by Amanda Foody
“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 now.
“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 s
houlders 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 reached 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.
Enne pulled away from him, tears streaming down her face. “Yes, it was,” she said hoarsely. “This was exactly what I planned.”
He frowned even as he tried to wipe the tears off her cheeks. “What are you talking about?”
She could’ve lied—she’d gotten good at lying, even to him. But he was the reason she hadn’t killed Owain. Because of him, she wanted to be better than that.
“This wasn’t Vianca’s idea—it was mine. Owain is a member of the Phoenix Club. I... I thought that if I killed him...” Enne looked away from him. It ached to see his expression change, from confusion to concern to shock.
During the drive home, Enne told him everything—about questioning Roy, manipulating Vianca, lying to him. The Shadow Game didn’t haunt Levi the way it did her, but at least he, more than anyone, might be able to understand.
Enne didn’t finish her story until after they’d reached the Ruins District. The others got out of the car, but Enne and Levi remained behind. It wasn’t until Levi slammed the door closed again that she noticed a muscle straining as he clenched his jaw.
“You manipulated Vianca so she could make me do what you wanted,” he murmured, and Enne’s breath hitched. His voice was unrecognizably cold. “You used her to use me. How am I supposed to forgive you for that?”
Each of his words sent a blade through her heart.
He made her sound despicable.
And he was right.
Enne bit her lip and blinked back tears. “You’re not.”
Levi took a shaky breath, his eyes closed. “I’ve done a lot of things I never thought I would, but not to you.” His voice cracked, and Enne resisted the urge to comfort him. She no longer felt like she had the right to.
“I don’t think I know you anymore,” he said.
Enne hugged her arms to herself and put as much distance between them as possible. It was strange to think that many months ago, when they’d first met, he’d laughed at how naïve she’d been.
“Do you wish you’d killed him?” he asked her.
She’d originally thought the price of killing Owain would be her soul, but now she knew the sacrifice had been far greater. The moment she’d used Vianca against Levi...that was when she’d paid her price.
And now she had nothing to show for it.
“I don’t know,” she murmured truthfully.
Levi shook his head and, without a goodbye, opened the door and walked away.
10
“These stories aren’t just legends. There are too many things in the North Side you can’t explain. Oaths? Shadow Cards? They have to be talents, don’t they? I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately, and I think they do. You might say legends are superstition. I say they’re a pattern.
“Maybe it’s not Families or street lords or wigheads who own New Reynes. Maybe it’s one person. Maybe all these legends are the same story.”
—A legend of the North Side
JAC
Most tourists flocked to New Reynes in the summer for the warm weather and the beaches, but Jac had always preferred the City of Sin in the fall. The pubs served spiced cider in copper mugs, and the trees wore every color from saffron to gold. This year, however, it’d been hard to focus on usual fall festivities with all the chaos surrounding the election. Now, only days away, you couldn’t even turn on the radio anymore without hearing about it.
“Turn that off,” Jac grumbled to Sophia, who switched off the news station from where she perched on the desk.
“Don’t you want to hear it?” she asked.
He took a deep breath. The First Party controlled all the media outlets, but lately, even their cheerful optimism about Harrison’s victory had lost some of its usual confidence. Levi had told Jac that Harrison needed the Torren empire for his victory, so what happened if Jac couldn’t give it to him?
“I don’t,” Jac answered, turning his attention back to the map of the Casino District mounted on the wall of Liver Shot’s back office. Even with all the dens the two of them now controlled, they’d still chosen this one as their primary base. It had a central location and familiar faces.
“You are not a failure,” Sophia told him, standing up and resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
He grasped it with a weak smile. “But I will be.”
“Even if we can’t give Harri
son the votes,” she murmured, “we’ll still win.”
Like the news, Sophia, too, had lost some of her confidence. The endless curfew had hit them exactly where it hurt most: their bottom lines, and now their war with Charles had devolved into a waiting game of seeing who would bleed out of voltage first.
At this rate, it would be them.
“Are you and I looking at the same ledgers, or...?”
“All that matters is that Charles is hurting, too,” she said.
Jac laughed mirthlessly. “Can he hurt?”
Sophia grimaced and dug her coin out of her pocket. She flipped heads. “Twenty-seven.” She pulled out a collection of knotted necklaces from under her shirt and examined the dull beads, checking to see if there was any luck left in them.
“Twenty-seven?” Jac echoed. “What happened to your one-hundred-flip streak?”
“Until we set this all aflame, we’re still selling drugs, and I’ll never feel good about that.” She sighed. “And without trying to cut off any of Charles’s monopoly on Lullaby, we won’t, well...”
Jac stiffened. “Three seconds ago you were telling me we’d win. Now you’re saying it’s hopeless unless we start to sell Lullaby?” He didn’t care how desperate they were; he refused to stoop to such lows.
Sophia took both of his hands in hers and turned him away from the map to face her. He didn’t like the look on her face. “I’m saying...” She bit her lip. “We need a plan in case we lose.”
He dropped her hands. No, no. They hadn’t come this far to make contingencies.
The scar on his arms gave a phantom itch, and he craved a cigarette. But he’d already had one this morning, and he’d been trying to limit himself to one per day.
“We could go somewhere else,” Sophia said. “It would be starting over—”
“You gave up everything for this,” he breathed.
Her green eyes welled with tears, and she blinked them away and hugged her arms to herself. “Yes, well, Charles won’t let this end peacefully. And before, I never had to consider losing you.” She sniffled and laughed. “You’ve made me soft, and it’s disgusting.”
