Her name was élise Cartouat, a baroness of the western voevoddom. She was beautiful, wealthy, married, lived in her own large estate near the city, and frequently appeared in society.

  "What brings you to me?" I offered the woman a seat. She was clearly in despair.

  "I... I heard of you from merchant Etienne. You helped him, a great deal," the baroness sniffled and hurriedly used a fine cambric handkerchief to dab her eyes.

  "Yes, I remember Etienne," I said. Empathy was not among my strong suits. "Come to the point, my lady. I see something serious has occurred, and the sooner you tell me, the sooner I can assist you." Perhaps a bit brusque, but my tone had its effect on élise. Her sniffling ceased.

  "Our daughter is missing."

  "Go on," I prompted, irritation mounting at having to pull every word out. My earlier conversation with Martin had thoroughly depleted my patience. "When did she disappear? Under what circumstances?"

  "Yesterday, in the afternoon," the baroness looked at me with eyes full of hope. "We've already reported it to the commune; they sent two officers. They are searching for Cathérine, but they haven't found her yet... What are we to do?" élise began nervously twisting the handkerchief.

  How these brainless hens infuriate me! Beautiful, wealthy, yet, alas, witless. Will she ever get to the details?

  "Madame Cartouat, let's proceed systematically. Start from the morning. What did you do, what did your daughter do. How old is she, what does she look like?"

  "I... my husband and I in the morning... yes, we had breakfast. Cathérine was with us, she was fussy, refused to eat her porridge... Then she had her lessons with the tutor—music and literature, yes, I believe she had two lessons. For lunch, baroness Malko visited, we were all together for the meal, Cathérine simply adores her. After lunch... what happened then, oh yes, Cathérine went to play in the garden, my husband left on business for the city, and I attended to household matters. Later, I went out to the garden to call for Cathérine, and she was gone..." Here the baroness, who had been holding herself together by sheer will, broke into bitter, heaving sobs.

  "Madame Cartouat, I will find your daughter. But I need your help. Please, compose yourself." I had no idea what to do with her hysterics. Although... "Get up. We are going to your estate. You will show me everything there."

  The mara rose and pointedly twirled a finger at his temple. I took the sniffling élise by the arm and ushered her out the door, first leaving a note for Anton—thank the One he had learned to read.

  On the way, I remained silent, focused on my own feelings. First, a persistent sense of disaster; the girl hadn't just run off to play. Something terrible had happened to her. Second, the baroness herself infuriated me beyond measure. I could not abide stupidity in people. I could understand and even accept wickedness, cunning, greed, hatred—but not stupidity. Because it was, as a rule, incurable. And stupidity was also terribly difficult to predict. And third, I understood that my anger and irritation were partly because a bout was coming on. And again, without the painter.

  The estate struck me with its sheer size, the opulence of its facade, the meticulously kept gardens, and the exquisite furnishings. I drew in a breath, as if tasting the estate and its inhabitants. A sensation of love, prosperity, health, and happiness. The flavor of fresh milk. And a faint, underlying taste of dampness. As if a door to a dark, cold cellar had been cracked open, letting out a draft. The scent of trouble, like a ghost. Dampness, decay, wet earth, something fungal...

  For a second, the estate's outline in the sun's heat haze wavered, growing, losing form, turning into a tree? No. A flower? Like a web, but very dense... or were they cracks, radiating outward? I shook my head and followed élise into the garden.

  The baroness had the sense to bring me a portrait of the girl. A pretty, serious-looking seven-year-old gazed back at me with clear brown eyes and dark hair—clearly taking after her father, as élise had a completely different look.

  "Where exactly in the garden did Cathérine usually play?"

  She led me to a bower draped in ivy, surrounded by a menagerie of artfully trimmed topiary. The estate and its gardens were enclosed by a high stone wall, which the girl could not have scaled alone. I carefully memorized the estate's layout; it might prove useful someday. Not the richest of hauls, but at least something.

  "Does the wall run the entire perimeter of the garden? Are there any gaps?"

  "I don't know," the baroness looked at me helplessly. "We would have to ask the gardener."

  Fortunately, the baron himself found us. Indeed, dark-haired and brown-eyed, his daughter was his perfect copy. Baron Lyu Cartouat was clearly displeased with my involvement and deeply skeptical.

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  "Madame, umm, excuse me, I don't know your name?"

  "Kreta Lidia Chrysstein, at your service. And to preempt what you are about to say, I can inform you that I will find your daughter. The fee is two hundred gold. Payable upon the finish of investigation. However..."

  "However what? You want an advance? I have already engaged the Voivode; his guards will search the entire town and neighborhood..."

  "Excellent. That means we have an even greater chance of finding Cathérine, correct? I only meant to say that I promise to find her, but I do not promise she will be found alive."

  A tomb-like silence fell. I cursed inwardly. As Anton says, I lack tact.

  "I need details, so let us focus on yesterday's events. Who was in the house yesterday? Including the staff."

  "Verna, our cook. She has worked here since she was a girl. Pietro, the gardener, for five years now, but he doesn't live on the estate; he comes every Tuesday and Sunday. Who else...?" The dejected baron looked at his wife.

  "Achele, she does the cleaning. But she also doesn't live here; she comes every morning."

  "The tutors?"

  "Yes, Cathérine has three tutors. We engaged the best from the Academy because our girl deserves..."

  "élise!" The baron cut his wife off, clearly irritated by her foolishness.

  "Yesterday Cathérine had only one tutor, Alan Pushnik. He teaches music and literature. But he left before lunch."

  "Who among those you named has free access to the estate? Who has keys to the gates?"

  "No one," the baron shook his head decisively. "Only Verna, but she lives here."

  "Who lets them into the house then? Verna?"

  "No, the gatekeeper, Gastello. He lives in the guest cottage."

  "So he also has access to the garden?"

  "He does, of course. However, he left two days ago to visit family in the other town."

  "Meaning that Verna was the one who admitted the tutor yesterday?"

  "Yes."

  "Now, tell me about your guest, baroness Malko."

  Baron Cartouat shrugged. "I scarcely know her. My wife is the one who made her acquaintance."

  "Baroness Malko is a local luminary," élise interjected, her voice tinged with defensiveness. "She shines in the city's most fashionable salons, and all the local nobility gather at her soirées. Do you know how much effort it took me to secure an invitation and cultivate this connection? And why do you need to know about baroness Malko? Surely you don't think that she..." Her voice trembled with indignation.

  "Did you personally see your guest out?"

  "No, we said our farewells in the drawing room. She mentioned wanting to see Cathérine, having forgotten to give her a gift. Can you imagine? She had a porcelain doll specially commissioned for our girl from old Norbert. He makes toys for the Knyaz's own children!"

  "So Madame Malko went into the garden to see Cathérine? To give her the doll? Did you see Cathérine after that?"

  "No, as I said, my daughter was playing in the garden, and I was attending to... What are you implying? That the esteemed baroness Malko abducted our child?"

  "Where is the doll?"

  "What doll?" The sheer stupidity of the question. I was ready to hit this fool with something heavy.

  "The doll Madame Malko gave your daughter. Did you see it?"

  élise was visibly flustered. "No, I didn't. Cathérine probably started playing with it and then... took it with her... I don't know..."

  "I need to speak with your cook. Please call her here. And leave me alone for a moment. I need to look around."

  The garden was intoxicatingly quiet. I examined the bower carefully, circling it. The missing doll nagged at me—where had it gone? The girl loved to play right here, so it was unlikely she went elsewhere yesterday. I began methodically searching the bushes around the bower, and the missing item was found under the lion-shaped topiary.

  The ground beneath my shoes was soft, which was odd—the city was gasping in the sweltering heat, and the gardener wasn't due until tomorrow. Who had watered the earth? Verna? I bent down and sniffed. It smelled of dampness, moss, and wood rot. A soiled porcelain doll in a cambric dress, once clearly beautiful and luxurious, was coated in a brownish slime. I ran a finger over the doll, smelled the substance—the same fungal, damp odor. Wiping my finger on my palm with disgust, I reached into my bag for a handkerchief. I wrapped the doll, concealed it, and only then noticed.

  Across the palm of my right hand was a hideous, coarse scar—a greeting from the past. I bore many such scars, but none on visible parts of my body: my face, décolletage, or hands. The sorcerer had been exceedingly meticulous in his cruelty. Now, however, the skin of my palm shone with a virginal, childlike whiteness. Not a single trace of the scar remained.

  My vision blurred and faded to nothing in an instant. Nausea rose in my throat and exploded in my head as a sharp, searing pain. I was choking. Damned witchcraft! The One sees how I hate them, the vile, wretched creatures.

  I was timidly called from behind. A pleasant-faced elderly woman stood there. A mara?

  "Madame Chrysstein, I am Verna. The mistress ordered me to come and answer your questions."

  "Yes, of course," I took a steadying breath. "Tell me, Verna, did you water the garden yesterday?"

  The woman looked surprised. "No, of course not. That's the gardener's duty. I only go into the garden to cut flowers for bouquets in the mistress's bedroom and the drawing room. She is very fond of roses... But you will really help find our little one, won't you? Nothing terrible has happened to her, has it?"

  "I'm afraid I must disappoint you, but I don't think—" I bit my tongue. Why distress the poor woman unnecessarily? "Please take me to Cathérine's room. Tell me, baroness Malko was here for lunch yesterday, correct?"

  "Yes," the cook's expression soured almost imperceptibly.

  "You don't like her?"

  "Oh, heavens, how could you say such a thing."

  "Speak freely, Verna. I am not your mistress."

  The woman hesitated, then said very dryly, "She's a cold one, that Madame Malko. All smiles, but her eyes are cruel. And poor little Cathérine followed her around like a puppy, she was so taken with her. And another strange thing, do you know how old the baroness is?"

  "How?"

  "About sixty! I know for certain because when I was just a girl myself, I remember the whole district buzzing about the wedding of the young beauty Etna to the old, wealthy baron Malko. And she looks no more than thirty! How can that be? I tried to warn the mistress, but she just brushed me off! Said I was spreading gossip..."

  "A fascinating detail, Verna."

  "Truly?" The woman was astonished. "You believe me?"

  "Why wouldn't I? What reason would you have to lie?"

  The child's room was a testament to opulence. A plenty of toys, clothes of fine, expensive fabrics, trinkets on the dresser, a cage with a bright exotic parrot. The girl was loved and indulged, denied nothing.

  Cathérine, in a white summer dress, sat on the bed, legs dangling, drawing something. Finally appearing. I sat beside her, running my palm over the bedspread. The mara was silent, which was odd—usually they chattered incessantly. I waited, listening to my own sensations. I peered over the mara's shoulder at her drawing. A huge, ugly mushroom growing from a person's head. A man-fungus.

  "Who is this?" I broke the silence.

  The mara remained quiet, only heaving a sorrowful sigh.

  "Cathérine," I called, trying to get her attention. "Tell me, are you alive?"

  The mara shrugged uncertainly. Even more puzzling. How could one not know if they were alive or not?

  "Alright, where are you then?"

  The mara continued her silence but pointed a small finger at the drawing.

  "Good. And where is the man-fungus?"

  The parrot in the cage suddenly shrieked desperately. The mara flinched and dissolved into the air. I jumped up and, in a fit of rage, slammed the cage against the floor. The One sees, if it hadn't been locked, I'd have wrung the cursed bird's neck. The parrot continued its hysterical screeching and frantic pacing.

  At the noise, a frightened Verna came running. "Madame, what happened? Can I help?"

  "No, Verna, everything's fine, thank you. Where are your masters? I have a few more questions."