by Amanda Foody
Swallowing down his panic, Levi stretched out his legs and winced at the burning in his muscles. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, legs out. Enne, he realized, was barefoot except for the socks. Her hand was outstretched beside him.
We will survive this together, he thought, sliding his hand toward hers. But taking it would be as much for comfort as it was for desire. They were on a run for their lives—temptation never came at the proper time.
A rumbling filled the halls as a train sped through the tunnels below.
“My eyes,” she whispered. “How am I supposed to hide them?”
She locked her gaze with his, and, again, he was taken aback by how changed her face looked. How her aura had once smelled of a Gambler’s Ruin, but now also smelled of smoke.
How very difficult it was not to kiss her.
“You’re in luck,” he said, shifting nervously, knowing he should put more distance between them. He didn’t. “Because it so happens that I have the world’s most uncomfortable pair of blue contacts in my pocket this very moment. Perfect for concealing royal lineages and cheating during card games.”
“You’re mucking with me,” she said, eyes narrowed. “You’re doing that face.”
“What face?”
“That smirk of yours.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the case of contacts. “I can make you better ones, at some point. These will do for now.”
“Why do you have these?”
“A series of very poor decisions. Just put them on.”
She walked to the nearest advertisement on the wall and studied her reflection in the tarnished glass. “I don’t even look like me.” Her voice was a mix of both wonder and bitterness.
As Enne struggled to put on the contacts, Levi once again contemplated whether this was his last chance. The sirens outside echoed into the night, and when Levi closed his eyes, he still heard the sound of the gunfire that had ended the Shadow Game.
It would be easy. He would beckon her closer, grab her hands and close the distance between them. If not for her, he would’ve died tonight, and he would’ve died alone. If death was still their fate, then why shouldn’t he kiss her just like he wanted? Just like he knew she wanted, too? In Luckluster, he’d seen his desire reflected in her eyes. They might have survived the Game, but who was to say they would survive the night?
They had always been in this together.
But as she turned to him, her purple eyes now concealed with blue, a fear settled in Levi’s heart. She’d poisoned the most powerful don of the North Side. She recited street rules to herself. She was the daughter of a notorious arsonist, raised by a woman who’d lived a life within the shadows.
She was a Mizer. She was impossible.
They very well might die tonight, but the real danger stood only an arm’s length away. He could kiss Enne, in hopes of surviving the night—or he could let go of his desire, in hopes of surviving tomorrow.
“How do I look?” she asked.
He swallowed. “You look different. But the purple is gone.”
She took an unsteady breath and sat down beside him.
“Do you feel different?” he asked quietly.
“I feel...” She shook her head. “It sounds sort of shatz, honestly.”
“Try me.”
“I had the gun with me the whole Game, of course,” she explained. “But I couldn’t reach for it. Semper said something about the Game binding the players the moment we entered the House, so no cheating was allowed. But as soon as I touched the World card...everything changed.” Levi nodded. That was the moment he’d first noticed the new colors of Enne’s aura. “It was like I could see the magical threads of the Game, holding it all together, playing a song, and there were no more threads around me. And I could feel—can still feel—this presence in my head. Something that wasn’t there before.”
Levi’s skin prickled. Every word she said reminded him how much danger they were in, how dangerous she was. “You’re absolutely right,” he said, trying to sound teasing when really, he was terrified. “You sound shatz.”
She shoved him in the shoulder. “You should be nice to me. I can make volts now, or however Mizer powers work.”
“And you should stop hitting me. I’m more wounds than person.”
She reached out and brushed the bruise on his neck, gently enough that it didn’t hurt.
“These aren’t from Chez,” she said softly. “These are new.”
The memory of his last encounter with Chez returned to him, leaving a foul taste in his mouth. “I saw Chez tonight, too.”
Her eyes widened. “Did he try to challenge you again?”
“Not exactly. I started it. And...I also ended it.” Levi clenched his fist. He wished he could guess whether or not Chez was still alive, but he truly had no idea. He’d never meant to go that far.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she murmured.
But there was nothing else to tell. She understood, and he could already see the unease on her face.
It was the same unease he felt when looking at her.
“Tell me about what happened tonight. Everything before the Game. Like...” He reached into her pocket and pulled out the mask. “Where did you find this? Not really something ladies just carry around with them.”
Enne snatched the mask from his hands. “There was an incident, of sorts, at Scrap Market.” She told him the story. How Lola had changed her mind about Enne and about the oath. How she’d come up with the name Séance, taken from one of Lourdes’s older pseudonyms.
Then the story continued. How Vianca had called her into her office. How Enne had found Lola and stolen a car. How the blood gazer gave her the poison Enne brought with her to Luckluster.
At some point during her tale, she rested her head on Levi’s shoulder. He struggled to pay attention to anything other than the way her body felt pressed against his, and his attempt to forget his desire became a muddled afterthought. He wondered if she knew what she was doing to him.
“I woke up in Sedric’s motorcar outside of the House of Shadows,” she said.
The words gradually sank in. “He drugged you? Did he hurt you?”
“Only a little. I killed him before he had the chance to do more.”
Sedric Torren was dead.
“What?” he asked, even though he’d understood her perfectly. His mind spun. This changed...everything. The Torren family was without a don. The upcoming election was without a candidate. The North Side had one less monster on its streets.
“You already know I had to kill the guard, too. The one who opened the door,” Enne continued. “I keep waiting for everything to hit me, but I don’t feel bad. I don’t even feel like I should.”
“I killed the Chancellor,” Levi whispered, only just remembering now, as they confessed their sins in the dark. That would change everything, too.
Enne gave Levi’s shoulder a gentle but comforting squeeze. “He was a terrible man.”
Even so, Levi had never killed someone before. He’d never thought of himself as a killer. That was Ivory. That’d been Eight Fingers. But not him. He felt like he’d been stained in some uncleansable way, that the person he was before was somehow purer than the person he was now. He didn’t mourn the Chancellor, but he mourned himself.
The chorus of sirens outside grew louder. Several cars were speeding through the streets above, searching for them. The two held their breath as the sirens passed by the station. They had been lucky in their hiding spot for now...but soon their luck might run out.
“Vianca’s motorcar should be here soon,” he whispered, hoping to reassure himself as much as her.
Even in the dark, she looked pale. “What if the whiteboots come and we need to run? We told Vianca this is where we’d be.”
“I told you—no one takes the Mole. Th
ey’ll never find us here.”
She pressed her hand over her heart. “Don’t joke. I’m actually terrified.”
“So am I. That’s why I’m joking.”
There were footsteps on the stairs of the station.
Levi and Enne immediately stood up and backed into the corner. Enne pressed against him as they each pointed their guns at the mouth of the stairwell. Levi bit his lip to silence his breathing. He could feel Enne shaking. She reached for his hand, and he squeezed it.
“Together,” he whispered.
The woman who appeared, however, wasn’t a whiteboot. She also brandished a gun, but she relaxed once she saw them. “You’re here.” She was dressed like one of Vianca’s typical gangsters—a fedora hat and a tight, pin-striped dress. “We need to hurry. The whiteboots are already at St. Morse.”
Relief washed over him—they wouldn’t die, not here, not yet. Levi slid away from Enne and lowered his gun. He took a shaky step toward their savior.
“Then where do we go?” he asked.
“Oh, we’re going to the casino. We’re just not walking through the front doors.”
ENNE
Enne had never been so grateful to step out of a motorcar. She and Levi had spent the entire thirty-minute ride crouched in the back seat beneath blankets, jostling painfully each time they’d skidded around a turn, holding their breaths each time a siren passed.
They were parked in front of a den called The Palace, but the majesty of the den began and ended with its name. It was a tall, narrow building wedged between a casino and an apartment complex off Tropps Street. The P and the c of its neon sign flickered cheaply. The exterior reminded Enne of a pastry shop: all swirls and pastels and glitter.
“Is this Sweetie Street?” Enne asked.
“No,” their driver answered. “We’re only a block from St. Morse.”
Their driver quickly led them inside the den, a firm hand on both their shoulders. Despite the late hour, The Palace was empty, but the air still reeked of smoke and the overwhelming smell of orchids. They walked around cushions and through sheer curtains to the staff room in the back. Enne tried to figure out exactly what type of New Reynes entertainment was offered here. Potentially all of them.
Their trek was long and winding—appropriate for two criminals running from the law. Down the steps. Across the basement. Through a trapdoor. Into a tunnel that stank of sewage. Enne shivered. They were in the bowels of the city.
“This leads directly to St. Morse,” the woman explained. “We’ll take the private elevator to Vianca’s suite.”
The hair on Enne’s neck rose at the thought of visiting Vianca’s personal residence. Enne whispered to Levi, “Have you been there?”
“No,” he said grimly. “I’ve not yet had that misfortune.”
“What do you think she’ll do with you? It’s not as though you can deal cards anymore.” Unlike Enne, the Phoenix Club knew exactly who Levi was—and where to find him.
“I’m not leaving New Reynes,” he said firmly. “Vianca would miss me too much.” He elbowed her in the side. “You would, too, right? After all, we’re partners in crime now.”
She smirked to conceal her embarrassment. She had a thousand reasons for not wanting Levi to leave the city, the chief one being the way he was looking at her right now. Like it was just her and him and no one else.
They reached the elevator at the end of the tunnel. The woman ushered them inside but didn’t follow. The lights flickered, and the elevator rose with a jerk.
Enne’s stomach clenched. They were about to enter the donna’s true lair.
She reached for Levi’s hand, seeking courage and comfort. At first, he tensed, then he laced his fingers with hers, sending a nervous spark across her fingertips.
“What do we tell her about the Game?” he asked hoarsely. “I’m sure her little spies have told her all about what happened in the House of Shadows. She’ll know you were there.”
“We tell her that you played.” It was safer for Vianca to assume that Levi had won the Game. Vianca knew Levi’s card abilities—she’d believe that story. If she knew Enne had played and cheated the Game, she’d grow suspicious as to why.
“And if she knows otherwise?” Levi asked, squeezing her hand in warning.
“How could she? She had spies in that room?”
“I’m not sure what the Phoenix Club has told others.”
Enne pressed her free hand to her heart and felt its pounding. “I don’t have any other ideas.” Her voice hitched in panic. Vianca couldn’t know the truth. They needed more time. They needed a better lie.
Levi wrapped his arms around her and hugged her reassuringly. She let herself lean into him. She let herself sigh. It’d been a long night.
“We’ve faced scarier things than her,” he said.
“I know.”
Just as in the phone booth, she was hyperaware of him behind her, how his chest felt pressed against her back, warm and steadying. It would be easy to turn around. To slide a hand behind his neck. To pull his lips to hers. She held her breath, certain Levi could feel the racing of her pulse, could hear the desire in her thoughts.
Then the elevator doors opened, and Levi and Enne sprang apart.
Vianca was perched on an armchair in a sitting room, her snake eyes leering at them curiously. “Well, wasn’t that a picture.” She set down her teacup on the end table. “I found this one in your apartment, Levi. Lucky I found him before the whiteboots did.” She nodded at Jac across the room, who was several shades of green from being so close to Vianca. He looked like he’d just found the monster beneath his bed. “I also fetched that girl you requested.” Lola sat beside Jac. She fiddled anxiously with her harmonica in her lap.
“It’s been quite a night, hasn’t it?” Vianca frowned, scanning Levi. “You’ve looked better, dear.”
“I’ve felt better,” he croaked.
Vianca stood and wiggled a bony, ring-covered finger at Enne. “You first, Miss Salta. You and I need to have a little chat.”
Even something called a “little chat” with Vianca sounded dangerous. Enne gave the other three a parting, desperate glance before following Vianca into the next room. Levi nodded at her reassuringly, reminding her once again that they had faced worse this night.
Don’t let them see your fear.
Never allow yourself to be lost.
Trust no one unless you must.
Two days ago, Enne had been certain that she was broken beyond repair, yet still her mother’s words held their familiar power, winding Enne back together.
Just not all the way back, she thought as Vianca closed the door behind them. The ache of missing Lourdes and her old life would never leave her. All she could do was keep surviving, keep playing. In ways that were both better and worse, Enne wasn’t the same girl who’d arrived, lost and alone, in the City of Sin.
“Séance,” Vianca said with a hiss. “A rather interesting choice of name.”
They were in what appeared to be Vianca’s parlor. Like the rest of St. Morse, it was furnished in her typical dark, antique fashion—cheap luxury that bordered on gaudy. Each upholstery had a different sort of print. Dozens of glass gemstones dangled from the chandelier above the couch, a piece of costume jewelry set out as decoration. On the largest wall of the room, there was a portrait of what Enne imagined must’ve been Vianca’s family: Vianca, years younger, though clearly recognizable; a man who didn’t smile; and a boy with a princely grin.
“I would never have guessed it. I mean, look at you,” Vianca said, gesturing at Enne’s body. “I imagined you easily discarded.”
Enne was still frozen by the door. She shouldn’t be this paralyzed by Vianca, not when she’d already slain one monster tonight. But fear didn’t need to be logical to be felt.
“Don’t just stand there like a wallfl
ower,” Vianca snapped. “Take a seat.” She patted the spot beside her.
“Yes, Madame.” Enne sat as far away from Vianca as she could without looking rude.
“So polite. I wish Levi spoke to me that way.” Vianca’s eyes narrowed as she inspected Enne’s face. “You look different.”
It took everything in her to conceal her panic. “I... I haven’t slept, of course. It’s nearly morning.”
Vianca waved her hand dismissively, and Enne’s shoulders relaxed. Levi’s contacts had worked, even under the donna’s calculating inspection. “You’ll have time for rest after we’re done. I need to hear if the rumors are true.” Vianca leaned forward gleefully. Happiness was an emotion that didn’t suit Vianca’s face. “Is Sedric Torren dead?”
Enne nodded, swallowing. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his hand around her throat and the repulsive lust in his stare.
“And the Chancellor?”
“Yes, he’s dead.”
Vianca laughed with such mirth that—to Enne’s horror—she reached forward, grabbed Enne’s hand and shook it in excitement. “The whole city is talking about you—about Séance. How you killed them both.”
Enne startled. “But Levi was the one who killed Semper.”
“My Levi?” Vianca echoed, dumbfounded. “How interesting. But the truth hardly matters. What’s important is what people say, what the papers are printing. Your Séance character is about to become the most notorious criminal we’ve seen in almost twenty years.” She laughed and gave Enne’s hand a last little shake. “You must tell me all about it.”
“About...the murders?” Enne asked. She fought the urge to look away from the donna’s face. Her many frown lines coiled unnervingly when she smiled.
“Yes. And about the House of Shadows.”
Despite not having properly rehearsed her words, the lies flowed easily. Vianca was so enraptured, she listened to the entire story without asking questions.
“When Levi won, and the Game finished, its rules were over. So he stood, pointed his gun—” she swallowed again “—and shot the Chancellor in the head.”