King of Fools

by Amanda Foody

  Grace then launched into a frightening explanation of finance, including words like equity and options and other terms that were meaningless to Enne. Whereas she’d merely struggled to keep up in her dancing classes, Enne had always been properly hopeless at math. She’d comforted herself with the notion that there were no real-world applications for algebra, no matter what her teachers claimed.

  Now Enne was finding those real-world applications right in front of her, and despite having faced far worse, that dejected, self-loathing feeling from school set in all over again.

  “Let me simplify it,” Grace said. “I’m an entrepreneur. I tell you and Lola that I have these great business plans, and I need one hundred volts to start them.”

  “That’s...nothing,” Lola pointed out. “You can’t start a business with one hundred volts.”

  “It’s pretend,” Grace snapped. “Now, I convince you the plan is genius—which it is, of course—and so you each give me fifty volts. That makes you both investors. I use those volts to hire people, to purchase supplies, to run my business. Then when I start making profits, I pay some to each of you, since you each own half the company. That’s sort of how the stock market works, but instead of one hundred volts, it’s millions. And instead of two investors, there are hundreds.”

  Enne needed at least several more minutes to process that, but Lola was already pushing forward. “So who would be investing in the gangs?”

  “Regular North Siders. You want the North Side to feel united?” Grace asked. “Then unite them where it matters—their wallets. If the North Side citizens have their volts invested in the gangs, then they’ll want the gangs to succeed. And the gangs, in return, will want their investors protected.”

  “But you’re assuming the lords will take investors,” Lola said.

  “They’ll receive a ton of volts,” Grace told her.

  “That is still a very big if,” Lola countered. “How are we even supposed to approach them about it? Knock on Ivory’s front door like some kind of carpetbagger?”

  “This isn’t a bad idea,” Enne said, still letting it seep in.

  “A bad idea? It’s a genius idea,” Grace said. “If we keep a ten percent cut of investments as an advance against dividends, then a fifteen percent—”

  “Please stop,” Enne begged. “No more numbers. Just...break it down for me again. Then I’ll ask Levi about it.”

  “Levi Glaisyer?” Grace asked. “Do you know each other?”

  “Don’t you read the papers?” Enne asked at the same time Lola answered, “They do, and they’re awful.”

  “Well,” Grace said, shrugging, “I hardly think we need Pup’s permission.”

  “I’m not asking for his permission,” Enne hissed. “I’m going to ask him if he knows a way we could speak to the other lords. Just...” She gestured at the board. “Let’s go through all this one more time.”

  Grace sighed. “Those South Side men you promised me better be worth it.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, into a pay phone in the Casino District, Enne dialed the direct number Levi had given her.

  He answered immediately. “Enne?” he asked. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you since yesterday.”

  “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “The lords of each of the gangs are meeting tonight in the Catacombs—it’s a nightclub in Olde Town. And you’re invited.”

  Normally, Enne’s first reaction to such news would be fear. If she was going to have a place at a table with the other lords, then certainly she would be the dinner.

  Instead, she let out a triumphant laugh. “Levi, this is brilliant.”

  “I know. I didn’t expect them to say yes, at least, not to me. This could really change things for the Irons. It could—”

  “What? No. Levi, this isn’t about you. Be quiet for a moment and listen.”

  And so Enne Salta, a finishing school dropout who knew far more about pirouettes than profits, explained to Levi how she could save the whole North Side.

  LEVI

  At eleven in the morning, the floor of the Catacombs was sticky with spilled drinks from the night before. The stools sat upside down over the bar, the instruments rested in their cases, and the lights burned unusually bright.

  Levi slipped down the hallway to Narinder’s office and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” his voice called from within.

  Inside, Narinder sat behind his desk, his fingers dancing over a harp’s strings. He wore an oversize shirt that looked like he’d slept in it. His shoulder-length black hair hung down, unbrushed. He glanced up as Levi approached and grinned slightly, but continued to play. “You look better,” he commented.

  Pay me a visit, when you’re not so bruised, Narinder had said to him a few days ago. Levi’s face heated at the memory. This wasn’t the time to lose his wits.

  “The Catacombs has a reputation for being a place where gang affiliations don’t matter,” Levi started.

  Narinder nodded and took a long sip of his coffee. His other hand continued to dance across the strings, dexterous and confident even when he didn’t look where his fingers fell. “That’s true. We don’t play favorites here.”

  “In light of what happened to the Orphan Guild, the lords want to have a meeting. This location has been volunteered.”

  Narinder’s fingers struck a clashing chord. “By you?”

  Levi fiddled with his tie awkwardly. Narinder’s tone was sharper than he’d expected. “It’s the best place for it, and the lords have to meet. If there’s another attack—”

  “I don’t see why you get to decide any of that is my responsibility,” Narinder snapped. Levi withered—the location had already been agreed upon. Tock had warned him to ask sooner, but he’d wanted to wait for assurances from the other lords—and he’d assumed from their last meeting that Narinder would want to help him. “The lords of every gang of the North Side, in my club? What could go wrong?”

  “Tock said—”

  “Tock doesn’t own this place. I do.” He crossed his arms. “Tock doesn’t make decisions. You do.”

  Levi didn’t need someone he barely knew reminding him how he ran his own gang. “I’m sorry. I think I must’ve misunderstood. When you said you wanted to keep Olde Town safe, you actually meant to send the problem to someone else.”

  Levi stormed out, cursing under his breath. He’d have to find somewhere else on short notice. Get a message out to the other lords that the plans had changed. He prayed that would be enough, with both the Irons and now Enne depending on this meeting.

  As Levi hurried through the club, he heard Narinder running after him. “Levi, wait!”

  With one hand on the back door, he shot Narinder an annoyed look. “I don’t have time to wait. I only have a few hours to let everyone know the plans have changed.”

  Narinder swallowed. “It’s tonight?”

  “Eight people died a few days ago. I didn’t want to wait longer.”

  “So are you trying to be a saint, or are you just taking advantage of the situation?”

  Levi clenched his fist. “If I don’t, somebody else will. And my interest is in alliances. Give Scavenger or Ivory the reins, and they might have other ideas.”

  “You understand why I’d be wary to welcome you all here tonight, don’t you?” Narinder asked. “It’s a dangerous risk.”

  “I know that. I shouldn’t have asked you.”

  “But you didn’t ask me.”

  Levi’s blood boiled, and he shoved open the door. “Forget it.”

  Narinder grabbed his arm. “So ask me.”

  “I said forget it.”

  He let go. “If you’d asked beforehand, I would’ve said yes.”

  Levi took a deep breath, trying to suppress the urge to shout. Narinder was right—he
shouldn’t have assumed. It’d been a lot to ask, but he’d also thought Narinder would pay him this favor; that he would want to help him out.

  His pride told him to keep walking. But his head told him that Narinder’s words were still an invitation, one he desperately needed. If Levi was going to learn from his mistakes, then he needed to swallow his ego.

  He let the door close. “Then I’m asking. And apologizing.”

  “Alright, then. Now tell me—what exactly are you asking for?”

  “Everyone agreed to meet here at ten o’clock. Do you have private rooms?”

  “I do.”

  “There’ll be five of us. You can collect weapons at the door. Whatever it takes to keep the club safe.”

  “And these five would include...?”

  “The lords of the Irons, the Scarhands, the Doves, the Orphan Guild—and Séance.”

  “So the worst criminals and crooks of the North Side,” Narinder said flatly.

  Levi shrugged and gave a sly smile. “If that’s what you think of me.”

  Narinder’s shoulders relaxed, but he still took several moments to speak. “Fine. But if anything goes wrong, or you spring something like this on me again, there will be no more gangsters in the Catacombs.”

  Levi understood that he was included in that statement. He tipped his hat and reopened the door.

  “It’s a long time until ten o’clock,” Narinder murmured.

  Levi had admittedly come prepared for flirting, and he liked Narinder, but he didn’t like ultimatums. He was tired of all his relationships feeling like a gamble.

  “Yes,” he agreed, checking his watch and giving the musician a wave goodbye. “Volts to make. Hearts to break. Empires to build.”

  But as he closed the door behind him, both he and Narinder were smiling.

  * * *

  When the Iron Lord returned to the Catacombs that night, he did so with an entourage. Dressed in the swankiest suits each of them could steal, their polished leather shoes gleaming in the spotlights, reeking of whatever cologne they’d swiped from off-brand department stores, the Irons slipped through the back door behind the stage. Levi walked among them, his hat tipped down to conceal his face.

  His silver jewelry—necklace, rings, cuff links—shined, expensive, and new. Something silver gleamed out of his breast pocket, as well—too small for a handkerchief, too large for a ballpoint pen.

  It was a symbol.

  It was a rumor.

  It was a legend.

  A hush fell as the Irons entered. The crowds parted. Many stopped their dancing or conversations to get a better look, to lean toward a friend next to them and whisper. They couldn’t tell who the newcomers were, but they understood they were important, players in a game everyone else was spectating from the front row.

  Tock led the Irons through the club to a hallway, and from there, up a narrow stairwell to the choir floor. Narinder waited at the top of the landing, his arms crossed. He, too, wore his best—a gray suit, cut tight along his slender frame, a violin case slung over his shoulder. Bouncers flanked him on either side.

  “Lords only,” Narinder said sternly. “Everyone else can enjoy complimentary drinks downstairs tonight.”

  The other Irons grinned at each other and headed for the dance floor.

  “You look smart,” Narinder said to Tock.

  She wore a skintight gold dress that accentuated all of her curves, her favorite knife displayed prominently on her bare thigh. “I haven’t gotten to blow anything up yet.”

  He smirked. “The night is young.”

  Levi turned to her. “Jac should be here. Wait with him. See if he looks...” He swallowed. He’d only sent Jac away two days ago, and he was already worried.

  Tock squeezed his shoulder, as though reassuring him. It would’ve been considerate if she hadn’t pressed a bruise, making him wince. “When I saw him yesterday, he was fine.”

  She turned to leave, but three girls blocked the stairwell, each wearing white gloves. Lola Sanguick stood at the front, dressed in a full pin-striped suit and her top hat. Levi blinked at her, still unused to the vibrant red of her new hair.

  “The Irons boys are here,” Lola said, seeing him.

  Tock cleared her throat. “Not just the boys.”

  Levi didn’t recognize the girl beside Lola, whose eyes were rimmed in thick black liner and whose studded dress revealed more than it left concealed. Levi had assumed Enne hired a counter from the Orphan Guild, because he knew her well enough that there was no way she’d conceived that stock market plan on her own. But this girl looked far more vicious than someone just meant to keep the books.

  In the center, Enne wore Séance’s signature satin mask, black lipstick, and a pink drop-waist dress that made Levi’s heart stutter. Her aura, a vibrant storm of purple and espresso, circled around him as she climbed the stairs. When they locked eyes, the way she looked at him was twice as dangerous as the gun bulging in her pocket.

  “So you’re Séance,” Narinder said. “I thought you’d be taller.”

  She cleared her throat. “Who are you?”

  “I own this place.” He turned to Levi. “No weapons. We’re going to check you.” Levi lifted his arms up for the bouncer, but Narinder shook his head and pulled Levi up the last few steps onto the landing. While the bouncers moved behind them to check Enne, Narinder motioned for Levi to stand against the wall. Levi obeyed, lifting his arms for inspection.

  “I see you’re wearing silver now,” Narinder said. He knelt, starting at the bottom of Levi’s trousers. His hands felt their way up both his legs. “Not very subtle.”

  Levi bit back an amused smile. Nothing about Narinder’s touches were subtle, either. But no one was looking, so he didn’t mind. His thoughts were too focused on the meeting to dwell on their argument this morning, and Narinder’s charm was always an appealing distraction.

  “Shoes,” Narinder ordered, and Levi lifted his soles up, ensuring him there were no dangers tucked within. Narinder stood and moved his hands to Levi’s stomach. “Just because I’ve forgiven you doesn’t mean I won’t warn you—you’re letting your newfound reputation go to your head.”

  “This is an important night,” Levi reminded him. “I need to look confident.”

  “For your big show, yes,” Narinder said. He stepped needlessly closer to feel Levi’s arms, his touches slow and lingering. “Most people would leave the Shadow Game with a bit more humility.”

  “Most people don’t leave at all.” Levi lifted an eyebrow. “I left it with urgency. I’ve no intention of dying before I get what I want.”

  Narinder grabbed Levi’s shoulders and turned him around. Levi kept his fingers interlaced behind his head. “And what is it you want?” Narinder said lowly in his ear. Levi’s skin prickled.

  “Everything. But tonight I’d settle for an alliance.”

  “That’s it?” Narinder’s chest pressed against Levi’s back, and his hands moved lower down his waist. Since Narinder was taller—which Levi liked—Levi could feel his breath against his ear. Narinder slid his arm around Levi’s stomach, slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out Levi’s pistol. The act left Levi’s head dizzy.

  “There’s always an opportunity for more,” Levi managed.

  “Ahem,” said a voice, and he realized it was Enne. She flushed and stepped around them, pushing Narinder closer to Levi. Levi watched her disappear into the corner room, and he fought the urge to go after her.

  And do what? Levi berated himself. If he confessed how he felt about her, how his stomach knotted just seeing her in that dress, then what would he achieve? He’d made a promise to Jac, and that choice was the right one. He wished he could have the chance to explain—and maybe he would, once Harrison won the election and this game of secrets was over.

  Narinder traced a finger along the chain of
Levi’s necklace, grazing his skin from back to collarbone. Levi focused on the gleam in Narinder’s dark eyes, and all the other things he liked about the musician. Even if he couldn’t be with Enne, he didn’t need to be alone.

  “Remember—don’t do anything sinful here. This is a holy place after all,” Narinder warned him. “Even the lords of the North Side can behave themselves in a church.”

  “Can you?” Levi asked, turning around, his eyebrow raised.

  Narinder answered with his gaze fixed on Levi’s lips. “I haven’t decided if I want to.” Then he swung the violin off his shoulder, nodded at the two bouncers, and disappeared down the stairwell.

  Levi took a deep breath to cool himself off, then made his way into the back room. Inside was a long table, empty except for him and Enne.

  “I see you’ve been here before,” she said. Her voice didn’t betray any jealousy, but she had one of the better poker faces Levi knew. Not that he wanted her to feel jealous. Not that he was in any way torn and frustrated.

  Without answering, Levi claimed the head of the table.

  Someone else entered the room: Jonas Maccabees, otherwise known as Scavenger, the Scar Lord. Levi’s stomach clenched as he took in Jonas’s foul odor—the stench of rotting bodies, a token of his blood talent for stealing volts off the dead. He had a mane of greasy dark hair and lips blue as winter frost.

  Reymond, his predecessor, always had a soft spot for kids like Levi—clever and eager. Levi didn’t think Jonas had a soft spot for anyone.

  “This is very official, Pup,” Jonas said, beginning the meeting with Levi’s hated nickname. His gaze fell on Enne. “We haven’t met properly. I’m Scavenger. But you can call me Jonas.”

  “I’m Séance,” Enne said, and offered him no other name.

  His lips spread into a smile, an unnerving expression on the Scar Lord. He took a seat, rested his elbows on the table, and leaned toward the two of them. “You know, you look awfully familiar.” He peeked over his shoulder at the door, but they remained alone. “Seems a great coincidence that two weeks ago, Pup shows up with some missy to see Eight Fingers, and only a little while later, Pup and some missy are together on the front page.” His gaze roamed over Enne’s features, and both she and Levi tensed at his inspection. “Dark hair. Same height. Same voice.”