by Amanda Foody
“I’m not sure...” Lola whispered. There was no need to whisper, of course, but the room had fallen dead silent. Everyone held their breaths. Scythe and Rebecca immediately bolted out of their seats and joined them at the window.
“That didn’t sound like an explosion,” Scythe said darkly. “Where did it come from?”
“There!” Jac said, pointing toward the far corner of the roof. Though distant, he could make out the figures of Tock and Tommy as they sprinted across the rooftop of St. Morse Casino.
“Did they do it?” Sophia asked. “Why are they running?”
“She has to run to lay the line,” Lola explained.
“But we already heard something.” Jac looked up into the sky, but there was no smoke.
The door burst open. It was Grace, followed by the Scarhands’ second, a young woman Jac only recognized from the Catacombs. He was surprised to see her and not the Scar Lord, who was supposed to be commanding the other group.
“That was no explosion!” Grace shouted, panting, one arm braced against the doorframe. “That was a gunshot.”
Boom.
This time, the sound was no louder, but it rang in Jac’s ears, roared inside his ribs.
One of the silhouettes atop the casino fell.
The body hit the ledge and toppled over. It seemed to take ages to fall all twenty stories. It was time enough for Lola to scream. For several of the Irons to curse and make for the door. For Jac to register what it meant—that one of them had been shot, that someone had gotten wind of their plan, and that everything was about to go to muck.
The body fell onto the sidewalk of Tropps Street. Jac looked at the gore only long enough to determine who it was, and his heart clenched.
Tommy.
Lola let out a strangled sigh of relief, but it was short-lived for two reasons. Jac wasn’t even sure which of those happened first.
An explosion tore across the rooftop of St. Morse, far larger and louder than he expected, its angry black smoke reaching claws into the sky. The lights of the casino all went out.
Either before it, or after, or simultaneously, bullets fired from across the street, shattering the windows of the pub. Every person inside fell to the ground while glass rained through the air. Jac landed hard on his side, and his first instinct was to cover Sophia’s head with his arms, the same way Scythe protectively braced Rebecca. Behind them, an Iron he recognized as a runner clutched the blood pouring out of her shoulder and let out a wail.
“What is this?” Lola called, her back pressed against the wall, her head ducked down between her legs.
“Who knew?” Jac shouted. “Who knew who isn’t here?” He looked wildly to the Scarhands’ second, who crouched by the door.
“Scavenger’s inside!” she shouted.
“Why would he be inside?” Rebecca hissed.
“I... I don’t know. He just told me where he was going.” The second cast a doubtful look to the other Scarhands in the room, and that was all the confirmation Jac needed. The Irons never would’ve doubted Levi; the Spirits never would’ve doubted Enne. If Scavenger didn’t have the trust of his gang, there must be a reason. “Ivory is gone, too,” she added. “Along with the other half of the Doves.”
The Doves in the room made no expressions, but each of them reached for their weapons.
And Jac understood.
Scavenger and Ivory had betrayed them all.
The power in St. Morse was out, which meant Levi and Enne were waiting for them to barge through the open exit.
But Scavenger and Ivory might’ve already alerted the whiteboots that the Iron Lord and Séance were inside—maybe they’d done it in exchange for their own pardons. Whatever reason, the plan ended here, before it’d even begun.
“I need to warn them,” Jac gritted through his teeth. He refused to see any more friends die tonight. “And I need to hurry—before all the doors are locked.”
Sophia squeezed his hand. “You can’t go out alone.”
“You said we were lucky.”
“Not lucky enough for you to sprint into gunfire!”
“There are whiteboots coming!” Lola shouted, peeking out through the window. “Nearly thirty of them—probably more.”
They couldn’t stay here. They’d be fish in a barrel.
“Everybody out!” Jac called. He didn’t have Levi’s way with words, but he still had some show in him. “The lights are cut. The others are waiting. And the whiteboots are asking for a fight.” He raised his pistol high enough for the room to see. “When I call it, we charge.” It would mean a battle, but it would also give him an opportunity to get to that door. To change the plan. To shut it down.
He crawled up beside Lola and pressed his back to the wall. Carefully, he peeked out the window as well, to see what she’d seen. His eyes widened at the whiteboots approaching the pub’s front door. They were nearly upon them.
It would be a shame if his legend ended here.
He undid the safety on his gun.
“Three!” he called.
The others hurried and gathered around the stairs, weapons raised.
“Two!”
Sophia blew him a kiss. He liked to think it was for good luck.
“One!”
Q
“Oaths, omertas, Chainers—there’s a reason so many in the North Side favor such weapons. New Reynes killed the queen on the very day she hoped to negotiate peace. The City of Sin was built on duplicity.”
—A legend of the North Side
ENNE
Enne held her breath, waiting for the grip of the omerta. She could feel the ghost of it, as though a caress of Vianca’s jagged fingernail traced from her navel to her throat.
You will break his heart, and then you will die.
“What are you talking about? I’m fine,” Enne told Levi.
“Where have you been?” His voice cracked. “You didn’t go home last night. You didn’t call. You—”
“I couldn’t make it home before curfew, so I had to stay here. And Vianca’s kept me here all day, complaining about the party and the polling turnouts and everything. I couldn’t escape.” The omerta drew the lie from her easily, even as the truth ate at her from inside out. “I’m sorry I worried you.”
“Worried me?” He squeezed her shoulders hard enough for her to wince. “We’re infiltrating the largest party of the year, threatening some of the most powerful members of government, and committing treason. But I...”
He swallowed.
But he was preoccupied with his worries over her, Enne realized. Only a day before, the thought would’ve filled her with hope. Now it only burdened her with dread.
Repair whatever you’ve broken, Vianca had commanded her.
Enne tucked the revolver back into her dress, and the apology she’d long practiced was pried from her lips. “I’m sorry,” Enne sputtered. “I’m so, so sorry. I was so focused on fixing myself that I was hurting the people around me. And I—”
Levi’s expression flickered with surprise, as though he’d forgotten he was supposed to be despising her. He shook his head and squeezed Séance’s mask in his fist. “What is this? This wasn’t in the plan.”
Her lips trembled. She didn’t know if she should feel relieved he’d interrupted her apologies or wounded that he hadn’t listened. They were still her words, even if Vianca had turned them into weapons.
The omerta forced Enne to shake her head. She felt like a puppet. She felt sick. “It’s not what you think—”
“I saw Vianca. I know she’s done something to you, and she’s forbidden you from telling me what it is.”
Enne had no way of indicating to him that he was right, not when the omerta, once again, stretched her lips into a reassuring smile.
He met her smile with a hopeless look in his eyes, and she
could almost see the weight of the entire night on his shoulders. Of the cleverness of his plan and fearing it would fail. Of saving her. Of the destiny and throne he’d sacrificed everything to claim.
Now that Levi had found her, Vianca’s cruel assignment would inevitably be fulfilled, and she braced herself for the omerta’s orders. Enne didn’t know what the omerta would conceive. She could spew hateful words about how he was selfish and inconsiderate and egotistical. She could turn and run back to the whiteboots and betray everything they’d ever worked for.
The omerta gave her no direction.
But Enne wasn’t foolish enough to believe they were safe. This only meant something worse was still to come.
“Then there’s only one option, since I don’t know the truth, and you can’t tell me,” Levi said lowly. He tucked her mask into his jacket and clasped her hand. “I won’t let you out of my sight.”
Enne wanted to tell him that it was useless and that none of his clever plans could save them, but she remained forcibly silent except for a single sob. The omerta let her cry. Maybe it liked her like this, playing the damsel to Levi’s knight.
Levi wiped away a tear on her cheek, and she flinched as he touched her. She both craved it and hated it.
“Tock will be finished soon. We need to man our stations.” Levi took her hand and pulled her into the ballroom. The mirrored wall behind them bore two banners: a blue one, to represent Harrison and the First Party, and purple, for Prescott and the monarchists.
A member of the St. Morse staff handed out balloons, jewelry, and various accessories to guests. As she passed them, she slipped a strand of beads around Enne’s neck and placed a silver plastic crown on Levi’s head.
A few feet from them, Worner Prescott danced with Poppy. It was a sweet image of a father-daughter dance, one the media present at the party was certainly capturing. Enne looked away from the flashes of cameras. In the newspapers tomorrow, if the reader looked closely enough, they might glimpse two notorious street lords in the corner. Perhaps they’d chalk it up to a blur in the photography. Or perhaps that would be part of the legend.
“Dance with me,” Levi said. It didn’t sound like a request. It sounded like a plea. “We only have moments left until the lights go out. Vianca doesn’t know about our plan, does she?”
“She doesn’t,” Enne answered softly. That truth she could share.
“Then we haven’t lost yet.” He pulled her toward him, held her in the same way he’d held her before. But as much as Enne wanted his forgiveness, she’d never wanted it like this. Vianca had taken the broken pieces of their relationship and crafted them into blades, and every time Levi touched her, it felt like a cut.
“I can’t believe you,” Levi murmured, and the edge to his voice filled her with equal hope and equal dismay. He didn’t forgive her.
Repair what you’ve broken.
“I’m sorry. You know I’m—”
“Is sacrificing yourself really the best plan you have?” Levi snapped, startling her. He no longer sounded broken. He sounded furious. “That stunt with your mask wasn’t for Vianca, or you would have been relieved that I stopped you. I won’t let you be a martyr for me.”
Tears spilled from Enne’s eyes, but she couldn’t tell if they were her own doing or the omerta’s coercion.
Levi’s face softened. “I’m asking you to trust me, Enne. Whatever is coming that you’re so afraid of, I can take it. You saved me before, and I could do nothing but watch.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I’m begging you—this time, let me play. This time, trust in me. Let me be the one to save you.”
Enne’s heart crumbled at his words. If she knew the answer to Vianca’s twisted, cryptic demand, then it would be easier to trust he could outsmart it.
Did she trust him more than she feared Vianca?
It didn’t matter. The omerta still forced the wrong words from her lips, still intertwined her fingers with his when all she wanted to do was run.
“You haven’t said it yet,” she whispered.
He shivered at her breath on his lips. “I haven’t said what?”
“That you’ve forgiven me.”
“I...” He swallowed. “I’ve made the most desperate wager of my life tonight, but I’d still throw it all away. What’s the point of saving the city if I can’t save you?”
Enne fought against the omerta. She was breathless and gasping as its power pressed her lips to his. It was Vianca’s work. It was wrong. But that didn’t stop Enne’s heart from swelling. It didn’t make the words either of them had spoken any less true.
She wanted this, even if it spelled ruin for both of them.
Enne kissed him like it was the last chance she’d ever have, breathed in his sigh like it was the last breath she’d ever take. The music around them was ending, playing its final chord, and even though Enne was the one with a heart full of tragedy, it was Levi who lifted her higher, who shuddered as her tongue ran across his lips, who clung to her like at any moment she would disappear beneath him. Maybe, somehow, he also knew what this was.
A surrender.
She let out the faintest sob against him. “I love you,” she whispered. Enne hoped it was her own will that said it, because she meant it. “I trust you.”
Boom!
The entire casino rattled—crystal chandeliers clacking, guests screaming, dancers stumbling. Enne held on to Levi so as not to fall.
The ballroom was thrown into darkness. This only caused the guests to scream louder. The noise of it pierced through Enne’s ears, but the sound was sweet. This meant the plan was still unfolding. There was still hope. She clung to that, and to Levi, in the dark. Tock had managed it.
I love you. I trust you.
Maybe that really would be enough.
Bang!
A woman’s scream rang out, followed by a chorus around the room.
Someone had been shot.
It was impossible to make out the victim in the darkness, but Enne spotted a figure only feet away, wearing a dark mask with a hooked bird’s beak, like a vulture. They held something in their outstretched hand, and it gleamed through the dim light of the stars through the window.
“Holy muck,” Levi breathed. “Is that—”
But then someone slammed into them, knocking the wind out of Enne. Their hands broke apart, and Enne was pulled away in the stampede of bodies toward the exit.
“Enne!” Levi called, pushing toward her, but there were too many people between them.
Everyone kicked and shoved to reach the door, though the shooter had only fired once. Enne, smaller than so many of them, was wedged painfully between several panicked couples.
Now that she was separated from Levi, she had her chance. She could turn herself in. She could claim she’d been the assailant. Enne had told Levi that she’d trust him, but Levi’s plan had been violently disrupted. They hadn’t planned for a murder, and with such high-profile attendees at this party, the whiteboots and private bodyguards would quickly secure all the doors, to ensure the assailant didn’t escape.
And that the others outside couldn’t get in.
Enne made a split-second decision, pushed through the crowds, and wove through the maze of hallways in the darkness. Then she found the door where Lola and Grace had left her earlier and sighed with relief. It was still unmanned. The plan hadn’t failed yet.
The door swung open, and Jac stumbled inside, his tuxedo covered in dust, his black hair windswept and tangled from running. Through the open doorway behind him, Enne heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire. Her stomach lurched—what was happening outside?
Jac took several deep breaths, his hands on his knees, then he looked up. His eyes widened with relief when he saw her. “You’re okay,” he breathed. “What happened? Is Levi here?”
Something sinister planted itself in Enne’s
mind. She didn’t know where the thought came from, but she felt a sudden tightening in her lungs. And then she knew.
The omerta.
“We’ve been betrayed,” he rasped, taking a step toward her and letting the door close. “You need to find Levi. Tell him it’s all over. If we don’t escape, it’ll be a massacre.”
As Jac spoke, Enne’s fingers reached for the slit of her dress, but it was not of her own doing. Her heart clenched as she struggled against the omerta’s power. But of course, she couldn’t fight it.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Jac laid a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Just tell Levi—”
She cupped a hand over her mouth and choked on a sob.
Jac’s eyes widened when he saw what she held, but he didn’t react in time. He moved only enough to let her go.
You will break his heart, and then you will die.
Enne raised the gun and pulled the trigger.
K
“Legend says the Bargainer can take anything from you. A name, a face, a memory. I wonder what they do with all of them. They only approach the desperate, they say, but everyone is desperate. They must want something, don’tcha think? They must have a goal.”
—A legend of the North Side
LEVI
Levi tried to chase after Enne the moment they were pushed apart, but the crowds quickly consumed her, and he could barely make out anything in the darkness.
Panic seized at him. His plan was already collapsing, but he didn’t know how to save her and save the night, too.
He knew the omerta had twisted a lot of what she’d told him, but he had to believe that those last words had been her own. That she loved him. That she trusted him. If she could have faith in him, then he had to believe she wouldn’t immediately surrender herself. Whatever Vianca had planned, they could escape it.
His sights fell on another figure in the crowds, the same one he’d spotted earlier, with a feathered mask like a hooked beak. He was the one who’d fired the gunshot. He was the one who’d derailed Levi’s plans.