by Amanda Foody
Enne had always been a good liar. She’d lied to Levi about the volts. She’d lied to her mother’s house staff about how she was spending her summer. She’d lied over and over to her classmates about where Lourdes always traveled. But there was no lie as disgusting as this one. Because the truth of it wasn’t that she’d been selfish, or that she’d run away to the City of Sin, but that, probably many times before, there’d been a real girl who sat where she sat, who smiled as she smiled. This game was a familiar one to Sedric.
She was suddenly grateful for the vial in her pocket. Before, she was going to poison Sedric Torren because she had no choice. Now, she was poisoning him for the girls who hadn’t known better. For all the girls fed to the wolves.
She was still scared—she was still terrified. Sedric wasn’t simply a predator; he was one of the most powerful people in the North Side. He was a beast wearing a man’s skin.
But she was also decided. There was no shame in poisoning him.
“Shall we go?” he asked, offering his arm.
She took it, her wine in her other hand. “We shall.”
In the lobby, three lines waited outside the theater. According to the posters on the wall, the dancing show was only one of the many varieties that St. Morse offered.
“Where do you take your dance lessons?” Sedric asked as they took a place in the back.
“I’m looking for a troupe, actually.”
“That’s awfully ambitious of you. Looking to dance here, maybe?” He took another sip of his wine. She’d better hurry, or soon his glass would be empty, and she would miss her chance. She didn’t know what the omerta would do to her if she failed, but she refused to die in this city.
“Yes, I’d love to dance here,” she responded, “but I don’t think Ms. Augustine wants to give me the job.”
“Why not? You’re an excellent dancer. Though I suppose she might want someone older—”
“My split talent has nothing to offer her, and Saltas are a volt a dozen in the casinos.” She spoke matter-of-factly, as if she’d been in this city for more than a day.
She must’ve sounded convincing, because he squeezed her hand comfortingly, and Enne felt weary with nausea. “She doesn’t know the talent she’s missing. But you wouldn’t want to work here, anyway.”
“Why not?”
“Because the Augustines are the cruelest family in the North Side,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. They were, after all, surrounded by Vianca’s patrons. “Their blood talent is omertas, an unbreakable oath. Like a swear of fealty and silence. Vianca is no better than a glorified street lord.”
Unbreakable? The word echoed in her mind, unraveling her, shattering her.
It couldn’t be true.
Before his words could fully sink in, she pushed them away. She had a job to finish.
She and Sedric reached the ticket booth. “Do you mind holding this for a moment, Emma?” Sedric handed her his drink and rummaged through his coat pockets, then turned to talk to the ticket salesman.
Enne hardly believed her luck. This was her chance. She turned around and quickly slipped the vial from her pocket.
She didn’t hesitate. She dumped the poison into Sedric’s glass.
It was so easy. She’d done it, just like that.
Returning the vial to where it was before, she waited for Sedric to finish purchasing the tickets. Her heart beat faster with a mixture of fear and exhilaration.
When he finished, brandishing two blue Admit Ones, Sedric plucked his wineglass out of Enne’s hand. “To the show,” he said, leading her in with his arm around her waist.
The theater was dark. A blue curtain draped over the stage, and a single spotlight shone at its center. There must have been over five hundred audience members already present, not counting the few in balconies along the walls. They took their seats in one of the side rows by the front—the tickets, she realized, must have been quite expensive. The piano tapped out a light, staccato tune, and the audience quieted in anticipation. Gradually, the spotlight faded.
Sedric took a sip. When he didn’t gag or convulse or immediately vomit, Enne realized the poison might not take effect for a while. She also realized that she didn’t feel even a twinge of guilt. She didn’t care—he was a contemptible man.
The curtains rose.
Sedric Torren placed his hand on her knee and smiled triumphantly, but Enne had already won.
ENNE
When Enne returned to her apartment two hours after pouring the poison into Sedric’s glass, the first thing she did was take a shower. She smelled of Sedric’s vomit. However, more nauseating than that, she felt filthy with this city, with what she’d done and how little she cared.
Unbreakable, Sedric had called the omerta, but she refused to believe it. She couldn’t be trapped within Vianca’s grasp forever.
Enne turned the water temperature up to steaming, but she didn’t feel clean. She could still feel the heat of Sedric’s gaze and the touch of his hand against her thigh.
She had no other clothes to change into after bathing, so she put her slip back on, and over it, the robe she found in the bathroom closet, embroidered with St. Morse’s logo. Then she returned to the page she’d bookmarked in her guidebook.
What if Vianca died? Would the omerta break then? Enne intended to survive here, so she needed to learn more about Vianca, about New Reynes.
She continued reading the guidebook’s chapter about the city’s organized crime. The topic shifted from the Augustine and Torren casino Families to the street gangs. Although the Families had control of the narcotics trade, the street gangs managed everything else. They’d divided the North Side into territories and turned crimes into monopolies. She followed along, occasionally referring to her guidebook’s map.
Once upon a time, there had been dozens of gangs. But now there were three.
The Scarhands. They were the largest gang, run by the slimy Eight Fingers, Reymond Kitamura, who Enne—despite all of her guidebook’s warnings—had managed to meet during her first morning in the City of Sin. Not only did the Scarhands provide counterfeits and forgery services to the city, but they also operated the weapons trade. Their territory spanned throughout the Factory District. You could spot a member by the scars that crisscrossed their palms and wrists.
The Doves were the assassins, their territory known as the Deadman District. They dyed their hair white to match their lord, Ivory, who was credited with over sixty-three murders. No one had seen her face and lived. Perhaps she was so good that no one had ever seen her face at all.
Last were the Irons. The gang of gamblers and cheats who called themselves consultants, and who occupied Olde Town and the Casino District like an infestation. They dealt in cards, ambition and opportunity. Anything you could do, they could do better. They were the smallest gang, with the smallest paragraph in the guidebook. Levi wasn’t even mentioned at all.
Someone knocked on her door.
Enne’s stomach dropped, half expecting Vianca’s woman again. She walked to the door and cracked it open, only to find it was Levi.
“’Lo,” he said. He looked pale.
After all the night’s stress, she’d utterly forgotten he would come for his volts. “I’m not dressed properly.”
He held up a bag. “It’s fine. I brought you clothes. Figured you might need them.”
She sighed and opened the door fully, even though she’d rather be alone and not deal with Levi’s condescending smirks. He handed her the bag, and she rummaged through it. The fabrics were colorful and flashy—very unlike her typical style. “Are these from that collection of yours?” she asked suspiciously.
“Not this time. Jac swiped them from some clotheslines.”
She grimaced as she wrapped an oversize sweater around herself. They’d have to do for now. She could buy her own clothes onc
e she got paid.
Beneath the clothes were food items, flour and eggs and other necessities. Her mood improved almost instantly—she was starving. She eagerly unloaded them onto the kitchen counter. To her delight, she now had all the right ingredients to make cookies. Dessert was such a simple comfort, but she nearly wanted to cry in appreciation. When she turned around to thank him, she realized he was no longer standing beside her.
She heard him rummaging around in the living room. “What are you doing?” she called.
“Where did you find this trash? I’m not even mentioned!” He appeared in the kitchen, waving her guidebook. “Look at all the places the author says not to visit. Hundreds! We’ll have to go on a tour, you and I. We only managed to hit up a few of them this morning.” He paused as she broke some eggs into a mixing bowl. “What are you making?”
“Cookies. Our cook used to make them with me.” Enne had spent a lot of her childhood keeping company with the staff, when Lourdes was traveling and she was lonely.
“It’s almost midnight.”
“I’m hungry.”
He shrugged and took a seat on the counter beside her. “You look flushed, missy. You go out on the town while I was working?”
“I stayed in,” she lied. As she mixed in the flour, she gathered up her nerve to tell him what happened. Levi was Vianca’s favorite, so he had to know about the omerta. She wasn’t allowed to speak its name or reveal the truth, but somehow, she’d need to find a way around that. She needed to tell someone and, tolerable or not, Levi was the only person she had in New Reynes. “I read about Vianca in the guidebook. It...it mentioned the family blood talent.” When she tried to form the word, no breath would come out. She couldn’t say it. Still, she persisted. “I forget what it’s called.”
Levi’s face darkened. “I’m surprised they printed that in a guidebook.”
“Oh, um...” Her chest tightened. The omerta knew she was feeling for its cracks, searching for loopholes. But she needed to find a way to tell Levi. He was the only one in this city helping her. Maybe he could even convince Vianca to let her go.
“Now that you’re hired, keep as far away from Vianca as you can,” he warned. “Believe it or not, she’s a woman you would rather have hate you than like you.”
And you’re her favorite, Enne thought, wondering what exactly that meant.
She returned to the cookies, while Levi, now in a foul mood, stormed off into the living room. Every now and then she heard him groan something, like “They mentioned Jonas mucking Maccabees but not me” or “Veil founded the first street gang. Not Havoc. Who wrote this shatz book, anyway?”
Then a few minutes passed in silence. Enne laid the cooling sugar cookies on the counter and walked into the living room, expecting to find him asleep.
Instead, he was sitting up on the couch, turning over the empty vial of poison in his hands. Enne froze.
“Black Maiden,” he said grimly. “It’s Vianca’s poison of choice.”
“Where d-did you find that?” she stuttered.
“I went looking. They don’t mention Vianca’s blood talent in the guidebook.” He nodded to it open on the table. “Enne, why do you have this poison?” There was an acute desperation in his voice, in his expression. He stepped close enough that she could smell his cologne, too close to avoid his gaze.
Enne tensed beneath that look. She took a deep breath and tried to form the words, testing the limits of the omerta, what she could say and what she could not.
“Vianca Augustine is a monster,” she managed carefully. “And you knew that. So why did you bring me to her?” Her voice was full of accusation. She didn’t mean that. Or maybe she did.
He blanched as the realization settled in. “What kind of job did she give you?”
“Why would you bring me to her?” Enne hadn’t realized how angry she was until she shouted the words. “You were supposed to help me!” She laid her hands on his chest and shoved him back. “You told me to trust you!”
He looked as though she’d punched him. “I didn’t know. How could I? Vianca can give only three...” He shuddered and didn’t speak the word. “At any time. They’re precious to her. I never would’ve guessed she’d give one to you. You have to believe me.” He sounded genuinely wounded, genuinely desperate. For her? No—it had to be something more.
Then it dawned on her.
Levi continued, his voice strained, “If I had suspected, I’d never—”
“You have one, too,” Enne whispered. “That’s why Reymond said you’re her favorite.”
His nostrils flared. “Of course I have one.” He turned away from her and paced around the living room. “As if I chose to start a scheme that was born to fail. I’ve been scrambling around for months trying to clean it up. Meanwhile, the Irons are as good as broke. They can barely look at me anymore. I can barely look at myself anymore.” He stopped pacing, but he still never faced her. “I was supposed to be something. Instead, I’m hers.” His voice grew hoarse at the last word, as if he might also break down. He fiddled with something silver in his pocket.
“Is it truly unbreakable?” Enne asked quietly. She couldn’t tell who was supposed to be comforting whom. She didn’t know what scheme he was talking about.
He turned to look at her. “Yes,” he whispered hoarsely. “Unless she dies.”
She gave him a questioning look.
“I’m not a killer, no,” he murmured. “But, oh, I would. But I can’t. We can only pray someone else does.”
Any lingering anger she had left disappeared. She’d never seen someone else’s expression so perfectly reflecting her own. They were both trapped. And he hated Vianca. She could hear it in his every word.
Leaving him to cool down for a moment, she brought in a plate of cookies from the kitchen. Six for her, two for him. She sat on the couch, her knees against her chest, making herself small. She ripped a cookie in half and nibbled it from center to crust. Eating felt normal. She’d barely eaten all day.
Levi sat opposite her in an armchair. “I’m sorry.” He said it like he meant it. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“I know.” And she really did.
“What did she make you do?”
“She didn’t make me do anything.” Enne moved on to her second cookie, her voice low and cold and unrecognizable. “Initially, she did. But by the end, I wanted to, and I don’t feel guilty in the least bit. I’d do it again.” She paused to examine his reflection for any judgment, but his face was unreadable. “Does that make me a bad person?”
“I suppose it depends on what it is you did,” he said uneasily.
She braced herself for the omerta’s constrictions, but felt none. “In Luckluster Casino, Sedric Torren is likely overturning his dinner, and he deserves it.” Apparently, once the secrecy of the omerta was broken, Enne could speak the truth freely. She sighed with relief.
Levi froze while reaching for a cookie. “You poisoned Sedric Torren?”
“He’s not dead—just sick.” Enne shuddered. “There was a childish pink dress. Vianca made me wear it. And it worked. Vianca dressed me up to send me to the slaughter.”
A long moment passed before he whispered, “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not crying.”
“I said I’m not hurt.”
“But you cried all morning.”
“I’m tired,” she seethed. And if he kept prodding her, she would cry. It wouldn’t take much. She wasn’t trying to be strong. She just didn’t have it in her to be anything right now.
She stood and grabbed the orb she’d left on the table earlier for Levi, thrusting it at him.
“I’m not taking that,” he said defiantly. “It’s my fault that she found you.”
“You said the Irons were broke.”
“And that’s my fault, too.”
“So fix it.” She shoved the orb into his chest.
“Does she know that you’re Alfero’s daughter?” he asked, and she shook her head. “Good. She can’t know. Ever.” He laid the orb back on her table. “I’m not taking it.”
“But—”
“Don’t you get it?” he yelled. “She owns you. For as long as she’s breathing, you’re trapped in New Reynes. There’s no way out. All those things you said earlier about wanting to return home in the fall? Wanting to finish school? You’ll be lucky if you ever see Bellamy again. You’ll be lucky if you make it out of this city alive.”
The walls of the room suddenly felt smaller, closer. And, at last, Enne began to cry.
“I...” He blinked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” Slowly, hesitantly, he moved closer to her as her shoulders heaved and took her in his arms. His touch was warm. Enne almost slid away, but truthfully, she welcomed the comfort—even from him. She had no one else.
“I’ve never met one of her others,” he murmured. “I’ve always been alone.”
“I want to go home.”
“I know.”
“I want to find Lourdes.” She’d never needed her mother as much as she did in this moment. Missing her felt like missing something vital in her chest. It ached as she steadied her sobs.
“I promise we will,” he said. She clung to his words like a life raft.
“But what if Vianca gives me another assignment?” she asked.
“Then you do it. That’s all you can do.” He let her go, and she pulled away from him and wiped her nose. “Tomorrow night, we’ll go to the Sauterelle. We’ll learn what we can about Lourdes.”
She nodded. It was a start. She picked up the orb and handed it to him one more time. “I want you to have it.”
He took it, though she could tell it hurt him to do so. “I promise, Enne.” Her name sounded strange on his lips. He’d always called her “missy.”
“I’m going to help you. We’re in this together, you and I.”