by Amanda Foody
Levi left the bathroom and returned to the lobby, locking his sight on the exit.
He almost stumbled as he came face-to-face with Sedric Torren. The neon red and black lights cast3 harsh shadows over the angles of his face as he loomed over Levi. Sedric loosened his necktie, as if preparing for a meal.
“’Lo, Pup. You’re in a hurry.” Sedric grinned wickedly. “Do you have what you owe me?”
Levi cleared his throat and rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants. “Just about. I’ll have your volts to you tomorrow, as promised. Ten days, right?”
Sedric checked his watch. “Tomorrow starts in four hours, and we’ve waited long enough.” His tone sounded more excited than disappointed, and Levi’s pulse spiked in fearful response. “You know, I thought Chez Phillips would kill you before I saw you again.” Sedric paused, taking in the stony expression on Levi’s face. “What? Didn’t think I knew about that? All of New Reynes knows you lost your throne.”
The other patrons in the lobby passed Levi without so much as a glance, unaware exactly how trapped he was under Sedric’s gaze.
“You want your volts or not?” Levi asked, working up the courage to keep his voice strong. “Because I can’t work on those investments while I’m here talking to you.”
Sedric wrapped an arm around Levi’s shoulder, giving him a chummy smile that Levi knew better than to trust. “Why don’t you let me buy you a drink? You look like you need to loosen up.”
In his periphery, he spotted several of Torren’s men guarding each of the exits. He had nowhere to escape.
This is the man who killed Reymond, Levi thought with dread. And I have no choice but to play along.
So Levi let Sedric lead him to a bar past the lobby. All the while, he mapped the closest escape routes in his mind and kept a reassuring hand on the gun in his pocket.
The air in the bar was so thick with smoke that the lights looked like they wore halos. The figures inside were silhouettes and shadow, giving Levi the eerie feeling that he and Sedric were alone, even though they weren’t. They sat at the bar, and Sedric ordered two Gambler’s Ruins.
“So Vianca’s business isn’t doing well, then?” Levi fought to keep his face blank at the question, but Sedric chuckled affably. “Of course not, or you’d have paid us back by now. My family always knew Vianca would run St. Morse into the ground.”
“The volts will come in soon. They’re just a little late.” A coil of nausea unraveled in Levi’s stomach, and he hadn’t even had a real drink yet.
Sedric winked at him conspiratorially. “Of course they will.”
The bartender slid them their drinks. When Levi took a sip, the bourbon squirmed its way back up his throat like burning bile.
“Did you know I’m running for Senate?” Sedric asked.
“You’ll look uglier in a wig.” Levi cringed inwardly after he said it, fully expecting Sedric to punch him for the thoughtless remark. Levi might’ve carried a gun, but if he made a move for it, one of Sedric’s watchful cronies would shoot him before he even had the chance. Right now, Sedric had all the power. He could hurt him any way he wanted, and Levi would be helpless to protect himself.
Rather than punishing him, Sedric merely twisted the ruby ring around his finger. “Remind me again exactly how Vianca has been investing my family’s volts?”
“Bonds. Trades. Stocks,” Levi answered automatically. These were the words Vianca had taught him to say. “A portfolio that provides low-risk, high-yield returns.”
“Low-risk, high-yield for St. Morse, I’m sure.” Sedric twirled a finger over his drink. “Poor you. You get the risk and none of the reward.”
That was true. Vianca liked to claim that Levi got a share of profits, but Levi rarely saw a single volt more than he made during his shifts.
“My father and Vianca had similar philosophies for running their empires. Everything under the table. All hired hands. Keeping things as low profile as possible.” Sedric leaned in, as if he was truly just sharing wisdom with Levi over a couple of drinks. This was likely to be the last piece of wisdom Levi ever heard.
“But those were the old days. Favors can buy more than volts can. And I say it’s better to make friends than enemies,” Sedric said, a strange glint in his eyes.
Levi figured this was a very convoluted speech for Sedric to rationalize to Levi why he’d gone South Sider. The Torrens were and always would be a crime Family. Even if Sedric lusted after the old money and respectability of the wigheads, at the end of the day, those families had their names on libraries and hospitals, and the Torrens had their name on a casino.
“My new friends...” Sedric continued. “They’ve suspected the truth about your little scheme for a while. I was worried at first—my father had invested in you prior to his death. But as it turns out, this has all been one big opportunity for me.”
“What kind of opportunity?” Levi asked, though he didn’t need to ask anything, really. Sedric had obviously wanted to sit him down and gloat—whether Levi participated in the conversation or not didn’t matter. But speaking made him feel less helpless. He still had a voice.
“Apparently, my friends have been rather bored for a long time,” Sedric said. “They’re looking for any opportunity to play, really.”
To play.
Levi’s grip tightened on the edge of the bar.
“I’m paying you back, aren’t I? You’ll get your volts tomorrow as planned, so what’s the harm?”
Sedric’s lips curled predatorily. “It was never about the volts.”
His mouth dry, Levi took another sip of his drink. “Then what do you want?”
Sedric laughed, a deep laugh that echoed in Levi’s ears like the clunks and thuds of gravediggers piling earth on his coffin.
“I’m delivering something to you, and in exchange, they’re doing me a favor.” Sedric grinned. “Whatever I ask. That’s power, Pup. Not volts. Not sex. Not anything this city is trying to sell.”
Sedric pulled out a gleaming silver card from his jacket.
Levi remained silent as he took it. Unlike the other cards, this one had no divination prophecies. It didn’t need to. Its very existence foretold death.
The Fool. His invitation to the Shadow Game. Just as in his vision, when Levi had seen the card on the tombstone, the Fool strode toward the edge of a cliff, a wicked smile on his face.
Sedric leaned forward, so close that Levi could smell the coffee liqueur on his breath, and Levi’s stomach twisted into knots. “You’ve got two hours.”
“What?” Levi rasped, even though he’d heard him perfectly.
“Here.” Sedric reached into Levi’s jacket pocket and pulled out his flask. Levi was so nervous, so frozen, he let him. Then Sedric dumped the tonic water out of Levi’s flask on the floor and replaced it with the remaining contents of Levi’s drink. “A little something to keep you going.” Sedric tucked it back into his pocket with a pat. Levi fought off a strong urge to vomit. “The party doesn’t start for two hours. So run along, little Pup. This is your chance. Run before we catch you.”
Two hours.
Two hours.
Then he was going to die.
Sedric finished off his own drink and winked. “I’ll see you at the party.”
Levi nearly knocked over a table on his way to the door. Out of the bar, out of the lobby, outside to where the crisp night air bit into his skin. Sedric’s laugh rang in his ears, and the farther Levi ran, the louder it grew.
He turned the corner, half expecting to see Sedric standing in front of him, latched on to his very shadow. But Levi was alone.
He slumped against a brick wall, letting the stone scrape against his bare back as his shirt rode up. Sedric had told him to run, but Levi wasn’t thick. He knew how these things worked. If he ran, it would make Sedric’s night only more fun. Instead, he sat there trembling for
several minutes, sometimes crying, sometimes feeling nothing at all.
His first thoughts were of Jac. Jac would get by without him—eventually—but for so long, Levi had been the stable anchor in Jac’s otherwise directionless life. His friend might’ve found the Faith after his last bout with Lullaby, but would prayer alone save him from relapse? Levi and Jac had followed each other down every dark road, but Levi hated to think how his friend could so easily follow him down this one.
Then he thought of the Irons. After Levi died, Chez would be the undisputed Iron Lord, and Levi’s legacy would fade: another street lord, another rotten kid, another loser in the city’s game.
He thought about Reymond. You’re better than us, the Scar Lord had once told him, but he’d been wrong. Levi had never been much of anything, and now they both would face the same fate. Out of all his regrets, Reymond was his worst. The grief rushed over him all at once, an ache worse than any of his injuries. Reymond was the only one in the world who’d watched out for Levi, and now his brother was dead.
Fourth, he thought about Enne. Now that they’d discovered the truth about Lourdes, their story had ended. It didn’t matter what it could’ve been—it was over, and soon Levi would be gone. If she remembered him afterward, he would be the one who’d brought her to Vianca, the boy she would’ve been better off without.
Last, he thought about New Reynes, and that pain hurt the most. He’d left a depressing life behind to build something better in this city. He’d bet everything he had in the game, and he’d lost. But the city wouldn’t grieve for him.
The city would find some new con man, some new boy who called himself lord, and the city would play again.
LEVI
Levi spent the first thirty minutes of his last two hours wiping tears from his eyes, rooted to the same spot in the alley he’d fled to from Luckluster. If only the other gangsters could see him now. The Iron Lord. Crying when he was about to die.
Levi pictured his gravestone from the visions. If there was ever a time to cave in and pray to the Faith, as his mother always had, this was the moment. But beneath the Casion District’s skyline of smoke, crouched in an alley reeking of trash and piss, Levi couldn’t believe that any higher power cared about his fate.
A familiar voice drifted out of the shadows. “It’s you.”
Levi instinctively reached for the pistol in his pocket, tensing as Chez Phillips stepped into the moonlight. “What are you doing here?” Levi demanded. They were a long way from Iron Land.
Chez grinned slyly. “I’m making my way back to Olde Town. Never imagined I’d run into you.”
Levi couldn’t believe he’d have to spend the last hours of his life with Chez, of all people. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe this was hell.
“You should cross your heart when you see me,” Chez said. His forehead and neck peeled from an old sunburn, and he had an impressive black eye and walked with a limp in his step. Chez looked terrible, and this gave Levi a surge of pleasure, despite knowing that he looked no better himself.
“There are a lot of things I’d like to do when I see you,” Levi growled. “Crossing my heart is not one of them.”
“I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” Chez hissed, clearly forgetting the part where Jac had beaten the muck out of him before he could. Chez took out his knife and flipped it between his fingers.
“I wouldn’t bother. The Torrens are after me, and they’ll be pretty upset if you kill me first.”
Chez laughed, still playing with his knife. “I’m not surprised the Torrens want you dead. You’re a real pain in the ass. We’ve been better off without you.”
Levi held back a wince. Despite all Chez’s bravado, those words were probably true.
I’m not helpless, he thought. If I’m going to die, I’m going to do it fighting. I’ll be no one’s plaything.
“That’s a shame,” Levi answered.
“Oh yeah? Why?”
“Because I’m gonna take back my crown. Right now.”
“What’s the point?” Chez grunted. He flipped his knife again—his tell. He was nervous. Both of them were in muck shape, but if Chez won last time and was uneasy now, he couldn’t have been doing well. What trouble had he run into in Levi’s absence? “I thought you were already a dead man.”
That was exactly why Levi wanted to fight. So he could die with some dignity—and his title returned to him.
“I’ve still got a little fight left in me.” Levi made a show of taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, exposing his Iron Lord tattoos. Then he emptied the gun from his pocket and laid it on the ground beside him. “So maybe we can do it properly this time—no interruptions.”
Chez flipped his blade in the air and caught it. As if his tricks scared Levi. Nothing could scare him now, when he had nothing left to lose.
Or maybe he was only shatz—running from one death into the clutches of another.
“You’re thick if you think you can win,” Chez growled. “If it weren’t for Jac, you’d be dead right now.”
“If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead, too. Floating in the Brint where I first found you.” Chez’s jaw locked. Levi found most of the Irons that way—desperate and near death. It was why he’d thought they were loyal to him. Now he knew it was also why they hated him. “Why would you chance walking around Scar Land? Seems kinda desperate. Just how well are the Irons fairing without me?”
Chez lurched forward. He was about three times as fast as Levi, but now Levi knew better than to try to outmaneuver him. He jumped out of the way and immediately went for Chez’s feet, grabbing his shins and yanking him to the ground. Chez tumbled on top of him, and his head smacked the cobblestones.
Levi wrestled him on to his back, then he pinned his arms down. Chez’s knife flew from his hand and landed a few feet away with a clatter.
“I don’t owe you anything,” Chez said, his voice slurred from hitting his head. Blood stained his brown hair. “I never asked to be saved.”
“Everybody’s asking to be saved,” Levi answered.
As Chez gradually regained his senses, he struggled more against Levi’s grip.
“Even if I don’t kill you right now,” Levi snarled, “I win. I outfought you. That makes me your lord again.”
Chez spat in his face. “Like hell it does.”
All of the week’s anger and frustration getting the better of him, Levi summoned his talent and let his skin warm. Chez screamed as steam rose from his wrists where Levi’s fingers were wrapped around them. His skin began to blister, pink and oozing and raw.
“I’m not gonna kill you, Chez, but maybe these shackles will remind you that I own you, no matter how far away you run.” When he let go, rings of raw flesh circled Chez’s wrists, raised and inflamed—more gruesome than Levi had intended. Chez howled more.
Holding Chez’s arms down with his legs, Levi paused to savor the moment. He took a triumphant swig from his flask.
Levi stood, closing his eyes to savor the victory. But when he opened them again, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a window and startled. The look on his face...
He was the spitting image of Vianca.
Click.
In barely a moment’s time, Chez had pressed the barrel of the abandoned gun to Levi’s head. Levi grabbed his arm and tried to shove him away, but his third held steady. “Back down from being lord, Pup,” he demanded, panting. “Or I swear I’ll paint the wall with your thoughts.”
In a real challenge, you couldn’t shoot your lord. No one inherited the oath from a bullet. Every gangster knew that.
But Chez didn’t need Levi to remind him. “As far as I’m concerned, this never happened,” Chez hissed. “No witnesses.”
So Chez would kill him after all. Levi would die here, another lord lost to these streets.
“Any last word
s?” Chez asked.
Levi couldn’t think of any. None that hadn’t been said before or wouldn’t be said again.
But Levi still had one last card up his sleeve. He’d never swallowed his mouthful of Gambler’s Ruin.
He spit it out, snapped his fingers and a roar of fire erupted between him and Chez. First, there was a scream. Then a gunshot. Levi was already on the ground, his ears ringing, eyes closed, arms clutching his broken rib. Something thudded to the cobblestones a few feet away, but it took several moments for Levi to regain his composure and look.
Chez lay on his back. His fingers reached for the knife he’d lost earlier, but he was clearly in too much pain to move. The skin on his face, neck and chest had burned cleaned through, exposing a mess of blood and bone and tissue. He made a gargling noise, and tears glistened in the corners of his left eye. The right one was gone—now an empty socket filled with crimson and black, wet and bulging.
Levi gagged, both at Chez’s appearance and the smell of it all—the burnt cloth and burnt flesh. He stood frozen under the terror and hatred of Chez’s glare. He wondered if Chez would die. Instead, he lay there, grinding his teeth, the blistered parts of his chest still heaving up and down. He shook all over, and bits of spit dribbled down his chin.
Maybe you should kill him, a voice in Levi’s head told him. Maybe that would be better than this.
But he wasn’t sure Chez would die. If Levi killed him, would it be mercy, or would it be murder?
It already is murder, he thought. You did this.
He nearly killed you.
Yet you were the one who asked to fight.
He was your friend once.
In the end, Levi retrieved his gun and left Chez there for someone else to find. He didn’t know if that was the right decision or the cowardly one, but the longer he watched him, the more he hated himself.
He doesn’t have to die. Only you do.
After he finished throwing up against an alley wall, Levi made his way back to Luckluster. There was still no point in running. This was the last chance he had to write his legacy, and no matter how terrified he was, at least Levi would be remembered for how he didn’t beg.