by Amanda Foody
“I’d ask,” Enne snapped, “but mommy’s dead.” It was a very unladylike thing to say, even if it felt oh-so-good to do so.
“Oh, so the doll has some bite,” Alice sneered. “Fine, lie or play whatever game you want, but I want you to know how it works here. There are no favorites. There are no cheats. You get your roles on merit alone, but that doesn’t mean anyone will take kindly to you if you’re trying to play us for fools.” Alice made a show of looking down at the floor. “You know, missing that net wouldn’t be hard, with the right push.”
Two days ago, Enne might’ve withered in the face of such a threat. But yesterday she’d poisoned Sedric Torren, one of the most dangerous men in the city, and today she wasn’t in the mood to hear anyone else call her a doll. She wasn’t so breakable.
She finished her water and handed Alice back the cup. “Then push me,” she growled, her fury growing. But her anger had far less to do with Alice’s words and everything to do with the doubt that was burying itself in her mind.
Lourdes had lied about a lot of things. Enne had braced herself for the truth when she’d decided to come to New Reynes, but this was different. These lies involved Enne. Lourdes had hidden her politics from her daughter, but Enne hated to imagine that she might’ve concealed Enne’s very identity from her, as well.
Alice shrugged, but gave a menacing smile. “’Lo, Tommy! We need a catcher. Doll face here is getting cocky.”
Tommy, one of the other acrobats, left his group at the bars and ran to join them. To Enne’s surprise, she realized the rest of the troupe had stopped practicing. They’d been watching her.
No one had ever watched her before.
“We’re going to practice some tricks,” Alice told Tommy as he smiled, unaware and well-intentioned. “I think the new girl could use more of a challenge. I want to make sure she knows how it works around here.”
Enne gritted her teeth. She hadn’t asked for this. She wasn’t looking to impress anyone or win anything.
But she’d spent her entire life fighting for next to last. So if she had to play, she would not lose. She would not break.
She had other business in this city.
LEVI
Enne was wearing some of the clothes Levi had given her, and whoever the original owners of that fur coat and blue dress might’ve been, he decided she wore them better.
“New Reynes looks good on you,” he said.
She didn’t grace him with a smile. She pulled the coat tighter around herself and shivered.
“She’s in a mood,” Jac warned. He leaned against the alley wall behind them, his presence quiet even though he took up so much space. He’d also worn his best—a gray vest and pin-striped shirt. His jacket was draped over his arm, and he smoked a cheap cigar. It smelled foul—Levi hated them—but it was preferable to the other substances these streets had to offer.
“We’ve been waiting for ten minutes,” she groaned. “Are you sure Mansi is coming?”
“Of course she is.” Levi flashed a smile, though the doubt had occurred to him, as well. But Mansi was more dependable than the sunrise—she’d be here. “It’s a favor for her lord.”
Jac grunted.
“Oh, is he in a mood, too?” Reymond asked. He stood on Levi’s opposite side, grinding a pebble into the cobblestones with his blue-and-black-striped cane. It looked like something out of a candy shop.
The Sauterelle wasn’t much to look at, even from the front, and, unfortunately, they were in the back. The alley was an offshoot of an offshoot off Tropps Street, a collection of discarded liquor bottles, random articles of clothing and food wrappers. Faintly, the ragtime from within the cabaret murmured in the darkness. Levi felt an itch in his fingers picturing the Sauterelle’s numerous card tables. He was in the mood to win tonight.
“You went too far today,” Jac said low enough that only Levi could hear.
Levi tensed, his winning mood already diminishing. “You tell me this now?”
“It wasn’t you, Levi. It was an act, and Chez saw through it,” Jac said. “He doesn’t want a show. He wants volts.”
“What else was I supposed to do?” They were already sneaking into the Sauterelle just so they wouldn’t have to pay for tickets.
Jac shook his head. “I just have a bad feeling.”
Reymond plucked the cigar from Jac’s mouth and took a hit. “You always have a bad feeling. You’re more jitter than person.” He handed Jac back the cigar, who looked less than eager to have it returned. “What’s the problem?”
“Nothing,” Levi said hurriedly, because he already knew Reymond’s advice: if there was a threat, squash it. Break the rules before they broke you.
Jac inspected the cigar, clearly decided he no longer wanted it, and offered it to Enne.
“What do I look like?” she asked.
Jac grinned. “Like a Sinner.”
She hmphed.
The back door to the cabaret opened at last, and Mansi poked her head out. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of Reymond. “Oh, um, Eight Fingers,” she said weakly.
“I’m a friend, little missy,” Reymond said, his voice welcoming, though Levi knew each of his eight rings contained a different type of poison, memorabilia from his days as a Dove. “We’ve come to enjoy a good show.”
Mansi looked hesitantly to Levi, who nodded, then opened the door. The four of them slipped in. He patted Mansi on the back. “This is our secret, isn’t it, kid?” he asked.
“People will stare,” she whispered. “People will recognize him.”
Mansi was right—neither Reymond Kitamura’s slimy face nor gaudy style was easy to forget. Levi preferred a more inconspicuous approach himself. In fact, he preferred almost any approach Reymond didn’t. He figured this was why Reymond had taken such a liking to him.
“He’ll behave,” Levi promised, as if he had any control over the Scar Lord.
Mansi nodded uncertainly and scampered off, back to her post in the kitchens.
Enne lingered in the hallway, clearly waiting for Levi. The music from the show grew louder, the cigarette smoke stronger, the lights brighter. But they paused briefly in the hallway’s darkness.
“What if she’s in there?” Enne asked breathlessly. It was obvious who she was talking about.
Levi had considered this, but it seemed unlikely. Lourdes wouldn’t let her daughter worry while she passed her nights at a variety show.
“She probably won’t be,” he said gently. “But this is the arts neighborhood. A lot of her associates come here.”
Enne nodded, but Levi could tell she didn’t feel much better by the way she reached out and grasped his arm. She might’ve been collecting herself, but the touch was enough to make Levi unravel. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the lights ahead, her breath hitched. Just the look of her like that made his chest knot.
She was dangerous, this missy. Barely two days of knowing her, and Levi was so fixedly intertwined with her troubles. He’d been Vianca’s prisoner for four years, and never had anyone else shared his cell. Never had anyone else understood.
He let her compose herself, even though his own heart was pounding. It was nice to feel needed, nice to provide. For the past several months, he had only taken, never given, and he couldn’t give her much, except some measure of comfort.
“We’re going to find her,” he promised. She nodded again. He wasn’t sure she was even listening, so he squeezed her shoulder. She shied away, wincing.
“Did I do something wrong?” Levi asked.
“Sorry. I’m just terribly sore,” she said, rubbing her arm.
Levi grinned. “Already had your first rehearsal? Well, you seem to be in one piece. Are you that terrible?”
She hesitated, then gave him a weak smile. “I soothed myself by imagining telling you off later.”
�
��Is that so?” he asked, stepping even closer to goad her. He probably deserved to be told off. He’d definitely pulled the acrobatics idea out of his ass. “Well, I’m ready. Let me have it.”
Then the music stopped, and they heard the audience clapping. Enne’s attention turned back to the show, and Levi found himself a bit disappointed. “Let’s go find the others.”
They emerged on a second-floor balcony, the show itself below them. Jac and Reymond perched at a high-top near the railing, drinks already in their hands. They hollered at Enne as she approached, real rowdy, though Levi couldn’t figure out why until he saw the stage, where a woman posed in nothing but a slinky garter set and silver tassels dangling from her nipples.
Enne went red as a cherry, and her lips formed a small O.
“I see why your mother likes it here,” Levi said.
Levi could tell from Enne’s expression that she was attempting to remain nonchalant about it all. But he still recalled their delightful experience yesterday passing Sweetie Street. She hadn’t given up her sensitivities that quickly.
“Yes, well,” Enne breathed, examining the mostly nude woman. “I imagine Lourdes probably does.”
Levi drummed his fingers against the countertop, then searched the floor below for a card table to make his own. He nudged Jac and pointed to the far corner. “That one,” he declared.
“Why that one?” Jac asked.
“Just a feeling.” Truthfully, the card dealer at the table—who wasn’t an Iron, wasn’t anyone Levi recognized—was devastatingly attractive. They were here to find Lourdes, and this was an opportunity for Levi to win some of the voltage he needed to pay back Sedric, but there was no harm in a little fun.
“Are we splitting up, then?” Enne asked, scanning the crowd below. Lourdes and her head of blond hair were nowhere to be found.
“Of course not,” Reymond said. “They are, but you can’t be wandering around a place like this all alone.” He put his arm around Enne’s shoulders, but—just as she’d done to Levi earlier—she groaned and batted him off, muttering about trapezes and bruises and handsprings.
Levi shot Reymond a questioning glance. Levi didn’t have the right to feel possessive—in fact, he would much prefer that he didn’t feel this way, would much prefer the idea of the handsome card dealer whose problems were so distant from his own—but he couldn’t imagine what interest Reymond might possibly take in Enne. While Levi leaned either way, Enne was most assuredly not Reymond’s type.
“You need a local with you, missy,” Reymond told her. “Levi will be asking around at the card tables, Jac will be keeping an eye on the floor and you and I can chat with the staff, who I’m sure see more here than anyone.”
Levi couldn’t argue with his logic, though it irked him how easily Reymond had taken the lead...even if Reymond was the one who’d suggested they survey the Sauterelle in the first place. Whereas Levi had always needed to work for his authority as a leader, being a lord came naturally to Reymond.
“Fine,” Enne said.
It also irritated him how quickly she’d agreed.
“Well, fine, then,” Levi muttered, then made for the stairwell.
Following the striptease act was a duo juggling knives. They weren’t ordinary daggers—they were hooked in a way that faintly resembled scythes. Levi studied the two girls tossing them, searching for the trick. They spun between throws, danced with blades between each of their fingers, played with the steel as though it were ribbon. It must’ve been a hoax.
But then he noticed the white hair of one of the performers. She was a Dove, a member of the most feared gang in the city. The assassins. It was no trick, then. He was surprised the Sauterelle let her perform, lest she frighten the audience. Or was the hair part of the show, too?
Levi slid into an empty seat at his selected table and put down a few volts. He was directly beside the handsome card dealer, who was very much the sort Levi liked in men. Delicate lips, rosy skin, all soft and boyish.
“I haven’t played here in ages,” Levi said casually.
“You don’t look familiar,” the dealer replied.
Levi gave him a moment, wondering if he’d recognize him after all. Half the other dealers here were Irons, and besides, Levi was famous to anyone who enjoyed Tropps. But when the handsome boy remained silent, Levi regretfully continued, his ego wounded. “I only come here on occasion. I like the arts scene. Pretty different from the university.”
The dealer nodded, showing he’d heard, though he had to pause to finish out the hand. Levi folded the first round, as he always did. It gave the impression he wasn’t an aggressive player. Gave the others a false sense of ease.
“South Side, eh? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“It doesn’t suit me.” Levi shrugged. “But I’m good with business.”
The hand ended, and to his luck, Levi was dealt an excellent new one—not that he needed one to win. But he preferred not to resort to cheating, unless he thought he might leave the den with his pockets lighter than when he’d entered.
Fifteen minutes later, Levi had won the pot. He slid the small pile of chips toward himself with satisfaction.
“You play a lot?” the dealer asked.
“On occasion.” Levi glanced over his shoulder. “It’s the crowds I like. No other place like this. All sorts come here.”
“I don’t really pay much attention,” he said blandly.
Levi realized he wasn’t likely to find either much information or fun with the dealer, so he decided to try for a different form of entertainment. He ordered himself his favorite drink, a Gambler’s Ruin, and planned to bet his entire pile on the next hand, even if his cards were mediocre. He liked playing it cocky, especially when the stakes got high. He needed to dig himself out of the rut from last night and lift his spirits.
By the time he had his drink in hand and a new music act had taken the stage, Levi was in an excellent mood. He plucked the cherry out of the bourbon and twisted the stem between his teeth as he played, trying to tie it in a knot. It was easier to focus on this than maintaining his poker face, especially when he felt so certain he would win.
Besides the handsome but disappointing dealer and himself, there were two other players at the table: a woman who was as large as two Jacs put together, and a boy who was making a point to match Levi’s every bet.
Levi held two two-of-a-kinds. Certainly the boy could’ve held something better, but it wouldn’t matter—not if he broke first.
The dealer passed out a new card. It did nothing to help Levi’s hand.
But still he bet.
The woman folded; the boy kept going. Levi sat up straighter, took another sip, added another chip. Tropps was a waiting game, one of the few where the bluff was worth more than the cards themselves. The players began with three cards but, if they played out the whole hand, ended with twelve. That rarely happened, though—players folded, players broke. Especially after the first play, seven cards in, when the players were required to turn over at least three cards.
Levi turned over his cards first, revealing the lower of his two pairs. The boy’s cards were random, mismatched of suit and number. Worthless. Yet still he bet.
Levi spit the knotted cherry stem into his glass. The night was getting interesting.
But in the end, the boy broke, as Levi knew he would. Levi pressed him up until the eleventh card, then, finally, he folded. They each showed their cards. The boy had four sixes, all hiding in his hand, while Levi had finished with a full house. Levi would’ve lost, had they reached the last trick.
It was his favorite way to win, knowing he’d been within an inch of losing.
The boy, to his credit, didn’t look irritated. He nodded at Levi with approval.
They played ten more hands. It took Levi only a few to pick out the boy’s tell. Whenever he was bluffing, his eyes drifted
more often to the stage, searching for a distraction to hide his expression. He wasn’t as handsome as the dealer, but he had an interesting face. His skin was several shades darker than Levi’s, his hair black, straight and tied at the nape of his neck. He had a small tattoo of a pair of dice beneath his jaw, and he wore a smoking jacket with a gold tie.
Levi’s buzz was growing, his mood lightening, his pocket four hundred volts heavier—he was quickly forgetting why they’d come to the Sauterelle. Then he spotted Enne speaking with someone in the corner by the stage, her fur coat swallowing her small frame. He couldn’t see who was talking to her—their back was facing Levi—but it definitely wasn’t Reymond.
As he craned his neck to get a better look, Dice slid into the seat beside him.
“She’s pretty,” he commented matter-of-factly. It took Levi a moment to realize he was referring to the woman singing on the stage, not to Enne.
Levi shrugged.
Dice picked up Levi’s glass and shook it. The ice cubes rattled. “You need another drink.” He didn’t wait for Levi’s response before walking over to the bar.
Levi waited for his internal logic to remind him that mysterious boys met in cabarets were a terrible idea, and that he was here for an entirely different purpose tonight. But his logic remained quiet, subdued by the whiskey. He pocketed his chips and followed the young man to the bar.
“Do you often gamble where the other Irons work?” Dice asked Levi as he sat in the barstool beside him.
“Not usually, no,” Levi replied. He unrolled the cuffs of his shirtsleeves to conceal his tattoos, though he was secretly pleased he’d finally been recognized—even if it was in the den of one of his own clients.
“It’s your hair,” Dice said. “Orb-maker hair. Gives you away.” Levi smiled and shrugged ruefully. He’d often considered dyeing it—it wasn’t as if he used his orb-maker talent—but he couldn’t picture himself without it.
The bartender handed Levi his new drink. Levi immediately went for the cherry.
“I didn’t expect to win,” Dice said. He’d ordered a Snake Eyes for himself. It was a drink you ordered if you were stuck in a losing streak, a drink meant to bring luck. “I’d heard you were good. But I don’t usually believe what they say about people like you.”