by Amanda Foody
“I was never allowed down here,” Sophia murmured, making him startle. “I was so young. My family has a private entrance to the floor.”
Jac didn’t trust himself to answer her—otherwise he’d probably snap. This offering was a tiny fraction of her truth, a piece of the distorted puzzle that made up her past.
“It’s uglier than I imagined,” she said.
“You’ve never been? In all this time?”
“I didn’t want to come unless it was to burn it.” She curled her hand into a fist. “This comes close enough.”
They followed the concierge down a maze of curving hallways to a private elevator, much like the one in St. Morse that led to Vianca’s personal suite.
When the doors closed, Jac felt for the pistol in his pocket, to reassure himself it was still there.
“I don’t want to kill him today,” Sophia murmured. “I need to face him first. It’s time he learns I’m not the child I once was.”
“You act as though we could kill him,” Jac said.
“He’s only human.” She spoke those words like she was still trying to convince herself. “When he looks us in the eyes and knows that he’s lost, then we’ll kill him.”
“And if he tries to kill us?”
She took a deep breath and pulled a small handgun from her pocket to match his own. “It’s two against one.”
When the doors opened, Charles Torren stood before them, his hands clasped behind his back. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his shirt stretched tight over his large frame. Unlike Sedric, who’d carried a ruby-encrusted knife and worn his hair slicker than his smile, Charles had a serious look to him. His shirt was buttoned up to the collar, almost like his late sister’s medical jacket. The pleats in his pants were perfectly straight, his expression as cool and sharp as a surgical knife. A silver stopwatch hung from his breast pocket, wedged beside a row of pens and a miniature black leather journal.
“Hello, Sophia,” he said. There was a nasal quality to his voice, awkward and uncomfortable. “Look at you.” He clapped his hands as though with glee. “That’s a nice trick, isn’t it? How did you afford a skin-stitcher? That’s what you did, right? I saw the pictures and thought there was some mistake, but I know that look. It’s still you, blonde and blue-eyed and all.”
Jac frowned. Was he shatz? Sophia had brown hair and green eyes. But he remembered the strange reflection in Delia’s glasses when she’d looked at Sophia. That reflection had been blonde, too. Was it possible they saw her as a different person?
She only gave him a nod. “Hello, Charlie.”
If the nickname bothered him, he didn’t show it. He turned his attention to Jac. “You must be Todd.” Charles held out his hand to shake, and Jac obliged. His skin was icy. “Or do you prefer your real name?”
“Call me Jac,” he answered, smiling with tight lips.
Charles didn’t smile back.
Jac tried to imagine how this man could’ve been Sedric Torren’s closest friend. Sedric had always been fond of parties, the more wicked the better. But Charles seemed to take his pleasures served cold—dead cold.
“Thank you for accepting my invitation,” Charles said. “I didn’t think you would.”
“I won’t be scared away,” Sophia said firmly. “Not anymore.”
“Are you still scared of the dark?”
She stiffened. “No.”
But Jac knew that was a lie. In the tunnels beneath the Mistress parlor, she’d clutched at him in the dark. Another secret.
“Why did you invite us here?” Sophia asked.
“Because I wanted to see you. You’re the only family I have left.” He smiled, but it was false and sinuous. “Uncle Garth always used to talk about the importance of family.”
“If you’ve missed me at all, you’ve only missed torturing me. Terrifying me.” Sophia took a threatening step forward. “Every day since we left, I’ve dreamed of killing you.”
Charles licked his lips, like he could say the same. “Is that what you’ve come for?”
“No. Not until I take every last den in this empire. Until I convince everyone you’re even worse than the monster they say you are.”
“Monsters aren’t real, Sophia. You took our stories too much to heart.”
“Only because you carved them into mine.” She glared at him. “So that’s the only reason you invited us here? To reminisce?”
“Of course not. I wanted to make you an offer.”
Sophia narrowed her eyes.
“I’d give it to you,” Charles told her. “All of it.”
Sophia paused. “What do you mean?”
“The casino. The dens. They could be all yours to burn.” Charles reached into his jacket and removed two envelopes. He handed the first to Sophia. “As long as you’re willing to play a little game.”
Sophia grimaced and, with no hesitation, tore the envelope in two and let the pieces flutter to the floor. She pulled Jac closer toward the elevator, but Jac refused to turn his back to Charles, in case he later found a knife in it. “Clearly nothing has changed,” Sophia growled. “Go muck yourself, Char—”
“And one for your partner.” Charles held out the second one for Jac. “You have as much stake in this feud as she does.”
Jac halted, his heart pounding. “What game?” He couldn’t help but ask, even when Sophia shot him a furious look. He should turn away like she did, a united front. But it wasn’t like she’d ever kept them on the same page.
“The greatest one.” Charles took several steps forward, close enough that Jac could smell him. He reeked of disinfectant. “Life and death.”
Unlike the last envelope, Jac recognized his true name written across the front.
“I’m not taking that,” he growled, remembering the Lullaby in his last one.
“This is no trick,” Charles said. “It’s an invitation.”
Jac suspected he might know the game Charles meant—it was a legend. A game where the invited players always lost. And even if Levi and Enne had survived the Shadow Game, Jac knew better than to accept such an invitation willingly.
“It’s not the invitation you’re thinking of,” Charles urged. “Card games aren’t really your style, are they? This is more suited to your preferences.” Charles’s gaze fell on Jac’s lip, inspecting the scar there.
So, Jac guessed, Charles’s game was a fight. And if it was anything like the Shadow Game, then it would be a fight to the death.
If he won, then Charles would be gone, and Jac could watch this entire empire go up in smoke.
If Jac lost, then he would die.
Still, he grabbed the envelope. As he did, Charles’s cold hand slid around his wrist and gripped it tightly. He pulled his pocket watch out from his shirt as he held him. Jac tried to yank his arm away, but even with the help of his strength talent, Charles managed to hold fast.
“One hundred and twelve,” Charles murmured, his voice making goose bumps prickle across Jac’s skin. “Oh, you’re very scared.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’d hurry. You don’t want that invitation to expire. Or she’ll pay the price for it.” His gaze flickered to Sophia. “I bet I’ve made her scream louder than you.”
Jac shoved him with his other hand and tore himself away. “You’re twisted.”
This time, when Charles smiled, it was genuine. And much like his late cousin’s, it was wolflike.
“Let’s go,” Sophia said sharply. Jac nodded and followed her. Charles smiled as the doors of the elevator closed.
And even though Jac knew he shouldn’t accept anything from such a man, he slipped the invitation into his pocket.
* * *
The pair didn’t speak for most of their journey down Tropps Street. Sweating in the August heat, Jac removed his suit jacket and draped it over his shoulder. His
heart still pounded, and he craved a cigarette.
Sophia followed him down his street, though she lived several more blocks down.
“Walking me to my door?” Jac asked. Even though his words were joking, he sounded terse. He didn’t want another fight. “Looking for a kiss goodbye?”
Sophia managed a half-hearted smile. “I thought I’d invite myself inside.”
“That’s forward of you.” Jac climbed the stoop to the door and blocked it from her. He didn’t want her inside. All the meeting with Charles had proven to him was that Sophia’s secrets would always create distance between them. Jac had always known Charles to be a monster, but she could’ve prepared him. She could’ve—for once—actually treated him like a partner.
Sophia’s hand slipped around his waist, making him tense. Then he realized she was reaching for the invitation in his pocket.
Jac grabbed her by the wrist and yanked it out of her hand.
“You don’t know Charles like I do,” she growled at him, tearing herself away. “He gets into your head.”
“You’re right. I don’t know anything, but that’s on you. I’m done. I have an offer to finish this alone, and so I’m taking it.” He turned his back to her and twisted the handle.
Sophia pulled him by his shoulders, but he didn’t budge. “You can’t do this.”
“Of course I can.”
“I won’t let you.”
“And how will you do that?” He slid inside and turned around, prepared to shut the door in her face.
She slid her foot between the door and the frame, stopping him from closing it. “Whatever it takes.”
“You know what it would take.”
“I...” She bit her lip, and Jac hated the way it made him stare.
When the pause lasted a second too long, he pulled away and let her stumble inside. He wasn’t going to resort to kicking her foot out of the way. So instead, he did the mature thing: he ran up the stairs and locked his apartment door behind him.
Much like his last one, Jac’s apartment was cramped and empty of nearly all belongings. His bed stood across from a small gas stove, and a clothesline spanned from the kitchen table to the closet.
“Todd!” Sophia pounded on his door. He ignored her and fumbled around his drawers for a pack of cigarettes. “Please.” Her voice cracked. She’d never been good at begging.
Jac found his secret pack hidden inside what looked like a deck of cards. He lit one and collapsed onto his unmade bed.
“I haven’t told you these things because you’ll look at me differently,” Sophia said through the door. “And I know that isn’t fair to you. I know it’s not.”
She paused, as though waiting for Jac to let her inside. But she hadn’t actually told him any answers yet, only more meaningless, pretty words. So he didn’t move, and let her continue.
“Delia, Charles, and I are all half siblings. We all have different mothers, and so we all each have different split talents. Delia was a split-Apothecary. Charles comes from a Dorner family, just like you. But his split talent manifested differently than yours. He can give pain, rather than take it.”
Jac had met others with the same surname before. It was uncommon, but not unheard of. He didn’t know his parents, but he preferred to assume he and Charles weren’t actually related.
A talent for giving pain certainly explained Charles’s reputation. The memory of his words when he shook Jac’s hand made him shiver. I bet I’ve made her scream louder than you. Jac recalled the scars on the den manager’s arms—wounds he hadn’t actually needed to inflict with his talent, when all it took to give pain was a touch.
The sound of Sophia’s voice dropped lower, like she’d slid down to the floor.
“I know Charles’s invitation is for a fight,” she said. “You won’t be able to outmatch him, even though you’re stronger. Not with his talents.”
“How does he know who I am?” Jac asked. “About my past?”
“Hospital records, probably. He can get access to those things.”
Eventually, Jac decided to sit by the door, where it was easier to listen. It would’ve been even easier if he let her inside, but he wasn’t ready for that yet. He’d meant it when he told her all or nothing.
“I explained to you how good and bad deeds can manipulate luck. I carry charms. Uncle Garth used to be all about charities. But our father had other methods. As you might know from the Faith, there’s more than one type of penance. Charles, Sedric, and Delia all preferred the physical variety.”
Jac’s stomach turned. There were Faith stories that included that, but he’d never known anyone to practice them.
“I remember the scars Sedric had on his back, like grooves,” Sophia whispered. “My father started Delia and Charles on it young—too young—but he coddled me. Charles always had to sneak behind his back if he wanted to torment me. He used to hurt himself just so he could give the pain to someone else. He loved to play with people’s fears—or give them new ones.”
Jac realized, for all the secrets he demanded of her, he didn’t want to hear about this, so he quickly asked, “Why do Charles and Delia see another face when they look at you? I saw that picture of you as a child. You only look older, not different. But they see someone else.” He’d never heard of a skin-stitcher who could do that. They were usually hired by rich people to adjust their noses or jawlines. The procedures were long, painful, and permanent.
“This is the part where you stop believing me,” Sophia murmured.
“Try me.”
Jac could almost sense her stiffen on the other side of the door. If there’d been nothing between them, he might’ve reached for her hand, given her some sort of assurance that he was grateful for this information. But he was also protecting himself. He hadn’t forgotten where they were, and how small his apartment was beyond his bed. He hadn’t forgotten the way she’d looked at him and touched him at Liver Shot. How he’d liked it.
All or nothing was as much a demand from her as it was a promise to himself.
“Do you believe in demons?”
Jac shuddered and repeated Harvey’s words about malisons from last night. “Strictly speaking, according to the Faith, demons exist whether you believe in them or not.”
“And what about the Bargainer?”
That story didn’t come from the Faith—it came from a legend, one of the oldest and most ludicrous of the North Side. The subject of it had many names—the Bargainer, the Devil. In the stories, you could bargain with them for anything...even your own soul.
“Not every street legend is true,” Jac answered.
“This one is.”
An icy dread filled his chest that even the nicotine couldn’t send away.
“After my father died, I ran away,” she said. “I can’t remember if I went looking for her, or if she found me. And I swear, it was just like those Faith stories. I remember her red eyes. I remember I asked for her to make me unrecognizable to my siblings, even if I stood right in front of them. To Delia and Charles, I’m a different person entirely—different face, different voice. It was incredible, the first time I tested it.”
But if the Bargainer did exist and really was like Faith’s stories, then what she’d given Sophia wasn’t a gift—it was a curse, a shade. And no doubt it came with a price.
“What did she take in return?” Jac asked, chills creeping across his skin.
“My split talent. I don’t know why—I don’t remember it. She carved it out and all my memories of it, too. It’s like I’m nothing but a Torren.” Her voice shook, and Jac realized she was crying. He hurriedly stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. “I told you I’d sacrificed for this, and I meant it. Destroying Luckluster is all I have left. I’m nothing without that.”
He opened the door, making her jolt and fall back. She scrambled to her feet and wiped at
her eyes. It took a moment for Jac to realize what he’d done by letting her in.
All or nothing, he’d promised himself.
Jac had always wanted what was no good for him, but wanting Sophia felt different. Jac had used Lullaby to fill himself whole, if only for a few hours. To make him forget how he felt trapped and lousy and worthless, only to make him feel twice as awful when he woke.
This wanting felt like the opposite. Like each step toward her led to a destination instead of an escape.
Sophia wordlessly closed the door behind her.
Jac had never had a girl in his own apartment before, and a flush crept up his face as she examined it, messy and bare. Suddenly, it was him who felt exposed. She’d been worried he’d think she was shatz. Now she was probably wondering why he lived like this, like he was barely living at all.
“I don’t...own many things,” he said awkwardly. “I lost it all when they put the bounty on my head.” But even before then, he’d never had much.
“I don’t either, since I ran away,” Sophia told him, her back pressed against the door. They had both left pieces of their lives behind, for better or for worse.
Still, Jac resisted the urge to pick up discarded clothes off the floor. “I thought this would be temporary.”
“I know,” she answered.
“I mean, I could’ve gotten a new place, but I—”
“Jac,” she said, and he stopped. She rarely called him by his actual name, as though everything about their relationship was a game. But it had never felt like one to him.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she told him.
Jac tried to mold his face into something unreadable, but it was difficult. She’d somehow managed to reapply her cherry lipstick in between tears. He liked how it looked a little smudged.
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like I’m dangerous. It’s very hot.”
Jac laughed as he walked toward her. She was dangerous. Already, the burden of her secrets weighed down on him, as though nestled in the space between his bones. But as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers, he knew he would never take any of it back.
