Ace of Shades_The Shadow Game Series

by Amanda Foody

  “I’m trying to keep you from getting your purse stolen. You’ve already lost your luggage. Wanna lose your volts, too?” Levi refused to suffer through this entire morning only for Enne to lose his reward.

  She stopped struggling, and he led her into a ramshackle building with a sign reading Cheep Orbs and Metalwork. They slid between a couple examining a box of empty glass orbs.

  “Those are real shoddy quality,” Levi muttered. “Probably can’t hold over twenty volts without shattering.” He could make better blindfolded...not that he’d made orbs in years. His blood and split talents didn’t mix together well, so he’d decided a long time ago to avoid orb-making altogether.

  Enne stared at a crate full of knives, each with a little rust on the handle or cracks in the blade. “How many street gangs are there?”

  Levi cleared his throat. Really, there was no person better suited for introducing Enne to New Reynes than himself. “There are three: the Irons, the Scarhands and the Doves. They all live on the North Side.” There were also the two casino Families, the Augustines and the Torrens, but Levi didn’t want to overwhelm her. Besides, he’d rather not think about the Families right now. It was a mistake involving himself with either of them.

  “Why do you call yourselves the Irons?” Enne asked.

  “It’s a nickname. We didn’t have a name at first—the dens just called us ‘mechanics.’ People who fix games.” He shook his head. “Of course, our clients didn’t actually like to call us that—bad for business. Somehow the name Irons caught on.”

  “So you cheat,” she said, the contempt obvious in her voice.

  “We make a business out of winning.”

  Levi took her to a door in the back of the shop. A rusted lock dangled from the knob.

  Although Levi never used his blood talent anymore for its actual purpose—making orbs—he often relied on his skill for fire. Levi could do a few tricks: light a match with the snap of his fingers, walk through open flame without being burned, craft a glass ornament with only his bare hands. Nothing powerful, but his talent was often useful.

  Levi grabbed the lock and concentrated on heat. After a few moments, it glowed red and hissed with steam.

  “How are you doing that?” she asked.

  “It’s my blood talent.” He tugged it, and it snapped. He would’ve thought that obvious, given the orb-maker colors in his hair.

  “Which is—”

  “Someone will hear you.” He didn’t need the Scar Lord blaming him for giving away today’s location to all of Scrap Market. Reymond liked to lie low.

  Levi slipped inside the crack of the door into a dark, narrow staircase. When Enne closed it behind them, everything went black.

  “You’d better leave. We’re not seeing anyone today,” someone growled. Enne made a sound somewhere between clearing her throat and a squeak.

  “It’s me,” Levi said.

  “Pup?”

  He hated that nickname. People assumed that Canes smelled auras like bloodhounds, even though they read them with all their senses. The nickname was, in Levi’s opinion, the embodiment of everything he needed to change about his reputation. Once upon a time, the Irons had been the richest gang in the city. Even if he was young, Levi deserved to be taken seriously.

  “Nice to see you again, Jonas,” Levi lied.

  Jonas Maccabees, the Scarhands’ second-in-command, sneered, “You should stick to Olde Town where you belong.”

  “That’s a shame, because I came here to see you. It’s hard to resist that smile of yours.”

  Jonas turned on a light, and Levi squinted as his eyes adjusted. The room had concrete walls and a mess of exposed, leaking pipes. It smelled faintly of cigarettes.

  “Reymond isn’t seeing anyone today,” Jonas grunted. A scar ran from his left eye down his cheek, disappearing beneath his shoulder-length black hair. More scars crisscrossed his palms, and his skin had a gray tint to it. Like a corpse. Beside Levi, Enne stiffened.

  “But he’ll see me,” Levi challenged.

  Jonas glared because he knew Levi was right, then mumbled something under his breath and turned to a door at the other end of the room. The undeniable stench of rotting bodies trailed after him.

  “Is Reymond their boss?” Enne whispered.

  “He’s the Scar Lord.”

  “You failed to mention that.”

  “Does it matter? I’m the Iron Lord, aren’t I?” Apparently his lordly title didn’t warrant the same concern.

  “Maybe this was a bad—”

  “Do you want to find Alfero or not?”

  She quieted.

  Jonas opened the door and ushered them into an office. Reymond perched on the desk. He was short and slender to the point of looking starved, with black hair and brown, hooded eyes. He wore a shiny gold vest and a crimson jacket, a belt of reptile scales and huge rings on every finger, which made eight rings in total—both his middle fingers were stumps.

  “He brought a missy,” Jonas said.

  “Yes,” Reymond answered, scanning Enne up and down with interest. Levi didn’t usually introduce missies to his friends. “I can see that.”

  Levi pulled up a seat at the desk and nodded for Enne to do so, as well. As he sat, he got a whiff of Reymond’s cheap cologne and nearly gagged.

  “We won’t take long,” Reymond said, dismissing Jonas, who closed the door as he left. Then he held out his hand to Enne. “I’m Reymond Kitamura,” he said.

  She shook it and gave a winning smile to rival Levi’s own. All of her apprehension from before was concealed. “It’s a pleasure. My name is Enne Salta.”

  “You don’t dress like any Salta I’ve ever met,” he remarked, which made Enne lift her chin indignantly. Levi snorted, picturing Enne in a burlesque costume. Well...it wasn’t so terrible a picture, if he was being honest with himself. “Or any of Levi’s boys or missies, for that matter,” Reymond added, smirking at Levi.

  He shrugged in response. Levi had a long romantic history of scattered affairs—a few girls and many boys—that had become the subject of teasing from his friends. They claimed he had a hopeless habit of kissing and telling.

  “I’m not his missy,” Enne said hurriedly.

  “Good. Glad to hear you got taste,” Reymond joked.

  Aside from the dons of the casino Families, Reymond Kitamura was arguably the most powerful person in the North Side, a reputation he enjoyed flaunting in Levi’s face at every opportunity. When Levi had first arrived in New Reynes—twelve years old, scrappy and eager—Reymond had taken him in. The two were like brothers, though, as Jac had pointed out on more than one occasion, they fought more often than they got along.

  Two Octobers ago, when Vianca Augustine had dumped the investment scheme on him, Levi had turned to Reymond as a business partner. Since then, Levi had tried to keep their working relationship under wraps, but Chez had discovered it several months ago. His third considered it a betrayal. Officially, the Irons and the Scarhands were far from friends, and the gangs took their rivalries seriously. So Levi visited Reymond only when it was absolutely necessary these days, even if he sometimes missed their squabbles.

  Reymond pulled a cigar out of his pocket. He pointed it at Levi, almost like he was offering it to him, except he wasn’t. Levi snapped his fingers, igniting a small flame at his fingertips and lit the end. Reymond cupped it and took a deep inhale. The smoke billowed out his nostrils, and Enne crinkled her nose.

  “We’re still late on the Torren payment,” Reymond reminded him, as if Levi needed reminding. “Two weeks or so.”

  “Let’s talk about this another time,” Levi muttered. Enne already knew he ran a gang; he didn’t want her knowing about the scam, too. He couldn’t have her running off on him...at least not until she paid him tonight. And if Reymond did have any leads on Alfero, then it was in Levi’s best int
erests to stick with Enne. He couldn’t lose the potential for a ten-thousand-volt reward for finding her mother, even if the chances were slim.

  “Now seems fine to me.” Reymond blew out a cloud of smoke, and Levi seriously considered the repercussions of wringing his skinny neck. Clearly, he’d caught his friend in a bad mood. “And the whiteboot captain?”

  Levi debated with himself for a moment, then decided that, after being chased just this morning, Enne was unlikely to talk to anyone about this conversation. She didn’t know anyone in this city except for him. Still, they needed to be discreet.

  “I paid the captain this morning,” Levi answered begrudgingly. “But he knew. He knew about the scam.”

  Reymond’s eyes widened. “Did he tell anyone?”

  “I don’t think so, but he said some things about Sedric Torren that have me concerned.”

  Reymond anxiously tapped the soot off his cigar. “You talk to Vianca yet?” Powerful as Reymond was, the only person who could truly protect Levi from Sedric was Vianca, the donna of the Augustine family, the owner of St. Morse Casino, and—as far as Levi was concerned—the foulest woman in New Reynes.

  “Not yet. I’m not sure what she’ll do to help.” St. Morse was a sinking ship. Vianca’s radical political beliefs made her unpopular on the South Side, where many of her patrons lived. Meanwhile, the Torren Family had the wigheads in their pockets.

  “You’re Vianca’s favorite. She’d do anything for you,” Reymond said, blowing out another exhale of smoke. “You’re her bitch.”

  Levi’s fury simmered as Reymond smirked. “We’re not here to talk about this,” Levi snapped.

  He wanted to add that Enne and Alfero’s volts might’ve been the solution to their problem, but he couldn’t think of a way to say that without Enne picking up on it. He’d have to discuss that with Reymond another time.

  But he already knew what Reymond would say. Alfero is dead, Levi. Of course she’s dead. You’re too easily persuaded by a pretty missy.

  “But I wanna talk about business,” Reymond insisted. “Ever since Vianca lost our thousands of safety volts, this is starting to sound a lot more dangerous. I have skin in this game, too.”

  “If you wanna pitch in more, partner—”

  “No can do. Fifteen percent was the deal.” Reymond flicked his ashes in a porcelain bowl that was broken on one side. “No can do.”

  “Are you both quite done?” Enne snapped. “It’s very inconsiderate to talk business in front of a stranger.”

  Reymond snorted and picked at his well-manicured cuticles. He took precise care of the fingers he had left and never liked to get his hands dirty. “She’s a real charmer, Pup.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t come here to charm you,” she snapped. “I came here in search of information on Lourdes Alfero.”

  Reymond paused. “Did you, now?”

  Despite Enne’s numerous flaws—namely that she was mucking annoying—she knew how to weasel in and out of a conversation. Levi respected that.

  “Have you heard anything about Alfero lately?” Levi asked Reymond, more than eager to steer the discussion away from their failing con.

  “She comes and goes,” he answered. “The usual spots. But I haven’t heard anything noteworthy recently. What do you need to know?”

  Enne’s face lit brighter than a neon sign outside of Luckluster Casino. “I need to find her. She’s missing.”

  “How do you know her? You don’t look like the type to read monarchist papers.”

  “You can tell this just from looking at me?”

  The Scarhands worked in the business of counterfeiting, arms dealing and information, and Reymond had sacrificed ten years, dozens of men and two fingers to carve out his gang’s place in the North Side. Reymond credited his power to his blood talent: he could see through any lie. But he probably didn’t need it to guess that the dare in Enne’s words was empty.

  “Most of the Pseudonyms are dead,” Reymond said flatly. “Lourdes Alfero is smart. She survived this long. If she’s missing, though...”

  “Please, where was she last seen?” Enne’s voice quivered.

  “She frequented the Sauterelle. It’s a cabaret a few blocks off Sweetie Street. There, they’d probably know her as Séance, her pen name.”

  Enne paled at the mention of Sweetie Street. “Are you sure—”

  “Levi and I both have friends there. We can get you in.”

  Levi nodded. Mansi worked at the Sauterelle. “My shift is this evening. But tomorrow we’ll pay a visit,” he said. This was perfect. With the promise of a lead tomorrow, Enne would need to stay with Levi and pay him tonight. He doubted she would attempt to brave Sweetie Street by herself. And if he could promise her this night, then the next, then the next, maybe they really could find Lourdes. Maybe she was the answer to all of his problems.

  He just needed Lourdes to be alive. And he needed Enne to stay.

  “What’s wrong?” Reymond smirked, seeing Enne crinkle her nose. “Got a problem with variety shows, doll face?”

  Enne shook her head.

  “No...” Reymond tilted his head to the side. “That’s not it. It’s that you’re afraid Lourdes is probably dead.” Reymond had many good qualities, but no one would call him considerate. He didn’t hold back any blows. “You know, you still never mentioned how you knew Alfero.” Reymond was already using past tense.

  Enne’s face was pale as she rose from her seat in a rush. “Thank you, but I need some air.” She nearly tripped on her dash to the door. Levi stood hurriedly and followed her. He didn’t like Enne much, but even he admitted that Reymond’s words were harsh, considering the morning she’d already had.

  Enne pushed through the back room and up the stairwell. By the time they exited the orb shop, tears glinted in her brown eyes.

  Outside, the wind had picked up, and the clouds—black from factory smoke and an oncoming storm—cast a shadow over the city. The tents were gone. Carts, gone. Stands, gone. Scrap Market had picked up and left, and Enne and Levi were the only ones standing on the empty street.

  “Is she really dead?” Enne asked, her voice high and broken in a way that stirred his own memories.

  For a moment, Levi was eleven years old again, kneeling at his mother’s sickbed. He swallowed.

  “Don’t,” he warned.

  She didn’t listen. She let out a gasp, then a sob.

  Levi stepped back from her, unsure what to do or how to comfort. Tears pooled down her cheeks, and she blotted them away with the back of her hand.

  “I don’t know if she’s alive,” he said truthfully but gently.

  “But I’d feel it. I’d know if she was dead.”

  If Jac were here, he would’ve agreed with Enne. Jac was sentimental like that. Levi was usually too cynical to indulge such hopes, but, this one time, he needed to believe. He needed Enne’s reward.

  I need her to stay.

  But it was also something more than that. He recognized his own ghosts in Enne’s eyes.

  He put a hand on Enne’s shoulder and bent down to her level. “Look at me. We can’t talk here, in the middle of the street for the whole world to hear. You know that, and you know why, don’t you?”

  Enne nodded, her hand fiddling in her coat pocket. Even with her limited knowledge of New Reynes, she understood why the monarchists were a dangerous subject.

  “I have a shift tonight at St. Morse Casino, so I’m going to take you there now.” Levi swallowed hard, hoping he wouldn’t regret his next words. “But I promise, I’ll help you find your mother, no matter what.”

  ENNE

  Levi and Enne passed through the revolving doors of St. Morse Casino. Enne had never set foot in a casino before, but she’d glimpsed some of the smaller establishments on Tropps Street, and none of them came close to resembling St. Morse’s old-w
orld glamour. A crystal chandelier stretched across the entire ceiling. Emerald green carpeting trailed up the stairs, matching the velvet curtains draped over the windows and the uniforms of the concierges. Metallic silver archways led into rooms labeled Tropps Room, Theatre and Ballroom with sapphire-blue calligraphy. Everything smelled of fine leather and whiskey, and each patron donned the Republic’s most famous designers: Gershton, Ulani Maxirello, Regallière.

  It was, without a doubt, the gaudiest place to ever affront Enne’s senses.

  At least fifty guests mingled in the lobby, champagne glasses in hand. They wore elegant tea gowns with pleated skirts, feathered hats and long strands of black pearls. In her tailored suit and scuffed heels, Enne felt exposed in more ways than one.

  She’d lied to Levi about the volts.

  At first, she hadn’t felt guilty in the least. Levi was a criminal after all. He probably cheated tourists like her every day. But that didn’t make it right. And after what he’d said to her earlier, like he had more at stake in this than his wallet, it didn’t make her feel good, either.

  It hadn’t been a total lie. The volts did exist. Last summer, when Enne had sneaked into Lourdes’s private office for the first and only time, she’d seen the bank slips. She and her mother certainly didn’t live like they had millions of volts, but Enne had read the documents herself. It was...wealth beyond imagination. And Lourdes had kept it from her.

  So the volts did exist, and paying Levi would hardly put a dent in their fortune. But Enne had no idea where the bank account was. Or where the volts came from.

  It didn’t matter. Once she found Lourdes, she’d have her answers. Once she found Lourdes, Levi would have his volts. It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the truth.

  She and Levi walked into a hallway lined with portraits of men, women and occasionally whole families, each with blazing purple eyes. Mizers, Enne thought with a chill. She wondered whether or not it was dangerous for the casino to have portraits of the royal families on display, as if they were people to be revered. Most people alive today had witnessed the Revolution, and, however corrupt the Republic might’ve been, it was nothing compared to the tyranny of the Mizers.