by Amanda Foody
“You look nice,” he managed.
She looked at him closely and gasped. “What happened to you? Are you all right?” She lifted a hand toward his face, rubbed the skin under his eye and inspected the purple bruise with concern.
Under different circumstances, Levi would’ve been happy to submit to her touch. But he could already see the unease in her eyes. He swatted her hand away and smiled, a bit too widely. “I’m fine.”
“You look terrible.”
“Really? I feel great.”
She crossed her arms. “Are you really not going to tell me what happened?”
“I... I had a bit of an argument with Chez.”
“Looks like he won.”
He winced. “Take it easy on me.”
“But Chez is your third...” She bit her lip. “I thought oaths prevented things like this.”
Levi took a deep, shameful breath. “It’s called a challenge, when someone tries to overthrow the lord. It’s normally a duel to the death. And it would’ve been, if Jac hadn’t shown up.”
She made a face like she was the one who was ill, exactly the sort of pity Levi didn’t need.
“Never mind that,” he said quickly. “Did you visit the bank today?”
She gave him a pointed look, like she knew he was stalling. “Yes. There was barely anything in the vault. We found a strange black orb and an even stranger Mizer token. I don’t know what to think of either of them.”
Levi had never heard of a black orb before. “Can I take a look at the orb?”
“Yes, I’ll bring it tomorrow,” she answered. “There was an address listed on the account. Some place called the Street of the Holy Tombs. Lola said it was in Olde Town.”
Levi crinkled his nose. “I know that place. Mysterious black orbs and old coins? That’s exactly the neighborhood you’re looking for. It’s full of the Faithful. Gives me the creeps just to walk through it.”
“Well, I’m going tomorrow to call on a woman named Zula Slyk.” The name sounded vaguely familiar to Levi, but he couldn’t remember why. Enne hesitated for a moment before continuing. “It would be great if you could come with me, but do you think you’ll feel up for it?”
“Of course I will.” He cracked his neck. “Takes more than a broken rib and a cut to slow me down.”
Truthfully, entering Iron Land was a dangerous notion right now, but Olde Town was his territory, his claim. He refused to let himself fear it. Besides, he’d brave worse than that for Enne—all she had to do was ask.
“Lola also suggested trying Scrap Market, if this doesn’t pan out.” Her face was doing that expressionless thing—she was upset.
What he should’ve done was console her. Of course something would turn up. Problem was, that something would probably be Lourdes’s corpse. Levi was already struggling to pick up the pieces of his own shattered life—he couldn’t bear to watch Enne go through that, too.
Instead, he said, “Scrap Market is a bad idea. It’s dangerous, now that Scavenger is Scar Lord. I wouldn’t risk it myself even if I didn’t get the muck kicked out of me today. And you shouldn’t go, either.”
“I wasn’t asking for your permission,” she snapped. His instincts were correct—she was definitely upset.
He stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know that. I just think it’s better if you stay away from there.” His voice sounded more forceful than he meant it to.
She pushed his hand off her. “I know you’ve had a bad day, Levi, but don’t do this. I don’t need to be patronized.”
He sighed. “I know that. I’m just...” Trying to protect you. He pulled the box of cookies out of his pocket. “I brought you these. Truce?”
The corner of her lips tilted into a smile. “Thanks,” she said, tearing into the box, easily appeased.
He shifted the weight off his bad leg and closed his eyes. Even so, he could still feel the pity of Enne’s stare.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re sorry for me.” He shook his head. “I deserved what I got.” He meant it, too. It was a hollow feeling—less like guilt and more like dejection. He was a pawn playing at being king. If he’d ever been anything more, if he was ever meant to be anything more, he wouldn’t have fallen so low. Saint or crook, it didn’t matter; if New Reynes was a game, then he’d already lost.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Under different circumstances, maybe he would’ve told her the truth. He wanted to. Someone stronger than himself needed to hold him accountable for what he’d done to the Irons. It would be easy—all he needed to do was pull the two Shadow Cards out of his pocket.
I never pretended to be a good man, he’d say. But I never wanted to be this.
But he didn’t tell her. Not because of the shame, but because he knew that he was a trouble she didn’t need. Enne’s omerta was just another example of how Levi had failed the people who depended on him. The difference between her and him was that she’d given up everything to save someone, and Levi had given up everyone to save himself.
Enne didn’t deserve her own problems—she certainly didn’t deserve Levi’s, too.
Maybe he’d tell her after all of this was over. Iron Lord or not, he would find a way to pay Sedric back. He’d lost nearly everything to the city’s game, but he wouldn’t lose his life.
Only five days from now, when the worst was behind him, he’d tell her about all the wrongs he’d committed and all the people he cheated.
He would tell her how sorry he was for the role he’d played with her and Vianca.
And he would tell her that, even after losing everything he’d ever wanted, he still desperately wanted her.
“I didn’t mean anything,” he said. But when he met her eyes, he could tell that she didn’t believe him. He fought back the urge to reach out and touch her again—on her shoulder, her hand, her waist. Even if he stepped closer, it wouldn’t feel close enough. Enne was becoming more to him than just an attraction. She was the girl who’d come afraid to the city that could smell your fear. She’d faced the witch. She’d poisoned the wolf. She’d strolled into the land of death with her head held high and left it a lord. She was an impossible player in a fixed game, the only person not playing to win.
Maybe Levi had spent too many nights dreaming of the legends of these streets, fantasizing about the day he’d get to finally show his hand. Even after he’d lost, Enne was a fascination, a temptation and a delirious hope that the game wasn’t over, but only just beginning.
She grabbed his left hand, not to hold it, but to turn it over. She traced a finger over the spade tattoo on his arm with a thoughtful expression on her face. She looked at it as if it were a scar.
“You look more lost than I do,” Enne said, her voice hinting at both laughter and sadness.
In that moment, he didn’t feel lost. But he would as soon as she let go.
Suddenly, the air smelled like warm, dark blue, and tasted of bourbon with a trace of espresso. It moved in swirls, like the caress of the wind picking up before a storm. Surprised, he let out a faint moan from the back of his throat. She smelled like a Gambler’s Ruin.
It’d been over four years since he’d sensed a new aura, and it came upon him so unexpectedly that he almost staggered. It was so different from the others he’d known before: the quiet whisper of Jac’s gray, the avarice laced in Vianca’s green, the volatile flames of his father’s red. Enne’s aura made him dizzy, like he’d stared too long at the spaces between the stars, or dived too deep from shallows into ocean. It felt tangible enough to lace between his fingers, though it looked like curls of smoke. In the dim lighting of the hallway, it danced eerily across the carpet, the billowing train of a sapphire gown, the twisting of beasts and passions in her shadow.
Six days was an
extraordinarily short time for him to start sensing an aura. And, as she held his arm, her gaze locked on his, her lips poised between boldness and uncertainty, the more five days from now seemed an excruciatingly long time to wait.
Just as his desire was about to overwhelm his sense of logic, Enne let go of him and took several steps back. Her reaction shouldn’t have surprised him. They’d reached this moment before, and time after time, she’d made it clear what she did and didn’t want.
“I should go,” she said suddenly. “Back to the troupe, I mean. They’ll wonder where I am.”
You’re right outside the dressing room, he thought. But Levi knew excuses—and rejection—when he heard it. The last thing he should be focusing on right now was romance, but still, her words stung.
“The Street of the Holy Tombs,” he said, dragging their conversation—and their relationship—back to business. “Ten, tomorrow morning. You won’t be missing me this time.”
DAY SEVEN
“In the City of Sin, secrets are their own sort of currency, and reputation holds more power than fortune.”
—The City of Sin, a Guidebook: Where To Go and Where Not To
ENNE
Olde Town reminded Enne of a graveyard or a mausoleum, with the way its atmosphere evoked the decaying and forgotten, embraced monsters and nightmares.
The Street of the Holy Tombs was in the center of Olde Town, and one of the few neighborhoods with active residents. It was the cathedral to the graveyard, the beating heart of a mostly dead corpse. Ghostly wind chimes dangled in every window. Weather-worn gargoyles perched on the buttresses overhead, their faces contorted with hunger and wrath. Creeds were painted on every door, and candles burned on broken windowsills.
“It’s very charming,” Enne managed. With every step, she braced herself in case a wandering specter or beast jumped out at her. The Street of the Holy Tombs had a way of undermining her sense of reality.
She fought the urge to stand closer to Levi, remembering how last night she’d so nearly accepted his advances and surrendered herself to New Reynes. Every touch, every look from Levi was a temptation to abandon the girl she’d always been. Enne might’ve strayed from a few of her ladylike ideals, but she wouldn’t lose her entire identity. When she did leave this city, she would leave it in one piece.
“Believe it or not,” Levi said, “people come to this street looking for a scare. There are museums of medical abnormalities. Catacombs lined with skulls. Nightclubs of mirror mazes and horrors.”
“It doesn’t look like it’s all for show,” she said. Creeds and any practice of the Faith were forbidden, and Enne didn’t think even the greediest citizens of New Reynes would display them just for the sake of profit.
“It’s not.”
They found the storefront for number nineteen, a place called Her Forgotten Histories. A middle-aged woman with short curly hair sat outside on a rocking chair, her face hidden behind today’s copy of The Crimes & The Times, whose front-page headline announced the two-year anniversary of the disappearance of Chancellor Malcolm Semper’s daughter. The woman wore a wooden Creed around her neck, nearly twice as large as Jac’s.
“Do you think that’s her?” Enne whispered. “Zula Slyk?”
“I’m not sure,” he said.
A white cat purred and rubbed at the hem of Enne’s skirt. White cats supposedly brought bad luck, a thought Enne might not have considered if they were anywhere but a street devoted to superstition.
“Can I help you?” the woman called to them.
“We’re looking for someone named Zula Slyk,” Enne said.
She folded down her newspaper. “That would be me.”
Don’t get your hopes up, Enne reminded herself. There was an aching wound inside her from missing Lourdes, and these words wrapped it in a protective shell. If she kept her expectations low, she wouldn’t feel the throbbing. If she cut off all her emotions, she wouldn’t be so weak.
Zula inspected them as they walked closer. “I’ve always wanted to meet Vianca’s other boy,” she said. At first, Enne thought she was referring to Vianca’s son, which was absurd: Levi and Vianca had plainly different heritages.
“Ah,” Zula said, her gaze falling on Enne. “She never told me she had a girl.”
Then Enne realized what Zula mean—the omerta. But how could she know? She spoke as if Vianca’s shackles dangled visibly from their wrists.
Zula’s amicable expression fell as Enne drew closer. She squinted at Enne’s features, as though she recognized her from somewhere, or perhaps Enne reminded her of a person she would rather not see.
“Does Vianca know who you are?” Zula asked, her voice suddenly full of bite.
Enne stopped, her heart racing. If Zula knew who she really was, then surely she wouldn’t be another dead-end lead. “Do you?” Enne asked, nervously, hopefully.
Zula shakily drew her hand to her chest and stood up from her chair. “Come inside. I know why you’re here.”
Enne and Levi exchanged a cautious glance. “What if this is a trick?” Levi whispered.
“There were only three names on that bank account. Mine, Lourdes’s and hers. Lourdes must’ve trusted her.” She felt a pang in her chest. If Zula knew Enne’s true identity, then Lourdes had trusted Zula more than she’d trusted her own daughter.
Levi nodded, and they followed Zula inside.
A black printing press took up the majority of the room. Among the remaining space, desks were wedged against bookcases, papers dried on clotheslines tied to lamps and the backs of chairs. A framed painting of a martyr hung on the back wall.
Her Forgotten Histories was a newspaper. That made sense, since Lourdes was a journalist. Perhaps that was how they’d met.
Zula drew the blinds closed over each of the windows, even shooed the cat outside. She motioned for both of them to sit at a desk.
“I should’ve known you’d come,” Zula said. “I always told Lourdes to give you my name—who else would keep you safe? But I didn’t think she’d listen. So obstinate. Never grew out of that.”
Enne drew in a shaky breath. That was definitely Lourdes. “How do you know her?”
“I’m her oldest—and only—friend.” There was an unmistakable sadness in Zula’s voice that Enne tried to ignore.
“Well, you weren’t wrong about her not listening,” Enne admitted. “Lourdes sent me to Levi, not to you.”
Zula barked out a laugh. “Vianca’s orb-maker? Ridiculous. As if she’d send you anywhere near a woman as powerful and terrible as Vianca Augustine.”
“But you know Vianca, too, don’t you?” Levi said. “That’s how you know about her talent. And us.”
“Vianca and I share some political connections,” Zula said carefully. “But no...that’s not how I know.” She closed her eyes, and a set of tattoos darkened on her eyelids. They, too, looked like eyes, though lacking pupils or any color. “I can see shades. That is my talent. Curses, secrets, regrets, passions, sacrifices, desires. I see them like shadows that cling to everyone.”
“That’s nonsense,” Levi said, and Enne shot him a look. He was being rude, and they needed this woman’s help.
“You see auras, don’t you? It’s not so different.” She turned toward Enne, her eyes still closed. Goose bumps shot up Enne’s arms. “Tell me, what do you see when you look at her?”
Levi cleared his throat and adjusted his shirt collar. “I, um...” He looked over Enne’s shoulder. Enne mimicked his movement, but there was nothing behind her. She felt strangely on display. She’d never known Levi could read auras, had never thought to ask about his split talent.
Levi’s gaze fell to the floor, an embarrassed expression on his face. Enne resisted the urge to fix her hair or adjust her clothes. What exactly could he see?
“Perhaps you can’t see it, then,” Zula said. “It’s a
curse. Both of you share it.”
The Street of the Holy Tombs might’ve been a frightening place, but this was pushing the limits of Enne’s logic. “That isn’t why we’re here.”
“I can see it,” Zula said quietly. “The hallway.”
Enne instantly thought of the hallway from her dreams, the place of memories and fantasies, with the black and white doors. Both Enne and Levi quickly met each other’s eyes. They’d obviously both been struck by Zula’s words.
“That’s just a nightmare,” Levi said hoarsely.
Enne was startled, both by Levi’s admission and the distress in his voice. Had he seen the hallway, too? But how was that possible? She’d seen it only in her dreams.
“It’s a shade that binds you both,” Zula said.
Feeling a bit shaky, and her patience quickly wearing thin, Enne pulled the first item from the bank out of her purse: the king token.
“I came to New Reynes looking for Lourdes,” Enne said, placing it on Zula’s desk. “I need to know where she is.”
Zula looked at the token like it was venomous. “You shouldn’t have removed it. It was safe in the bank.”
Enne pursed her lips—she didn’t deserve Zula’s anger. “It’s hot to the touch. Do you know what it is?”
“It’s a tragedy,” Zula snapped. “Countless people died because of what it is. I won’t divulge its secret.” Zula’s vagueness was grating on Enne’s nerves. She’d traveled a thousand miles and overcome horrendous obstacles to find answers, and now this woman would withhold them from her?
“Please,” she said, but her aggravation was obvious through her mask of politeness. “I need to know.”
“Then you’ll be disappointed. You should return it.”
Enne slid it back into her purse, though she had no intention of returning it at all. She retrieved the second item and placed it in front of the woman. “What about the orb?”
Zula took a shuddering breath. “I know what it is. Where did you get it?”