by Amanda Foody
Levi groaned. “Are we not paying her enough already?”
“She doesn’t trust Worner to face off against Harrison. She wants us to stop the debate at the end of the month. With a...demonstration.”
“A demonstration,” he repeated.
“Like a small riot.”
“A small riot.” As if Levi wasn’t already dealing with enough. As if the South Side needed another reason to send more soldiers across the Brint.
Enne gave him a weak smile. “No one innocent will get hurt.”
“The Irons could get hurt.”
“Not if we plan it right,” she assured him.
He sighed and lowered his arms, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she pushed him back against the table. Her hands fiddled with the top button of his shirt, and Levi’s heart sped up.
“You don’t even sound angry,” he said. “Do you agree with Vianca, or something?”
“Of course not, but I trust us.” Her hand slid behind his neck, pulling him toward her. “Don’t you?”
It wasn’t Enne he didn’t trust, but it was hard to think when she pressed herself against him. The violet storms of her aura made him dizzy.
She pressed her lips to his, and everything about the way he kissed her was full of want. He wanted what she said to be true. He wanted to own this casino. He wanted her in this place beside him.
Enne smiled against his lips. “Did you know I have one pistol and four knives hidden on me right now?”
Levi turned her around so that she took his place on the table. He braced one hand against the felt to steady himself, and with his other, he traced up the stocking on the inside of her calf. Her fingers undid the rest of his shirt buttons, and a thrill stirred in his stomach. He liked how she looked, with her pearl necklace crooked, her chest pressed against his, smiling up at him.
It was fitting that this place resembled a dream—a dream he couldn’t let himself have.
Not yet, his ambitions whispered, rising—despite himself—at Enne’s touch.
Levi’s hand found something secured at her mid-thigh, but even as he traced over the grooves of the metal, he found himself far more interested in the lace around it. Still, he slid the knife out from its holster and tossed it on the table.
“There’s one.”
ENNE
It was a beautiful day, all things considered.
The Park District of the South Side was still lushly green even in late September, and a tent had been erected among the trees. At precisely noon, Enne held out her identification papers for whiteboot inspection and entered the tent. She searched the throngs of reporters and campaign assistants for Poppy and found her seated on a fold-out chair, a romance novel Enne had recommended in her hands.
Poppy’s face brightened as Enne approached. “Thank you so much for coming—I’m so glad you’re here. Father’s making me introduce him today, and I hate speaking in front of crowds.”
“But you’re a performer,” Enne said. One of these days, Enne assured herself, she would go see one of Poppy’s ballets. She might’ve only attended the South Side salons on Vianca’s orders, but her friendship with Worner Prescott’s daughter wasn’t a farce—she genuinely liked spending time with Poppy.
“Elegance, not eloquence.” Poppy ran her hands down her conservative, stiff dress. “I don’t even feel like myself.”
“You’ll be fine,” Enne assured her. Because if everything goes to plan, you’ll be quickly interrupted.
“Well, I’m no more nervous than Father is,” Poppy told her. “He’s been in a tizzy all morning. I covered his face with powder because it’s so red.” She nodded toward him, seated across the tent, fumbling with a set of speech cards. “I’m just so anxious for all this to be over. Did you hear that Vianca Augustine is throwing a party the night the results are announced? Her son agreed to go, and now everyone has to be there to watch and gossip.” Poppy smiled conspiratorially. “I hope it’s dramatic.”
“I’m sure it will be,” Enne replied carefully. She didn’t like discussing Vianca with Poppy—Enne was always afraid she’d reveal more than she meant to about how well she knew the donna.
“You’re dressed nice. Is today when I get to meet this lover you’ve told me nothing about?”
Enne laughed. “You’ve been reading too many of those books.”
“I read mysteries, too, you know.” She tapped her fingernails on the paperback’s glossy cover. “I’m collecting clues. I almost have your North Side boy figured out.”
“You’re still stuck on your North Side fantasy?” Enne also wanted to avoid talking about Levi and remembering the lies she’d spun this past week in preparation for this day. He’d be furious when he found out, yet even though the Phoenix Club had tried to kill Levi, he didn’t still hear the timer ticking down in his mind. He didn’t still tremble at the thought of facing them once more.
But the Phoenix Club had taken more from Enne than she could ever forgive.
Before Poppy could respond, Worner appeared behind them and rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “The manager wants us to stand together and prepare to go outside.” He nodded to the tent’s entrance, where Enne spotted Harrison Augustine in a navy suit that matched his eyepatch. Enne’s stomach churned. Estranged or not, he looked every bit as intimidating as his mother.
Enne reminded herself of the Irons and Spirits stationed all around the stage area to keep watch, but there were still so many ways today could go wrong. She wouldn’t forgive herself if anyone she cared about got hurt.
Poppy gave Enne a final smile. “Let’s celebrate tonight when this is over,” she said. Enne nodded politely, but her mind was already on murder, and whether she truly could kill a man in cold blood.
She could, she decided. From the moment she’d lost her mother, she could.
After the father-daughter pair went outside, amid cheers throughout the park, Enne slipped out herself and made for the building she and Grace had scouted earlier. Using the crowds as a distraction, she turned into the alley unnoticed, hiked up her skirts, and climbed the fire escape, up two floors, four, six.
Once at the top, she examined the rest of the climb between her and the roof with unease.
No worse than a trapeze, she told herself. Besides, she’d made the same leap last night to plant her supplies.
Enne hoisted herself over the metal railing of the stairs and reached, carefully, for the closest window. Then she clung to the bricks and climbed the rest of the way up to the roof.
To her surprise, she found Grace waiting for her, dressed in her usual all black, though her pale skin was pink from sunburn.
Enne huffed and wiped the sweat off her forehead. “How did you get up here? Shouldn’t you be with the others?”
“I’ve been here for hours.” Grace marked her place in her novel and set the book on the ground. “I decided someone needs to keep an eye on you.”
“Why is that?” Enne asked, stepping around Grace to the duffle bag she’d stashed last night. She unfastened it and revealed a sniper rifle—a token of good luck from Jonas.
“Because I’m your friend.”
“You’re going to try to talk me out of it.” Enne turned around and scowled. “Why would you let me come this far if that’s what you wanted?”
“Because I think there’s something to be said about coming this far, about knowing you could.” Grace grabbed Enne by the shoulder and led her to the edge of the roof. Enne’s eyes immediately swept over the park to a VIP box beside the stage. It wasn’t very crowded, as most of the reporters had moved to stand closer to the podium. Aldrich Owain sat alone in a gray suit, his legs crossed. Two whiteboots stood watch behind him.
“Consider this,” Grace said. “You could shoot him right now. All it would take is pulling the trigger.”
If it was that easy, then Enne should do it. She’d manipulated Vianca. She’d lied to Levi. She’d put so many people in danger—all for this. It was far too late to back down n
ow.
“He deserves to die,” Enne told her.
“I’m not disagreeing.”
But Enne could tell from the heaviness in Grace’s voice that she wanted to stop her all the same.
She tore Grace’s hand off her shoulder. “Aren’t you proud?”
“Should I be?” Grace asked flatly.
“You are the one who taught me this.” Enne brushed past her and turned back to the duffle bag.
Grace seized Enne’s wrist as she reached for the rifle. “I came here to support you, but don’t accuse me of teaching you this.”
“That’s ironic, coming from a killer.” Enne yanked her hand away.
“Do you think I wanted to be a killer?” Grace demanded. “I did it because I was alone and desperate. Because it was easy. And it was only easy because, up until I met you and Lola, I didn’t care about anyone enough to realize what I was doing was wrong.”
Because Grace was her friend, Enne refrained from shouting. A wind tore across the rooftop, and Enne tied her hair away from her face, staring at her shoes even as she felt Grace’s eyes on her.
“Don’t I get a response?” Grace demanded.
“You can’t tell me killing is wrong right after you said Owain deserves to die. You can’t help me every step of the way only to try to stop me now.”
“I helped you before I knew this wasn’t just between you and me and Roy.” As she spoke, Enne set up her rifle. Harrison’s associate had already taken the stage in the park below to introduce his candidate. “But now you have the Spirits and the Irons out there. Other people could get hurt.”
“I’ve done as much as I could to stop that from—”
Grace grabbed Enne by her coat sleeve and yanked her up. “I’m too smart for you to lie to me.”
“Thank you all so much for being here,” Enne heard Poppy say below. The microphone screeched as Poppy adjusted it slightly.
Enne gritted her teeth. She didn’t have time to argue with Grace—the debate would start soon. “What do you want me to say to you, Grace? My life isn’t just dresses and tea cakes and Sadie Knightley novels! So unless you plan to fight me—”
“The only reason I won’t fight you is because we both know I would win.” Grace let go of Enne’s sleeve. “But I’ve given you the chance now to back down. So take the shot. I won’t stop you.”
Enne wanted to argue more, but if she did, she might miss her cue. She set the rifle on the roof’s edge and lined up her shot.
Poppy continued, “I couldn’t be prouder or more honored to introduce my father, Worner Prescott—”
“The North Side has been under curfew for weeks!” someone—a Spirit—shouted from the crowd. It was one of the lines Enne and Levi had written. “How can we be expected to get to the polls when we need to go home immediately after work?” Several other voices echoed the question.
Enne adjusted the scope and peered through it, toward Owain’s balding head.
“You’re holding it too low. It’ll jerk when you fire,” Grace told her. “I’m just saying, I didn’t teach you that.”
Enne swallowed down an angry retort and adjusted her left hand.
Poppy cleared her throat into her microphone, despite the commotion in the crowd. “During the Revolution, my father served under the esteemed Admiral Karga, and was responsible for relocating noble families to—”
“My business is closed down because of the curfew! How am I supposed to eat?” an Iron called out.
Enne took a deep breath. She could fire at any moment. She could kill one of the men who’d murdered her mother.
“Are you factoring in the wind?” Grace asked.
“Stop it,” Enne snapped.
The microphone amplified Poppy’s hitched breath. “The questions portion of the debate will take place later—”
“—The Talent Tax is archaic—”
“—The North Side depends on the gangs—”
“—yet the Families are fine. The Families get to run for office—”
“Please,” Poppy rasped.
“Are you planning on telling your boyfriend about your murder spree?” Grace asked.
“Stop,” Enne hissed again, all the voices breaking her focus. “The Phoenix Club won’t know, and neither will...”
Enne swallowed down the rest of her words along with a scorching lump of fury. She couldn’t let Grace distract her—she’d lose her chance. But as her finger continued to trace along the edge of the trigger, Levi’s face came, unbidden, to her mind, and Enne’s heart clenched. She thought how defeated he’d sounded when they toured that casino. When he thought of how his power affected the city, he really thought of something better that this.
But those were his dreams, not hers. Enne didn’t have dreams—they were fantasies for the childish or disillusioned, and hers had been stolen away the moment she’d come to New Reynes. She could spend her days in the palace she claimed for herself; she could spend her nights in the arms of a boy she cared about. But it wouldn’t matter, because when she woke up, she would still be afraid.
“I might tell Levi,” Grace said, “if you don’t.”
Enne’s heart clenched. “You wouldn’t.”
“Because he’d hate you?” Grace asked. “Or because you’d hate me?”
Enne hesitated. She didn’t think Grace had been lying when she said that before Enne and Lola, she’d been alone. Enne hadn’t grown up with friends, either. And so she understood the weight of Grace’s threat, that she’d sacrifice friendship if it meant saving her. And wasn’t that what Grace was doing? Saving Enne from herself?
If Enne fired, she would kill a man who deserved it. But Levi would hate her for it. Grace and Lola and every person she’d manipulated would see the ugliness and fear inside of her, and they would hate her, too.
And if Enne fired, if she pushed them away, she would hate herself.
As the demands from the crowd grew louder, Worner took the microphone, his face red despite all of Poppy’s powder. “All of your questions can be addressed later during the public forum—”
Grace drummed her fingers on the roof’s ledge. “I don’t get what you’re waiting for—”
Enne cursed and pulled back her rifle. She could kill in self-defense. She could manipulate and lie and steal, but she couldn’t do this.
She stood up, defeated. She turned to Grace and shoved the rifle into her arms, and Grace smiled smugly. “Fine,” Enne seethed. “Take it. Are you happy now—”
Boom!
A gun had fired, but it wasn’t hers.
The crowd erupted into a scream. Whiteboots lunged to surround the candidates and their companions, while other officers immediately made for the crowd, batons raised.
Grace grabbed Enne by the shoulders and hauled her to her feet. “Who was that? What’s happening?”
But Enne was too shocked to speak. She and Levi had planned for commotion, not chaos.
Several more gunshots rang out. The people in the crowd pushed each other in their efforts to flee the park, knocking over chairs and tables. Enne squinted to search the masses for familiar faces—for any of the Spirits or the Irons—but there were too many people, and they moved too fast.
“We need to find the others,” Enne breathed.
The two girls took the inside stairs down. Rioters had thrown a rock through the window of the ground floor cafe, raining shattered glass onto the tables and along the sidewalk.
Enne and Grace threw open the door to the street. Motorcars were halted all around, horns blaring. Several inflamed passersby pounded on their hoods, making the passengers duck and scream. Whiteboot sirens wailed in the distance.
Something shimmered around her, strangely beautiful amid the chaos. It was a string thinner than a piece of hair, pale and iridescent, like those she’d seen during the Shadow Game. She didn’t know what it was, only that it bound the players of the game together, like a spindle spinning a thread, like an instrument playing a song.
Enne r
eached for it, but her hand only grasped at air. It was a trick of the light.
“Come on!” Grace urged, pulling Enne down the closest alley. “Where are the others? Where was Levi supposed to be?”
“In a motorcar, parked at 84th and Amaranth.” That was on the opposite side of the park from where they stood now. Enne watched, dazed, as a man knocked over a trash can and dropped a lit match on its contents. The sparks crackled and spread to engulf the campaign flyers, and even from a distance, she smelled the smoke. “Did we cause this, Grace?”
“You could have,” Grace grunted. “But you didn’t fire those shots.”
A woman knocked shoulders with them as she carried her crying child out of the crowds. Enne winced. This panic had been her design, but even in the worst of her rage, she hadn’t imagined this.
Now she knew what power felt like.
And she hated it.
She and Grace followed the rush of the crowd along the sidewalk until they reached the rendezvous point.
As Enne searched the vehicles for Levi’s white Amberlite, she felt something strong tug on her shoulder. She whipped around and faced a man trying to grab her purse. Its contents were minimal—her two tokens, her white Spirit gloves and her black Séance mask—but she wasn’t keen to lose any of it.
“Let go!” she shouted. When he wouldn’t obey, Enne kneed him in the groin. He doubled over onto the ground, releasing his grip.
“Not bad,” Grace said, smirking.
“Does that mean you forgive me?” she asked.
As the thief scrambled away, Grace shrugged. “I’m not sure. You might need to kick a few more men in the—”
A motorcar honked repeatedly, and though it was only one of many, Enne and Grace looked toward it. Lola leaned out the window, motioning frantically for them. Enne and Grace sprinted across traffic and leaped into the back seat. As soon as Lola sped off, dodging pedestrians and whiteboots at Tock’s panicked look outs, Enne felt Levi’s hands on her shoulders.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice cracked. “Is everyone all right?”
“We’re fine, but we haven’t been able to find anyone else. This wasn’t what we planned.” Levi slammed his fist against the side door.
