LEVI
Levi spent the first thirty minutes of his last two hours wiping tears from his eyes, rooted to the same spot in the alley he’d fled to from Luckluster. If only the other gangsters could see him now. The Iron Lord. Crying when he was about to die.
Levi pictured his gravestone from the visions. If there was ever a time to cave in and pray to the Faith, as his mother always had, this was the moment. But beneath the Casion District’s skyline of smoke, crouched in an alley reeking of trash and piss, Levi couldn’t believe that any higher power cared about his fate.
A familiar voice drifted out of the shadows. “It’s you.”
Levi instinctively reached for the pistol in his pocket, tensing as Chez Phillips stepped into the moonlight. “What are you doing here?” Levi demanded. They were a long way from Iron Land.
Chez grinned slyly. “I’m making my way back to Olde Town. Never imagined I’d run into you.”
Levi couldn’t believe he’d have to spend the last hours of his life with Chez, of all people. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe this was hell.
“You should cross your heart when you see me,” Chez said. His forehead and neck peeled from an old sunburn, and he had an impressive black eye and walked with a limp in his step. Chez looked terrible, and this gave Levi a surge of pleasure, despite knowing that he looked no better himself.
“There are a lot of things I’d like to do when I see you,” Levi growled. “Crossing my heart is not one of them.”
“I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” Chez hissed, clearly forgetting the part where Jac had beaten the muck out of him before he could. Chez took out his knife and flipped it between his fingers.
“I wouldn’t bother. The Torrens are after me, and they’ll be pretty upset if you kill me first.”
Chez laughed, still playing with his knife. “I’m not surprised the Torrens want you dead. You’re a real pain in the ass. We’ve been better off without you.”
Levi held back a wince. Despite all Chez’s bravado, those words were probably true.
I’m not helpless, he thought. If I’m going to die, I’m going to do it fighting. I’ll be no one’s plaything.
“That’s a shame,” Levi answered.
“Oh yeah? Why?”
“Because I’m gonna take back my crown. Right now.”
“What’s the point?” Chez grunted. He flipped his knife again—his tell. He was nervous. Both of them were in muck shape, but if Chez won last time and was uneasy now, he couldn’t have been doing well. What trouble had he run into in Levi’s absence? “I thought you were already a dead man.”
That was exactly why Levi wanted to fight. So he could die with some dignity—and his title returned to him.
“I’ve still got a little fight left in me.” Levi made a show of taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, exposing his Iron Lord tattoos. Then he emptied the gun from his pocket and laid it on the ground beside him. “So maybe we can do it properly this time—no interruptions.”
Chez flipped his blade in the air and caught it. As if his tricks scared Levi. Nothing could scare him now, when he had nothing left to lose.
Or maybe he was only shatz—running from one death into the clutches of another.
“You’re thick if you think you can win,” Chez growled. “If it weren’t for Jac, you’d be dead right now.”
“If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead, too. Floating in the Brint where I first found you.” Chez’s jaw locked. Levi found most of the Irons that way—desperate and near death. It was why he’d thought they were loyal to him. Now he knew it was also why they hated him. “Why would you chance walking around Scar Land? Seems kinda desperate. Just how well are the Irons fairing without me?”
Chez lurched forward. He was about three times as fast as Levi, but now Levi knew better than to try to outmaneuver him. He jumped out of the way and immediately went for Chez’s feet, grabbing his shins and yanking him to the ground. Chez tumbled on top of him, and his head smacked the cobblestones.
Levi wrestled him on to his back, then he pinned his arms down. Chez’s knife flew from his hand and landed a few feet away with a clatter.
“I don’t owe you anything,” Chez said, his voice slurred from hitting his head. Blood stained his brown hair. “I never asked to be saved.”
“Everybody’s asking to be saved,” Levi answered.
As Chez gradually regained his senses, he struggled more against Levi’s grip.
“Even if I don’t kill you right now,” Levi snarled, “I win. I outfought you. That makes me your lord again.”
Chez spat in his face. “Like hell it does.”
All of the week’s anger and frustration getting the better of him, Levi summoned his talent and let his skin warm. Chez screamed as steam rose from his wrists where Levi’s fingers were wrapped around them. His skin began to blister, pink and oozing and raw.
“I’m not gonna kill you, Chez, but maybe these shackles will remind you that I own you, no matter how far away you run.” When he let go, rings of raw flesh circled Chez’s wrists, raised and inflamed—more gruesome than Levi had intended. Chez howled more.
Holding Chez’s arms down with his legs, Levi paused to savor the moment. He took a triumphant swig from his flask.
Levi stood, closing his eyes to savor the victory. But when he opened them again, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a window and startled. The look on his face...
He was the spitting image of Vianca.
Click.
In barely a moment’s time, Chez had pressed the barrel of the abandoned gun to Levi’s head. Levi grabbed his arm and tried to shove him away, but his third held steady. “Back down from being lord, Pup,” he demanded, panting. “Or I swear I’ll paint the wall with your thoughts.”
In a real challenge, you couldn’t shoot your lord. No one inherited the oath from a bullet. Every gangster knew that.
But Chez didn’t need Levi to remind him. “As far as I’m concerned, this never happened,” Chez hissed. “No witnesses.”
So Chez would kill him after all. Levi would die here, another lord lost to these streets.
“Any last words?” Chez asked.
Levi couldn’t think of any. None that hadn’t been said before or wouldn’t be said again.
But Levi still had one last card up his sleeve. He’d never swallowed his mouthful of Gambler’s Ruin.
He spit it out, snapped his fingers and a roar of fire erupted between him and Chez. First, there was a scream. Then a gunshot. Levi was already on the ground, his ears ringing, eyes closed, arms clutching his broken rib. Something thudded to the cobblestones a few feet away, but it took several moments for Levi to regain his composure and look.
Chez lay on his back. His fingers reached for the knife he’d lost earlier, but he was clearly in too much pain to move. The skin on his face, neck and chest had burned cleaned through, exposing a mess of blood and bone and tissue. He made a gargling noise, and tears glistened in the corners of his left eye. The right one was gone—now an empty socket filled with crimson and black, wet and bulging.
Levi gagged, both at Chez’s appearance and the smell of it all—the burnt cloth and burnt flesh. He stood frozen under the terror and hatred of Chez’s glare. He wondered if Chez would die. Instead, he lay there, grinding his teeth, the blistered parts of his chest still heaving up and down. He shook all over, and bits of spit dribbled down his chin.
Maybe you should kill him, a voice in Levi’s head told him. Maybe that would be better than this.
But he wasn’t sure Chez would die. If Levi killed him, would it be mercy, or would it be murder?
It already is murder, he thought. You did this.
He nearly killed you.
Yet you were the one who asked to fight.
He was your friend once.
In the end, Levi retrieved his gun and left Chez there for someone else to find. He didn’t know if that was the right decision or the cowardly one, but the longer he watched him, the more he hated himself.
He doesn’t have to die. Only you do.
After he finished throwing up against an alley wall, Levi made his way back to Luckluster. There was still no point in running. This was the last chance he had to write his legacy, and no matter how terrified he was, at least Levi would be remembered for how he didn’t beg.
Luckluster’s red lights sparkled all the way down the street. Levi sighed and leaned against an empty motorcar, taking in the glory of the Casino Distrct.
Someone tapped his arm. Levi jumped, brandishing his gun, and tripped over the curb.
It was Lola. She was dressed as she usually was, in her top hat and leather boots.
“What do you want?” he asked. She was awfully far away from Dove Land, and Luckluster didn’t seem her type of haunt.
“We thought you were inside,” she breathed.
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me. And Enne.”
Levi frowned. Enne shouldn’t have any idea where he was. Levi hadn’t told her about the scheme—it was the one thing he’d done right. So why was she here?
“Vianca sent her to save you,” Lola explained. “And to kill Sedric Torren.”
Levi’s heart screeched to a halt.
He’d had it all planned: his death, on his terms. He’d have no one else’s blood on his hands tonight. Especially not Enne’s.
“Where is she?” he rasped.
“You just missed her.” Lola glanced worriedly at the red neon lights. Levi hadn’t thought she gave a muck what happened to Enne, but clearly he’d been mistaken. “She’s already inside. She’s looking for you.”
Levi didn’t bother responding as he sprinted toward Luckluster, where his killers were waiting for him.