He doesn’t hear from her for weeks. He hears of her, in the conversations that drift past him as he walks the city, looking for his chance to atone. Stories of a woman who can vanish into walls: a thief, a trickster, uncatchable as a ghost. He dreads running into her, and wishes for it, often at the same time. He can’t tell which causes the jump in his heart when he returns to his apartment one morning with coffee and pastries for Héloïse and finds a note on the kitchen table.

Meet me at the tower, it says in Thora’s wide, looping hand.

He’s surprised by the fact that he recognizes her handwriting. Parts of her are becoming more constant: this, the blue hair, the way she dresses. Flashes of the real reflected in this flawed mirror, like the look on her face when she saw Jules across the square. A phrase from the Bible surfaces in his mind. En un mal espejo, confusamente. Through a glass darkly. He wants to believe that each lifetime, they come closer to seeing each other face-to-face. But now he feels her fleeing from him, back turned as she fades into the dark.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. Héloïse should be up by now, singing to Félicette as she measures out her breakfast. “Cariña?” he calls.

No answer. He drops the coffee and pastries on the table and goes through to the bedroom. The bed is hastily made, the wardrobe hanging open. Héloïse’s shoes are missing from their place by the front door.

He grabs his keys and leaves the apartment, a shiver of foreboding riding his shoulders. As he nears the old town, the streets ahead of him echo with crashing noise. It sounds like the city is at war. He’s afraid it’s Thora, that she has done something terrible, when he remembers: it’s carnival. Crowds collect around him, raucous and already half-drunk. Santi pushes through until he reaches the tower. FOLLOW THE LIGHT, Thora’s words shout, but she’s not there. He circles the wall, searching. Drums pound, a bassline to the crowd’s shrill screams. On old reflex, he reaches into his jacket for the handle of his grandfather’s knife. Dizziness hits him, so intense he sees stars. Then he sees Thora, standing in the grassy courtyard.

She’s dressed for carnival, in a devil mask and horns. She is holding something it takes him a moment to recognize as a cat carrier. Through the bars, he sees Félicette meowing piteously. She hates confined spaces, he thinks. Then he sees where Thora is standing.

“Roll up, roll up!” Thora calls, seeing him coming. “For the greatest magic trick the world has ever seen!”