by Amanda Foody
“Wish me luck, Todd.” She struck the match and held the flame to her lips, as if giving it a kiss. With her free hand, she flipped the coin, and Jac waited for her to say “seventy-nine.”
Instead, she frowned.
“Tails,” she whispered, her eyes widening.
Bullets shattered through the window glass.
Sophia screamed and dropped to the ground. The match caught the gasoline, and the den quickly engulfed in flames. Jac swore and ducked behind the remnants of the bar. Sophia rushed toward him, scrambling for cover.
The sound of gunfire rang in his ears. Jac had been beaten, trampled, and stabbed before—never had he been shot. He reached for the pistol in his pocket, but he knew it would be useless against the automatic rifles.
“There’s a back exit,” she breathed.
“They’ll already be there by now, waiting for us,” Jac said.
Sophia paled. They couldn’t crouch here forever. Even if the bullets didn’t kill them, eventually, the fire would. Already the smoke filled the den.
Jac coughed into his sleeve. “What’s next door?” he asked.
“A Mistress parlor.”
Jac didn’t hesitate. He jumped to his feet, took a running start, and kicked at the wall as hard he could. Drywall and cement caved in a haze of dust. He ducked through the hole to the parlor on the other side.
“Come on,” he called to Sophia. “Mistress is Augustine-owned. And if I’m right about Vianca, she has secret ways out of all her dens.”
He led Sophia to a rear hallway, where he busted through several locked doors. First, a closet. Then a bathroom. Then, at last, a stairwell, leading down into blackness.
Sophia let out an uncharacteristic whimper. “It’s so dark.”
They didn’t have time to stall, so he ignored her comment and pulled her down the stairs. They felt their way lower and lower, until they reached a series of tunnels. Sophia lit a match, her hand shaking, but it offered little light beyond her fingertips.
“Where does this lead?” she asked.
“St. Morse Casino, I’d guess. The Augustines had the tunnels built decades ago.”
They walked in silence for several minutes. Behind him, Sophia took deep, steady breaths, in that rhythm of someone forcing themselves to stay calm. Meanwhile, Jac was finally at ease, the scent of Lullaby replaced by the stench of gasoline.
“So how does a girl like you become afraid of the dark?” he wondered aloud.
“We’re all afraid of something.”
That was probably true, but he wouldn’t have guessed it about her. She trembled beside him, the same way he’d trembled when they’d entered Insomnia.
As he studied her in the matchlight, he caught a glimpse of something red on her arm. Sophia wore a lot of red—but this red didn’t belong.
“You were grazed,” Jac said. He brushed his fingers against the cut, and Sophia winced. “Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
“Here.” He reached out and pressed his thumb against the wound, staining his skin with blood. The pain seeped into him and settled into his stomach.
She jolted away from him. “How did you do that?”
“It’s my split talent. The Dorner side.”
“The Dorner...” She shook her head, letting go of whatever she was going to say. “Thank you.”
They came upon an exit, a narrow set of stairs leading to the street above. Jac led the way as they climbed and threw open the hatch at the top. They emerged in an alley. A few blocks behind them, smoke billowed into the blue sky.
Jac let out a whooping laugh. He’d committed a lot of crimes, but never one as dangerous as this one. He wondered if they’d freed a few of the prisoners on Chain Street who’d been bound to that den. He hoped so.
“What’s next?” he asked, grinning.
Sophia examined the street they’d ended up on. “Don’t you live near here?” She laughed at the expression on his face. “Don’t look at me like that. It was a question, not an invitation.”
“But you’ve known where I live for ‘weeks.’” He mimicked the pitying way she’d spoken earlier.
“You’re right. I know you live three blocks down. Sometimes I like to play coy.”
Nevertheless, when they began walking, they did walk in the direction of his apartment. Jac came close to asking if she was following him—and why—when he realized she’d only been heading in the direction of a dumpster.
“You don’t want what’s under these clothes, anyway,” she said casually. Then she pulled a half-rotted rabbit’s foot from beneath her shirt and threw it in the trash. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”
But Jac was no longer listening, distracted by a sudden idea. This entire time, he’d been balancing his wager between Charles and Delia.
But there was a third Torren.
If Sophia entered the feud and won, she could control the empire long enough to give Harrison his votes, then destroy it after the election.
Jac muttered a goodbye so he could mull over the possibility, and continued toward his apartment.
To his surprised, he found one of the Irons sitting on his front stoop—a runner named Stella. She stood up with a groan. “Finally,” she complained. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”
Jac’s eyes widened as Stella relayed the message from Levi. “All the Irons are invited, of course,” she added. “Pup says he’ll really do it. And there’s a great view of Revolution Bridge from—”
Jac didn’t wait for her to finish. Normally, he’d be furious at Levi for devising something so reckless. But, now, a impulsive plan began to form in his mind, pushing all other thoughts aside.
Jac sprinted and caught up to Sophia along the sidewalk of Tropps Street.
“Todd,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “Miss me already?”
“You got me—I’m smitten,” Jac huffed, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “So do you want to go to a party?”
LEVI
Levi stood on a rooftop porch above the museum, gazing at Revolution Bridge ahead. It hadn’t always been the magnificent structure it was now. The statues of famous rebels had been added after the Revolution, their polished bases glinting in the sunlight. It was one of only three bridges in the city wide enough to accommodate motorcar traffic, and sidewalks and benches lined the sides for tourists to sit and take pictures.
Soon it would be gone.
Tock stood behind him, clad in a skintight black party dress.
“Is everything arranged?” Levi asked.
“Yes, I bought plenty of hooch.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He should’ve been excited, he knew. He should’ve been hearing explosions in his mind like music. After all, he’d envisioned this plan a thousand times over the past two weeks—but in none of those visions had he painted himself a murderer.
“There’s nothing to arrange,” Tock said impatiently. “You just tell me what to blow up, and I’ll do it.”
“I’d still rather go with you.” At least if he was present, he’d feel more in control.
“We talked about this. The whole area will be crawling with whiteboots after the bridge goes down, and you’re still too recognizable.”
Levi hated that she was right. He hated even more that sitting out meant he’d need to wait here with the Irons, who stared at him as though Chez’s blood still stained his clothes.
“And you’re sure your explosion will be enough?” Levi had never witnessed Tock’s blood talent in action.
“I’m positive,” she assured him. “I just need to run fast.”
According to Tock, her power worked with touch and time. With a touch, she could lay down a “line,” as she called them, and then she fled the initial drop point. The farther she traveled, the more taut the line grew. When she let go... Well, the bigger the snap, the bigger the explosion.
Except, as Tock had told him, there was a time limit. After thirty seconds, the line
would snap on its own.
“Don’t joke about it,” Levi snapped. “Your safety is what matters most tonight.” He wouldn’t be responsible for another death.
“I don’t need anyone to worry about me.” She said it like she meant it, but Levi couldn’t help but think that everyone needed someone to worry about them once in a while.
Levi rested his hands behind his head and breathed deeply, trying to trust her, trying to relax. “When we met, you told me you don’t get scared. Is that really true?”
“Of course,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Never mind, then,” Levi muttered. He should’ve known better than to seek comfort from Tock. The party tonight had been her idea, to boost morale. Levi had agreed to it, even if he found it distasteful.
Chez tried to kill you, he reminded himself. His third hadn’t been an innocent bystander. This had always been how their story would end: one or the other.
“You care about things too much,” Tock told him. “You want things too much. What happens once you get everything you want, Levi? Will you be happy then?”
Levi winced. He didn’t have an answer to that. Every time he achieved something he’d sought after, he set his sights on something else. He would never get everything he wanted because he would never stop wanting.
“Am I supposed to not care?” he snapped. “Is that your secret?”
“You’re supposed to pull yourself together. There’s no such thing as destiny. Street legends aren’t real. I know you wouldn’t mind dying tragically, so drunk poets could sing songs about you in two-volt cabarets, but I don’t give a muck about your dreams—you’re not allowed to fall apart when thirty kids have your tattoos on their arms and your bounty on their heads. You think the city revolves around you, but this isn’t just your story. It never has been.”
Tock’s words stung, but only because she was right.
Levi lowered his hands and forced his shoulders to relax. “Fine, but I’m still going to worry.”
“That’s what all the hooch is for.” She slapped him on the back, and he groaned. He wasn’t all the way healed yet. “I keep forgetting you’re delicate.”
“Yep,” he choked out.
“Make sure to find yourself a good view. It’s time to tell the whiteboots that the North Side is ours.”
* * *
Several hours later, Levi nursed a Snake Eyes on the top floor of the museum. His drink was supposed to bring luck, and so he planned to drink copiously. They needed good fortune tonight.
Amid the Irons playing cards and eating street cart dinners, Levi heard the door open and the sound of heels clicking on hardwood.
He turned. She always arrived too early.
Enne wore a dark violet dress covered in intricate black beading that shimmered as she walked. Over it, she’d tied a robe made from a fabric so translucent that Levi could still make out the low cut of the back and the shape of her shoulder blades.
Levi supposed the dress was what South Siders might sport to get drunk on champagne and lounge in music parlors. He wouldn’t normally consider it his type, but he had also never seen Enne in it. As he watched her approach, Levi tried to remind himself that he’d also invited Jac and Narinder to the celebration.
After all, tonight was for fulfilling promises—not breaking them.
Enne’s gaze flickered to his, and he swallowed hard. Levi could nearly see the two weeks of distance between them in her eyes, and each day of his absence sliced into him like a cut.
Then she looked away, and Levi promptly downed the rest of his drink.
Tommy appeared beside him with another Snake Eyes, and Levi relaxed, grateful for the company so he wouldn’t stare at Enne from across the room like a fool. “It’s getting late,” Tommy said.
Levi checked his watch. He was right—Tock should’ve finished by now. In the view from the window, Revolution Bridge looked unchanged.
He glanced back at Enne. Lola had joined her now, dressed in the same pin-striped suit she’d worn to the Catacombs. She spun a shiny pair of motorcar keys around her fingers. Grace had taken Levi’s empty seat at the bar and motioned for the other girls to join her.
Levi’s last interaction with them had been far from warm, but even so, he needed something now, from Lola in particular. So he swallowed his nerves and marched toward their group. He laid a friendly hand on Lola’s shoulder, hyperaware of Enne standing beside them, though he didn’t dare look at her.
Lola peeled his hand off her. “Touch me again, and you’ll wind up with a third broken rib.”
Levi cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I see you’ve acquired a car.”
“A car,” Lola repeated, grinning from ear to ear. “Not just any car. A Houssen. In black, of course.” She dangled the keys in front of his face.
“Good. I need a ride.”
“Away from your own party?” she asked.
“I’m not looking for a joyride.” Levi lowered his voice. “Tock should’ve finished by now. I’m worried.”
Her expression softened. “Oh, fine,” she muttered.
A few minutes later, Lola and Enne climbed into the front seat, with Levi and Grace in the back. The car radio played a jazz tune with a heavy bass as they roared through the narrow alleys of Olde Town in the direction of the river.
“How did you afford this?” Levi rubbed his hands over polished leather.
“Vianca gave me some more volts,” Enne said.
“And you took them?”
“I wouldn’t have needed to if you hadn’t wagered all of our plans.”
He scoffed. “If you were that desperate for volts, you wouldn’t have bought a swanky motorcar.”
“Exactly what I said when I saw how Lola spent her third of it,” Enne grumbled.
“You said we should be practical!” Lola answered. “A motorcar is practical!”
A crowd gathered about a quarter of the mile from the bridge, where whiteboots had quartered people off to prevent them from crossing. Levi spotted Tock wedged among the pedestrians. Neither of them had expected such a large group of spectators—she couldn’t lay her fuse if she couldn’t get on the bridge.
“Muck,” Levi groaned.
“Levi,” Enne said nervously, “what’s happening here?”
He threw open the door, and the three girls followed him out of the motorcar. “Tock needs to get on that bridge.”
Levi spun around, searching for anything he could use. The apartment buildings were bleak and bare, overlooking a large traffic circle and the riverfront beyond it.
His eyes fell on Lola’s Houssen.
“What are you doing?” Lola screeched as Levi pushed around her to the front seat.
“I’ll buy you a new one.” He closed the door, and Lola reached through the window to grab at him.
“Pup, I will kill you if—”
“Distract the whiteboots so Tock can get onto the bridge,” he said. “And so I don’t get shot.”
Then, before anyone—even his own logic—could stop him, he slammed his foot down on the pedal. The engine roared, and he lurched forward. As he drove, Levi turned up the radio twice as loud, so loud he felt the bass in his stomach, drowning out all of his fears and thoughts of self-preservation. He aimed the motorcar in the direction of the crowds.
And so he drove, in the direction of his destiny.
The people began to scream and disperse as he roared around the traffic circle, careful not to hit anyone. He screeched to a halt where the crowd had once been and peeked out the window just long enough to glimpse Tock sprinting across the center of the bridge.
And to spot the whiteboots raising their pistols.
He floored the engine a second time and sped around the circle once again. Bullets pelted the back of the car, shattering the rearview glass. Levi ducked his head down and spun the wheel so he didn’t collide with the adjacent building.
As the whiteboots swarmed closer to him, Levi only had a few moments of
panic in which to formulate a new plan. Several of the whiteboots had already noticed Tock and begun a pursuit, guns firing. Though the pedestrians were clearing away, many gathered around the edges of the square to watch, and Levi searched their faces for Enne and the others.
In a few moments, Tock could be shot.
In a few moments, he could be, too.
He could surrender, but no—he was wanted dead or alive. That would only doom them both. He needed a bigger distraction. A bigger play. And he needed it now.
The whiteboots raised their guns, and Levi drove again. He’d circle the roundabout over and over if he had to. A bullet punctured his front tire, sending the car into a tilt and spin. Levi cursed as the world funneled around him—buildings and river, buildings and river. He slammed the brakes and slid to a stop mere feet from the Brint’s edge.
I should make my escape, he thought. I should run and trust Tock to do the same.
But Tock had told him she would blow up the bridge, and he trusted her word more than any other part of his plan. And so he wouldn’t abandon her.
Just as the whiteboots raised their guns again, and as Levi braced himself for another stomach-lurching turn around the circle, he spotted Enne behind the building beside him. She motioned to the left, but there was nothing to his left but the river. Then she screamed something at him, and it took him a moment to make out her words.
“Get out!” In her right hand, she waved a gun.
But the whiteboots were already firing, and so Levi could do nothing but duck. The glass windshield shattered.
Then he spotted something on the floor. A history book, thicker than a North Side brick.
Levi lurched open the driver’s side door, slammed the book down on the gas pedal, and flung himself out of the motorcar. He hollered in pain when he landed on his side, then swallowed it down as he shakily got to his feet. The car sped forward, and the whiteboots leaped to get out of its path. Levi sprinted to the right, in the direction of Enne, but just before he reached out to grab her and pull her away with him, she fired her gun.
Her bullet hit the motorcar just as it slammed into the roundabout’s obelisk, and Lola’s shiny black Houssen exploded into flames.
