by Amanda Foody
Upon touching the card, the sensation came suddenly, inexplicably, and all at once. A pain radiated across her chest, starting at her heart and seeping through her veins. She felt feverish, hyperaware of ever pulse of her blood, every churn of her insides. When she closed her eyes and tried to determine the pain’s source, she had the eerie feeling that there was another presence inside her. A silhouette lurking inside the edges of her mind. Something that hadn’t been there before.
As the pain gradually faded, she became aware of a change in the room. Nearly everyone present was still and lifeless, yet she felt a cold energy in the air. There were threads everywhere. They weren’t something she could feel or see in a literal sense, but something she still understood was there. They hummed against the Shadow Cards, against the black orbs, against the timer. They circled around each of the players’ wrists, binding them—all of them but her. Even though the threads weren’t connected, they all felt as though they were part of the same fabric: different strings of the same piano. And the Game, she realized, was the song.
She nervously placed the World with the other Shadow Cards she’d won. Whatever had happened, whatever she’d thought she could sense—she must have been imagining it. She was at a breaking point of fear and nerves. For a moment, she’d cracked.
In forty-eight minutes, when the timer rang, Levi would die, and so would she. She needed to hold herself together. She ignored the strange sensation and returned her focus to the Game.
Levi blinked a few times, and by the way he did it, Enne thought he was trying to tell her something. A signal. He rubbed his eyes repeatedly, but she’d stopped paying attention. Semper had flipped over the next card, and she was determined to win it. Much of her panic from earlier was gone, replaced solely with resolution.
She won the next six Shadow Cards.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Twenty-eight minutes left.
More people joined in, but only a few. Most were out of orbs. They must have all started out with different amounts.
Enne had sixteen orbs left, and even in the near darkness of the room, she could tell Levi looked within inches of death. His skin reminded her of wax paper, and all his veins showed through, particularly around his eyes.
The next round went by, and she was the only player to bet—Semper already owned that Shadow Card. It automatically went to her.
Then three people bet. Enne won again.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
She lost the next.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
And won the one after.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Twenty minutes. She still needed four cards.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
But she was almost there. She was almost there.
There were five players left, including Semper and her. The other three played every single hand. They must have believed that there was a chance that Enne would win.
She won the next card. Fifteen minutes left.
And the next. Twelve minutes left.
Then she lost. Eight minutes left.
She won. Three minutes left.
Only Enne and Semper still had orbs to bet. He flipped the Hanged Man, but they both already owned that, so he flipped another. They both owned that one, too. And another. And another. It seemed that they were after the same card.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The Devil. When he reached it, there was only one minute left.
She couldn’t lose. The presence in her mind—the one she’d imagined—felt larger and more imposing. All the threads in the room hummed. The song was reaching its final movement.
Semper dealt them each two cards, moving slowly, so slowly, and she wanted to strangle him, she was so anxious and frustrated. He was trying to stall.
He played his first card. A four of spades. She had to follow suit, and the only spade she had was the jack.
Which meant she’d lost. She’d lost, and now they would both die.
Because not only would Semper have all the cards and win the Game, but the timer would inevitably run out. Only twenty-eight seconds left.
If she played her card, she’d watch Levi die. If she did nothing and waited, she’d still watch Levi die.
Twenty-four seconds left.
She could... She could...
Seventeen seconds left.
She needed time to think. Just for a second. Just to get her bearings straight and stop the Game and tell Levi that she was sorry and—
Stop the song, whispered the presence in her head. Stop the song. Stop the song.
It was her own voice. Her own sense of self-preservation speaking. The threads hummed around her, binding everything but her. If she listened closely to the song, she could almost hear the notes skipping. Something was wrong with its tune. The Game wasn’t as it was before. The rules...the rules were broken in a way they weren’t before.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
She reached into her pocket.
Seven.
Six.
She pulled out the revolver.
Five.
She stood and pointed the gun at Malcolm Semper. Her chair screeched like the cries of someone waking in their coffin.
Four.
The women gasped. The man beside Enne leaped up to knock her over. But her finger was already on the trigger, and she fought to keep her balance.
Three.
STOP THE SONG, it screamed.
Two.
Enne obliged.
One.
The gun fired. The bullet smashed the timer into a hundred pieces of clockwork and, all at once, the threads silenced, the song cut off.
The man forced her down, and her chest slammed on the table. She gasped as his weight crushed the air out of her lungs. Someone ripped the gun from her hand.
It was Levi.
Semper reached to flip over his last card and win the Game.
“No!” Enne shouted.
Levi pointed the gun at Semper’s head and shot.
Screams. The sound of chairs scraping the wooden floor. Enne’s ears were ringing from the sound of the gunfire. She craned her neck, searching for Levi.
The table jolted as Semper’s body hit it.
“That was for Lourdes,” Levi whispered, and she loved him for it.
With her cheek pressed against the black felt of the table, Enne stared at two things: the lifeless eyes of the man who’d killed her family, and the Devil card soaking in the devil’s blood.
LEVI
“Don’t. Mucking. Move,” Levi shouted, pointing the gun around the room. The Phoenix Club watched him with wide, dead eyes and remained motionless. You couldn’t kill them with time, but you could kill anything with a bullet.
“Put the gun down,” Josephine Fenice said calmly. Too calmly. He’d just shot the Chancellor of the whole Republic right in front of her, and he would happily shoot her next. He certainly wasn’t calm.
“Let her go,” Levi ordered the man pinning Enne against the table. The man raised his arms, and Enne hurriedly straightened. Her eyes, once brown, were now blazingly violet. Her aura, too, had shifted from swirls of dark blue to a violent storm of purple and silver, deepening the original smells of coffee and bourbon with hints of gunpowder.
Auras weren’t supposed to change.
It was dark enough in the room that he doubted anyone else had noticed her eyes during the Game, but now...now the two of them held their full attention. He needed to get Enne out of here before anyone figured out who—and what—she was.
“Séance,” Levi said, even if the name sounded shatz, “go stand by the door.” Enne did as instructed, and Levi’s shoulder relaxed once she was safely tucked into the corner, far enough away that the Phoenix Club wouldn’t see her Mizer eyes.
Levi reached fo
r the remaining black orbs and returned their energy to his body. He didn’t feel any different afterward than he had before: exhausted, the blood pumping so slowly inside him that his gears felt stuck together. Most of his life energy—whatever that was—was gone. He wondered how long it would take to regenerate.
If it ever did.
Levi backed toward the door. Every part of him ached, but muck—it felt good to move. He didn’t think he’d walk again.
“We’ll only find you again,” Josephine said matter-of-factly. “You can’t run from us.”
From the moment Levi left this room, he would be a real criminal. He’d always been a cheat, but he’d never caused enough trouble that he’d needed to hide. Starting tonight, he would be a wanted man. Wherever he ran, the Phoenix Club would follow.
Gabrielle Dondelair had lasted only a few hours.
Enne grabbed his arm reassuringly. “We’re leaving.”
She opened the door, pulled Levi into the stairwell and slammed it closed. They raced downstairs—a feat nearly impossible for Levi in his current state. Besides his multiple injuries, his body was three-quarters of the way to death. Enne had to prop his arm around her shoulder just to keep him upright.
“Enne,” he hissed frantically in her ear as she helped him down the steps. “If we see anyone at all, you need to close your eyes.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re purple.”
She tensed, but didn’t look as shocked as she should have. What had happened to her during the Game? “Did they see?”
“I don’t think so. We’ll talk about it when we’re alone.” Once they made it out of here.
This had been the room with the dancing girls, but now it was empty. Behind them, laughter and music echoed, coming from somewhere deeper in the house.
Enne pulled him through an archway. The next room smelled strongly of Mistress’s signature sweet smoke, and a few men slept on the floor. They didn’t stir as Levi and Enne dashed toward the exit.
This was too easy. They had simply let them escape. Did the Phoenix Club believe the House of Shadows to be that well protected? Or that they’d meet their fates by the end of tonight?
Enne swung open the front door, and Levi took a deep breath of fresh air and tried to push his anxieties away.
Then he tripped over the body.
He crashed down, knocking his head on the man’s shoulder with an agonizing whack. Enne landed face-first on Levi’s back. Her knee jammed painfully into his wounded leg, and he let out a long, stifled curse.
“Sorry. Sorry,” she said, scrambling up.
Levi stretched himself onto his knees, then nearly let out a scream. He was face-to-face with Shark, the man who had beaten him in the basement. Blood had pooled over the concrete step, trickling down from the bullet hole in his forehead.
“Muck.” He reached for Enne’s hand and nearly jumped to his feet. He’d accidentally laid his palm in the blood, and he hurriedly wiped away the red on his pants, feeling ill.
“I forgot he was here,” Enne murmured.
“How long has he been here?”
“Since I arrived.”
“Since you...you shot him?”
She nodded, her face grim. “Let’s go.”
Levi bent down and carefully removed his pistol from Shark’s pocket and shoved it into his own. If they were going to survive the rest of the night, they both needed protection. “Let’s go,” he breathed, reaching shakily for Enne’s arm to steady him.
Together, they raced across the front lawn and the woods adjacent to the estate’s long driveway, toward the glittering skyline of New Reynes. They could still faintly hear the ghostly music from the House of Shadows in the air.
Levi shivered. Tonight, they’d been the entertainment.
They made it to the main road and waited several moments, hoping for a carriage or motorcar to pass by so they could beg a ride. None did.
“It’s a long walk back to the city,” Enne said, her voice hitched. “They’ve probably already called the whiteboots. They’ll know we can’t have gone far.” He felt her trembling beneath him.
“We could take the Mole. No one takes the Mole,” Levi said, never so eager to ride the subway in his life. If they kept running, they’d find a station within a few minutes.
“The whiteboots will look there,” she answered. She placed a hand on her forehead, breathing deeply, trying to steady herself.
The cool nighttime wind, the agony of every step, the adrenaline of nearly dying—their reality crashed over him all at once, and Levi let out a manic laugh. “Maybe we should consult your guidebook. What does it say to do in this situation?”
Unamused, Enne grabbed his arm and yanked him down the street. He tried to keep up, but it was almost impossible to run. Standing up alone was a struggle, and the pain from his broken ribs and dislocated shoulder were enough to make him faint.
“It says we change our clothes and call Vianca,” she hissed.
“Good plan.”
They ran for a few more minutes before they reached the eastern edge of the Factory District, even beyond the realms of Scar Land. Levi couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so far from downtown. They crept down an alley between two apartment buildings. Enne pointed to a clothesline several floors above them and started toward a metal escape stairwell.
“Wait here,” she whispered, unwrapping his arm from around her shoulder.
Levi nodded, doubting he could make such a climb in his condition. He slumped onto the ground and leaned his head against the wall. The alley reeked of garbage and the odors of the Brint. Very faintly in the distance, he heard the calls of sirens. They were probably meant for them.
He was exhausted. He was beaten. He was light-headed. Even though he should’ve been focusing on their escape, his thoughts jumbled together, and he fixated on only one question.
Gabrielle Dondelair had only lasted hours. How much longer until the Phoenix Club found them?
Enne returned with several articles of clothing. She tossed him a shirt that was clearly several sizes too large. “Get dressed,” she commanded. “And turn around.”
He raised an eyebrow—they were in far too much of a rush for modesty. But still, he stood up painfully and faced the wall, hyperaware of the approaching sirens, hyperaware of Enne in some state of undress behind him. Both of these thoughts made his heart pound.
“Those look terrible,” Enne said from behind him. He realized she was looking at the swollen bruises on his back.
He shot her an annoyed look over his shoulder. Hurt as he was, he couldn’t change as fast as her. He was wearing very little. “I don’t remember giving you permission to peek.”
She flushed indignantly. “I thought you’d be done. Now hurry up. We need to find a pay phone.”
He grumbled and pulled up the too-big pants. Enne was dressed in trousers, a checkered men’s button-up and a pair of socks. Her dress and heels were discarded on the ground.
“I know that dress,” he said, managing a smirk. She’d obviously pulled it from his closet. “You wear New Reynes well.”
Her blush deepened, but after he finished dressing she propped his arm over her shoulder again. “Come on.”
They hurried out of the alley, away from the direction of the sirens. Enne pointed ahead, where a yellow phone booth stood below a streetlamp. They raced toward it.
“Do you have volts?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She rooted around her pocket, pulling out a tube of lipstick, the gun and the silk mask. All the girlie necessities, apparently.
Finally, she pulled out a small orb, bright with volts.
They slid into the phone booth. Enne held the orb up to the meter, and Levi stood behind her. There wasn’t much space, so his chest was pressed against her back. He coughed awkwardly and drummed his
fingers against the metal counter, waiting for her to suggest he wait outside. She never did.
Outside, the distant sirens approached. They didn’t have much time.
“Is it safe to call the phone operator?” she asked hurriedly.
He reached over her to the number pad. “Vianca has a private line.”
After he dialed the numbers, Enne held the phone up to both their ears. He held his breath, listening to the ringing. Enne’s face was only inches from his. He stared at all the strands of hair that had fallen from her bun and now draped across the slopes of her neck and shoulders. She had goose bumps, he noticed.
“This is St. Morse Casino, Vianca Augustine’s office,” the secretary answered.
“We need a motorcar,” Enne said frantically. “At the...” She squinted at the Mole station outside. “At the Paidalle station.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s us,” Levi growled. “We need a car.”
“Oh. Oh. Yes. I’ll tell her—”
“And send another car to Luckluster Casino,” Enne told her. “There’ll be a girl there. Tall. Fair skin. Top hat. Black laced boots. She’ll be looking for us.”
“Yes. I’ll let her know.”
Enne hung up. “I hope Lola’s still there, but it’s been hours.”
“I’m sure she’s fine, even if she’s gone.” Levi held his breath. Bent over like he was, his mouth was awfully close to her neck. He cleared his throat. “We need to find somewhere to wait.” A place where there wasn’t negative space between them, and where they wouldn’t be so exposed.
Levi opened the glass door and stumbled out. They stood on a strip of sidewalk that cut down the middle of a street, forking it on either side. The shops around them were closed, metal security doors down and locked. With nowhere else to wait, they climbed down the steps of the adjacent Mole station and collapsed in a corner—close enough to the exit to still hear the sirens and faint noise of the city, but deep enough inside to remain out of sight.
Both of them panted.
“How long will we wait, do you think?” she asked.
“Maybe thirty minutes. We’re a long way from St. Morse.”
She cringed, and their eyes met. Anything could happen in thirty minutes. They could be dead in thirty minutes.