by Amanda Foody
“We haven’t made it through the entrées yet,” Vianca responded. “And I really do need your help with this.”
“With what?” Enne asked coolly.
Vianca crossed her arms as if to say, Fine. “Election Day is on November ninth, and that night St. Morse will be hosting a white-tie affair for when the results are announced. I expect nearly everyone of influence in attendance, here to celebrate as a monarchist candidate finally gets elected to the Republic’s Senate. I’ve waited my entire career for this moment, and I want the event to be extravagant.”
Levi’s heart skipped on the word extravagant, and he knew what Vianca was about to ask before she asked it.
“I’ll need fifty thousand volts.”
There it was. His stomach clenched—that was a fortune.
“From each of you.”
He should’ve known the moment he walked in this room that Vianca would ask for voltage. All this talk about achievements and potential—she obviously wanted a piece of their success. But he wouldn’t steal from the Irons again. Fulfilling her demand would mean letting the casino opportunity pass him by, but at least his conscience would be clear.
“You can’t be serious,” Enne said, gaping. “By when?”
“As soon as possible. There are decorations to buy, meals to plan.” She waved her hand over the table. “Business has been down, thanks to my son’s theatrics.”
“One hundred thousand volts is still far more than extravagant,” Levi gritted between his teeth. “That’s probably the value of this whole casino.”
Vianca didn’t respond to that. Perhaps because this was more than a party to Vianca. If it was the night the election results were announced, then both candidates would be there. Levi wondered when Harrison Augustine had last come home.
The thought of Harrison made his already queasy stomach take a turn for the worse. Now that his wager with Vianca was finished, how many times would she summon him back to St. Morse? How many poker faces could he wear until she learned the truth?
“I’ll expect both of you to attend, of course,” Vianca said. “And I must say, you would look quite handsome as a set.”
“We’re not dolls,” Enne said flatly.
“Of course not,” Vianca answered. “Dolls would never be so stubborn. But that’s really the fun.” She took a pastry off the tower and held it to Enne’s lips. “Eat. Tell me what you think.”
“I think I’d like to leave.” She slid her seat back, knocking it into Vianca’s side.
Vianca scowled. “I could make you stay.”
“But you won’t.”
And to Levi’s utter shock, Enne walked out the door, and Vianca didn’t try to stop her.
The donna collapsed in her seat, her expression strangely haggard. She gave Levi a dark look. “You’ll go, too, will you?” There was only fact in her voice, no accusation.
She’d never given Levi a choice. But if it was sympathy or affection she sought after, they were far beyond the possibility of those. Levi would never forget how she’d laughed at him about Reymond’s death. How he’d nearly died performing her scheme. How she’d dressed Enne up exactly to Sedric Torren’s tastes.
Vianca Augustine was a monster, and a monster who learned remorse was a monster still. Her hands were too stained to wipe clean.
“You’ll have your volts,” Levi said, though he knew that wasn’t what the donna wanted to hear. Then he left his napkin on the table and followed Enne out. And though it was from no effect of the omerta, he didn’t breathe again until he saw Enne waiting at the elevator, holding the door open for him.
ENNE
Enne was uncomfortably full during the elevator ride—her diet had been mostly bonbons and cookies for weeks, so the heaviness of Vianca’s chosen fare made her feel bloated and tired. She had every urge to slip away to her room in the finishing school and sleep off her discomfort, but her mind was racing too quickly for any hope of sleep.
The donna was manipulative, jealous, and cruel, and no amount of weakness on Vianca’s part would change that fact. If anything, the more Enne understood about Vianca, the more she hated her.
Levi cleared his throat, but said nothing. Enne could hardly bear to look at him after all the things Vianca had said. Less because of embarrassment, more because of pride. The way he had looked at her earlier...
Her heart would not be cut in the same place twice.
“I assume Vianca sent a motorcar to bring you here, as well,” he said.
“Yes, but I doubt we can expect the same treatment going home.” Something heavy hung in those words. She had her home, and he had his. And there were miles in between.
“You walked out on Vianca,” he murmured. “I could never do that. I’ve always waited to be dismissed. It was brave.”
“I knew she wouldn’t force me.”
“How?”
“Because it wasn’t her son’s leaving that changed Vianca,” she told him. “It was that he came back.” It occurred to her that Harrison might very well be present at this event Vianca planned, and she loathed to think of the donna in the same room as her son. Enne didn’t have the time or care to piece together the shards of Vianca Augustine after she fell apart.
“Are you afraid she’ll find out?”
“I’m always afraid of Vianca. I was before you told me about your deal, and I still am now.” She met his gaze fiercely. “But I’m glad we don’t keep secrets.”
“Me, too,” he answered.
But there were still secrets, and this time, it was Enne who kept them. She’d never told Levi, Lola, or anyone else that she wanted to destroy the Phoenix Club. Now, after weeks of grasping for power, Enne finally had her first name. She had a time and a place. She had her gun.
There was another secret, too. One Enne didn’t want to admit, not because it made her appear ruthless, but because it made her appear weak. It burned in her now as she stood beside him—the way they leaned close, but not too close. They’d hurt each other, and now they were afraid of each other, of giving or taking too much and repeating the same pain all over again.
But Enne’s secret—the one she’d been running from for months, the blade that could pierce her not once, or twice, but over and over—was that no amount of giving or taking would ever be enough. Her life before New Reynes had been safe, but it had been lonely. Even if Enne’s story had begun with her mother’s death, it had also begun with Levi. And no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, it would always lead to him, as well.
The elevator doors opened, and both of their breaths hitched. For a moment, neither moved.
“I guess we’re both walking, then,” Levi said awkwardly.
“Walking where?” she asked.
“It doesn’t have to be home.”
“No,” she breathed. “It doesn’t.”
They walked through the hallway and into a back alley behind St. Morse. It was raining. Levi opened his umbrella and kept it low to conceal their faces. They could’ve been any couple walking down Tropps Street in an evening storm—almost.
“Last night, I was offered a chance to purchase a casino on the new boardwalk,” Levi told her.
“That’s incredible,” Enne said, and she meant it. It was exactly the sort of flashy, clever aspiration that suited him.
“It would’ve taken me months to scrounge up the volts, but with Vianca’s party, there’s no way I can afford it now.” He shook his head. “It was a thick idea, anyway.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do. Things have finally been going well for the Irons, and I don’t want to push my luck.”
“Not so long ago, you told me that if I wanted something, I should let myself have it,” she said, and instantly regretted it. Those words hadn’t been about shopping sprees or excess treats; they’d been about him. She pressed forward, as though she’d forgotten that detail. “You don’t follow your own advice?”
“Obviously not,” he said slowly, looking at
her. She flushed and turned away. It would be easier to convince herself to stop wanting him if he didn’t look at her like that.
Around them, the flashing lights of Tropps Street were muted and dim. The rain provided a thin, hazy curtain, separating them from the rest of the world.
“We should get out of the rain,” Levi murmured.
Enne examined the various taverns and storefronts. “Anywhere that doesn’t serve food.”
A few minutes later, they slipped inside a quiet music den. A small band played onstage, and the tables, despite the evening hour, were mostly empty. The pair crept into one in the corner, both their backs to the wall so they could keep a careful scope of the place.
When a server approached, Enne ordered for both of them—Levi kept his head down and didn’t say anything, in case he might be recognized. The server didn’t pay them much attention anyway.
“A Hotsy-Totsy?” Levi asked, clutching his heart. “I should’ve known.”
“Yes, you should’ve. It’s not easy playing politics at those parties with Vianca hovering over me.” She neatly folded a napkin over her lap. “And it actually tastes good, unlike what you drink.”
“North Side drinks aren’t supposed to taste good. They’re supposed to burn, and you’re supposed to like it.” The server set both their drinks down, and Levi shook his head at Enne’s, all fizzy and pink. “And I don’t know... Vianca didn’t make those South Side parties seem that bad.” He scowled as he took a sip of his Gambler’s Ruin, another gesture Enne tried not to dwell on.
“Maybe not.” She forced herself to shrug. “But it does get tiresome, pretending to be something I’m not.”
“I would’ve thought you’d fit right in below the river.”
“Would you?”
Levi swirled around the contents of his drink. “Well, maybe when we first met, but no, not anymore.” He almost sounded remorseful, like it was his fault she’d lost herself.
“I’m done mourning my old life,” she told him seriously. “If you have something worth fighting for in New Reynes, then you need to be prepared to fight dirty. Maybe that makes me a Sinner, but at least I care about something. And at least I’m not alone.”
Something in Levi’s expression changed when she said those words. He leaned forward and took her hand.
“I know I made mistakes,” he murmured. “I hurt you trying to protect someone else, and I’ll never stop being sorry. But I want to make it right.”
Her heart pounded. This was dangerous, familiar ground, taking them right back to the place where they’d fallen apart, to the same place Enne thought about every night when she wished she wouldn’t—to the same place she desperately wanted to go.
“You are the only thing that feels right,” he told her.
All her life, Enne had used words to wind herself back together. After the Shadow Game, and when the weight of losing her mother crashed upon her, Enne might’ve used these words to mend her wounds. But in the months they’d spent apart, she’d learned to cherish the broken parts of herself. So as she clung to his words now, she did so to treasure them, not to use them as a crutch.
“I know you don’t believe in destiny,” he continued. His skin was hot beneath hers; he was embarrassed. But Enne made no effort to stop him. “I know you think I’ve gotten everything I’ve always wanted, but none of it has felt right. And I think that’s because, somewhere before, I made a wrong turn. I should never have made that promise to Jac. I should never have let you walk away that night at the Catacombs. And I should never have let you walk away every single night after.”
She squeezed his hand tightly, on the off chance her heart might rupture. “Do you really believe in destiny like that?”
“I want to,” he answered. “And I think that’s what matters.”
Enne liked those words, and so she leaned closer and pressed her forehead against his. Neither of them spoke for several moments, and when Enne closed her eyes, she swore she could feel a force pulling her toward him. A force far greater than desire.
She wanted to believe in their story, too.
“Are you going to say anything?” he breathed.
“Is that what you want to do right now?” she asked, opening her eyes and smiling. “Talk?”
He licked his lips. “No. No, that’s not what I want.”
Then the doors to the den blasted open, and a gunshot cut through the music.
Enne and Levi sprang apart, their hands still locked together. At the opposite end of the hall, several whiteboots stormed inside. Enne immediately pulled Levi down into a crouch behind their table.
“You have got,” Levi growled, “to be mucking kidding me.”
No one else in the hall moved—breathed, even—as one of the whiteboots jumped onto the stage. He pushed the singer aside and spat into the microphone. “The North Side is now under curfew, starting at seven o’clock. After you all show us your identification, you have twenty minutes to crawl back to your gutters. This whole city is going on lockdown.”
Enne’s breath caught. This situation was dangerous for her, but deadly for Levi. The door to Tropps Street filed the hall with the wails of sirens. Even if they escaped, what awaited them outside?
Enne pulled her revolver out from her pocket, and though the whiteboot didn’t see her, she pointed it at him, prepared to play dirty once more.
Levi squeezed her shoulder. “You could hit one of the musicians.”
“I won’t miss,” she said firmly. They needed a distraction so they could run.
“Then aim for the lights.”
Enne directed the revolver to the lights above the stage. No one would get hurt, but even so, she wasn’t sure it would be enough.
“Everyone up!” the whiteboot barked. “Your time is already running out.”
Chairs scraped across floorboards. The owner of the establishment ran out of his office, complaining about the new closing time and lost business.
The whiteboot laughed, jumped off the stage, and grabbed a bottle of ale from the first table. The customers seated there let him take it. “Breaking curfew is now worth a week in prison. I don’t think anyone here wants to be an example.” His eyes scanned the room, and to Enne’s horror, landed on them. He squinted. “’Lo! What is—”
Enne fired. Half the lights in the room flickered, then blackened, and everyone screamed at the sounds of bullets and shattering glass.
Levi yanked Enne forward, and the two sprinted toward the kitchen. Gunfire followed them, and a glass bottle along the bar’s shelves exploded. But they were already pushing open the doors, stumbling away.
Whiteboots charged after them, but they didn’t make it outside until Enne and Levi were already halfway down the alley. The Casino District looked darker than usual—it was typically bright no matter the hour, even during a storm, but its many neon lights had been switched off. The sirens blared so loudly, Enne needed to resist covering her ears. The wind whipped the rain sideways.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Enne asked as Levi turned them down the first alley they came across.
“We’re not far from Olde Town.”
“Harrison’s bribe can’t stop this, Levi. It won’t be any better there.”
“The museum is a fortress. It’s the safest place to go.”
But getting there wasn’t so straightforward. White motorcars blocked several streets, and both of their shadows constantly danced amid blue and red lights. Soon Enne realized that Levi didn’t know where he was going as well as he’d claimed. They found themselves standing side by side in an alley, their backs pressed against the white stone wall, their clothes soaked, their guns raised.
“Are we lost?” she hissed. Lightning tore through the clouds overhead, followed by a tremendous crack of thunder. If they died tonight, at least their end would make a good story.
“What’s important,” he said, “is that we’re not dead.”
Enne grimaced and dug into her pocket. Then she tied Séance�
��s black mask across her face.
“Is that smart?” Levi asked.
“If they recognize you, then my face will be compromised just for being with you,” she told him. “This is protection.”
The rain fell more fiercely, making it difficult to see or hear very far in front of them. They inched toward the edge of the alley, but as soon as they peeked around the corner, they heard a shout.
“’Lo! Who is that?” called a voice. The sound of footsteps approached.
“Muck,” Levi breathed, grabbing Enne’s hand and yanking her away. But before they could turn, the whiteboot caught up behind them. He was young, and his eyes widened when he saw them. He shakily raised a gun.
But Enne fired first.
The whiteboot crumpled with a thud and a splash. The water on the pavement ran red.
Levi shuddered and lowered his gun. “You needed to do that.” He said it like he was convincing himself.
“I know,” Enne replied. Still, she didn’t look at the whiteboot. “It was him or us.”
A mile still stretched between them and the Irons’ hideout. There was no question that they would keep running, that Enne would still shoot when it meant “us or them,” but that didn’t mean they would make it.
So, before she could talk herself out of it, Enne grabbed a fistful of Levi’s collar, pulled him down toward her, and pressed her lips against his. He tasted like New Reynes’s polluted rain, and though his clothes were soaked through and freezing, his skin burned at her touch. She felt his mouth open to hers—either in surprise or want, she wasn’t sure. His free hand reached around her waist, but before he could close the space between them, Enne lurched away.
“That’s in case we die,” she said.
Levi’s chest heaved in shaky gasps as he wiped the rainwater out of his eyes. “We aren’t dying,” he breathed, “until we can do that again.”
Enne’s face heated with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. “Then let’s make it home.”
And so they ran.
JAC
That evening, Jac paid a visit to the next Rapture den alone. It’d been Sophia’s idea, an important solo assignment to prove that she trusted him. But rather than reassure him, it only made Jac feel lousy, like he was so insecure that everyone around him had to cater to his moods.