Free Julia Vanishes by Catherine Egan

curiosity about her has become almost a game between us, but she never really tells me anything, and I do not know why
she
can see me when I vanish, while others can’t. I have asked her, of course, but she only says that perhaps she is better at looking than most people.
    She came to Spira City, so she says, the year after the Lorian Uprising, though she does not say where she came from. The very day she spied me thieving in the market, she brought us to Esme, and Esme opened her home to us, maybe just because Liddy said it was a good idea. Later, Esme told me, “I’ve known Liddy as long as you’ve been alive, and if she says a thing is so, it’s likely to be so.” If she is the subject of gossip hereabouts, it is gossip without malice, for she has done many a good turn for those down on their luck.
    “I thought I might see you today,” says Liddy when I come in, brushing snow off my sleeves. She is resting in her rocking chair, still wearing her leather apron and smelling of shoe polish. “Isn’t that odd? Sometimes I feel as if we are acting in cycles, or patterns. We think we are free to choose whatever course we wish, but a certain pattern holds us, keeps us to our set course, and we do not vary it. It brings us around to the same places, again and again, to the same feelings, over and over. Here you are, and I, expecting you for some reason I do not know. Could be a coincidence. I don’t want to give up on the idea of free will—what would I make of my life, if I didn’t believe in my own choices?”
    It’s hard to know what Liddy is talking about sometimes.
    “Hello,” I say.
    Liddy chuckles, a deep growl of a sound.
    “You are hungry, I expect. Help yourself.”
    I devour a couple of the fresh rolls and pour myself a cup of coffee. Liddy has the best coffee in Spira City, though she is secretive about her source.
    “Do you mind if I use your kettle?” I ask. “I need to open a letter.”
    “Ah,” says Liddy. “Your new job.”
    “Yes. Have you heard of Mrs. Och, in the Scola?”
    “Philanthropic, eccentric,” says Liddy vaguely. “Old.”
    I steam the envelope open and take out the letter.
    “Have you pen and paper? I should copy this down.”
    Liddy fetches me an old-fashioned quill pen, a pot of ink, paper, and a blotter. I sit myself at the table and set about diligently copying down the letter the messenger boy gave me.
Dear Mrs. Och,
    You do not know me, but I know of you from your brother Gennady. I am mother to his son, and he once told me that if ever I needed help, I could ask you for assistance. He said you would not judge me and I hope that he is right. My son and I are in terrible danger. I have arrived in Spira City but I dare not stay in one place for long. Today I go to Madam Loretta’s in East Spira. You may send me a reply there. When I move on, I will be sure to return for any messages. Pray you, help me.
    Bianka Betine
    So Mrs. Och has a brother: Gennady. I wonder about this Bianka, staying at a brothel in the Edge with a child. Madam Loretta is known for taking in women in trouble, women afraid of husbands or fathers or employers. Her whores have a well-fed look about them, unlike so many of the starved waifs selling their bodies in this part of the city, and I have heard she never shuts her door on a woman in distress. A softy, in other words, though her brothel has stood for a good many years, so she must be a decent businesswoman too. I reseal the letter, fold up my copy, and tuck it away in a pocket. Then I turn to the brown parcel, plucking the knots in the twine apart and unwrapping it. Inside I find a book in Inglese, a vial of powder, and a small leather pouch.
    “I thought I might need your help,” I say to Liddy, who has been sitting in silence all this time, lost in her own thoughts, I suppose. “What have I got here?”
    Liddy takes the stopper from the vial and sniffs the powder. My bet is that she was some kind of lady alchemist in another life,