by Amanda Foody
Enne hesitated. Not because she didn’t trust Jac—he was sworn to Levi after all—but because she suspected Levi would be upset with her if she involved him. Secrets were the deadliest sort of weapons, and Levi had already lost a friend yesterday.
“Tell me what’s really going on here,” Jac urged.
“I can’t,” she said.
“I already know your mother is Lourdes Alfero, and I haven’t told anyone,” he said with a sigh. “You might as well tell me everything—about Lola’s oath, what you are. And if you do, I’ll tell you all you want to know about oaths and street rules.”
He had a point. He already knew half the story.
“Fine,” Enne agreed, bracing herself for Levi’s fury later. “Just please put some clothes on.”
* * *
“Are you sulking about Jac, or are you sulking about riding the Mole?” Enne asked Levi. This far down the line, the Mole’s train car was empty except for Enne, Levi, Jac and a homeless man sleeping on a row of seats in the back.
Levi kept his hat low, covering his identifiable hair—he’d grumbled the entire ride about someone spotting him and ruining his reputation. The two of them stood, gripping a metal pole. “Both.”
“He was very insistent,” Enne said.
“I know how he can be,” he muttered. “You still shouldn’t have told him.”
Jac sat behind them, fingering his Creed necklace. A half hour ago, in Levi’s apartment, he’d been all jokes and eagerness, but since then, Enne had caught him stealing uneasy glances at her, like she was something dangerous and he shouldn’t get too close.
Happy to help, he’d said. Happy until he wasn’t.
She tried to convince herself that she was imagining it, but even now, she felt his gaze searing into her. She pushed her anxieties away.
Enne gestured around the train car, trying to change the subject. “The Mole isn’t so bad. It’s far cleaner than I expected.”
“No one rides the Mole.”
“It was crowded earlier, so apparently people do.”
Levi grumbled something unintelligible and kicked a copy of The Kiss and Tell under a seat. Enne didn’t know why he was pouting. This was far more preferable than walking all the way to the Deadman District like she had before, and Jac wasn’t whining childishly about reputation like Levi was.
“I hope you’re thinking of something to say,” she said quietly, “because I’d just as rather never see her again.”
“Oh, I’m not doing the talking.” Levi shook his head. “You’re the lord. You think of a reason other than ‘I need to make the oath stronger so I know you won’t kill me.’”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not a lord.”
“Maybe you weren’t two days ago, but that’s how oaths work. You’re Lola’s lord now.” He flicked her lightly on the forehead. Enne grimaced. Jac’s explanations earlier about her newfound title had confused her more than anything else.
Oaths are the opposite of omertas, he’d said. Omertas force you to do something, and oaths prevent it. Before Enne could counter that omertas also prevented her from openly discussing them, Jac was already launching on to new stories. The laws of the streets blended magical oaths, criminal legends and—as far as Enne could tell—utter nonsense. She’d left that conversation with nothing but confusion.
“Maybe you can win Lola over with your charm,” Levi said.
Enne very much doubted that. Lola was as easily charmed as barbed wire.
“Don’t let her see your fear,” Jac reminded her, apparently eavesdropping. “That’s the first rule.”
It was surreal to hear Lourdes’s rules from someone else’s mouth. Earlier, Jac had listed all ten of them, in the exact order Enne so often repeated to herself. It was perhaps the most unexpected and unnerving of Lourdes’s betrayals, and exactly the sort of thing Enne wished she could ask her mother about, if she was here. Why share these rules with Enne? Why teach her they were something else?
She sighed. It was during moments like these, of anger or sadness or hopelessness, that she missed Lourdes the most. She needed her mother to sort out her confusion, to take her hand and remind her of who she was and what was important.
“Where did the rules even come from?” Enne asked.
“From the Great Street War,” Levi answered. “Veil probably wrote them.”
“I heard it was Havoc,” Jac said. “They were opposing street lords, Veil and Havoc. It’s been eighteen years and people still take sides.”
“It was definitely Veil,” Levi repeated.
“You just say that because you worship Veil.”
He stiffened. “That’s not true.”
“When I first met you, you were dressed like him. In costume. You thought you were pretty neat.”
Levi kicked Jac in the shin, but Jac kept grinning. Enne relaxed a little at Jac’s dimples. Maybe she was imagining the tension.
The train car stopped, and they got off. It was early evening, the height of rush hour, yet the Deadman District was mostly quiet. The rain over the past few days had ushered a cool front over the city, and Enne shivered under her jacket. She kept both hands in her pockets. Her right finger traced along the barrel of Levi’s gun.
They found their way back to Lola’s cellar office and knocked on the door.
Lola’s green eyes appeared through the two bullet holes.
Swallowing the guilt and nervousness in her chest, Enne said, “’Lo.”
Lola cursed and opened the door. Her white hair was tied into a high bun at the top of her head. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” she said flatly, tucking her hands into her trousers. She glanced at Levi and Jac. “And you’ve brought the Iron boys back. What exactly is this?”
Enne met Levi’s eyes hesitantly, and he nodded, urging her to speak. It didn’t matter what Enne came up with—her self-preservation was entirely transparent.
“I came to New Reynes to find someone,” she started. “And after what you told me the other night...we think you might be able to help us.”
“I’m no private eye.”
“The names you gave me—they’re our only leads. If we could find more information about my families, maybe even guess who my birth parents are, it would give us a clue.”
“Who are you looking for?” Lola asked.
“My adopted mother.”
Lola stared at her disinterestedly.
“Please,” Enne added.
Lola made a face like she had a bad taste in her mouth. “Fine. Let me get my knives.” She turned and grabbed a belt off her desk; it was covered—every inch of it—in blades. As the group returned to the Mole stop, Lola removed several knives and hid them in strategic places around her body. In her left boot. Secured in a holster on her right thigh. Several up her sleeves. Three around her waist. One she even slid into a pocket in her top hat, which she wore to cover her white hair.
“Where are we going?” Levi asked uneasily.
“The South Side,” Lola replied. “The National Library. It doesn’t close until eight o’clock. They have all the census records there.”
“And will we need so many knives?” Jac asked, poking at her belt. “I’m not much of a reader, so maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think the books will attack us.”
Lola rolled her eyes. “It’s not the books I’m worried about.” She shot Enne a dark look.
Enne flushed and cleared her throat. “Are you sure we’ll find the records there, even for my family?” The wigheads had certainly destroyed all the Mizer records after the Revolution. The Dondelair records might exist, but the chances were still slim. The wigheads believed the only way to defeat a villain was to erase them.
“The records will be hard for you to find, yes,” Lola answered. “But not for me.”
They hopped the gate at the Mole station and wai
ted several minutes for the next train. Advertisements lined the tunnel walls for cabarets, the Regallière seasonal sale and Tiggy’s Saltwater Taffy.
“So,” Enne began, attempting to make polite conversation with the girl who had tried to murder her only two nights earlier, “are you from New Reynes?”
“Yep.”
“Have any family?”
“I had two brothers, once.” She kept her sentences purposefully curt and never eased her glare on Enne. “We don’t need to be friends, missy.”
“I’m just being polite.”
“I don’t want to get to know you.”
“Then don’t,” she snapped, and turned to Levi. He looked at her red face and flared nostrils in amusement.
“We should’ve brought your guidebook,” he said. “Check off some sightseeing.”
Before Enne had arrived at New Reynes, she’d read all the guidebook’s chapters on the South Side. There were a few places she would even have liked to visit: the famous university, the glamorous department stores and boutiques of Guillory Street, the national art museums. Before the Revolution, the city of Reynes had been primarily confined to the North Side, so the wealthy had fled the chaos of the uprisings and built anew across the Brint. But while they were busy constructing skyscrapers in the South, the North was left rotting from within.
The train arrived, and it was, once again, empty. Lola took a seat by the window, with Jac sitting opposite her, watching her in case she made a break for it. Enne and Levi hung near the door. Every few moments, Lola turned to glare at them or at Jac, but mostly, she kept her gaze trained out the window, playing a jazz tune on her harmonica.
Levi slapped the metal railing above their heads. “If St. Morse falls through,” he said, as if Enne could simply abandon Vianca whenever she pleased, “you could do tricks on the Mole. Put out a volt meter.”
Oh, how the lady would’ve fallen, Enne thought. “Everything in New Reynes is a show. You can’t even ride to work without witnessing a performance.”
“I like a little entertainment.” He grabbed the same bar Enne was holding and swung himself around. Their faces were only inches apart, and the corner of Levi’s mouth was turned up into one of his classic smirks. To Lola, they probably looked conspiratorial, even if they were only talking nonsense. Jac probably knew better.
Enne blushed and turned her head away, trying not to think about how hopelessly obvious she was around Levi. Considering the events and many convoluted feelings between them during the past few days, adding attraction into the mix seemed a hopeless and unnecessary complication. She might’ve cared about Levi, might’ve liked the way he looked and the way he looked at her, but her focus needed to remain on finding her mother.
“My life has enough entertainment at the moment,” she breathed.
“I don’t know,” he teased, speaking softly into her ear. “You could always use a little more.”
“Are you suggesting something in particular?” she asked warily. He had a bad habit of making her nervous, and he knew it. His smirk only got wider.
“If you want something, you should let yourself have it.”
She could feel his breath on her neck. It was enough to make her break out in goose bumps, to make her stomach crisscross into frustrated knots. It reminded her of the time they’d walked down Sweetie Street, and Levi had colorfully described the workers’ talents for seduction. He’d been mocking her then, and maybe he was now. But she didn’t think he’d hint at something like that unless he wanted it, too.
At what point in her life had she decided that others controlled what she wanted, that she couldn’t just reach out and take it? Hadn’t she just thought those words to herself the night before?
She might’ve wanted Levi Glaisyer, but she also wanted to return home. If it came down to a choice between them, she would chose Bellamy—perhaps because she desired what she couldn’t have more than what was right in front of her. But with an omerta and a thousand miles of ocean between her and home, why shouldn’t she have this small consolation?
You wouldn’t have wanted him five days ago, she thought. When you were someone different. The city has already corrupted you.
New Reynes’s constant performers, flashing lights—the whole city was a show and everything had a price. Here, it was easy to forget who you were. Her desire for Levi wasn’t really her own—it belonged to someone else. Someone who carried pistols in their pockets and darkness on their conscience.
At least, that was what she kept trying to tell herself.
Enne cleared her throat. “How much longer until we reach the library?” She was in desperate need of a cold breeze.
His eyes drifted away from her lips to the Mole map. “Seven more stops.”
“Well then.” She grabbed the empty seat beside Jac, putting several feet of distance between her and the source of her distraction. Levi didn’t bother to follow. As the train car passed the next several stops and other passengers boarded, Enne did her best to keep her gaze out the window. Even so, she could still feel the heat of Levi’s stare.
Lola was the first to move when they reached their stop: Revolution Bridge. It was a major station, busy with people changing lines, full of kiosks selling newspapers and food. Enne’s stomach groaned as they passed a doughnut stand.
They climbed several flights of stairs before reaching the street. The change in scenery between this and the North Side was astounding. Here, the white stone buildings were actually still white, many with huge columns and gilded domes. Motorcars honked at jaywalkers sprinting across traffic circles. The men wore checkered suits, their patent leather boots clicking as they walked. Women shuffled by daintily in their hobble skirts, too fitted for them to take long strides.
“It’s beautiful,” Enne said.
“It’s a bit glitzy,” Levi answered flatly. Something had clearly soured his mood. “Not really my taste.”
“And what is your taste? Cheap cabarets and malt liquor?”
“At least it’s honest.”
“Says the con man.”
“Says the street lord,” he countered. “At least I know what I want.”
She bristled and took a step closer. “And I don’t?” Who cared if she thought the South Side was beautiful? She couldn’t even make simple conversation without it becoming a statement on her character.
“No,” he dared. “I don’t think you do.”
Lola cleared her throat, her expression disgusted. “We don’t have long before the library closes.”
Enne nodded, then rolled her shoulders to try to release her tension. Now she was in a sour mood, too. Distraction, indeed. She didn’t even know what they’d been arguing about. They needed to focus on what they’d come here to do.
The library was grand, both on the outside and within. The sunset shining through the stained glass windows cast the bookshelves in a sacred sort of glow. Students crowded each of the tables, pouring over textbooks and old manuscripts. The air smelled of burning candles and the dust of old books. The quiet reverence here didn’t seem like it should exist in New Reynes.
“We’ll start in the family records,” Lola said. She led them to the third floor, to hallways of displeasing metal shelves lined with black, leather-bound books.
“It’s all so...sterile,” Enne said.
“The Mizers certainly treated family matters as such,” Lola said. “For them, talents were commodities. Things to be bred.” The accusation in her voice was clear, as though Enne was just as guilty as her ancestors, despite not knowing her family history until two days ago. She opposed their tyrannical reigns as much as Lola did. “When’s your birthday?”
“February 2. Year 9.” The wigheads had reset the calendar after the Revolution, as it had previously referenced the old Faith.
“Can you find her records from just her birthday?” Jac asked dubiously.
“Of course. This is what I do.” Lola followed the shelves down to the ones labeled with the correct year. She grabbed several books and handed one to each of them. “These are all February. They should be in alphabetical order by blood name.”
After several moments of riffling through the pages, none of them found a mention of Enne. She wasn’t listed under Salta, nor even Scordata, Dondelair or Alfero. They checked every day for the entire year, but there was no evidence of her birth to be found.
“I was expecting that,” Lola said nonchalantly, as if it were obvious. Maybe it was—of course Enne didn’t have a birth record, being what she was. But this was only another reminder that everything she’d once known about herself was a lie. She was so accustomed to being ordinary and ignored, yet now, even with her notorious heritage revealed, she felt twice as invisible. “We’ll try the family trees next.” Although Lola’s tone wasn’t exactly enthused, it was still somewhat optimistic, and Enne clung to the hope that there would be something for them to find. Something to lead them back to Lourdes.
The family lineages were in a hallway much like the previous one. All crates and metal and fluorescent lighting. They sat on the cold white-tiled floor as Lola plucked out a laminated file labeled “Dondelair.” She handed it to Enne.
“We won’t find any Scordata records here—those have all been destroyed. We’re lucky the Dondelairs’ haven’t been, too,” Lola said. “What was your adopted mother’s full name?”
Enne took the Dondelair file with unease. It felt criminal even to read it. “Oh, um, Lourdes Reids Alfero.”
While Lola hunted for Lourdes’s family tree, Enne, Levi and Jac flipped through the Dondelair file. Levi sat beside her, their shoulders almost touching, so he could examine the documents with her. Enne tried to ignore his nearness and focus.
The trees included the names of each family member, their birth dates, their death dates and their causes of death. They looked so clinical, as though they’d been written by coroners rather than historians.
