by Amanda Foody
The tree ended abruptly on the last page. “‘Claude Dondelair,’” she read, mainly for Jac’s benefit. “‘Born July 10, 1884 of the old calendar. Died April 18, Year 9. Gunshot wound.’” And beside him: “‘Gabrielle Dondelair. Born November 24, 1887 of the old calendar. Died February 3, Year 9. Gunshot wound.’”
Enne shivered. She recognized their names from her history classes. Brother and sister. Arsonists. Circus performers. Traitors.
“This is giving me the creeps,” Jac said.
The blood didn’t end with Claude and Gabrielle, however. Their mother, Geraldine Dondelair, was hanged later that year. Their split brother, Dorian Dondelair Osire, saw the guillotine. How dramatic.
“’Lo, missy,” Levi said. Were they not using first names now? Enne rolled her eyes. “The day Gabrielle Dondelair died...that’s the day after your birthday, isn’t it?”
They exchanged a glance. That was an unhappy coincidence.
“Well,” Enne said, her voice catching, “I’m sure there are other Dondelair women who could be...” She hurriedly flipped through the pages. Every last Dondelair, dead before Year 10. Not even the most distant cousins of Claude and Gabrielle had been spared. Enne pointed out the names of several women who could have theoretically birthed her before their untimely ends.
Lola returned, two more books in hand. “There’s no record of this Lourdes Reids Alfero. You sure that’s her real name?”
The last salvageable remnants of Enne’s happy life in Bellamy were shattering. “No,” she murmured. “I guess I’m not.”
“You sure she’s a Protector?”
“Yes,” Enne said. That she was certain of. “Just being around Lourdes...you felt safe. She has an air about her like she’s trustworthy.”
“For everyone? Or just for you?” Lola asked flatly.
Enne thought for a moment. Most of Bellamy society didn’t associate with Lourdes. It didn’t really have to do with her frequent vacations to New Reynes, or her often distastefully honest way of speaking...it was something about her as a person, something indefinable. Other people weren’t comfortable around her. They hadn’t had any friends in Bellamy. It was always just Enne and Lourdes in their large, empty house, their weekends perpetually unoccupied, their telephone never ringing.
“You’d feel safe like that,” Levi said carefully, interrupting Enne’s thoughts, “if she’d sworn her protection to you.”
It was frightfully obvious, now that Enne knew the truth about her talents. She should’ve realized it before. Lourdes must have sworn her protection to Enne, a seal of magic that kept Enne’s secrets safer. But that also meant, by doing so, Lourdes had surrendered her ability to protect herself. She could never act in her own interest—only Enne’s. Enne had always considered the practice barbaric, the sort of treachery that Mizer kings had used for their own benefit.
Why would Lourdes go to such lengths? Was it because she loved Enne? Had it been a promise to her parents? A belief that Enne’s talents were something important, a piece of Lourdes’s greater cause to be protected?
“Did you find anything in the Dondelair book?” Lola asked.
“Gabrielle Dondelair died the day after Enne’s birthday,” Jac blurted.
Lola blanched. “You must be mucking with me. Gabrielle was...infamous.”
Enne waved the other pages. “And we have a list of names of other women in that family. Besides, we don’t even know if February 2 is my real birthday. For all we know, Lourdes lied about that, too.” She mustn’t have sounded very convincing, however, because Lola stomped away.
Jac jumped to his feet. “Where are you going?” he demanded.
“To find the newspapers,” she snapped. “I’m not storming off. I’m not about to—” she raised her voice “—let all the world know about this shatz. And that she—” She pointed at Enne, and Jac grabbed Lola’s arm and shoved it down. “That she...shouldn’t be allowed to live.” Her voice was quiet and strained. She could barely say the words, and Enne realized that was the power of the street oath binding her. She tried not to feel hurt at the intensity in Lola’s conviction, but the words still stung. Lola thought of her more as a weapon than a human being.
Jac pushed Lola against the bookshelves. Enne frantically shoved the books back into their places. Levi was already on his feet, ready to back Jac up.
“What is your problem, Dove?” Levi asked.
“I’d think you’d know my problem more than anyone,” Lola hissed. “Everyone knows about you and Vianca. What would Vianca do with someone like her?”
“Vianca won’t know about her.” Both kept their voices low. Thankfully, there was no one on this floor to hear, anyway.
“And if she demands you tell her?” Lola challenged Levi. “I know how omertas work.”
Enne’s annoyance piqued, as it did whenever people started talking about her like she wasn’t there. She stood up and pulled the boys away from Lola. “I’m right here,” she seethed. “And you might have already made up your mind about me, but I’m not from New Reynes. I go to finishing school. I spend my days dancing and curtsying and baking. I dot my i’s with hearts because I think it looks pretty. Whatever you think I am, you’re wrong.”
“Two nights ago, you almost killed me,” Lola growled. “Maybe I know exactly what you are, and you’re the one who’s wrong.”
The words hit Enne like a slap. “Th-that’s not true.”
But there was more truth in Lola’s words than Enne cared to admit.
“I’ve lost everything to the gangs—my parents, my brothers. Every time the city finds their favorite villains, people end up dead.” Lola scowled as she looked between them. “So you might be here flirting and bickering as if nothing else matters, but you’re all in a library with loaded pistols in your pockets. Trying to find Lourdes Alfero as if the monarchists are anything other than lowlifes—yeah, I know who Alfero is.” She shook her head. “This story will end badly.”
Enne blinked back tears. “I didn’t ask for this.” Beside her, Levi put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her anger at him from earlier disappeared, and obviously, his had, too. Arguing or not, she still had his support, and that assurance helped steady her.
Lola rolled her eyes. “Muck, missy. Crying now? You’re something else.”
“Can you just calm down?” Jac told her, moving between the two girls. His voice was weaker than earlier, though—unsteady. Maybe part of him believed what Lola was saying.
“Come on,” Levi said, giving Enne’s shoulder a last squeeze. “Let’s dig up some newspapers on Gabrielle Dondelair, get what we need before this place closes and go home.”
Lola cursed under her breath and walked off, Jac following close behind, grumbling about Lola’s hypocritical collection of knives.
Enne and Levi trailed after them.
“She’s right,” Enne whispered. She yanked the gun out of her pocket and placed it in Levi’s hand. “I don’t want this.” It felt like she was talking about more than just the weapon.
He bit his lip, but didn’t take the gun. “We can leave, if you don’t think this is a good idea.”
“No, no,” she said. “We need something. Right now all we’ve learned for certain is that we don’t even know Lourdes’s real name.” She refused to leave less certain than she’d come.
They found Lola and Jac on the second floor—a much more crowded area—among the periodicals. Lola slapped a stack on the closest table, and the four of them took seats. “This is everything from that period. There’s a lot. Kids at schools here write essays about this girl.”
Enne slid the newspaper toward her and Levi. The headline read “Capitol Ablaze.” But of course, she already knew this story. The capitol building had to be entirely reconstructed after the fire—Gabrielle hadn’t left anything behind in the ruin.
“I think I already found our answ
er,” Levi said. “Look at this one. ‘Criminal’s Execution Postponed.’ They had Gabrielle in custody and didn’t execute her due to health reasons. And she wasn’t killed until...”
Lola pointed at the paper she held. “Until February 3.”
Uneased washed over her. “You can’t execute a pregnant woman, can you?” Enne asked softly.
“There’s even a picture.” Lola turned to Gabrielle’s faded head shot. Her hair was lighter than Enne’s, her face softer and her skin warmer. Enne searched for some kind of resemblance, but it was hard to be certain. They had similar lips, she supposed, and maybe there was something about her eyes, but there was a grief in Gabrielle’s expression that Enne couldn’t see beyond.
“She’s got that whole doll thing going on.” Jac gestured to Enne’s face, as if that served as genetic evidence.
“She looks so young,” Enne said.
“She was only twenty when she died,” Lola said solemnly.
Enne turned away from Gabrielle’s picture, unable to look at the girl who’d been so ruthlessly executed. No matter what she’d done, it was still tragic to imagine.
“The story’s right here, between the lines,” Lola explained. “They discovered that Gabrielle was pregnant. Some blood gazer at the birth saw what you are.” She pointed to another paper. “They issued a public apology here, saying the execution was going to be private. Back during the Great Street War, that used to mean the Phoenix Club wanted in on it. They wanted to kill Gabrielle themselves.”
“You mean the Shadow Game, don’t you?” Enne asked. Beside her, Levi stiffened.
“That’s what I would guess. A Mizer baby would’ve caught their attention.”
“But she died of a gunshot wound,” Levi added. “Not in the Game.”
“I heard there was a big chase for her, before she died,” Lola said. “My brother told me stories about it. But the whiteboots got her, in the end.”
“Maybe she escaped before playing the Game,” Enne suggested.
“Or maybe,” Levi said quietly, as Jac shot him a warning look, “she won.”
Enne reached into her pocket and pulled out her token. It was warm and familiar in her hand, something she desperately needed when every new secret she uncovered was soaked in tragedy. Had the Phoenix Club known about some connection between Lourdes and Gabrielle, and that was why they’d invited Lourdes to play the Shadow Game? The card they’d found wasn’t the Fool, but that didn’t mean an invitation hadn’t found her eventually.
What if the Phoenix Club knew Enne existed? If she were a member of the Phoenix Club, and she were looking for the daughter of Gabrielle Dondelair, then a seventeen-year-old girl in an acrobatics show would certainly draw suspicion. Enne was climbing her way up to becoming a real star in the St. Morse troupe, but she could no longer afford to draw that much attention to herself. If she wanted to survive, then she needed to live as she and Lourdes had lived: in the darkness, as far from the spotlight as she could.
Acrobatics was the one thing she was enjoying about New Reynes. She’d been mediocre all of her life, and the moment she’d begun to excel, she’d have to throw her ambitions away. It was the only way to protect herself, but it felt unfair.
“No one wins the Shadow Game,” Lola said.
“It’s not like they’d want you to know, if someone did,” Levi retorted. His voice was hoarse, almost giddy. “No game is impossible to win.”
Enne fiddled with her token. “So what do we have? A connection between the Shadow Game, Gabrielle and Lourdes? That’s it?”
“We’re digging up history,” Lola said. “Did you expect better?”
“No. But I’d hoped.”
She swatted at Enne’s hands. “Put that key away.”
“Key?” Enne asked, confused.
“Yes. That coin in your hand. Isn’t that a Royal Bank key?”
Levi took the coin from Enne and turned it over, examining it. “That sounds familiar...”
“It should,” Lola said. “It’s in Olde Town. It’s the oldest bank in the city.”
Enne’s spirits lifted. “You mean it’s still there? We can find it?” Even if their research had been fruitful, learning the identity of her birth mother had brought her no closer to finding Lourdes. But this...
“Don’t involve me,” Lola said. “Olde Town is Iron Land, anyway.”
Levi shook his head. “I’ve never heard of this bank. Have you, Jac?”
“I think there’s some place like that near First Square,” Jac pondered, and Enne’s spirits lifted even higher. This was a real lead.
Levi rubbed his thumb on the edge of the token. “These numbers might reference a vault.”
“Then we’ll go tomorrow,” Enne declared. “Tomorrow afternoon.” She packed up their papers, eager to leave this place and the tragedy they’d uncovered behind.
“Lourdes won’t be hiding in some bank,” Lola said.
Enne shook her head. This was about more than just finding Lourdes now. If this was the bank that held the account Enne had accidentally discovered, the one Lourdes had kept secret all this time, then this meant answers. And it also meant volts. A lot of volts.
“You’ll be there with us,” Levi told Lola. “You’re in this now, too. We all are.”
“Involved enough to be hanged for it, you mean.”
“That’s a rather depressing notion, but sure. How did you put it earlier?” He grinned. “Oh, right. ‘You’re one of the villains, now.’”
DAY SIX
“Avarice, pride and lust—these are all modest desires. What the City of Sin truly craves is destruction.”
—The City of Sin, a Guidebook: Where To Go and Where Not To
LEVI
Walking into Olde Town usually felt like walking home, but today, Levi had a sinking, anxious feeling in his chest. He shouldn’t be worried. With Vianca’s gift, his own salary, Enne’s payment and two days’ worth of gambling spoils, he had seven thousand of the ten thousand volts he needed to pay Sedric Torren. A few more casinos, a few more lucky streaks, and he was going to make it.
Even so, the alleys felt narrower and darker than usual, the way Olde Town probably looked to those who didn’t belong. But Levi more than belonged—he owned this place. Its filth and rust and ruin were the Iron Lord’s claim.
“How are you doing?” Jac asked beside him.
Was his unease that obvious? He molded his face into a neutral expression. “I’m fine,” he answered.
“I know what Reymond was to you.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” He didn’t think his current state of mind was related to Reymond. He knew the ache of grief from his mother’s death. It hadn’t come yet—Reymond’s death still felt unbelievable, more than anything else—but it would. This feeling just wasn’t that.
“Jonas already has patrols stationed around the borders.” Jac shook his head. “I know we talked about getting some dealers into Double or Nothing, but that den is right on the border. Might be too risky now. There’s plenty of other opportunities in our own territory.”
Already, things were changing. Levi typically met with Reymond once a week to talk about the investment scheme or the happenings of New Reynes. Reymond always paid attention to things Levi didn’t care about: politics, the Families, current events. But if it couldn’t earn him a profit, Levi generally tuned it out.
“You could be my second,” Reymond had suggested to him several years ago. It’d been October, around Levi’s fourteenth birthday. Reymond had bought Levi a beer, which Levi had pretended was his “first” drink, otherwise Reymond would’ve been mad.
“I don’t want to be your second,” Levi had answered.
“Then what do you want?”
“I want to be a lord.”
Reymond shook his head. “You’re better than us.”
When Levi first had the idea for the Irons’ consulting business, he’d pitched it to Reymond. When he’d made a few enemies on the streets, Reymond had taken care of them. When he’d needed something—anything at all—Reymond’s door was open.
Reymond hadn’t been his best friend. He wouldn’t sit up all night, several glasses drunk, talking about the things that haunted him. Levi turned to Jac when he was looking for a typical night’s worth of trouble. But it was Reymond he’d turned to when he’d needed help.
But the one time Reymond had needed him, he’d been too late.
“Let’s not talk about Double or Nothing right now,” Levi said quickly, anxious to focus on something else. Maybe grief wasn’t waiting around to be found. Maybe it was called.
“Chez will be expecting volts,” Jac said. Today was Thursday, and although it wasn’t an official Irons meeting, it was collection day. Chez delivered the volts collected from their clients to Levi, and Levi recorded them and distributed all the Irons’ individual earnings to Chez. Chez was the middleman between him, his clients and the other Irons. Levi used to spend more face time with his gang, had always made a point to check in with all the Irons individually...until Vianca’s scheme started dragging him down.
“Then I’ll give him the volts,” Levi answered seriously.
“You need those,” Jac said. “I know you don’t have the ten thousand for Sedric yet.”
“I have seven. I can part with five hundred and earn it back tonight.”
“You’re good with cards, Levi, but your life isn’t something to gamble.”
He wasn’t being reckless. He just couldn’t hold out on the Irons anymore. Every time he looked at Mansi, she was a bit thinner.
All this time, Levi hadn’t thought he had a choice. He was backed into a desperate situation. Stealing from the Irons had felt like his only option. But the more he interacted with Enne, the more he remembered what he was like before he came to New Reynes. Every time he lied to her, he had to ask himself: Why? Why not tell her about his own Shadow Cards? About how he ran the Irons? About the kind of man he was?