It was the moon. The moon had done something to me.
My arm is still outstretched, frozen as it had been that night. Simon puts a gentle hand on my elbow, startling me. There’s pity in the wrinkle of his brow. “And that’s when you saw her?” he asks.
I struggle to swallow. “Yes.”
“How much could you see?”
“Everything.” My arm drops back to my side. When Simon’s pity turns to puzzlement, I grasp for an explanation. “There was lightning. It lit up the alley for a few seconds.”
“Ah.” Simon nods in understanding.
But it was for much longer than a few seconds, and the storm hadn’t been close enough yet. And nothing about lightning could account for things Iheard.
Magick. There is no other word for it.
“It’s actually very easy to reconstruct what happened.” Simon steps up to the wall, lifting his arms as though to hold on to an invisible person. “You can tell he cut her throat from behind. because there was nothing to block the blood as it sprayed out.” One hand makes a fist as he pulls it across at neck height, left to right. “The scream you heard must have been just before,” he continues softly. “She wouldn’t have been able to make much noise after that.”
I shudder, from the shock of both Simon’s understanding and my own certainty that he’s right. “But she still struggled,” I whisper. I can’t tell him I know what he said to Juliane about it that night.
“Yes. That was probably why he started stabbing her.” Simon lowers his fist to his abdomen—a word I will never forget—and jabs a few times with an invisible knife, then points to a lower spot on the wall. “Panic, maybe. But it accounts for the blood there.”
Again, something I know but can’t admit.
Simon backs away, crouching with his arms curled, like he’s carrying something heavy. “Then he dragged her here.”
He stops at the dark stain in the packed dirt and stands straight. “Butwhy?” His mouth has a frustrated angle and his eyes are far away—like he’s trying to make this piece fit intosome picture he sees. “There was plenty of room to do what he wanted right there. There’s actually less here.”
I understand though. “He was pulling her into a patch of moonlight.”
Simon’s face rises to mine, his jaw hanging slightly open. “Yes, that’s it. He needed to see her.” His voice drops to a whisper. “But then she could see him, too, and he didn’t like that.”
Of everything Simon has said so far, that last is the most chilling. “I thought you said she was dead when he took out her eyes.”
I suddenly realize I’ve made a mistake. Simon doesn’t know I was listening when he told Juliane that.
But he doesn’t seem to notice. “She was.” Simon raises a hand to his chin, the tendons on his wrist visibly twisting as he rubs his jaw. “He also smashed her face with something heavy, but I’m not sure what.”
Sun and Sky, the hammer.
Perrete had the architect’s hammer, and that’s what the killer used. When it’s found, it will lead straight to Magister Thomas. I stagger backward, looking around for a glint of gold in the muck, though surely it would have been discovered already.
Simon takes several running steps at me to grab my wrist. “Cat? Are you all right?”
He thinks I’m passing out. Maybe I am, given how light-headed I suddenly feel. His other hand catches me around the waist as my knees buckle, and he pulls my arm around his shoulder to half-drag, half-carry me out of the alley.
Faces turn to watch as we emerge, two pairs of eyes staring at us are lined with kohl. Or it’s one and I’m seeing double. I blink, but the face—or faces—vanish as Simon swings me around to seat me on the nearby barrel.
He puts a palm to my cheek to keep my head tilted up. “Catrin?”
I grimace. “Cat.”
“Does that mean you haven’t fainted?”
I can’t tell Simon what I’ve just realized, but I also don’t want him to think I’m weak. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.” But Simon stands straight, taking the support of his hands away. “I’m sorry. I got so involved in picturing what happened that I forgot how… awful it can be.”
If he wants to think that’s what made me dizzy, I’ll let him. “What makes a person do that to another?”