Ace of Shades (The Shadow Game Series)

by Amanda Foody

  “The one the missy yesterday was talking about?” Mansi asked.

  “Yeah, but you need to be on the low about it. People will be after Alfero, I think, if they haven’t already found her.”

  It was a dangerous favor to ask, which was why he didn’t add that Lourdes was a monarchist. He didn’t intend for Chez or Mansi to go digging and leave an incriminating trail. Lourdes was well-known, but only in a few circles—nothing that would’ve touched the Irons. The less they knew, the better.

  He turned to Mansi. “I also need your help tonight.”

  “For what?” she asked eagerly.

  “I need you to help me sneak four people into the Sauterelle.” Mansi worked there as kitchen staff, as well as an amateur card dealer.

  “Celebrating something?” Chez asked, a slight sneer in his voice.

  “A business meeting of sorts,” Levi said.

  Mansi nodded. “I can do that. No problem. Who’s going?”

  “Me, Jac, that girl you met yesterday and a friend.” Reymond. He couldn’t say that in front of Chez. Tonight, he’d make Mansi swear to keep it a secret. It wasn’t fair to her, but Levi didn’t have the luxury of playing fair. “I’ll even bet a hand or two at their tables. You should play, too.”

  She beamed. “I’ve been practicing. The boss says I could be as good as you someday.”

  “You could even be better.”

  Behind her, Chez glared. It was an empty glare, Levi thought. He suspected the truth, but he didn’t know. Like Mansi, the Irons were loyal to him. And no matter what Chez told them, no matter how bad it got, they all needed to believe in him for nine more days. He needed to believe it, too.

  Nine more days, and he would fix this.

  ENNE

  Enne stared down an impossibly long hallway. The tiled floor, the alternating doors, and the stone columns all repeated the same pattern of black and white.

  She knew she was dreaming, but she couldn’t wake up. Not until she found the right door.

  She turned the knob on a white door to her left. Locked. She tried the black one beside it, and it clicked and swung open. Once she stepped across the threshold, she slipped back into her own mind from four months past...and entered a memory.

  She was in a wool coat. February—she didn’t detest anything quite so much as she did February, even if it was her birthday month. She stomped through the snow. Look at her. Stomping. Ladies were supposed to glide. A girl from her class passed by in a motorcar whose two flags bore her family’s crest. Enne froze and tried to make herself appear smaller. This really was a hideous wool coat. Perhaps if she didn’t move, the girl wouldn’t see her.

  The girl didn’t. But to Enne, that was almost worse.

  The motorcar drove away, and Lourdes was behind it, standing beneath a streetlamp with a newspaper tucked under her arm, wearing her favorite crimson scarf. She smirked; she must’ve seen Enne stomping. Hmph. Well, Lourdes might think it was amusing, but she didn’t have her society entrance in a year. Besides, Lourdes didn’t glide, either. Her mother strode, the heels of her boots clicking rhythmically, deliberately. Not that Lourdes was a lady every day, like she had dressed this morning.

  Lourdes hugged her when Enne crossed the street, and despite Enne’s worries a few moments ago, she instantly felt safer. Lourdes smelled like fresh ink, which meant she’d spent all morning writing letters to her friends in New Reynes. Honestly, Enne didn’t understand why Lourdes associated with them. Everyone knew they defined reputation by the amount of voltage one gambled away or the number of mistresses one kept.

  They entered a nearby café and were instantly enveloped in the aroma of fresh bread. Lourdes and Enne shared a cheese pastry to start, as they always did when Lourdes visited on Thursdays. Lourdes ate delicately, her slender fingers easing the crust from the filling. Enne refrained from tearing at it and tried to mimic Lourdes’s easy grace.

  “How are your classes?” Lourdes asked, sipping her tea. It was in that moment that Enne admired—as she had many times before—how striking her mother was. Her blond hair was as pale and thin as the threads spun from a silkworm, her features serious yet elegant, from her aquiline nose to her deep-set eyes. Enne considered her best quality to be her skin, free of freckles or blemishes of any kind, and surprisingly youthful despite her age. Lourdes had an effortless grace that Enne was convinced she’d never possess. No matter how many etiquette lessons she took, how many classes she spent walking with books upon her head—nothing in Enne’s life had ever felt effortless.

  “They’re horridly dull. Algebra is illogical. My history teacher’s voice puts everyone to sleep. Madame Tensington threatens to strap a ruler to my back to keep my posture straight—”

  “Breathe, Enne. You’ll impair your digestion.” Lourdes laughed. “You know, I bet algebra isn’t all that illogical.”

  “It is to me. Some days, if it were not for my ten fingers, I don’t know how I’d survive.”

  “Surviving with fewer than ten fingers would be taxing, indeed,” she said solemnly. Somehow, Enne still suspected she was joking.

  They picked at the last pieces of the pastry, or rather, Enne did. Lourdes seemed to have lost her appetite.

  “I’m leaving for New Reynes tomorrow,” she said. “I have some business there.”

  What business? Enne wanted to ask, but she never did. She’d decided long ago that she didn’t want to know.

  “I’ll be back before school finishes, of course.”

  Enne sighed. She didn’t have many friends, so Lourdes’s business trips typically meant months of loneliness. Enne would go home every weekend to an empty house.

  “Be careful while I’m gone,” Lourdes said seriously, though maybe Lourdes was the one who should have been careful. Enne had heard some appalling stories about the City of Sin. “If I’m not back in two months, I’m dead.”

  Enne stiffened, even though Lourdes had given that warning before. “Don’t be so dreadful.”

  Then the memory deviated from what had actually happened, and the dream took over.

  “I don’t want you to go,” Enne whispered. In that moment, she was no longer the same person from last February. She was present Enne, the one who’d spent a day in New Reynes, who knew what the future held. “Please don’t go.” Her voice was stronger this time.

  Lourdes shushed her. “I have to go.”

  “Why?” Enne demanded. “What could be so important? You’re the only person who matters in my life. What else is out there that matters to you? That is so dangerous?” She grasped for Lourdes’s hands, but Lourdes leaned back in shock. “Why do you keep secrets from me?” Hot tears sprang from her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about what you do—”

  The black door opened to the hallway, suddenly, forcefully, and evicted Enne from her memory. She landed painfully on the black-and-white floor tiles, and the door slammed in her face. She cried out for Lourdes, but woke up before she heard a response.

  Her sheets were damp with sweat. She rolled over and gazed out her bedroom window, where the sunrise illuminated the stunning view of the trash collectors in the alleys behind St. Morse. Enne waited for the details of her dream to fade, but even as she rose and readied herself for another day in the City of Sin, they never did.

  * * *

  The St. Morse acrobatics troupe huddled in a back hallway, bags slung over their shoulders, coffee in their hands, waiting for Enne. She was over ten minutes late. In her defense, the parcel Vianca’s staff left at Enne’s door had come only with a leotard, not directions, and every opulent hallway in St. Morse looked the same.

  The troupe stared at her as she approached. Enne might’ve looked like an acrobat, with her small build and wide shoulders, but she wouldn’t fool them for long.

  So she’d decided to be honest. She couldn’t have been the only one without any experi
ence, and acrobatics talents weren’t common. Vianca had already hired her. Certainly they’d be willing to teach her.

  “You must be Enne Salta.” A young man shook her hand, his grip firm to the point of hurting. “The dancer,” he sneered.

  She withered. “’Lo,” she said, mimicking the way people spoke here.

  He ignored her. “Everyone, this is Enne, the replacement.”

  “Replacement?” she echoed.

  “Last week, a girl broke her leg and quit.” He looked her over. “Clearly Vianca had to make due on short notice. Do you have any experience?”

  “No,” she answered weakly.

  “Neither did the last girl.” He shook his head. “We have a week until our next performance. Try not to break anything.”

  An acrobat, Enne seethed. What was Levi thinking?

  Now that the troupe was complete at twenty people, they walked out the back doors into an alley behind the casino. Enne crept quietly to the back of the line. The cool morning breeze teased pieces of her hair out of her neatly coiffed bun, and she shivered. New Reynes didn’t seem to understand the concept of summer.

  Past several garbage bins—reeking and still awaiting the morning collectors—they reached the doors to a warehouse. It was no warmer inside, and it smelled of feet.

  The troupe dumped their belongings in the corner of a massive square mat. There was equipment sprawled all around the warehouse: sets of bars, trampolines and even a full flying trapeze. She craned her neck back and stared at it, her palms growing sweaty. She hated heights.

  They spent over a half hour stretching, and no one said a word to her. She didn’t mind—she was accustomed to that treatment from school. The warm-up and the leotard felt familiar, normal, and she missed her dancing classes back home. She’d never been the best dancer in the room, but at least she’d been confident in her abilities. Today she’d consider it a victory if she left with all her bones intact.

  After a while, the troupe split into groups. Enne lingered on the mat, awkward and alone, until a girl approached her. She was several years older than Enne, with blond hair and freckles covering her face and arms.

  “I’m Alice. I write the routines.” Enne shook her hand. “I get to spend the week rushing you through the choreography.”

  If she didn’t want to make a total fool of herself and the troupe, Alice explained, Enne would need to manage a single back handspring and brave the flying trapeze. Alice had cut Enne’s part down to the most basic material, and unless Enne also fractured a limb, she would be performing the number next Saturday with the rest of them.

  Enne nodded along, feigning determination instead of fear. All she needed was to survive today’s rehearsal so she could go to the Sauterelle tonight, to find information on Lourdes. One day at a time.

  While Alice explained the different roles of each of the troupe members, Enne found herself imagining what it would be like to encounter her mother tonight. To spot her sitting at a table in the corner, smoking one of her foul cigarettes, a newspaper and a glass of bourbon in front of her. What would Lourdes say about finding Enne at the same cabaret?

  I’m sorry. I was running late, that’s all, Lourdes would apologize, her voice as soothing as the sound of rain on rooftops. There wasn’t any need to worry.

  And what would Lourdes say when she realized how quickly the city had corrupted her daughter? Enne had poisoned Sedric Torren. She was a prisoner to the unbreakable chains of a cruel mafia donna. Her only ally was a street lord.

  Enne couldn’t come up with any answers. She had no idea what Lourdes would say. As it turned out, she didn’t know much about Lourdes at all.

  “We’ll start with the worst of it,” Alice declared, her speech finished. “Once that group is done.”

  Enne realized with horror that she meant they’d begin with the flying trapeze. Enne studied the group of four rehearsing there. They soared effortlessly, fearlessly, even though they were at least fifty feet off the ground. Of course, there was a net between them and a broken back, but it looked thick and stiff. Falling into it couldn’t be much more comfortable than hitting the floor.

  Enne swallowed as she followed Alice up the ladder, her legs wobbling worse with each rung.

  “We don’t always have the flying trapeze in the show,” Alice said, while Enne crawled unsteadily on to the platform. “But guests like it. It looks impressive.” As she spoke, she reached for the rope, then reeled in the closest trapeze. She handed Enne the bar, and Enne’s stomach leaped as she reached out for it. “You won’t have to worry about catches today, thankfully. There’s nothing like that in your routine. But you need to be comfortable with the bar.” She raised her eyebrows as she examined Enne’s face. “I can already tell it’s going to take you a while to be comfortable.”

  Enne reddened. “Dancing is generally done on the floor.”

  Alice didn’t look amused. “Six days, missy. It would be awfully embarrassing for the troupe if you broke your legs in front of an audience.”

  Enne managed not to say anything unladylike...but she was certainly thinking about it.

  Alice continued her lesson plan, but Enne was barely listening. She felt ill, even as she fixed her gaze securely above the floor, locked only on the space in front of her. She rehearsed the very angry words she intended to give Levi when all of this was over.

  “Go,” Alice commanded.

  Enne took a deep breath, held the bar and leaped. She lurched forward, and the world seemed to give out beneath her as she soared.

  As she went backward, she reached her toes out behind her for the platform, coming a few inches short. Her breath tightened in panic.

  “That’s not how gravity works, missy,” Alice said. Enne couldn’t tell if it was amusement or annoyance in her voice. “You’ll need to give it some push if you intend to come back.”

  That would’ve been nice to know ahead of time, instead of when she dangled limply fifty feet above the ground. She desperately tried to avoid looking down.

  On her second return backward, Alice instructed again, more emphatically, “Push.”

  So Enne pushed. She kicked her legs behind her as she reached the peak, then brought them in front of her as she sped forward. Her body, much like the movement of the trapeze, was an arc. Her core ached from keeping her legs so straight, but it wasn’t terribly difficult. She’d always been strong.

  After two swings, Enne had generated enough force to make it back on the platform. She exhaled shakily and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  Alice pursed her lips. “Your technique is very precise.” But her sour expression and complimentary words didn’t seem to match. “Much better than the last girl. Did it feel good?”

  Enne nodded. She wouldn’t mind doing it again, now that she wasn’t so nervous.

  Alice relayed some more instructions. “If you can lock your knees around it, or even sit up, I’ll be really impressed.”

  Enne had always considered herself someone who rose to the occasion. After all, being from one of the lowest-tier dancing families at her school, every challenge was an opportunity to prove herself. This might not have been ballet, and this certainly was not her finishing school, but her familiar competitive drive began to take over.

  She leaped, this time more comfortable with her center of balance and with the trapeze. When she reached the highest point of the arc, she kicked her legs up, tucked them beneath her arms and latched them onto the bar. As she let her hands go, a few memories from her childhood returned to her, of similar games played at parks, of cartwheels and swings, of tumbles and scraped knees, none of which she’d thought about in years. Lourdes had never approved, she recalled.

  As she glided, she almost had the urge to laugh. She didn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself like this.

  When Enne returned to the platform, she did so on
ly to catch her breath.

  Alice handed her a cup of water, which Enne gratefully accepted. “None of it’s difficult, what you’re doing, you know.” There was a strange edge to her voice. “I’m not surprised you can do it, but it’s your form that’s more interesting. You sure you’ve never done this before?”

  “No.”

  “You’re quite the natural.” Enne had never been called natural at anything. Everything she was good at, she’d worked for. Everything she’d earned had been an uphill battle.

  Then Enne placed the edge in Alice’s tone—she felt threatened.

  “What’s your split talent, missy?” Alice asked.

  “Counting.”

  “You any good at it?”

  She hesitated, knowing what Alice was getting at. “No.”

  “Well, maybe mommy didn’t really know the daddy after all,” she said pointedly.

  Enne glared at her as she took a sip of her water. There’d been times when Enne had wondered if her Abacus split talent was wrong—she’d never prided herself on her analytical or problem-solving skills—but it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t Enne’s father who’d been the Abacus, but her mother. And Lourdes had known Enne’s mother, the woman who’d entrusted Enne to Lourdes’s care before she’d died. So if there was a case of mistaken paternity, she’d have to question her Salta blood talent, not her split talent. But she was a decent dancer. Decent enough for a Salta.

  She’d always known she was a bastard. She wasn’t ashamed about it, but that didn’t mean she appreciated what Alice was implying. Lourdes rarely spoke of Enne’s birth mother, so Enne knew too little about her to have any attachment. But still, the comment felt crass and unkind, even for New Reynes.

  And Enne wouldn’t take anyone’s taunts any longer.