“How could you possibly know that? How do you know there isn’t some fellow in China right now who thinks he’s the only one—and another in Australia, and one in France?”

Jackaby sighed and his pace slowed. “I held out hope for many years that there were. I had questions of my own and wanted answers. There are certain groups, very old groups, that take an interest in these sorts of things. They found me. I was given answers, though not as many as I would have liked, and not without a price. I am the steward of a very old and venerated role, one that will remain long after I am gone.”

“Why you?”

He grunted. “That was one of the answers I would have liked, but did not receive.”

“Did you ever meet the seer before you?”

Jackaby stopped. His face looked gaunt and his storm gray eyes were miles away. He breathed in deeply, and then, slowly, he resumed walking. “The ability can manifest anywhere in anyone. The next seer could as easily be a boy down the road as an old woman on the far side of the globe.”

“You did, though, didn’t you? Who was he?”

Jackaby did not speak for several paces.

“She,” he said at last, quietly. “I prefer not to discuss the matter.” There was a dark finality to his tone, so I swallowed my curiosity for the time being, letting another block of cobblestones pass beneath our feet before I spoke again. “Do you think you could teach me? To see past the illusions?”

“No,” said Jackaby, almost before I had finished speaking. “Probably no. Almost certainly no. It is, as I just explained, an ability unique to me. The sight resides within a single host at any given time.”

“Have you ever tried?” I asked. “Maybe I can’t learn to do it exactly like you do . . . but we could see how much I am able to pick up.”

Jackaby scowled, but I could see the scientist in him was intrigued by the idea. “I suppose we could establish experimental parameters, measure sensitivity under consistent conditions and changing variables, introduce external stimuli . . .” He was beginning to regard me with the same focused attention he directed at his peculiar artifacts and vials of curious chemicals. It was both promising and deeply unsettling. “I shall give the prospect my consideration,” he concluded. “If I decide to keep you on at all, of course.” He turned his eyes back to the sidewalk.

“It can’t be easy,” I said, “tracking this stuff down, all on your own. Not much help to be found if no one else can even see what you’re looking for.”

“Quite so,” said Jackaby. And then he stopped short. “No. Not entirely alone.”

“Well, I’m glad to be along,” I replied modestly.