by Amanda Foody
He furrowed his eyebrows. “Yes. Why does that matter?”
“The Saltas aren’t. We’re common. We’re for the background of a performance or for cheap cabarets.” Levi could nearly hear the chip on her shoulder as she spoke. “Every day at school, every single day, I’ve stayed late after rehearsal. I’ve worked until my feet ached. I’ve fought just to be noticed, just to be included. And—”
“Where are you going with this?”
She handed him a business card. It was black with gold cursive typeface. “I’d like to go here, if your address on a whiskey-stained napkin turns out to be nothing.” Her tone was unsure. It sounded more like a request than a demand.
Harvey Gabbiano.
Salesman.
Levi’s blood chilled. “I know who this is. He works for the Orphan Guild. No way are we going to see him. He’s bad news.”
“I know that. But we’re not going to see Harvey—we’d be visiting the address written on the back.” She cleared her throat. “To see a blood gazer.”
Levi puzzled this. Blood gazers were typically hired to determine paternity, by wealthy families embarrassed by illegitimate offspring or by sex workers seeking to determine the talents of their children. He always associated them with the opening of a joke—“A father walks into a blood gazer’s office...”—but Levi had never actually met one. They weren’t common.
“There are professional blood gazers, you know,” he said. “No need to sneak off to some Orphan Guildworker who lives in—” he studied the address on the card “—Dove Land.” All the more reason not to visit.
“If Lourdes lied to me about my talents, I’m sure she did so for a reason,” Enne retorted. “There must be something to hide.”
Levi handed her back the card. “Let me get this straight. You learn how to do a cartwheel, and now you think you might have an acrobatics talent.”
Acrobatics talents weren’t common. In fact, Levi knew of only one family—the Dondelairs. Everyone on the North Side knew their story. The daughter who’d found friends in criminals, who’d set fire to the capitol building and laughed as she bled to death. The son who’d left rubble and ruin in his wake. The family who’d obsessed over the inexplicable and the unnatural, right until the moment of their deaths. One by one, they’d hanged.
Legends of the North Side typically ended in blood.
“I’ve managed more than a cartwheel,” she murmured.
“You don’t sound convinced yourself.”
She lifted up her chin defiantly. Levi tried to decide if it was cute or snobbish. “I want to go.”
“Then convince me. You sound like you’re asking for permission.”
“I don’t need your permission.”
“But you want it. And I think it’s a terrible idea.”
“Don’t I look like I could have an acrobatics talent?”
“I’m not arguing that you’re not short enough.”
Her nostrils flared. “You’re intolerable.”
“I’d rather not see the headlines tomorrow. ‘Murdered girl’s body found washed up in the Brint.’ Intolerable, I know.”
They didn’t speak until they reached the border between Iron and Scar Lands. Levi turned them right, in the direction of the river and the Factory District. Within a few blocks, the bustling and lights of Tropps Street faded away, and they roamed through residential roads and warehouse lots.
“What’s that smell?” Enne asked.
“The Brint.” The river water was roughly the color of ham stew. “We’re close.”
She covered her nose. “How close?”
Levi looked at the street signs around them. He’d heard of the road before. Probably passed it once or twice. It was somewhere around here.
“A few blocks,” he said, though he was no longer sure.
Levi had only just begun to enjoy the peace and quiet when Enne spoke up again. “I want to go, whether you go with me or not,” she said. Levi grimaced. He was more than done with this conversation. “If nothing turns up at this place, then I’ll find the blood gazer myself.”
It’d barely been three whole days, and she seemed to have already forgotten how she’d first arrived in New Reynes. Chased by whiteboots. Belongings gone. Frightened. Naïve.
“Don’t be thick. You’d be walking straight into Dove Land alone. Maybe listen to your guidebook for once on this one and don’t go.”
“The guidebook practically says the entire city is off-limits,” Enne snapped. “But I’ll go anywhere to find Lourdes.”
He frowned as he read the nearby street sign.
“Are you even listening—?”
“What’s the name of that street again?” he asked. He’d thought it would be here. Instead, they’d reached the edge of a residential complex, and they stared in confusion at the empty warehouse lot in front of them and the river and South Side beyond it.
“Are we lost?” she asked.
“We’re close.”
She grumbled something under her breath, then pulled her guidebook from her purse.
“You’re ruining my reputation,” he grunted, trudging off ahead of her to retrace their steps.
“The map says to turn here,” she argued.
“It’s definitely not there. I remember that.”
“The book says—”
“Muck the book.”
Enne rolled her eyes and marched to the left, in the direction that Levi was certain led to nothing more than factories and mills. He shoved his hands in his pocket and waited. No way was Enne going to go off on her own now that it was getting dark. She acted brave, but soon she’d be running back, if he waited long enough.
He tapped his foot as she disappeared around the corner.
After another minute passed, his irritation turned to worry. He pictured a trigger-antsy Scarhand crouching behind a train car as she passed, and Enne’s face when she turned to find a pistol pressed against her temple. Levi felt for his knife in his one pocket and his gun in the other as he ran after her.
She was in no distress. No pistol to her head. She was leaning against a doorframe, her face hidden behind her guidebook, humming a waltz. Levi scowled as he climbed the steps beside her.
“The Wayward Inn,” Levi read on the sign on the door. “Bit secluded for an inn.”
The building was made of New Reynes’s signature white stone and wedged in between a series of row homes. A wreath with daisies and a blue seersucker bow hung on the door.
“This is where you apologize for your pigheadedness,” Enne said.
Levi ignored her and opened the door.
Inside, it was clean and empty. Levi walked up and rang the bell sitting atop the counter on a white doily.
An old woman appeared from another room. Like the inn, she was also tiny, well-dressed and unassuming. She wore a strand of pearls and a floral shawl. Levi wondered how Lourdes had managed to find the quietest, most Bellamy-like inn on the North Side. The whole place smelled like chamomile soap.
“Can I help you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “If you’re looking for a place to say, the Wayward Inn has a strict policy that unmarried men and women are to sleep separately. Women are on this floor, men on the top floor and I sleep in the middle.” This struck Levi has quite the oversight, and he wondered exactly what sort of nighttime activities occurred on their isolated floors while the old lady slept unaware.
“We’re not looking for a room,” Enne said hurriedly, her face red and clearly offended. Levi smiled wryly, then drummed his fingers against the counter in annoyance. He knew from experience he wasn’t that unappealing. “We’re searching for a woman named Lourdes Alfero, and we have reason to believe she could be staying here.”
“The inn is empty,” the woman answered, and Levi could nearly feel Enne’s disappointment, as if a palpable heaviness had
descended on the room. Or maybe it was his own.
Eight days. And a dead end.
“Then maybe you’ve seen her,” Enne said, her voice and expression too collected, too poised. Levi squeezed her shoulder. “She’s in her early thirties. Fair-skinned. Blonde. Brown eyes.”
“There was a woman staying here like that last week,” the woman mused. “She checked out abruptly, even left something behind. Who are you to her?”
“Her daughter.”
“She was pretty young to have a daughter your—”
“Please.” Enne’s voice cracked. “We’d love to see what she left. And if you have any information...”
The woman hesitated, then leaned down and opened a drawer below the counter. She pulled out a single card, and the sight of the metallic silver back sent Levi’s heart plummeting into his stomach.
It was a Shadow Card.
He had the urge to loosen his collar, or to bolt out the door. The memories of the black-and-white hallway, of Sedric Torren’s menacing smile, sent goose bumps prickling across his skin.
“What is that?” Enne asked. She took it from the woman’s hands and turned it over. The face was the Hermit, a representation of isolation and knowledge. It wasn’t an invitation to the Shadow Game—that was reserved for the Fool—but it was a warning, just like the Tower card Levi had received two nights ago.
Had Lourdes run into trouble with the Phoenix Club?
Or worse...was the Phoenix Club following him?
It seemed unlikely that they’d guessed he would visit the Wayward Inn. His promise to help Enne had little to do with his investment scheme, except that finding Lourdes was supposed to be his way out. No one but him knew they were connected.
“It was the only thing in the room after she left,” the woman said.
Maybe Lourdes had received the warning and fled the city. Clearly, she hadn’t returned to Bellamy, to Enne, which meant she might have escaped somewhere else. They probably had little chance of finding her unless she intended to be found.
Or, of course, she could be dead.
“When did she leave?” Enne asked.
“About five days ago,” the woman answered.
“Did she seem agitated? Nervous?” Levi questioned, his mouth dry. Five days ago wasn’t long at all.
“I couldn’t tell. She was quiet. Didn’t say much.”
Enne squeezed the card until it bent and crumpled in her hand. “Five days ago,” she muttered, wiping her eyes.
Levi put a comforting hand on her shoulder and asked, “And there’s nothing else you know?”
The woman shook her head. “Was she in trouble or something? I don’t want whiteboots showing up and making the inn look suspicious.” She eyed them shrewdly, as if she’d already made up her mind about them. “Get out. I don’t want guests to get the wrong impression.”
What guests? Levi wanted to ask, but then Enne ripped Levi’s hand off her shoulder and stormed outside. He followed, unsure if he should tell her the truth about the Shadow Card. He would tell her later, tonight. It was dangerous to speak about things like that out in the open, especially so close to Luckluster Casino.
She leaned against a chain-link fence, and Levi waited for her to cry, as he expected she might. Instead, she stuffed the Shadow Card in her pocket, the look on her face icy. It made him uneasy, but Levi knew better than to offer her comfort now. It wasn’t his responsibility to console her, even if he felt like he should.
It was a strange notion, but Levi was beginning to consider Enne as a friend—maybe even more than that. After all, they were both trapped in the same, unspeakable cage. Such a bond might not have meant much to Enne, but it meant something to him.
“Let’s go back,” she murmured.
Levi hesitated. Where was all that earlier talk about the blood gazer and adventuring anywhere for her mother? It was difficult to tell from her expression if she was feeling defeated or faking it—her poker face was better than most.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I’m tired, and, like you said, it’s almost sundown.” She smiled stiffly. “Maybe we’ll try the blood gazer tomorrow.”
Their walk back to St. Morse was silent. Levi mentally prepared a speech for what he’d tell Enne about the Shadow Card, but his rehearsed words kept falling short. Any Shadow Card, not just the Fool’s invitation, signaled a probable death on the horizon. He couldn’t imagine saying those words out loud, considering the Shadow Card he carried in his own pocket.
Your mother is probably dead, he’d say. And without her, I probably will be, too.
Halfway there, it started to drizzle. The rain tasted like smoke.
“Do you want my jacket?” he offered.
“How gentlemanly.”
He slipped it off and draped it over Enne’s shoulders. It swallowed her, made her look like a lost waif as she wandered through the rain. Something in Levi’s chest constricted seeing her in his jacket, something an awful lot like satisfaction. It felt like a dangerous thing.
“Thanks.” She slipped her hands into the pockets and tugged it closer around herself.
“We should have a talk, you and I, when we get back,” he said hoarsely.
She looked up at the dark sky, her expression unreadable. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”
Levi’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Yes. Of course.” More than anything right now, he really needed a decent night’s sleep. If Lourdes was dead, Levi would need to spend the next seven nights earning the volts the only way he knew how: from card table to card table, all across the North Side. If things were different, he’d bring a team of his best dealers with him from the Irons—but that meant telling the Irons the truth, and Levi would rather die in the Shadow Game than have his friends learn how he’d betrayed them.
He’d already dug his own grave, and he wouldn’t bring the Irons down with him.
When they returned to St. Morse, they rode the elevator quietly to their floors. As Enne stepped out to walk to her own apartment, his breath hitched. He didn’t want to spend the night alone. Maybe he could invite her upstairs, pour them each a drink and confide everything to her. He had a feeling she might understand his problems better than anyone.
“Here’s your jacket,” Enne offered, her gaze on the floor. “Thanks.”
Levi took it numbly and slipped it back on. “You don’t need to... I mean, you can come...”
“I’d really like to be alone,” she said.
“Oh. Oh, yeah...of course.” He wasn’t the only one with problems, but apparently Enne didn’t want to share hers tonight.
The elevator’s gate closed, and Levi felt acutely alone.
* * *
Levi found Jac passed out on his couch with a five-inch cut along his right eyebrow, bruised purple and green and stitched up with black thread. The whole room smelled like his aura: light and clean, like he’d opened the window even though it was bolted shut.
Levi shook him awake. Jac sat up with a start and rubbed his eyes.
“Took a nap,” he mumbled.
“Who did those stitches? A blind man?” Levi asked.
“Oh, these?” He pointed to his forehead—as if Levi could’ve been referencing a different wound—and gently touched the scar, flinching. “I did. Last night.”
“That’s not from work, is it?” he asked. Guests at Jac’s tavern, the Hound’s Tooth, could grow rowdy in the early hours of the morning. But sometimes Levi suspected Jac was the one starting those fights. The guests could blame it on liquor. He didn’t know how Jac rationalized it.
“No. Not—”
“I thought you were done boxing.” Levi fought to keep his voice steady instead of stormy. He tried to be patient with his friend, but on nights like this one, it wore at him. Sometimes he felt like no matter how much he helped Jac, it wouldn’t m
atter until Jac started helping himself. “They always rig those games. Remember the time they slipped you something? You were out over twenty-four hours.”
“Cool it. I didn’t eat or drink anything. And I won. Ten volts. Not bad, eh?”
Levi didn’t bother with a response. He was a breath away from shouting, but he couldn’t tell if it was from anger or simply exhaustion.
Levi sighed and hung his hat on the coatrack. “What are you doing here?” He unbuttoned his jacket.
“I thought I’d check in on you,” Jac replied. “Only a week left. I have one of our runners watching Luckluster—seeing if the Torrens are up to anything unusual—”
“My gun,” Levi blurted, feeling around his empty pockets in alarm. He’d definitely brought it with him earlier that day. He knew better than to traverse the North Side without it. “Muck. My gun’s gone.” Then he remembered the image of a certain missy wearing his jacket, and he panicked.
“Grab what you got,” Levi announced. “We’re going to Dove Land.”
ENNE
The Deadman District was just as picturesque as the name implied. The web of sewers reeked of grime and waste. The foul stench clung to the pavement, crusted against pipes and dug itself into her clothes so that it would no doubt follow her even after she left. The alley walls glinted from the silver metal mortar between the stones, giving each of the buildings the look of shattered glass. Red and yellow graffiti stained the rooftops—mostly symbols of some kind, but also a few names.
“‘Leftover remnants of the Great Street War,’” Enne read from her guidebook. “‘Seven years after the Revolution, when the city of New Reynes attempted to eradicate street crime from the North Side.’” Obviously, the wigheads hadn’t succeeded.
Few of the streetlights worked, casting the streets into an ominous darkness. The city felt still here, like the whole neighborhood was holding its breath. It was a place where any heartbeat could’ve been your last.
She was getting close. After memorizing the remaining steps from the map, Enne slipped the book back into her pocket—right beside Levi’s gun. Maybe Enne should’ve brought him along, but he’d been so against the idea of coming here, and this was a secret Enne needed to uncover on her own. She needed to know the extent of her mother’s lies. She needed to know why she’d worked herself tirelessly her entire life just to achieve mediocrity, when she was a natural at something else. Why her mother had watched her torture herself in silence.
