by Amanda Foody
If she were here, if they’d faced the donna together, maybe they could have found a way out of this situation. They’d escaped the Shadow Game after all.
But she was somewhere else, and he was here.
“And what will I be doing to help her?” he managed.
“You had that little gang of yours.” Vianca waved her hand dismissively, and Levi caught her use of the past tense. His stomach sank further. Without the Irons, without the power of being a lord, Levi would have no means of providing information to Harrison. He was running out of loopholes. “You’ll be her consultant.”
“But the Irons—”
“Are a distraction. It’s time to abandon these fantasies and turn your attention to your true strengths.”
“My true strengths?” he gritted out between his teeth. Was she trying to flatter him by taking away everything he’d ever wanted?
“You’re a businessman, not a lord. There’s more than one way to achieve grandeur.”
“If that’s what you think, then why bother making me Enne’s consultant?” Nothing good had ever come to him by angering Vianca Augustine, but he couldn’t swallow down his sarcasm. “If I’m so lousy at what I do, what could I possibly have to offer her?”
“You look unhappy, my dear,” Vianca said, feigning maternal concern. “I thought you’d be thrilled for something to fill your time, as you’ll be spending so much of it in Zula’s basement.” She spoke with delight, as though she loved the picture of Levi locked away somewhere only she could reach him.
“But you wouldn’t have dyed your hair if you intended to stay here, would you?” She leaned forward and smiled, accentuating the harshness of her frown lines. Levi dug his nails into his thighs. He was playing a dangerous game, keeping secrets from her. “Tell me—what have you been planning?”
She coaxed her finger, forcing Levi to speak. He frantically searched for some kind of excuse, anything that wouldn’t give away what he’d planned with Harrison. Pressure from the omerta built around his neck, forcing the air out.
“I’m rebuilding the Irons,” he rasped. It wasn’t the full truth, but it was a truth, and that was enough for the omerta.
“The what?” Vianca asked coolly.
He ground his teeth. He hadn’t seen her investment scheme through and escaped the Shadow Game to remain her plaything. He hadn’t made a reckless bargain with her son only to see it collapse that very same day. She was ripping away his ambitions one by one. She was humiliating him in front of his best friend. After all, she knew all the ways to make him hurt.
But he knew her weaknesses, too.
Even if he couldn’t resist her orders, if he was truly a moment away from the omerta killing him, Vianca would relent. The donna wasn’t interested in seeing him dead. She wanted to see him tormented.
So Levi mustered up his willpower and declared, “I won’t.”
The grip around his throat tightened, and tears sprang from his eyes. Across the room, Jac stood up, as though he’d charge Vianca. But even Jac would know that a small army of Vianca’s henchmen undoubtedly waited outside Zula’s door, should Vianca fail to return. “You’re making a mistake,” Levi sputtered.
“The matter is decided,” she said firmly.
“Would you care to place a wager?” he asked with the little breath he had left.
Vianca eyed him coolly for several moments. He strained his neck, gasping for air. Even as black spots darkened around his vision, even as doubt and fear crept into his mind, he refused to lift a hand to his throat.
“You’re killing him,” Jac croaked. He lunged for one of the bags and pulled out his pistol. He pointed it at her head, his chest heaving.
“If you don’t lower the gun,” Vianca snapped, “I will.”
Levi sputtered and waved his arm, trying to call Jac off.
She wouldn’t let him die.
She wouldn’t let him die.
She wouldn’t let him die.
Jac grimaced and laid the gun on the bed. Suddenly, the grip on Levi’s neck slackened, and he gulped in air.
“What sort of wager?” Vianca asked impatiently.
Levi grimaced and wiped the spit off his chin with his shirt. “You think Enne should be the lord over me. I’m telling you we both can—and with greater success.”
She laughed. “And what do you have to bet? Your dignity?”
“You know I want this,” he said. “You know I won’t stop trying. Enne, a lord? Instead of me?” He forced a laugh. “I was the one who killed the Chancellor. I’m the one who knows this city. I’m the one who already has the connections, the resources, the associates.”
Jac paled at Levi’s words, and even Levi could agree the Irons wasn’t worth dying for.
But his freedom was.
“Give me two months,” Levi told Vianca, “and I will prove to you that the Irons are worth keeping. That you won’t even need Enne to do this.”
“How selfless of you,” Vianca purred. “But though it might be difficult to imagine, Enne possesses certain skills that you lack. Why should I let you waste your time on a pointless wager when you could be helping her?”
He didn’t mean to deny Enne aid; he would still gladly assist her—whatever she needed. But, he quickly decided, under no circumstances could he tell Enne about his deal with Harrison. Even if Vianca’s death would free her, too, telling her would give Vianca another opportunity to discover the truth. This risk was his and his alone to take.
“Three thousand volts,” Levi said. “That’s what the city placed on my head, what they think my gang and my reputation are worth. It might be less than hers, but it’s the same as Scavenger, the same as Ivory. And as far as I can tell, six and a half thousand combined is a far better value than what Enne could offer alone.”
Vianca licked her lips. “I’ll give you six weeks.”
“Six weeks,” he echoed, his voice high-pitched with relief.
Levi knew this plan wasn’t foolproof. Even if he did manage to rebuild the Irons in so little time, once the wager was over, the gang would only become another tool at Vianca’s disposal. So when the time came, he’d find another loophole, another desperate solution. He’d wager everything, over and over again, if that was what it took.
“If you fail, then you will abandon the Irons and your fantasies about them forever. Including that one.” She nodded at Jac.
Levi inhaled sharply. He had bet his dreams, his freedom on this wager, but now his best friend was at stake. Levi tried to imagine a future where he never saw Jac again. There was so little that the donna could take from him that would still hurt, but sure enough, she had found the only remaining good in his life and seized it.
No, not Jac. Not for this. The risk was too great.
But hadn’t he risked worse for Jac already with Harrison?
“Don’t look so frazzled, Levi,” she said, turning to go up the stairs. “I’m the one who should be disappointed. I was looking forward to a partnership between you and Miss Salta. I thought you would have, as well. Unless you think now you’ll get both things you want. The gang...and the girl.”
Levi didn’t give Vianca the satisfaction of seeing him grimace. If Vianca could dangle his friendship with Jac as bait, he hated to think what she could do with him and Enne. No wonder she was so keen to play matchmaker. Jac must have agreed with him, because his aura was prickly with warning.
“It’s not like that between us,” Levi said quickly.
Vianca shot him back an icy smile. “I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?” And then she climbed up to the top floor and shut the trapdoor behind her.
Levi and Jac didn’t speak until the sound of her footsteps disappeared. Levi sat down on the cot, heart pounding. He didn’t know if he’d managed to save or damn himself. It felt like he’d done both at the same time.
Levi took a deep breath, ready to come clean to Jac on all of the events of this morning, every detail of his deal with Harrison. But then Jac stood up, seething.
“I
s that what I’m worth to you?” he demanded. “Muck, Levi. I’m not just another thing for you to gamble away.”
He made toward the stairs, and Levi shot up after him.
“Jac, wait! I had a reason for this. A good reason—”
“Yeah, I bet you did.” Jac threw open the trapdoor.
Levi winced as he raced to follow him. His broken ribs made it agonizing to move, let alone run. “Where are you going?” he called. Jac couldn’t go home—not with a bounty on his head.
“Like you care,” Jac snapped.
Before he made it to the door, Zula let out a shrill shriek. “You—boy—don’t you dare go outside. Both of you, be quiet.”
They whipped toward her. Zula was seated at her desk, a beaded shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a mug of tea in her hand. She hunched over the radio and turned up the volume.
“The most recent reports are confirming eight casualties,” the newscaster spoke. “Several of the injured have been rushed to New Reynes North General Hospital. Although Captain Hector declined to comment, we were able to get in touch with Sergeant Roy Pritchard, who personally participated in the operation. Sergeant, what information can you give us about tonight’s events?”
“After the tragic assassination of Chancellor Semper, the precincts across the city have been working around the clock to bring the perpetrators—Levi Glaisyer and this so-called Séance—to justice. But as far as we see it, these are two individuals who make up part of a much larger problem. We fully intend to purge organized crime from the North Side, and the success of today’s operation sends a clear message to criminals: We will show no tolerance...and no mercy.”
Levi and Jac crowded around the radio together, their fight momentarily forgotten. “What happened? What does he mean?” Levi asked, his mouth dry. He wasn’t exactly used to hearing his name on the radio.
“Eight people are dead?” Jac murmured. “Who did they say—?”
“If you’d both be quiet, you’d have your answers,” Zula hissed.
The newscaster continued, “Many have already called our station expressing outrage at the age of the victims. The Orphan Guild—”
“Is a misleading title,” the Sergeant said quickly. “They are an organization comprised of people of all ages, feeding agents directly into gangs such as the Scarhands and the Doves. It’s little better than human trafficking. Although we were unable to apprehend the Guildmaster, Bryce Balfour—”
“Lola works for the Orphan Guild,” Jac squeaked.
“She couldn’t have been there,” Levi said, even though he didn’t know if that was true. Eight casualties at the Orphan Guild wasn’t just an operation—it was a massacre.
It was war.
Zula switched the radio off and glared at them. “This is how it began last time. Already, people are dead.” Her gaze fell on Jac’s fingers, clamped around his Creed. “Your prayers are worth nothing, boy. You’re the ones who started all this.”
But Levi wasn’t in the mood to swallow Zula’s pointless judgment. He shot Jac a desperate look. “Please don’t leave.” Without Jac, he had no means of securing the information Harrison needed about the Torren empire. Without Jac, Levi was without a second, without a best friend, with the entire world in flames around him.
Jac averted his gaze. “I won’t. Yet.”
Levi realized this was the best he could hope for until he explained the truth. But there wasn’t time for that now.
He spotted Zula’s telephone against the wall and limped toward it. His fingers trembled as he turned the dial. “Operator? I need you to connect me to St. Morse Casino. I need to speak to Erienne Salta.”
3
“They say the Bargainer wanders the world, approaching those desperate enough to strike a deal. But everyone knows that the Bargainer is from New Reynes. The most fearsome legend ever told, and it started here.
“And one day...the Bargainer will come back.”
—A legend of the North Side
ENNE
Enne sat on her bathroom counter, gingerly examining her bloodshot eyes in the foggy mirror. The contacts Levi had given her were uncomfortable and, she suspected, deeply unsanitary. She’d managed to find better ones at a costume shop, colored a warm brown as opposed to the unnatural blue of the old ones. She prayed Vianca didn’t notice her eye color changing every other day. Thankfully, the donna had other things on her mind.
“It looks like a crime scene in here,” Lola said from behind the shower curtain.
“Pleasant,” Enne muttered.
“I still resent this. I want you to know that.”
Enne rolled her eyes and unscrewed the bottle of eyedrops. “You can’t keep your white hair. You look like a killer.”
“That’s why I liked it.”
Enne cringed as the cold liquid touched her eye. The redness still looked no better.
Lola turned off the water and drew back the curtain. She looked gangly and awkward in Enne’s short towel, her newly red hair plastered across her shoulders and dripping on the floor.
Despite Lola’s jokes, Enne knew her old hair meant far more to her than just the intimidation factor. Lola had originally bleached it because her brother had joined the Doves, and white hair was their trademark. Years had passed since then, but she still kindled the hope of finding him. And though her disguise had gotten her nowhere but trouble—which Lola herself acknowledged—Enne knew it couldn’t have been easy to let her past go.
Lola glanced at herself in the mirror. “Wow. I hate it.”
“You can’t keep looking like a Dove,” Enne told her. “Not when we’re supposed to...”
Enne trailed off and bit her lip. She’d recounted her conversation with Vianca to Lola earlier, and Lola hadn’t taken it well. Since then, all she’d done was order them the most expensive room service on St. Morse’s menu and pick at her food in stony silence. Enne had waited for her to say something—anything—all day, but Lola’s cold shoulder treatment meant Enne just wound up reading one of her favorite Sadie Knightley romance novels and brooding for six hours.
When Lola didn’t respond and walked back to the bedroom to change, Enne jumped off the counter and called after her, “Are we going to talk about this?”
Lola whipped around. “Talk about what, Enne?” Still clutching her towel, she marched over to the bags of clothes from Enne’s shopping trip. She grabbed the top item—a simple blouse with a lacy collar. “What are you supposed to wear? This?” Lola threw the shirt on the couch. “What are you supposed to say? With your posh, South Sider accent?”
She stormed back to Enne and loomed over her. “You’re going to march into the Orphan Guild and...and what? No one there went to finishing school. They’re thieves and killers and liars, and all you look like is a target. Bryce Balfour will eat you alive.”
Enne blinked back tears. She’d already made the decision not to apologize for who she was, and besides, there was nothing Lola said that Enne hadn’t already considered herself. She didn’t know anything about organized crime, how she’d find the volts to pay for associates, how she’d ever convince anyone to follow a clueless schoolgirl from Bellamy. It didn’t matter that the world thought she’d assassinated the Chancellor. Within minutes of meeting her, anyone would know she was a fraud.
“I thought you wanted this! Isn’t that what you said at Scrap Market? That I could be a—”
“That was before I knew about you and Vianca.”
“So did you mean anything that you said about me, then?” Enne asked, her voice shaking. Lola once saw a potential in her when no one else did, but it seemed like now she only saw her as a pawn.
Lola crossed her arms and looked away. “Of course I meant what I said. You’re a Mizer, Enne. And the world doesn’t know that—the world can’t know that—but regardless of Vianca, you have real power. And you don’t want it. That’s what makes you different from the other lords, different from everyone in New Reynes. You don’t want it, and so, maybe, you coul
d do good with it.”
Enne went silent. Of course, Lola was right. Enne didn’t want this, hadn’t asked for this.
“You...” Enne said carefully. “You think I can do this?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise.”
Lola was bony and uncomfortably wet, but Enne threw her arms around her, anyway. “Thank you,” she whispered, her mind whirling with Lola’s words.
Did she have real power?
And if so, what could she do with it?
“You’re welcome. Now please let go of me.” Lola writhed out of Enne’s grip, smirking. “I’m going to get dressed, and then we can talk about making an appointment with the Guildmaster.”
The telephone rang.
Enne froze. Only two people would have any reason to call her: Vianca or Levi. She moved to answer it and prayed it was the latter.
“’Lo?” whispered the voice on the other line.
Enne sucked in her breath. “It’s you. Are you all right? Are you safe?” she asked.
“Have you heard the news?” Levi asked.
She pursed her lips. Yes, I’m fine. I suppose you must be, too. “No.”
“We need to meet—now. Write down this address.” He read off the name of a place Enne didn’t recognize. “Leave as soon as possible.”
“Is something wrong?” she asked, voice hitched.
“Yes, it’s...we’ll talk about it there.” He paused, and the sound of voices bickering around him almost muffled Levi’s next words. “Please be careful.” He hung up.
Enne set down the phone, worry knotting in her chest. She grabbed her tourist guidebook off the dining table and flipped to the map. “Lola,” she called. “Turn on the radio and get dressed. We’re going to the Deadman District.”
* * *
By the time they exited the Mole Station, the sun had set. The streetlights of the Deadman District shone through shattered glass, and the metallic mortar between the white stone of the buildings glinted in the darkness, so bright that Enne squinted and shaded her eyes as she walked. Everywhere she turned, she saw a chain, a gun barrel, a blade—her mind playing deadly tricks.
