Ace of Shades (The Shadow Game Series)

by Amanda Foody

  It was ludicrous to put any faith in dreams, but nothing about the hallway felt like one. The scenes were still fresh in her mind, the memories exact in every detail, as though she’d really experienced them.

  She traced her finger over the guidebook’s map. Virtue Street was located in Olde Town, exactly where Lola thought the bank would be. The road ran parallel to Tropps Street, virtue and vice never intersecting.

  Just as she’d begun to worry about the others, Lola strode in through the revolving doors, wearing her now-familiar top hat. She took one look around St. Morse’s gaudy interior and grimaced.

  “You’re wearing lipstick,” Lola commented. She squinted at Enne’s face, as if examining an optical illusion. “It suits you.”

  This was the first nice thing Lola had ever said to her. She beamed. “Thank you.” Enne felt it suited her, too.

  “Where are the Iron boys?”

  “I’m not sure. They should’ve been here a while ago.” She shouldn’t worry. What trouble could they have found by midmorning? Maybe they’d just slept in after a long night.

  “Then it’s just us,” Lola said. Even though there was no threat in her voice, the words unnerved Enne. She was glad she’d brought Levi’s revolver—several days had passed since the night she’d stolen it, but he’d never asked for it back. Maybe she’d keep it.

  Still, Lola was right. There was no point in wasting more of the day.

  They ventured outside and headed to the bank. Olde Town was particularly quiet that morning, few people venturing outside due to the sudden heat. Enne, however, relished the weather; she’d felt as though she’d left summer behind her when she sailed away from Bellamy.

  She pulled her guidebook out and followed the route on the map. Neither of them spoke for some time, which was just fine with Enne, as she was too lost in her own thoughts. Without even sharing Lourdes’s blood name, how would she gain access to the account? Would Lourdes have opened the account in her name or under another alias? And even if Enne gained access, what would she do with all those volts?

  Lola’s voice interrupted Enne’s thoughts. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” Enne said nervously. There was no bite or threat in Lola’s voice, but that was precisely why she was nervous.

  “If Lourdes raised you as your mother, why do you call her by her first name?”

  Enne shrugged. “She never wanted me to call her Mother.” She had wondered this herself when she was younger, but even though Lourdes never discussed her own family, Enne got the sense she’d had a complicated relationship with her own mother.

  “Can I ask you a question now?” Enne asked.

  Lola’s eyebrows furrowed, and she crossed her arms. “I guess.”

  “If you’re not a Dove, why do you dye your hair white?”

  It felt like a simple question, but clearly, it was one Lola didn’t want to answer.

  “Don’t ask me that,” she growled, then brushed past Enne and walked several steps ahead of her for the rest of the trip.

  The sign for Virtue Street was rusted over, and layers and layers of kiss marks covered it in all shades of lipstick.

  “We’re here,” Lola said. “You can kiss the sign if you’d like. It’s a New Reynes tradition.”

  Enne grimaced. “I’ll pass.”

  They stopped another block down the street. According to a plaque outside, the building before them was indeed the bank, but Enne could just as easily have mistaken it for a penitentiary. Wrought iron gates encircled the grounds and guarded each of its windows. Larger-than-life obsidian statues lined the walkway to the front door, but dark sacks covered each of their heads, like the sort draped over a man as he approached the gallows.

  “Mizer kings, probably,” Lola said cheerfully.

  Enne shivered. “They could have just taken them down.”

  “They’re reminders, not decorations.”

  They walked inside and approached the main desk, entirely protected by bulletproof glass except for a sliver of space to exchange documents—a harsh contrast to the marble grandeur of its decor. The woman behind the desk was elderly, with one keen blue eye and a second wooden one.

  Enne slid her token under the glass. The woman snatched it up and held it close to her good eye.

  “These aren’t the standard engravings,” she remarked suspiciously. She rubbed her thumb over the cameo of the Mizer queen. “This is very outdated.”

  “We’d like access to the vault that coin opens,” Enne said firmly.

  “You can only enter the vault if your name is on the account.” The woman turned to a file cabinet and perused it for the correct number. “Hmm. There are several listed. Are you a Ms. Lourdes Orefla?”

  Enne stilled and whispered to Lola, “Do you think that’s her real name?”

  “That’s just Alfero backward, thickhead,” Lola hissed.

  Enne reddened. “No,” she told the woman. “I’m not.”

  The woman adjusted her bifocals. “A Ms. Erienne Salta?”

  Excitement surged in Enne’s chest. Lourdes did put her name on the account. Maybe Enne had been meant to find this place after all.

  She shoved her identification documents through the window. “Yes. That’s me.”

  Several minutes later, a security guard led them to a rather haunting steel elevator and, from there, to the bottom-most level. The hallway had concrete walls, flickering fluorescent lighting and grated metal doors lining either side. They walked until reaching the hallway’s end, where the guard gestured to a vault on their right.

  Enne took a deep breath and slid the token into the coin slot.

  There was a metal clanking from inside, followed by several clicks of unlatching locks. The handle spun counterclockwise three times before the door creaked open.

  Enne cautiously stepped inside. At first she was confused—she’d expected dozens of shelves of orbs, enough to contain the fortune she’d uncovered in those bank slips.

  The vault was completely empty.

  She placed a hand on the wall, steadying herself. Another dead end.

  “Look,” Lola said, picking up a small object Enne hadn’t noticed in the corner. It was a single, miniature orb made of black glass, with golden sparks glowing faintly inside. Volts were white, not gold. Which meant it wasn’t a real orb.

  “Is it a trick?” Enne asked, walking closer to Lola. She tried not to let her disappointment show, but her voice was catching. Had Lourdes emptied the vault since Enne had found the statement? Why leave behind this...toy?

  Lola held it up to the light and examined it. “Do you have a volt reader?”

  Enne did, in her purse. She held the sensor to the orb’s metal cap, but nothing registered. She sighed and shoved both the reader and the black orb into her bag.

  “Has the account been emptied recently?” she asked the guard.

  “Why would I know that?” he snapped.

  Enne put her hands on her hips and stared around the empty room. The metal walls reminded her of a prison cell, and she shivered, feeling claustrophobic. No leads, no answers. She was trapped in this city.

  As Enne turned around to leave, she caught a glint at the corner of her eye—there was a faint line in the wall to her left, almost imperceptible. As she walked toward it, she made out the thin outline of a square. She ran her fingers across its edges. Her nails found a latch in the metal, and she flipped it open, revealing a keyhole.

  Enne fished around her purse.

  “Do you have a key?” Lola asked.

  “This should do,” Enne said, brandishing a bobby pin.

  “You’re joking. You some expert lock-picker?”

  “I’ve done it before.” Once.

  Enne fiddled the bobby pin around the lock, searching for its mechanisms. The lock was no more complicated than the one on Lourd
es’s office. Perhaps Lourdes had felt the box’s concealment was protection enough.

  After about a minute, the lock clicked open. Enne smiled triumphantly and yanked out the bent bobby pin.

  The drawer slid open, and Enne pulled out a bronze coin. It was a token matching her own, only with a king on its face rather than a queen. It was hot to the touch—almost burning, though with no discernable reason as to why. Unlike the queen’s token, this one lacked the signature ridges that made it a key. It was simply a coin.

  “Feel this,” Enne said, handing the coin to Lola. “It’s warm.”

  Lola touched it, then shook her head. “Most people keep volts in a bank.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  “Seems like a regular coin to me. It’s old, though. Much older than the key.”

  “Well, it must be important, if Lourdes took the trouble to hide it like that.” That was what she tried to convince herself, anyway. She’d come here for answers but was leaving with trinkets.

  The more she uncovered about her mother, the less she seemed to understand her.

  Enne slid the new token into her purse, as well. She gazed around the room for any other mysterious hiding places, but found none. She swallowed her disappointment.

  “So we found nothing,” Enne murmured.

  Lola gave her a weak, awkward smile. “It’s not nothing—”

  “Yes, it is,” Enne said stiffly. She wished Levi were here to comfort her, rather than the blood gazer. Enne would probably cry if Lola’s harsh words from yesterday weren’t so fresh in her mind. Crying now? You’re something else. She shouldn’t care what Lola thought of her—she’d certainly made her contempt perfectly clear—but Enne still didn’t want to face further judgment. She was too easily wounded right now.

  Thankfully, Lola kept quiet on their return upstairs. However, as soon as they exited the elevator, Lola marched across the lobby, her boots thumping loudly on the marble floor.

  “Do you have any other information on the account?” she asked the woman. Enne hovered, shocked, behind her. “Statements? Other names? Anything?”

  The woman retrieved the paperwork a second time. “There’s a final name listed on the account, this one with an address.” She leaned closer to it, her real eye squinting. “A Ms. Zula Slyk. Number nineteen, the Street of the Holy Tombs. That’s everything I have.” The weight of Enne’s disappointment lifted. Lola turned around, shooting Enne a triumphant smile.

  “That’s also in Olde Town,” Lola said. “We could go now.”

  Enne debated for a moment. She wanted to, but her acrobatics show was that night. Even if her role in the troupe was a farce, a diversion from the real reason Vianca had hired her, she was actually looking forward to the performance. For once, she had achieved a somewhat notable role.

  But her ambitions didn’t matter, not in comparison to finding her mother.

  “Maybe we can—”

  “But we should wait for the boys,” Lola said. “The Street of the Holy Tombs is deeper into Olde Town. We might not be safe if we ran into any Irons.”

  Enne had faced Dove Land unscathed—certainly she could manage the same in Olde Town. But truthfully, even if Lola had proved helpful today, Levi’s presence would be a comfort. His absence today already had her worried.

  “Tomorrow morning, then,” Enne suggested.

  “But I have Guild meetings tomorrow.” Lola sounded almost let down about it. “Do you think Lourdes will be there?”

  Enne stilled. She didn’t want to consider that she might actually find her mother tomorrow—her chest was already weary from carrying all this repeated hope and disappointment.

  “I don’t know,” Enne answered quietly.

  She and Lola walked back outside. They leaned against the pedestal of one of the statues. The plaque with the Mizer’s name on it had been shattered beyond legibility, and Enne ran her fingers over the cracks, thinking about the cracks within herself.

  “If nothing turns up,” Lola said, “I was thinking we could go to Scrap Market. They have old newspapers there. Ones Lourdes probably wrote for.”

  Enne nodded, trying not to focus on the words if nothing turns up. Something would. At some point, the trail needed to lead somewhere.

  “That sounds good,” she answered.

  Lola pulled her harmonica out of her pocket. “I’ve always liked puzzles.”

  Enne almost snapped that her life wasn’t a puzzle, wasn’t some game, but there was no point in angering the blood gazer. Enne preferred this Lola to the one who’d wanted her dead.

  Lola blew out an eerie, low note: appropriate for a garden full of hooded statues. While she played, Enne mentally recited Lourdes’s rules to herself to release all the pressure in her heart. Those feelings of power and confidence she’d gained from New Reynes felt like a dream, in this moment, caught between another dead end and another lead.

  She rubbed her lipstick off on the back of her hand. Maybe it didn’t suit her after all.

  LEVI

  It was the end of Levi’s Saturday night shift. He was dressed in an emerald St. Morse suit, complete with silver cuff links and sapphire velvet tie. The moment he left the Tropps Room to begin his break, he slipped the jacket off and draped it over his shoulder. He hated to wear Vianca’s clothes any longer than he had to, and it felt especially wrong to be in his uniform, pretending everything else was fine.

  He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up his forearms, exposing the matching ace and spade tattoos.

  Vianca’s woman had brought makeup to cover the impressive shiner on his left eye, but the tone was too pale, and it left him looking even more sickly than he felt. He should consider himself lucky to be walking—limping, really—only several hours after waking up. One broken rib, the doctor had said. A concussion. A minor stab wound that would leave him with a permanent scar.

  And a lethal blow to his pride. He still had his tattoos, but without the Irons, he didn’t know who he was anymore. He was Levi Glaisyer, but that was the name his father had given him. The Iron Lord was the one he’d fashioned for himself.

  He was surprised Chez hadn’t come back to finish the job. Typically, an oath broke when someone died during the duel or if the lord relinquished their claim on their vassal. If Jac hadn’t fought off Chez, Levi would be at the bottom of the Brint right now. But he wasn’t dead, so the oath was still—at least partially—intact.

  Regardless, Chez was probably marching around Olde Town calling himself the new Iron Lord. The thought of it made Levi feel worse than all the injuries combined. He’d been humiliated, betrayed and beaten; dying might’ve been a more merciful fate.

  To make matters worse, Chez had stolen the five hundred volts he’d already been planning to give to the Irons. Ungrateful bastard.

  Levi hadn’t seen Enne since last night, and he had no idea if she knew what had happened, or if she had ever hunted down that bank. The thought of her seeing him like this was more than a little embarrassing, but she would soon find out one way or another—and besides, he wanted to catch the last half of her show.

  Not needing to pay for tickets while wearing his St. Morse uniform, Levi strolled into the theater. It was dark—intermission must’ve just ended. He stood in the back rather than squeeze into an empty seat in the middle of a row. A dozen burlesque dancers onstage performed some kind of interpretive theater, pointing and running as a group of acrobatic birds swooped down and clawed at their heads. He spotted Enne immediately. She was dressed in black, with droopy wings that spread apart as she swung. It was obvious from only a few minutes of performing that she was one of the more talented acrobats on the stage, despite her minor role in the show. The Dondelairs were from the highest tier of acrobatics families, just as the Glaisyers were the most respected of orb-makers.

  The orchestra hit a crescendo.

  Crack! The “
sky” broke open, and glitter rained over the performers. Lights flashed. One of the male dancers brandished a golden sword and pointed it toward the birds, but as soon as he gained his balance, one of the birds on the lowest trapeze kicked the sword from his hands. It clattered across the stage and stopped beside one of the smaller dancers. The young man grabbed it, and the moment he did, the glitter stopped falling and light poured in from above.

  There was a final dance number, but the acrobats were gone. Seemed like a pretty useless story to Levi, but he didn’t know much about art.

  The bows began, and the acrobats took the stage as a group. Enne smiled and curtsied with the rest of them, and Levi couldn’t take his eyes off her. Very briefly, Enne’s gaze found his, even from all the way on the stage. She smiled wider. Levi decided the whole show had been worth it just for that.

  He left soon after, and a crowd of women in flowing satin gowns and men drowned in cologne exited behind him. Levi eyed a vase of orchids on the concierge’s counter. People gave performers flowers, right? But he decided against it—he already had a stolen box of cookies wedged awkwardly in his pocket—and turned down one of the small hallways that led backstage.

  It was empty. When he reached a door labeled Dressing Room, Levi stopped and leaned against the wall. Enne was probably changing. He didn’t mind waiting a few minutes.

  A little while later, another performer popped out and startled at seeing Levi there, looking as ill as he did. Her eyes ran over his St. Morse uniform with suspicion. Levi might’ve been well-known in the casino, but he wasn’t so recognizable outside of the Tropps Room, especially by those who didn’t pay attention to the city’s most notable dealers.

  He self-consciously adjusted his tie and wiped at the concealer on his eye. Maybe coming to see Enne was a bad idea, but it seemed silly to turn back now.

  Levi cleared his throat. “I’m looking for Enne.”

  The girl nodded and disappeared. Enne stepped out a moment later, still in her costume, but without her wings or feathered skirt. Heavy black stage lashes covered her eyes, and her cheeks were extra pink. Despite the fact that she looked a bit ridiculous, Levi couldn’t help but stare at the way the lacy leotard hugged her waist and the makeup accentuated the pout of her Cupid’s bow.