by Amanda Foody
Levi shook his head. “Enne, making volts is dangerous. What you are is dangerous.”
His concerns weren’t anything she hadn’t considered herself only the day before. But she could feel the volts in her skin constantly, pulsing in tune with her heartbeat. It was an incessant reminder that real power was so easily within reach.
“We could be rich,” she said.
He threw his head back and let out a sound somewhere betweent a sigh and a groan. “Careful. You’re appealing to my vices.”
“When Lourdes led me to you, we could think of no good reason why she’d give me your name. Now it seems obvious. An orb-maker and a Mizer, of course she—”
“Enne, do you know any other orb-makers?” Levi asked seriously.
“No.” It wasn’t a very common talent.
“That’s because almost all the orb-makers are dead. The estates in the Ruins District belonged to them, too.” Levi took a deep, steady breath. For all his broken bones and bruises, it was obvious the pain on his face right now was a different sort. It came from older wounds. “This is all very new for you. Not only did you not know your true talents until a few days ago—a shock I can’t even imagine—but you also didn’t grow up on the Republic’s mainland. There aren’t Revolution landmarks on every other block in Bellamy.” His expression darkened. “I grew up in the shadows of that history.”
Enne knew that Levi hadn’t been born in New Reynes, as much as he liked to call himself a Sinner. But the details of his past were a mystery to her. “Do you want to talk about it, then?”
“I... There’s nothing to talk about. I’m a different person now.” He said it like he was trying to convince himself. “My father’s father was the personal orb-maker to the king of Caroko.” Enne knew Caroko was the capital of one of the seven Mizer nations that existed before the Revolution. “The monarchists believe the First Party went too far after the Revolution. Families like mine, who served the Mizers, were forcefully relocated closer to New Reynes, where we could more easily be watched. My parents lost their home and the lives they knew, but they were considered the lucky ones. Plenty of other orb-makers were executed.”
Enne realized how insensitive she must’ve sounded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested it.”
“We’ll think of something else,” he offered.
“Before I meet Bryce?”
He closed his eyes. “We have to try.”
Enne allowed a few moments of silence to pass between them. Part of her was still ashamed for her suggestion, and so she glanced at the empty space between their hands, looking for assurances.
Later, Levi had promised her. I will be the most attentive listener.
There was no one to interrupt them now.
And so she placed her hand on his.
Levi stiffened and looked down to where they touched with a pained expression.
“Enne.” All of his wry smiles from last night were gone. He moved away from her with slow, reluctant restraint. “This is dangerous.”
Enne’s cheeks burned. “Everything in our lives is dangerous—”
“This is different,” he said suddenly, almost forcefully. “I’ll help you—of course I’ll help you—in any way I can. We’re a team. We’re partners. But this...it’s not a good idea, for either of us.”
“But last night...” Enne swallowed. “You seemed—”
“It was a mistake,” he answered, looking away from her.
Enne didn’t pretend to understand everything going through Levi’s mind these past few days, while his entire life had fallen part. But a memory stirred in her of Luckluster Casino, when Levi had been a moment away from kissing her, like it was the last chance he’d ever have.
So that was it, then. She was a danger he would only risk when he had nothing left to lose.
He was allowed to feel that way, but that didn’t make it hurt less. They had faced the worst together and sacrificed for each other. She could tell he was holding back from the way he spoke, that he wanted this as much as she did.
But he’d decided he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Well, she wouldn’t push him into something he would only regret.
“I should go meet with Lola,” Enne said, as an excuse. It was silly to let her feelings get in the way of the help she needed, but she couldn’t remember last night and feel anything less than humiliated.
“You don’t need to leave,” he told her weakly.
“Don’t I?” she asked, her words somewhere between a question and a challenge.
“What will you tell Bryce? What sort of associates are you looking for?” Levi asked. “Or are you expecting to find others who follow your finishing school curriculum?”
She gritted her teeth. “No, but—”
“If you’d like, I’m sure you can make them call you a lady, rather than lord.”
The comment shouldn’t have struck her like it did. She’d heard those jokes before. But in that moment, seconds after his stinging rejection, she decided she didn’t need this sort of help.
Muck Levi’s jokes, she thought to herself, not even cringing at the curse. She’d already decided yesterday not to be ashamed of who she was. When Enne did hire her gangsters, she would do so in pointed toe heels. She would shake hands for business deals in lace gloves. She would claim herself a palace.
Enne stood up. “I should head back.” Levi made to get to his feet, but Enne quickly stopped him. “Don’t rush up and hurt yourself. You’ve been enough help today.”
“Have I?” He bit his lip. “Don’t answer that. I know I haven’t. And I’m sorry. I... I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
Enne shouldn’t feel petty. Levi was her friend—and no matter how many times he claimed they were in this together, he was allowed to draw this line between them. But she was also allowed to be hurt.
“Goodbye, Levi,” she said, and then she walked out, in the direction of an empire of her own.
LEVI
The Catacombs nightclub wasn’t much to look at on the outside, all decrepit and centuries-worn. It’d once been a church to the old Faith, and the flying buttresses and unlabeled crypts along its walls still gave off the air of someplace sacred.
Levi only knew its owner, Narinder Basra, by reputation—the Catacombs was the most famous nightclub in the city after all. And while Harrison trusted Narinder enough to recommend him to Levi as a contact, Levi wasn’t sure he could trust anyone while he had a three-thousand-volt bounty on his head.
Not that I have much of a choice, he thought as he rapped on the back door.
The music inside paused. A moment later, one of the musicians—a violinist, which seemed a strange choice for a dance club—answered the door, and a cloud of pungent smoke escaped from inside. He ran his eyes over Levi with a bored expression and spoke with his cigar between his teeth. He didn’t seem to recognize Levi’s face. “We’re not open.”
“Is Narinder here?” Levi asked.
“Who’s asking?”
“A neighbor.”
The musician rolled his eyes and opened the door.
The Catacombs was an apt name for this place. The decor varied somewhere between macabre and distastefully irreverent. Surrounded by chandeliers of human bones, clacking and vibrating with each note of the music, the stage stood where the altar once had. The band was a half orchestra—complete with a grand piano, a saxophone, a variety of strings and woodwind instruments, even a harp. Skeletons unearthed from their crypts had been cemented to the walls, piece by piece, casting unnatural red and purple shadows in the light from the stained glass ceiling. The pipe organ in the back had been painted ivory, its gold crowning lined with teeth.
It was pretty over-the-top, even for Levi’s taste. “Cozy,” he commented sarcastically.
“I’ve always thought so, too.” The voice came from the bar, where a lone young man sat on a stool drinking a mug of coffee. He had dark brown skin with a delicate face and straight black hair tied at the nape of his neck.
Beneath his jawline, on the left side, was a tattoo of a pair of dice.
Levi’s voice dropped somewhere deep in his stomach, and he gaped at him, speechless. No matter how drunk he’d been, he never forgot a face. The memory of him felt like the trace of lips against his neck.
“Neighbors, indeed,” Dice murmured. “All this time you’ve claimed Olde Town, yet only now we officially get to meet.” His eyes roamed over Levi’s body, pausing on places he’d previously claimed himself. “Don’t you look dashing with your designer suit and matching black eye.”
Levi cleared his throat. “You never mentioned, um—”
“My name? No, I didn’t.” Dice smiled wickedly. “I’m Narinder Basra. I own this place.”
Levi had met Dice—Narinder—at the Sauterelle, a burlesque cabaret in the Casino District where he and Enne had gone searching for information on Lourdes Alfero.
Narinder finished his drink and left it on the bar. “Come on. We can reacquaint ourselves in my office.”
Just because Narinder had helped Levi once didn’t mean he wouldn’t sell him out now. There was no loyalty between them. When they’d met before, Levi hadn’t even asked his name. He had no idea how to treat their relationship.
He followed Narinder to his office, which was plainly decorated and well-lit—far different from the rest of the nightclub. He kept a number of instruments behind his desk: a flute, a sitar, and a harp. The Basra family must’ve had a musical blood talent.
Levi’s gaze fell on the couch, then, remembering his last encounter with Narinder, he flushed and loosened his shirt collar.
“You look terrible,” Narinder commented.
“Eh, just a few broken ribs is all,” Levi said, wincing as he lowered himself onto the couch. “A friend of mine suggested I pay you a visit. I’m recruiting. He seemed to think you were well connected.”
Narinder lifted an eyebrow as he sat behind the desk. “I hear things about the Irons, us being neighbors and all. Like how Chez Phillips went missing two nights ago, and now here you are, looking for replacements. I guess dead chancellors make the news, and dead gangsters get nothing.”
Levi stiffened. “I didn’t kill Chez.” He would never have gone so far.
“I wouldn’t blame you, if you did.” Narinder leaned back in his chair and aimlessly plucked a few strings on the harp. “That’s how it works in the gangs, isn’t it?”
“Not mine,” he said.
Narinder rolled his eyes. “You can’t have a heart of gold and do the work you do. The greedy would only carve it out of you.”
Levi thought a heart of gold might have been stretching it. “I’ll take my chances. As I said, I was told that you have a lot of connections, and I came here to see if you knew anyone who might be interested in working for me.”
“Joining a gang has just been made a capital offense, and either way, yours hasn’t exactly been doing too well lately,” Narinder said in an accusatory tone. “Why should I recommend anyone to you?”
He doesn’t like gangsters, Levi realized. Considering their last encounter, Levi liked to think he was the exception.
“Because my luck has changed,” Levi said smoothly, “and because this ‘street war’ is about more than crime. It’s about the rich watching from their ivory towers in the South Side while the North Side becomes a battleground. This is our city, not theirs.”
“You sound like a politician,” Narinder said.
“But what I said is true,” Levi told him.
Narinder gave him a look of approval and stood up. He sat beside Levi on the couch, and Levi noticed he still smelled like honey. He stared at the dice tattoo on Narinder’s jawline, pushing away intrusive thoughts of the look on Enne’s face when he’d lied to her about how he felt. Jac’s request had been reasonable, but that didn’t make it ache less.
“It’s funny,” Narinder said with a smirk. Levi could see why the musician was well-liked; he had an easy smile. “At the Sauterelle, you were so preoccupied with being recognized yourself, you had no idea everyone else there recognized me.”
“I haven’t spent enough time in Olde Town,” Levi explained with a pinch of embarrassment. “But I’ll be around more now.”
“A dangerous idea,” Narinder murmured coyly.
A heat swept through Levi, starting in his stomach and spreading across his neck. Levi did his fair share of flirting, but this wasn’t how he typically did business. He preferred to have a level head, and nothing about the way Narinder smiled kept his head clear.
He thought of Enne, and her look of betrayal found its way back into his mind. He didn’t think starting something between him and Narinder was wise. And if Enne ever found out...
Levi shifted, putting a little more distance between them. “So, do you know anyone you’d recommend? If not, I’ll be leaving. I only came on a referral.”
“You don’t trust me,” Narinder observed.
“It’s nothing personal.” Even though it was. They clearly had unresolved history.
Narinder leaned in. “It feels personal. I’m not interested in turning you in, you know, and it’s not because we’ve...met before. Olde Town is my home, but Olde Town is all that stands between the rest of the North Side and the South. Like you said, last time there was a war, my home was the battleground, while Veil and Havoc watched from elsewhere.”
Levi searched for a tell in his expression, but found none. The history was true: Veil and Havoc had sacrificed Olde Town for the good of everyone else. Even now, barely anyone lived here. “You’re the only other person with any power in this neighborhood,” Narinder said. “So I have a personal stake in helping you rise, if you’d see my home protected.”
The word rise lingered in Levi’s mind. He was a sucker for anyone who saw potential in him. He couldn’t help it—his gaze darted to Narinder’s lips.
“And...” Narinder added, noticing Levi’s stare and grinning. “Maybe it’s also because we met.”
“I’m grateful, either way,” Levi told him truthfully.
“I have someone for you. You could interview her now, if you’d like.” Narinder’s gaze flickered from Levi’s eyes to his lips and back again. “Well, it doesn’t have to be just now.”
Levi swallowed. He’d come here with a purpose, but maybe he could also use a distraction.
You have three thousand volts on your head, he scolded himself. But, for better or for worse, he trusted Narinder. Twice now, he’d agreed to help Levi for little in return. Levi had spent so much time clearing his debts that he forgot not every good deed came with a price.
He could get used to that again.
Levi leaned closer to him, and it only took the brush of Narinder’s mouth against his for his desire to win out.
Last time, they’d both been far from sober, but the feeling of Narinder’s hands on his waist and the honey smell of his skin still brought flashbacks of a secluded booth in the Sauterelle. Of ragtime music drowning out the sounds of their breaths. Of Enne wearing a fur coat several sizes too large and looking every bit a Sinner.
He shoved that last thought away. He’d made a promise—a mucking awful promise, he was already realizing—but it couldn’t be helped. Falling for her was no good for either of them, and kissing Narinder felt good enough to forget everything else.
Levi’s back met the edge of the couch, forceful enough to make him wince, and Narinder paused and rested his forehead against his.
“When you say you’ll be in Olde Town more, will it only be for business?” the musician asked.
“You tell me,” he murmured.
“Pay me another visit, when you’re not so bruised.”
Levi smirked. “The shiner doesn’t look that bad.”
Narinder’s breath was hot against his neck. “It’s no fun hurting you if you’re already hurt.”
Levi felt so dazed he barely noticed Narinder open the door and ask for someone named “Tock.”
While they waited, Levi cleared his throat, no long
er as keen to return to business. “I have a free morning.”
Narinder shook his head. “Remember when I said your ego was too big to notice mine?”
“Ah,” Levi said, embarrassed. “You’re busy. But you’re the one who suggested we wait.”
“I’m successful, not responsible.”
Someone knocked on the door, and Narinder opened it. A girl strode in, a saxophone hanging from a cord around her neck. Her short black hair looked as if she’d cut it herself, and her laced leather boots appeared military grade. She had thick thighs and a knife strapped to each one.
She smirked when she saw Levi. “You’re better looking in your wanted poster.” Behind her, Narinder gaped in exasperation.
Levi shrugged and sent Narinder a sly glance. “At least I’m wanted.”
“Levi, this is my cousin, Tock Ridley.” Narinder said it like an apology. “Tock, this is Levi.”
Levi had already noticed the resemblance. Though Tock’s tan skin was a few shades fairer than Narinder’s deep brown, they both had warm, dark eyes and brows with the same determined set to them.
“So this is why I should trust her? Because she’s family?” Levi noted.
“Yes,” Narinder said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Tock bristled and elbowed him in the side. He winced. “We’re very close.”
Levi had to admit her clothes and weapons gave her an intimidating air—a quality he certainly didn’t possess. But she didn’t look like she’d be thrilled about taking orders. “What are your talents?”
She tapped her sax. “A split music talent—”
“That’s worth nothing on—”
“And a blood talent for explosives.”
Levi stilled. He’d heard of those talents, of course, but they were extremely rare. Before the Revolution, those with Talents of Mysteries had largely populated the upper classes. When the First Party overthrew the Mizers, those with Talents of Aptitudes, like dancing, music, strength, and others, rose to power and removed or relocated those they viewed as a threat. Someone with the ability to conjure a potentially deadly explosion shouldn’t have survived the Revolution.