by Amanda Foody
“What sort of task?” Enne asked. After returning to St. Morse from Scrap Market, Enne had collapsed and slept through the afternoon and most of the following day, but hadn’t found it restful. When Vianca’s woman had pounded on her door only minutes before, Enne had suspected a scolding for skipping today’s acrobatics rehearsal. She had braced herself for anger, not for another assignment, and she didn’t know which scenario was worse.
Vianca clutched the armrests of her seat, her knuckles whitening, her veins bulging. “There’s going to be a midnight party at the House of Shadows that mustn’t occur.”
More than anything, stay away from the House of Shadows.
But it wasn’t Zula’s warning that made Enne’s breath hitch. The House of Shadows was where the Phoenix Club played the Shadow Game. It was where Lourdes had died.
“Are you familiar with the House of Shadows?” Vianca asked.
“I am, Madame,” she said flatly.
“Then you should be afraid.”
Enne felt a coldness wrap itself around her heart, but it wasn’t fear.
It was anger.
Enne straightened her posture. Lifted her head up. Looked Vianca square in the eyes. Regardless of what Zula had told her, Enne had submitted herself to enough warnings and rules for her lifetime. If the donna was going to send Enne to the site of her mother’s death, then she would be ready—and, if given the chance, she would burn the place down.
“What do I need to do?”
The corners of Vianca’s lips curled into a smile. “Sedric Torren is becoming a threat. I need him gone.”
By “gone,” Enne knew she meant “dead.” The thought weighed less on her conscience than it should have, but she had hoped to never encounter that man again.
“Why me? You have dozens of others at your disposal,” Enne said. Vianca had once boasted to her about the dangerous empire under her command, yet she was assigning a mere schoolgirl to perform an assassin’s work.
“Because you’re still my secret,” Vianca said. “I can’t have this traced back to me.”
Vianca grabbed her tea kettle and poured herself a cup of chamomile, her hand trembling. Enne couldn’t determine if age had simply weakened her hands or if the donna was truly nervous.
“Sedric will recognize me,” Enne said darkly. Certainly, the charade she’d played last time would be broken.
Vianca’s eyes roamed over Enne’s body in a way that made her want to shiver. “I knew he’d like you. You really do look his type.”
Enne clenched her fists as the memories of that night flooded back to her. She could feel the ghost of Sedric’s hand against her thigh. “You didn’t warn me what he was.”
“Sedric has an army at his disposal. There were few circumstances in which you could have caught him alone or unprotected.” The heartless logic in Vianca’s voice made Enne hate her. For the donna, this was all a game, and Enne was a disposable piece. “If you had known, he would have grown suspicious. I played you to your own advantage.”
“No,” Enne seethed. “You exploited the trauma of probably countless other girls. All so you could win. I’ve never been so disgusted. You’re as much of a monster as he is.” Dangerous words to say to the commander of the Augustine Family—Enne’s grief had made her reckless. She wasn’t acting like herself.
Or maybe she was.
Vianca’s nails drummed against her desk. “Careful, Miss Salta. You’ll forget who the real enemies are in this city.”
Enne examined her coolly, ignoring Vianca’s words. No, she would never forget.
“Whether or not he pays Torren back tonight,” Vianca said, “the preparations for his execution have already been made. The Shadow Game will be played tonight, at the stroke of midnight.”
The Shadow Game. The weight of all Enne’s anger, all her grief, hardened in her chest. Her conscience, a soft and fragile thing, was buried somewhere inside, some place deep and dark and unreachable.
“Whose execution?” Enne asked.
“Levi’s.”
Then, at last, came the fear.
You’re not alone.
But she would be, if Levi had been invited to play the Shadow Game.
“Why?” Enne choked. Her confidence from earlier was breaking, searing panic seeping its way into the cracks. She would lose everyone she cared about to the Phoenix Club, one by one.
Vianca’s face clouded with something that could almost be mistaken as remorse. “It’s my fault. But I have other plans for Levi—that’s why I need you to save him.”
Vianca Augustine was an excellent liar, but Enne could still hear the desperation in her voice. Levi wasn’t simply an omerta for her. Not just a favorite toy. Even so, it was hard to imagine Vianca capable of anything like love or kindness. Having those feelings made her only more of a monster. If Vianca knew compassion, then she also knew the pain she caused.
“Sedric will be at Luckluster Casino early tonight, waiting for Levi to arrive with the volts. You must find Sedric before Levi does.”
That only gave Enne a few hours. It was already six o’clock.
“If you do it openly, I cannot protect you,” Vianca said. “You must kill Sedric quickly, and you must do it discreetly.”
Enne waited for the donna to provide her another poison, another dress. But when the silence stretched on, Enne asked nervously, “What will I use, Madame? How will I get there? Should I—”
“I cannot help you this time,” Vianca rasped, and Enne’s mouth gaped. She would be performing this entirely on her own? “Unlike last time, this will have repercussions, and I will be the first they question. The whiteboots know my methods. They know my men. Like I said, I cannot have this traced back to me. Can you accomplish this for me?”
Enne took a deep, shaky breath. She wasn’t sure if she would succeed, but she would certainly try—under Vianca’s command or not. She’d already decided that she would risk danger if it meant saving Levi, and now the city was asking her to prove it.
“I will do it for him,” Enne said, “not for you.”
Vianca pursed her lips. “Everything you do, Miss Salta, you do for me.” Enne felt ghostly fingers scrape across her throat, the omerta teasing her. Enne lifted her chin higher, unwilling to succumb to the witch’s torment. “Now go.”
* * *
For the past nine days spent in New Reynes, Enne had thought that falling for Levi would mean losing herself: her final act of surrender to the City of Sin.
But she’d been wrong. Naïvely, utterly wrong.
When she burst into Levi’s apartment, breathless and heart-pounding and nauseated, Enne searched every drawer, every hiding spot for weapons. Her only gun was out of bullets.
She found none.
Frustrated, she turned to the collection of forgotten things in his closet. She found another weapon of sort—the perfect dress. Clinging, silky and black.
Then she returned to her own bedroom and tried on the costume. She barely recognized herself. For once, that felt a very good thing. This time, she would be no one’s doll.
Vianca had intended her to exploit Sedric’s weakness, and as repulsive as that seemed to Enne, she would play that role if she had to. However, attraction might be dangerous, but it wasn’t deadly. In order to kill him, she’d first need to visit Lola, to retrieve her stolen bullets, to take whatever advice or weapons Lola had to offer.
And so she formulated her plan.
She put on her crimson-noir lipstick.
She pocketed her revolver.
When Enne arrived at Luckluster Casino, she would hunt down the wolf of the City of Sin, and she would slay him.
That was her surrender.
* * *
Lola’s green eyes peered through the bullet holes in her cellar door. “I didn’t think you’d be back.”
“I n
eed your help.”
The urgency in Enne’s voice must’ve been obvious, because Lola quickly thrust open the door. She scanned Enne’s outfit. Rather than complimenting her or questioning the formality of her attire, she commented, “You could hide a lot of daggers in that.”
“Actually, that’s exactly why I’m here.” Enne pulled the revolver out of her pocket. “I need the bullets back.”
Lola ushered her inside. “What’s going on?”
“Sedric Torren is planning to kill Levi at midnight, and I might already be too late to save him.” Enne ran to the desk drawer where Lola had kept Enne’s revolver on her initial visit. Inside was a pile of knives and miniature weapons, but no bullets.
“And what exactly are you going to do about it?” Lola asked. “The Torren Family owns half the North Side.”
“I’m going to kill Sedric Torren.”
Lola stared at her incredulously. “You won’t make it out alive.”
Enne slammed the drawer closed and grabbed Lola by the shoulders. “Levi is going to die the same way Lourdes did. I need to stop the Shadow Game, and all I have is a revolver with no bullets.”
“The Shadow Game?” Lola’s eyes widened. “The Torrens aren’t part of the Phoenix Club.”
“I trust Vianca’s sources.”
Lola’s face shadowed. “So it’s like that with Vianca?”
Enne let her go and stared at the floor. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to Lola anymore, even if it meant Lola abandoning her.
“Time is already running out,” she pleaded. “Please, Lola.”
After a few moments of consideration, Lola relaxed her shoulders. She drew a key out of her pocket and unlocked a different drawer of her desk. “These were your bullets.” She handed Enne three of them, then she rummaged around for additional knives and weapons. “You really can fit a lot of daggers in that dress.”
Killing a man with a gun? That would be easy. Impersonal. Enne might not feel the guilt over murdering someone like Sedric Torren, but her skin crawled to think of how close she’d need to get to him to use a knife. To feel his hands grabbing her as she attacked him. To hear him curse in her ear as she ended his life. She wasn’t sure she could do that.
“Do you have poison?” Enne asked.
Lola hesitated. “I might.” She pulled out a small leather case and closed the drawer. “This belonged to my younger brother, once. But he doesn’t need it anymore.” There was unmistakable sadness in Lola’s voice.
Enne slid off the lid. Inside was a syringe, filled with a wine-dark fluid. She reached in to touch it, but Lola slapped her hand away. “It’s almost instantaneous death. Very obvious, and very traceable.”
Which meant she’d need to get Sedric somewhere private. Enne shivered.
“It’s an hour walk to Luckluster from here,” Lola said. “A thirty-minute Mole ride.”
It was seven thirty. Levi could be there by now. Levi could already be dead. “There’s nothing faster?”
“Nothing that I...” Lola’s face broke into a grin. “You can pick locks.”
Enne’s skin prickled nervously. She didn’t like that daring look on the blood gazer’s face. “I can pick some locks.”
“My neighbor sells Mistress for the Augustines. Got himself this real nice Houssen Amberlite in his garage. It’s fast. And brand-new.”
Nine days ago Enne would’ve immediately vetoed the idea. Stealing a car? It was dangerous. It was shatz.
But it was the fastest way to save Levi.
So Enne swallowed her reservations, slid the leather case into the pocket of her dress, and asked, “Can you drive?”
LEVI
Levi picked up a card. The king of clubs. He fought back a confident smile as the man next to him turned over a pair of queens and a three of spades. To reveal such an advantageous Tropp so early, the player was trying to seem cocky, even though he looked everywhere but the card table. It was the easiest bluff to spot.
Levi took a sip from a glass of the tonic water he’d brought with him from St. Morse. Nobody noticed him dab his pointer finger in the glass as he set it down. On the back of the king of clubs card, he stealthily drew a KC with his finger.
Normally, Levi preferred not to resort to cheating. But tonight, he could afford nothing short of winning.
The rounds continued, and Levi easily outplayed the man’s bluff. The dealer called the game for the Iron Lord.
His opponent threw his cards on the table in defeat, and Levi took the pot. He’d won two and a half thousand volts tonight, which meant he had just enough to pay back Sedric—with his own casino’s volts.
Levi felt the weight of the pouch of orbs in his pocket. Examined the mountain of red and black Luckluster chips in front of him.
He was done. He was safe.
He let out a sigh that he’d been holding in for months now and leaned back into his chair. Levi had never been inside Luckluster Casino, and the Torrens couldn’t have decorated it in any way more opposite to St. Morse’s royal grandeur. Everything was red and black: the furnishings, the lights, the attire. But despite being one of the city’s two richest casinos, inside, it looked more like a cheap nightclub. The ambience and color scheme was probably meant to appear fiendishly luxe, but even to Levi—who was certainly no prude—everything about the casino seemed vulgar. Fishnets, cherry lips, black lace, scarlet nails. Satin bedsheet curtains; glow-in-the-dark artwork of lips and curves; dancers lounging in windows above the main gambling floor, their long legs and stiletto heels dangling from the bannisters.
He could finally relax, but the combination of the hypersexualized environment and the nagging discomfort of his glass contacts kept him on edge. Maybe the lenses hurt because he’d used volt glass. Certain objects in the room glowed with an unnatural shade of blue, like some of the other players’ drinks and a few of the women’s faces, probably from a chemical in their makeup. Looking straight into the fluorescent lights was blinding. He was getting a headache from it all.
But two and a half thousand volts. Yeah, the peepers had been worth it.
The dealer asked if they’d play again. What Levi needed to do was remove the contact lenses, hand over his ten thousand volts to Sedric and leave. But with his winning streak, it would’ve been a shame to end now. Levi hadn’t earned this much in a single night in a long time.
The dealer handed out cards to Levi and the four other players. Three tens of diamonds. What were the chances?
This was his night.
After a few rounds, it was down to Levi and the man on his left. Levi, however, wasn’t paying much attention, as his mind was already drifting to what he’d do after he paid Sedric, after he reclaimed his title and his reputation. For once, the future he wanted felt within his grasp.
Round after round, his opponent bet aggressively. Levi examined the man’s cards. Definitely two jacks of hearts—Levi had written JH on the backs in a previous round, which glowed blue through his lenses. He didn’t know what the other two cards were, but Levi was certain his three-of-a-kind Tropp was better.
Levi tossed a second thousand-volt chip into the pot.
The dealer nodded at them to reveal their cards. Levi showed his first, eager to admire the fury on the man’s face.
Then the man showed his cards. Four jacks of clubs.
Levi cursed and threw his cards into the center of the table. So he was two thousand down. No need to panic yet. He’d leave Luckluster once he made them back.
The next few rounds, he continuously received mediocre hands. The peepers couldn’t help him get the right cards, and the risk wasn’t worth the bluff. He lost only three hundred volts.
He waited until he’d finally been dealt a good hand, then he went all in. By the time they reached the seventh round of the game, Levi had collected a royal flush, a nearly unbeatable Tropp.
Levi confidently tossed a silver three thousand–volt chip in the pot. One of the players who’d already folded whistled.
By this point, the discomfort of the lenses had developed into a pounding headache that pulsed behind his eyebrows. As soon as he won this game, he desperately needed to take the peepers out and drink a cold glass of water.
The dealer cleared his throat, distracting Levi from the throbbing in his skull. “Your cards, sir.” Levi coughed awkwardly and gathered his hand.
They each showed their cards. His opponent had three jacks of hearts and two kings of diamonds. Levi hadn’t seen the kings. Between those two small Tropps, he was done.
Just like that, his pile was empty. Five and a half thousand volts. Gone. Just like that.
Muck muck muck, he thought. Why didn’t I get out when I was on top?
With very little left to bet, Levi stood. He trembled as the reality of what had happened dawned on him. He’d had the volts to pay back Sedric. He’d had his way out of this scam Vianca started. And he’d ruined it.
He could still pay Sedric a portion of what he owed. Ask for an extension. But Sedric didn’t have a reputation as a merciful man. It would be all or nothing.
The Fool laughed at him in the corner of his vision. Wherever Levi looked, the Fool stared back.
Levi spotted one of Sedric’s cousins, the easily recognizable and widely feared Charles Torren, watching him hungrily from a nearby bar. Levi pushed his way out of the gambling room and away from Charles’s ominous, knowing stare.
The bathroom was thankfully empty. Levi bent over the counter and stared at his bloodshot eyes, his dark brown irises tinted a shade bluer from the dye. Not his best look. He took out the contacts and stuffed them in his pocket. His heart was pounding, and he tried to steady his breathing, but it was nearly impossible—due both to the anxiety tightening in his chest and the throbbing of his headache.
He’d think of a new plan. Run back to St. Morse and wake up Jac, who was probably still sleeping on his couch. They’d hide. Maybe try the smaller casinos. Peepers...what had he been thinking? He played better when he wasn’t marking cards—he didn’t make reckless assumptions.
