the camp, since Vlastik's horse had busted a shoe, and he made me walk by myself sometimes. Vlastik always had sore shoulders, or so he liked to say. I think it was really because he didn't like to do work.

The gypsy camp frightened me a little at first. I wasn't used to seeing such strange talents; a pretty voice or tips at a piano or violin were as interesting as they got for me. But after the initial shock, seeing bodies twisted into circles and men swallowing knives and belching fire and women reading cards and palms and crystal balls was beyond describable.

Vlastik pointed out an old woman who was a bit back from the crowd, barefoot and with pale eyes visible from a distance. He'd swung me off his shoulders, and I followed him to the old woman.

She was sitting on a log and was stitching on a bit of sackcloth, her eyes following us as soon as we began to approach her. Her hair was long and graying from black in a braid down her back, though a few strands hung around her slightly sagging neck.

My cousin bowed to her, and I almost curtseyed; I caught myself just in time, but the old woman seemed to sense my confusion as to how to greet her.

"This is girl, yes?"

The woman spoke in broken Czech, and she peered at me with her light eyes. She reached out as if to touch my face, but I scampered back before she could touch me. The old woman laughed, nodding and speaking in another language I didn't know to herself.

Vlastik eyed her, and nodded. "Yes, she's a girl," he said. I had a little knife stuck in my little boot. "But right now, she is a boy. Max. I am Vlastik."

The woman's eyes danced. "I am Marie Stavo Popa."

"Charmed," Vlastik said, and when Marie Stavo extended her hand regally, he kissed the back of it with great formality. I thought it was all very funny at the time, seeing as I'd been taught my whole life that gypsies were bad people and I was better than they were. Marie Stavo, however, commanded respect.

I was slightly frightened by her, but Vlastik kicked me slightly and I bowed to her properly. My uncle always said Vlastik was soft, but his Hessian boots all had pointed toes.

Marie Stavo chuckled at my little scared glance at her, and beckoned me closer. Vlastik kicked me again when I hesitated, so I inched towards her. She bent over a bag at her side and rummaged through, the clinking glass inside making me curious. She pulled out a little bunch of berries and bade me look at them. They were purple and plump, and the stem was purple as well.

"That's pokeweed, Miss Max. It's from China, but don't eat it! It's poisonous to us. Only the birds can eat it safely," Marie Stavo whispered to me.

"They don't get poisoned by it?"

"And don't ever eat the pit of cherry! It kill you, if not make you throw up your very bowels!"

Vlastik seemed quite fascinated with Marie Stavo's grim warnings, for he plucked the pokeweed from my open palm and held it near his eyes, turning it around in the air. "This could kill someone, you say?"

Marie Stavo nodded, and Vlastik said, "May I have this?"

"Heavens, no, child! Why, this plant may cure someone in pain. And that is my job, you know. Not amusing small children and foolish boys like you." Vlastik made a face at her, and she laughed delightfully. She had a laugh very much like my mother, Marie Stavo did. She stood suddenly, holding her sackcloth still, and I remember reaching up to touch it.

The woman did something very strange then, for she put the sackcloth over my head and bent down to hiss in my ear. I did not understand her, but she gave me a little shake of the shoulders to emphasize her point. It was frightening; I couldn't see a thing, and so I pulled out my little knife and cut two holes so I could see, afraid she would hit me for taking it off.

I did get slapped, but not by Marie Stavo. Vlastik hit me on the back of the head. "Don't ruin other people's things, you little chit!" he said.

But Marie Stavo picked me up in her arms, and took off the sackcloth from over my head. "I was to do the very same that she did," the woman told Vlastik, "so do not hit her."

"Why on earth would you put that on someone?" Vlastik said, angry. "No one deserves that."

"Ah," Marie Stavo said. "Ah. For here you are so, so wrong. There are some who deserve it."

"Who?" I said.

"The devil's child, of course, my lamb."

Indeed, I remembered Vlastik commenting on the main attraction here, the devil's child, to me on the way to the fair. The sun was still in the sky; it was mid afternoon, and we would be expected home soon, but Marie Stavo turned and led Vlastik into a tent. She spoke in the language she'd spoken to me with to a younger woman, who I thought looked very much like her.

The younger woman took me from Marie Stavo, and I struggled for a bit until the woman pinched my ear lightly, and tapped my nose while smiling.

Marie Stavo led the way, but when we stopped in front of another tent with a large sign that I could not read, the younger woman shook her head and put me down. "No," she said, and went away.

Vlastik took me up instead, and Marie Stavo led us inside the tent.

The tent smelled very much like my mother's deathbed had after they had taken her away. There was a large cage inside, with a little shape in the corner. Vlastik put me down slowly, and I ran around the outside of the cage to the shape. I put my hands on the bars, and put my face as far as I could into the cage. The shape was a boy, curled up in restless slumber. I could only see his bare back, his spine visible through his welted skin.

There was a particularly horrid slash through his back, and a little bit of blood was still glistening on the open cut. Vlastik had come up behind me and I asked him for his handkerchief, which he gave me even as he stared at the boy. Marie Stavo watched me with great wonder.

"Children, so fascinating," she mumbled.

I reached through the bars and just managed to reach the boy; the moment I touched his bloodied back with the handkerchief he awoke, spinning on me and grabbing my wrist. It hurt, and I flapped my hand about as best I could before looking up at the boy's face.

He was wearing a sackcloth bag over his head! I stared at Marie Stavo, and the boy glanced at her angrily before letting go of me and crawling over to the middle of the cage, where a small stuffed monkey lay on the dusty ground.

He let out a little moan when the cut on his back opened again; a fresh trail of blood made its way across the ridges of dozens of scars.

"This is the devil's child, so they say," Marie Stavo informed us, and the boy gave an angry cry. I imagine his eyes were quite wild, but his voice was very beautiful. Even listening to just his senseless noises, I knew that much.

"Wouldn't a devil use black magic to get out of here, Vlastik?" I said, twisting to look at my cousin.

"He's human like me and you," Vlastik said icily.

"Erik is far better than both of you, for he is angel as well," Marie Stavo said.

I shook my head. "No, he's not got wings."

"I suppose you shall say those scars used to be his wings?" Vlastik said.

Marie Stavo bristled, and I called out quietly to the boy. "Erik?" I said. "Who took away your wings?"

He turned his head to me, and I saw his eyes through two holes in the sackcloth. He was frightening, and he only wore ragged breeches. Erik was quiet for a moment. "People like you," he answered, his accent flawless. "Go away."

"But I did not meet you before right now," I said, and I pushed my face back against the bars. "And I would never hurt an angel. Angels are messengers of God. They have pretty voices. They're very pretty."

He tore the sackcloth from his face, and I shrieked when the sackcloth landed on my face.

But I was silent when the boy snatched it away from me, and stuck his face very close to mine. He smelled so much like death! But I looked at him, twisted my mouth into a frown, and shook my head. "You're faking."

He laughed, and he sounded quite crazy. Vlastik picked me up and took me away, the boy's laughter echoing in my mind. I was very frightened, but Marie Stavo ran after us as Vlastik strode away from the camp.

"Wait! Wait!" Marie Stavo called. But Vlastik kept going, ignoring her, and she stopped on the road behind us. I turned to watch her from up on Vlastik's shoulders, and she seemed very small.

---

"So, my little knife-thrower, how old would you say my angel of death is?"

The sultana's voice snapped my attention from Erik. She was watching me very closely, and I smiled at her. "Why, he must be as old as the earth itself, sultana, for only something that old could have such a nasty face. Either that, or he is younger than even I, for he has quite an immature stature."

The sultana turned her eyes away from me to Schneewittchen, who was being very quiet. She still held Erik's mask in her hand, and was looking between it and Erik.

In German, she said, "He does not need all of this, Kizzy, he only needs half."

Erik snatched the mask and surprised us both by replying in perfect German. "Can you deny the limitations of half of a face as opposed to none at all?"

Schneewittchen thought for a moment, and then shook her head. "It is incongruous."

"Humor is incongruity," I mumbled to myself.

The sultana did not take to our conversation in a language she did not understand. "Stop that. Erik, leave. And you," she added, her voice softening. "Your name?"

"Kizzy Ferko, sultana," I said, and bowed.

"Does the girl speak Arabic?"

I nodded, slowly. The sultana waved Erik and I away, and I squeezed Schneewittchen's shoulder as I passed her. Erik stopped before her and she gave him his mask, and I noticed his fingers brushed hers before he pulled away, quickly. He put on his mask, and I noticed his very long fingers.

Erik followed me out of the sultana's chambers, and as soon as the doors were closed behind us he grabbed my arm and bent so his face was very close to mine. I could smell him; he still smelled like a deathbed after all the years.

"What do you mean by this?" he hissed at me. "Do you mean to make a fool out of me?" He pushed me so my back was against a wall, and he leaned over me like a monster.

"I mean to stay alive and far from harm, that's what I mean." I pursed my lips. "I was going to apologize for ruining your coat, but since I shall now have bruises, I see no need." Erik took his hands from my arms, and turned away. He ran a hand through his hair. "So how old are you, anyway?"

He glared at me.

I shrugged. "I thought I might as well ask, you know, so I can connect you with someone of the same age so I am not forever comparing you to a babe."

"I am older than you, and that is all you need ever know."

"I don't suppose the name Marie Stavo means anything to you."

He turned on me, very slowly. "Where did you hear that name?" His voice was very soft, and I felt a promise of death in it. "Who told you that name?"

"I met her once, many years ago. I do not think it is of any great importance, though. I was merely thinking you were so very much like a boy she showed me."

He swallowed, and I could sense his strong desire to murder me that very moment.

Fortunately for me, Nadir Khan came around the corner just then, and Erik spun on him. "This girl is not to see me again, Daroga." He swept away, but I heard him add, "Unless you wish for her severed head to be placed upon your pillow."

The Daroga turned to me, shocked. "What did you do to him, Miss Ferko?"

"He was the devil's child, wasn't he," I said. The Daroga paled, and he placed his hand against the wall. "I saw him, many years ago. Ten, I think. I was six."

"Where? You must tell me where. Please," he implored.

"Why, just outside of Trnava. My hometown. In Slovakia."

"And you saw him?"

"If he was the devil's child. I must say I've never seen such a face before or since, not counting Erik's." I gave a little laugh. "You know, Marie Stavo thought he was an angel and a demon, all in one. I told him he was faking being everything."

"Everything?"

"I was very young, Daroga. I'd barely been five miles out of Trnava. And I'd been taught from very early to hate the gypsies, and that they aren't to be trusted."

"Do you trust them?"

"I do now. They frightened me back then."

The Daroga turned away from me, and linked his hands behind his back. "I must ask you to remain here, and wait for your pale friend. I will go speak to Erik on your behalf, Miss Ferko, for I do not know how easy it will be to keep you from seeing each other."

"It would be impossible, I am sure. Let's not forget the sultana seems to have an eye for tension."

"That is very true." The Daroga bowed and left me waiting for Schneewittchen.

I waited for a very long time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Daroga

I found myself very nervous as I approached Erik's apartment. More than once, I had found myself faced with his temper, and I had a great desire never to encounter it again. Erik was not the sort of man one tangles with. And because Kizzy Ferko had not known that, she was compromising not only herself, but also me.

It was not entirely her fault, for the sultana usually is to blame for Erik's occasional fury. I am quite sure Kizzy was not sure how to delicately handle the situation, and chose to please the sultana over Erik, seeing as the sultana was in charge.

But Erik also had power, in his own dark way. Thus I was not surprised to find him sitting in a chair, a small bottle of morphine on the table.

"Erik is at a loss," he said, "for who would cry for such a monster?"

I paused in the doorway of the room. "Who cried for you, might I ask?"

"Erik does not know, Erik does not care," he said. He picked up the morphine and fitted it into a needle.

"It is bad enough that you use that," I said sharply. "But it is quite another thing to lie."

He rounded on me, his golden eyes quite narrow behind his mask. "Erik does not lie."

"Was it Kizzy Ferko?"

Erik was very quiet, and he turned the needle around in his fingers. "Erik remembers Marie Stavo, Daroga. She called Erik an angel."

"Kizzy Ferko said you faked everything."

"Erik didn't mean it, Erik didn't want to."

"I don't understand, my friend, tell me." Erik was making no sense, even though I was used to him referring to him in the third person.

"Erik is no angel, Daroga, but Erik dreams of it."

I put my hand on Erik's shoulder, unsure as always how to comfort him. I watched as he put the needle at the crook of his elbow and pushed in, and his barely audible hiss as the morphine flowed into his bloodstream.

If this was what it meant to be a genius, I was quite sure I did not want to be one.