King of Fools

by Amanda Foody

Even during the worst of his addiction to Lullaby, Chain Street was one place Jac had refused to go. He’d always known that the moment he walked in there, he’d never walk out.

  Sophia pointed at a den at the other end of the street, called Insomnia, painted black with white dots to resemble the night sky. It looked like a place plucked out of dreams.

  Or for him, out of nightmares.

  Jac reached for his Creed to steady himself. He was a different person now. He was stronger for what he’d overcome. He was no prisoner here.

  But the sight of it still left him gasping for air. He struggled to maintain a straight face in front of Sophia, who was grinning and crossing her arms to conceal the two bottles of gasoline hidden beneath her shirt.

  “You probably have questions,” she said.

  “One or two,” he managed.

  “Insomnia is currently being operated by Charles,” she explained. “Delia said Charles will run out of volts by the end of the month, and knowing Charles, he’s itching to act out. So whatever we do to the den, he’ll assume it was Delia, and he’ll retaliate.”

  Letting them destroy each other was a clever plan, but it came with a heaping amount of risk. Like the possibility of Jac and Sophia getting caught and killed before they finished their “date.”

  Still, Jac didn’t object when Sophia took his hand in hers and led him down the street. His heart constricted when he smelled that familiar waft of chamomile, and a phantom noose tightened around his neck.

  In every legend, the hero was forced to face the worst of their adversaries. As Jac passed the foggy windows of each of the shopfronts, he saw the ghost of his old reflection—twenty pounds skinnier, skin ruddy, eyes sunken.

  His worst adversary was himself.

  At this hour, the shops were still closed, and the prisoners of the street paid them no mind as they passed. Still, Jac didn’t let go of Sophia’s hand until they’d made it to Insomnia. She retrieved two lock picks from her pocket and made surprisingly quick work of the door.

  “Do all girls know how to pick locks?” he asked, thinking of Enne.

  “I can rewire a radio, too.” She winked at him. “I know, I’m quite the catch.”

  “Yeah, like the flu.”

  Sophia ignored him and eased open the door. When Jac reached for the light switch, she swatted his hand away. “If it looks like the den’s open, they’ll come.”

  Jac’s stomach clenched. She meant those sitting outside, waiting for their next Lull.

  “Taffy?” she offered gently.

  “Oh, yeah, sure.” It would distract him from the haunting smell of this place, which had already settled into his lungs, making him anxious and dizzy. Sophia handed him the taffy, and he unwrapped it with shaking hands and popped it into his mouth. The anise and fennel flavors made his head clear, and he sent her a grateful smile.

  Sophia flipped her coin. “Seventy-eight,” she said. “I think we’ll be okay, but let’s make this quick.”

  “Are you going to finally tell me why you do that? Or do you just like annoying me?”

  She shot him an irritated look, as though Jac’s questions were spoiling the romantic mystery of their date. “Haven’t you ever wondered why the Torrens’ casino is called Luckluster?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “The Torren blood talent is luck. We can measure it, manipulate it. Every time I flip heads, I know my luck is on the up. The more I’ve flipped in a row, the luckier I am.”

  “And when the luck runs out?”

  “Good deeds make your luck rise. Bad deeds make it fall.” She made a slashing motion across her throat. “Fall too low, and you might even die.”

  “How has your family lasted as long as they have, then?” Jac asked. “They’re as rotten as they come. Um, no offense.”

  She grinned, showing off the taffy between her teeth. “None taken. And in answer to your question, there are tricks to raise your numbers. I carry charms on me. My cousins have their own methods.” She didn’t elaborate, but her tone was dark enough that Jac didn’t want her to. “It all depends on your conscience, and it’s unlucky for me I’ve got one. Noble cause or not...” She uncapped the bottle of gasoline and started pouring it over the front of the shop. “This is still destruction. We’ll need to be fast—my rabbit’s foot won’t last much longer.”

  Jac took a deep breath and looked around. The Lull den resembled so many of those he’d seen before, sparsely decorated, with cushions crowding the floor that made it difficult to walk—especially when using. The first thing he did was pick one up, pull at it with two hands, and tear it clean in half. The down feathers drifted onto his boots.

  It was very satisfying.

  Another cushion—ten, twenty. Then he went for the lights, pulling wires out of the walls, chucking bulbs onto the ground. Every shatter soothed his nerves. He would destroy this place, brick by brick. And, if given the chance, he would destroy the next den, and the next.

  He kicked the bar so hard the wood broke through. He let out a shaky, freeing laugh.

  When Jac turned around, panting and exhilarated, Sophia was standing by the door with a match in one hand and her coin in the other.

  “Wish me luck, Todd.” She struck the match and held the flame to her lips, as if giving it a kiss. With her free hand, she flipped the coin, and Jac waited for her to say “seventy-nine.”

  Instead, she frowned.

  “Tails,” she whispered, her eyes widening.

  Bullets shattered through the window glass.

  Sophia screamed and dropped to the ground. The match caught the gasoline, and the den quickly engulfed in flames. Jac swore and ducked behind the remnants of the bar. Sophia rushed toward him, scrambling for cover.

  The sound of gunfire rang in his ears. Jac had been beaten, trampled, and stabbed before—never had he been shot. He reached for the pistol in his pocket, but he knew it would be useless against the automatic rifles.

  “There’s a back exit,” she breathed.

  “They’ll already be there by now, waiting for us,” Jac said.

  Sophia paled. They couldn’t crouch here forever. Even if the bullets didn’t kill them, eventually, the fire would. Already the smoke filled the den.

  Jac coughed into his sleeve. “What’s next door?” he asked.

  “A Mistress parlor.”

  Jac didn’t hesitate. He jumped to his feet, took a running start, and kicked at the wall as hard he could. Drywall and cement caved in a haze of dust. He ducked through the hole to the parlor on the other side.

  “Come on,” he called to Sophia. “Mistress is Augustine-owned. And if I’m right about Vianca, she has secret ways out of all her dens.”

  He led Sophia to a rear hallway, where he busted through several locked doors. First, a closet. Then a bathroom. Then, at last, a stairwell, leading down into blackness.

  Sophia let out an uncharacteristic whimper. “It’s so dark.”

  They didn’t have time to stall, so he ignored her comment and pulled her down the stairs. They felt their way lower and lower, until they reached a series of tunnels. Sophia lit a match, her hand shaking, but it offered little light beyond her fingertips.

  “Where does this lead?” she asked.

  “St. Morse Casino, I’d guess. The Augustines had the tunnels built decades ago.”

  They walked in silence for several minutes. Behind him, Sophia took deep, steady breaths, in that rhythm of someone forcing themselves to stay calm. Meanwhile, Jac was finally at ease, the scent of Lullaby replaced by the stench of gasoline.

  “So how does a girl like you become afraid of the dark?” he wondered aloud.

  “We’re all afraid of something.”

  That was probably true, but he wouldn’t have guessed it about her. She trembled beside him, the same way he’d trembled when they’d
entered Insomnia.

  As he studied her in the matchlight, he caught a glimpse of something red on her arm. Sophia wore a lot of red—but this red didn’t belong.

  “You were grazed,” Jac said. He brushed his fingers against the cut, and Sophia winced. “Does it hurt?”

  “A little.”

  “Here.” He reached out and pressed his thumb against the wound, staining his skin with blood. The pain seeped into him and settled into his stomach.

  She jolted away from him. “How did you do that?”

  “It’s my split talent. The Dorner side.”

  “The Dorner...” She shook her head, letting go of whatever she was going to say. “Thank you.”

  They came upon an exit, a narrow set of stairs leading to the street above. Jac led the way as they climbed and threw open the hatch at the top. They emerged in an alley. A few blocks behind them, smoke billowed into the blue sky.

  Jac let out a whooping laugh. He’d committed a lot of crimes, but never one as dangerous as this one. He wondered if they’d freed a few of the prisoners on Chain Street who’d been bound to that den. He hoped so.

  “What’s next?” he asked, grinning.

  Sophia examined the street they’d ended up on. “Don’t you live near here?” She laughed at the expression on his face. “Don’t look at me like that. It was a question, not an invitation.”

  “But you’ve known where I live for ‘weeks.’” He mimicked the pitying way she’d spoken earlier.

  “You’re right. I know you live three blocks down. Sometimes I like to play coy.”

  Nevertheless, when they began walking, they did walk in the direction of his apartment. Jac came close to asking if she was following him—and why—when he realized she’d only been heading in the direction of a dumpster.

  “You don’t want what’s under these clothes, anyway,” she said casually. Then she pulled a half-rotted rabbit’s foot from beneath her shirt and threw it in the trash. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

  But Jac was no longer listening, distracted by a sudden idea. This entire time, he’d been balancing his wager between Charles and Delia.

  But there was a third Torren.

  If Sophia entered the feud and won, she could control the empire long enough to give Harrison his votes, then destroy it after the election.

  Jac muttered a goodbye so he could mull over the possibility, and continued toward his apartment.

  To his surprised, he found one of the Irons sitting on his front stoop—a runner named Stella. She stood up with a groan. “Finally,” she complained. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

  Jac’s eyes widened as Stella relayed the message from Levi. “All the Irons are invited, of course,” she added. “Pup says he’ll really do it. And there’s a great view of Revolution Bridge from—”

  Jac didn’t wait for her to finish. Normally, he’d be furious at Levi for devising something so reckless. But, now, a impulsive plan began to form in his mind, pushing all other thoughts aside.

  Jac sprinted and caught up to Sophia along the sidewalk of Tropps Street.

  “Todd,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “Miss me already?”

  “You got me—I’m smitten,” Jac huffed, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “So do you want to go to a party?”

  LEVI

  Levi stood on a rooftop porch above the museum, gazing at Revolution Bridge ahead. It hadn’t always been the magnificent structure it was now. The statues of famous rebels had been added after the Revolution, their polished bases glinting in the sunlight. It was one of only three bridges in the city wide enough to accommodate motorcar traffic, and sidewalks and benches lined the sides for tourists to sit and take pictures.

  Soon it would be gone.

  Tock stood behind him, clad in a skintight black party dress.

  “Is everything arranged?” Levi asked.

  “Yes, I bought plenty of hooch.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He should’ve been excited, he knew. He should’ve been hearing explosions in his mind like music. After all, he’d envisioned this plan a thousand times over the past two weeks—but in none of those visions had he painted himself a murderer.

  “There’s nothing to arrange,” Tock said impatiently. “You just tell me what to blow up, and I’ll do it.”

  “I’d still rather go with you.” At least if he was present, he’d feel more in control.

  “We talked about this. The whole area will be crawling with whiteboots after the bridge goes down, and you’re still too recognizable.”

  Levi hated that she was right. He hated even more that sitting out meant he’d need to wait here with the Irons, who stared at him as though Chez’s blood still stained his clothes.

  “And you’re sure your explosion will be enough?” Levi had never witnessed Tock’s blood talent in action.

  “I’m positive,” she assured him. “I just need to run fast.”

  According to Tock, her power worked with touch and time. With a touch, she could lay down a “line,” as she called them, and then she fled the initial drop point. The farther she traveled, the more taut the line grew. When she let go... Well, the bigger the snap, the bigger the explosion.

  Except, as Tock had told him, there was a time limit. After thirty seconds, the line would snap on its own.

  “Don’t joke about it,” Levi snapped. “Your safety is what matters most tonight.” He wouldn’t be responsible for another death.

  “I don’t need anyone to worry about me.” She said it like she meant it, but Levi couldn’t help but think that everyone needed someone to worry about them once in a while.

  Levi rested his hands behind his head and breathed deeply, trying to trust her, trying to relax. “When we met, you told me you don’t get scared. Is that really true?”

  “Of course,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Never mind, then,” Levi muttered. He should’ve known better than to seek comfort from Tock. The party tonight had been her idea, to boost morale. Levi had agreed to it, even if he found it distasteful.

  Chez tried to kill you, he reminded himself. His third hadn’t been an innocent bystander. This had always been how their story would end: one or the other.

  “You care about things too much,” Tock told him. “You want things too much. What happens once you get everything you want, Levi? Will you be happy then?”

  Levi winced. He didn’t have an answer to that. Every time he achieved something he’d sought after, he set his sights on something else. He would never get everything he wanted because he would never stop wanting.

  “Am I supposed to not care?” he snapped. “Is that your secret?”

  “You’re supposed to pull yourself together. There’s no such thing as destiny. Street legends aren’t real. I know you wouldn’t mind dying tragically, so drunk poets could sing songs about you in two-volt cabarets, but I don’t give a muck about your dreams—you’re not allowed to fall apart when thirty kids have your tattoos on their arms and your bounty on their heads. You think the city revolves around you, but this isn’t just your story. It never has been.”

  Tock’s words stung, but only because she was right.

  Levi lowered his hands and forced his shoulders to relax. “Fine, but I’m still going to worry.”

  “That’s what all the hooch is for.” She slapped him on the back, and he groaned. He wasn’t all the way healed yet. “I keep forgetting you’re delicate.”

  “Yep,” he choked out.

  “Make sure to find yourself a good view. It’s time to tell the whiteboots that the North Side is ours.”

  * * *

  Several hours later, Levi nursed a Snake Eyes on the top floor of the museum. His drink was supposed to bring luck, and so he planned to drink copiously. They needed good fortune t
onight.

  Amid the Irons playing cards and eating street cart dinners, Levi heard the door open and the sound of heels clicking on hardwood.

  He turned. She always arrived too early.

  Enne wore a dark violet dress covered in intricate black beading that shimmered as she walked. Over it, she’d tied a robe made from a fabric so translucent that Levi could still make out the low cut of the back and the shape of her shoulder blades.

  Levi supposed the dress was what South Siders might sport to get drunk on champagne and lounge in music parlors. He wouldn’t normally consider it his type, but he had also never seen Enne in it. As he watched her approach, Levi tried to remind himself that he’d also invited Jac and Narinder to the celebration.

  After all, tonight was for fulfilling promises—not breaking them.

  Enne’s gaze flickered to his, and he swallowed hard. Levi could nearly see the two weeks of distance between them in her eyes, and each day of his absence sliced into him like a cut.

  Then she looked away, and Levi promptly downed the rest of his drink.

  Tommy appeared beside him with another Snake Eyes, and Levi relaxed, grateful for the company so he wouldn’t stare at Enne from across the room like a fool. “It’s getting late,” Tommy said.

  Levi checked his watch. He was right—Tock should’ve finished by now. In the view from the window, Revolution Bridge looked unchanged.

  He glanced back at Enne. Lola had joined her now, dressed in the same pin-striped suit she’d worn to the Catacombs. She spun a shiny pair of motorcar keys around her fingers. Grace had taken Levi’s empty seat at the bar and motioned for the other girls to join her.

  Levi’s last interaction with them had been far from warm, but even so, he needed something now, from Lola in particular. So he swallowed his nerves and marched toward their group. He laid a friendly hand on Lola’s shoulder, hyperaware of Enne standing beside them, though he didn’t dare look at her.

  Lola peeled his hand off her. “Touch me again, and you’ll wind up with a third broken rib.”

  Levi cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I see you’ve acquired a car.”