Free After the War: A Novella of the Golden City by J. Kathleen Cheney Page B

what you were trying to do. You were always very serious.”
    “If I was that strong a seer, is it possible that I allowed myself to be hexed? Knowing I would be left like this? Without my gift? Or without access to it?”
    Joaquim puffed out a breath. “I think that’s a question only you can answer.”
    
    With Roberto guarding his back again, Alejandro made his way to the police station. Unfortunately, Rafael wasn’t there to discuss Alejandro’s questions about his gift. He was off chasing down a witch who’d left a large spell circle in a public square in Matosinhos during the previous night. A mystery, since no one had seen it done.
    So instead Alejandro sat down between Gaspar and Roberto while Markovich prepared a talisman to remove the curse
—
the hex.
    The Lady stood close by, watching every movement of the man’s fingers. He clutched a Bible in one hand and lit a bunch of herbs. He let the smoke from them drift around a playing card he’d clamped into a stand, reciting verses in English. Alejandro vaguely recognized the words, but couldn’t place them. Probably Psalms, given the cadence.
    After a time, Alejandro decided Markovich was repeating himself. “What is he doing?” he asked Gaspar in a whisper.
    “So far it looks benign to me. Protective. That’s not the man’s natural inclination, so it’s not going to be terribly strong but . . . it might work.”
    Gaspar saw things. From what Alejandro understood, he sensed everything magical, like an added layer of sight or smell or sound. “So why the playing card?”
    “The object doesn’t truly matter,” Gaspar answered. “It must have significance to him. That allows him to bind the curse to an object rather than passing the curse off via touch.”
    A trouble thought occurred to Alejandro. “Could he not have just sent me that in the post?”
    Gaspar chuckled. “He still has to be in line of sight when it is . . . actualized.”
    “Why, sir?” Roberto asked, the first time he’d spoken.
    “Limits. It keeps any of us from ruling the world,” Gaspar said. “Me, I’m limited to seeing what is, not what can be. As a seer, Alejandro is limited by his guilt. If ever a seer is born without a conscience, we would all be doomed.”
    “Guilt over what?” Roberto asked, thick brows drawn together.
    “Guilt over what he can and cannot prevent. A seer must continually balance whether an action will result in harm to someone else. Sometimes that guilt is overwhelming. Sometimes they decide who lives and who dies.”
    Roberto turned his gaze on Alejandro. “You went to Flanders to prevent the battle, didn’t you?”
    That had been behind all the letters he’d apparently written to politicians. Behind his numerous complaints to superior officers about the Second Division’s ragged state. He’d failed , and people like Roberto had paid the price for his failure. He felt sick to his stomach.
    It seemed like the entire world flared into sharp detail around Alejandro. The hiss and pop of the burning herbs, their heady scent, the words that Markovich clicked off in English, far more guttural than Portuguese. “I don’t want to do this.”
    Laying one hand on Markovich’s arm, Mrs. Gaspar regarded Alejandro with one slender eyebrow quirked upward. “Your concerns?”
    “I don’t want to remember,” Alejandro admitted.
    Markovich dropped the burning bundle of herbs on the tiled floor and stomped on it. “I’ve come a long way to end this, Ferreira.”
    The air in the room suddenly felt scorched, dry in his lungs. Alejandro held his breath.
    Gaspar faced the Englishman. “Are you threatening him? We already have your confession that you hexed him. I have enough to turn you over to our government at this point. And don’t think you can curse me , English.”
    That was why Gaspar was here rather than Joaquim
—
Gaspar was immune to magic. And Markovich couldn’t curse the Lady either, since she wasn’t entirely human. Any curse he