ENNE
Enne’s head smacked against glass, jolting her awake. Her eyes flickered open briefly, but, glimpsing Sedric’s face, she immediately squeezed them shut again. She heard a door open, and a warm summer wind kissed her skin. She was in a motorcar, but her surroundings were slanted awkwardly to the left. The noise of Tropps Street was gone. The events of the evening gradually returned to her—Levi’s disappearance, the drugged drink, the Shadow Card—and she held her breath to keep from crying out.
Sedric cursed and climbed out of the car. The door closed.
She eased her eyes open. Voices murmured outside, their tones escalating. Judging from that and the tilted angle of the car, they must’ve been stuck in a ditch. The windows were darkened with screens, so Enne had no way of confirming this—nor any idea where in the city they were.
She quietly reached for the abandoned suit jacket on the seat in front of her. Inside, she found her revolver from earlier, which Sedric had stolen. Rather than take it and alert him that she was awake, she emptied it of bullets and slipped them in her pocket, where the leather case with the injection was still carefully concealed among folds of satin.
The Shadow Card was sitting on her lap, the face of the Fool laughing up at her. It was the invitation card, she knew, but whose? Had Sedric meant it for her, or was he only delivering her Levi’s? She didn’t think Sedric knew Enne and Levi had any connection.
Only two things were clear now: Enne still needed to kill Sedric Torren, and she needed to stop the Shadow Game.
Voices. Footsteps. The seat tilted forcefully. The engine roared, and the motorcar jolted forward out of the ditch.
The door opened. She closed her eyes, feigning unconsciousness.
Someone—Sedric, probably—sat opposite her, bringing the odors of sweat and cigar smoke with him.
As the car resumed its course, she didn’t move for another ten minutes. Enne desperately hoped he couldn’t hear her heart pounding.
When the car finally stopped, Sedric lifted something to her nose. The stench of ammonia made her lurch. “Sleep well, doll?”
“Where are we?” She forced her voice to slur, as if she was just coming to.
“A place known as the House of Shadows.” A malicious grin spread across his face, sending dread seeping across Enne’s skin. “You might say it’s the best gambling in the city.”
Sedric opened the door and stepped outside. Over his shoulder, Enne caught her first glimpse of the House of Shadows. The name couldn’t be more appropriate—the dark stone of its exterior looked as rough and jagged as a cavern wall, and though lights danced in the windows, they were muted behind fishnet curtains. A faint bass rumbled in the air, and a flute whispered a mournful melody into the night. Beyond the tall evergreen trees lining the driveway, the city’s skyline glittered in the distance.
Zula’s warning whispered through her mind. More than anything, stay away from the House of Shadows.
On her first day in New Reynes, Levi had told her that the Phoenix Club orchestrated the Revolution and the deaths of all the Mizers, so Enne understood the risks of entering their lair. But the fear she’d heard in Zula’s voice that day—it sounded as though there was more to the House of Shadows than simply politics and history. Whatever dangers awaited her inside, it was something more. Something Enne had never known before.
Sedric handed her an envelope. “Take this to Malcolm Semper.”
She sucked in a breath. The Chancellor? He was the most powerful man in the Republic, and the leader of the Phoenix Club. Her heart clenched as she took the envelope. He was the man who had murdered Lourdes.
“They’re expecting you,” Sedric told her.
“Expecting me for what?”
“For the Game.”
Enne’s breath caught. At the edges of her vision, she glimpsed shadows. The ghost of Gabrielle Dondelair. The silhouette of Lourdes. They had both tried to protect her, but in the end, they would all face the same fate.
“Unfortunately,” Sedric continued, “I won’t be able to watch—I’m not a member of the Phoenix Club. But rest assured, I’ll be exploring the other entertainments the House of Shadows has to offer.”
She let out a shiver as she slipped the envelope in her pocket, unsure if Sedric was giving her an opportunity to save Levi, or her own death certificate.
“They don’t know who you are,” he told her, a grin playing on his features. He was relishing this. “They don’t particularly care. Times are changing—repeating, so they claim. And so they’re playing again.”
“Playing because...of the times?” Sedric wasn’t making sense.
“There’s a price to keep the devil away, when the devil comes knocking.” He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her out of the motorcar. She stumbled onto the grass. “Tonight that price is you.”
As far as Enne was concerned in that moment, the city was full of devils. Sedric Torren. Vianca Augustine. Malcolm Semper. She’d paid a price to all of them already.
Very suddenly, Sedric slapped her across the face. Enne gasped and backed protectively against the side of the motorcar, her cheek stinging.
“That was for St. Morse,” he snapped. He stepped closer to her, and fear bubbled up in her throat. She glanced around, but there was no one nearby to witness—not even their driver. They were alone.
This was her chance. But his glare rooted her to the spot.
“Black Maiden is a rather uncommon flower,” he said. “Imported. Untraceable. Neither of the Families own it. Where did you get it?”
She could still hear Vianca’s words in her mind. This cannot be traced back to me. The omerta grasped a bony hand around her throat, cutting off her air.
He took a threatening step closer, and Enne instinctively lifted her arms to protect her face. “Who are you working for?”
She could do nothing but stay silent.
His fingers brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, sending millions of chills of warning down her back. “I won’t ask nicely again,” he hissed. His fingers slid through her hair and squeezed. He jerked her head back, and tears formed in Enne’s eyes from the pain. She slipped her hand into her pocket and fingered the edges of the leather case.
“Is it Vianca?” He pulled her hair harder, and she whimpered. The omerta forced her to shake her head. “Tell me.”
“No one,” she lied, slowly sliding the case out of her pocket. In some ways, that was the truth. Vianca might have given the order, but if she killed Sedric Torren, she would do it for Levi.
He slammed her head against the car door. She cried out, stars spinning in her vision. The case dropped silently onto the grass.
Please no, she thought.
“You’re lying,” he said. He relaxed his grip on her hair and instead slid his hand to her throat. His chest pressed against hers, and she tried to stretch away, to put as much distance between him and her as possible, but his hip bone was jammed painfully into her side.
He won’t kill you, she told herself. The Phoenix Club is expecting you. He already said so.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt her first.
His grip on her throat tightened. She let out an involuntary sputter.
“You will die tonight,” he growled. While he spoke, she managed to lift her calf up and hooked her finger around the strap of her heel. She carefully slid it off her foot, trying not to lose her grip on it. She was dizzy from lack of air. “It will be long. It will be painful. The last time there were two players, the Phoenix Club didn’t get to have their fun. I told them this time they could have it with you.”
Enne knew exactly which game Sedric was referring to—the night Gabrielle had played to save her daughter’s life. As anger flooded through her, Enne squeezed the heel and, with all the force she could muster, jammed it into his eye.
Sedric howled, letting go of her and covering his eye with his hands. Bloody tears dripped down his cheek. “You bitch,” he snarled.
Enne shoved him away and frantically bent down, breathing heavily and feeling around for the leather case. She found it and slid off the lid. She had only just gotten a grip on the syringe when Sedric kicked her in the side, sending her sprawling.
Then he grabbed her by the front of her dress and hoisted her to her feet. His left eye was squeezed shut, but there was so much blood, Enne couldn’t be sure there was much of an eye left. His other arm aimed, ready for a punch. Before he could take a swing at her, she kicked him in the groin and slid out of his grasp.
She landed face-down on the grass, the syringe still clutched in her first.
When she looked up, Sedric had his revolver pointed at her. He clutched his eye with one hand, and there was a feral look in his other. He laughed madly. “You really should’ve let me have my fun.”
Then he pulled the trigger.
Click.
His cursed and opened the revolver’s empty compartment. Then he looked at her, his eyes wide, as she lunged forward and stabbed the syringe into his leg.
She would not be his victim tonight.
He would be hers.
Within moments, his limp body fell on top of her, his stomach on her back. She grunted and pushed him off, disgusted by the feel of him against her. He rolled over in the grass, staring with one eye into nothing.
She shakily got to her feet and looked down at his body. She felt no remorse. Not for him, not even for herself. Rather than breaking her, her surrender left her cold and steady with anger, with resolve.
Enne picked up the envelope Sedric had given her before he’d slapped her. He’d said something about two players, which meant Levi was inside—alive, but preparing to play the Shadow Game. If she was going to save him, she needed to join him in the House of Shadows.
She picked the revolver up from the ground. She only had three bullets. From the way the music carried, she assumed the House of Shadows was far from empty. Could she burst into the room, gun raised, and force Semper to let Levi escape? Would that be enough? Or would she be shot down herself before she had a chance?
She loaded the revolver and tucked it into her pocket. Her fingers brushed against the cool ribbon of the black satin mask Lola had given her. She pulled it out and tied it around her eyes, same as she’d done at Scrap Market. The mask covered very little of her face, but it offered at least a small amount of protection. If she and Levi managed to make it out of this alive, then no one could know who she was—otherwise, the Phoenix Club would easily discover it was she who’d slain Sedric Torren.
With her lipstick reapplied and her blood-stained heel back on, Enne knocked on the front door of the House of Shadows.
A huge man opened the door, and the loud music from inside blasted through her ears.
He blinked at her for a few moments, and then his jaw dropped. “It’s you,” Shark said, his golden tooth glinting.
Enne tensed as she recognized him—one of the whiteboots from her first day in New Reynes. He knew that she had a connection to Lourdes, the woman they’d killed here only the week before. He’d seen her without her mask.
Her mind blanked except for one, desperate idea.
She took out the revolver, aimed it between his eyes and pulled the trigger.
The noise and force of it startled her so much she yelped. His body thudded to the floor, and she stood there for a few moments, her pulse a violent current, ready for someone to come running. No one did. She wondered if anyone had even heard over all the music, which pulsed loud enough to drown out everything.
She stepped over his body and the pooling blood to enter the House. The cold shell inside of her hardened with each step. Apparently she’d left her soul back at Luckluster—probably back in Bellamy.
The air smelled strongly of several kinds of smoke, and she scrunched her nose and tried to blow away the odor with the envelope. A light shone in the next room, but the hallway was otherwise cast in darkness. She shoved the revolver in her dress as she made her way through the House.
A few men lying on the carpet glanced up blankly as she entered, but their attention was quickly recaptured by a giant pipe shaped like a candlestick on the table before them. Enne eyed a stairwell in the far corner of the room. A sinister force pulled her in that direction, guiding her toward her demise. She began to climb, her hand sliding up the smooth ebony railing.
There was a single door at the top of the stairs. Behind it, she heard a rhythmic ticking, like a clock or a heartbeat. She hitched her breath and turned the knob, opening the door cautiously.
Over a dozen lifeless faces peered at her as she stepped inside, but her gaze immediately fell on Levi. All the color drained from his face as he met her eyes. He was hunched in his chair as if it hurt him to straighten up, and an ugly red mark glared at the side of his neck. Enne’s heart skipped in alarm—he’d been hurt again.
Enne closed the door behind her, and the music from downstairs disappeared, as if nothing existed outside this room. The ticking, too, was gone—maybe she hadn’t really heard it at all.
“The other player, at last,” one man said. Enne recognized him immediately: Chancellor Malcolm Semper, the Father of the Revolution—and her mother’s killer. Her heart clenched, all the anger and grief and adrenaline seizing her at once. “Please take a seat, my dear.”
She tried to reach for the revolver. This was it—she’d made it to the Game in time to stop it. But her hand was frozen at her side—not from the omerta, but some other power in the room. The same sinister force that had led her upstairs. She swallowed down a scream of panic.
“I believe you have Mr. Torren’s letter, don’t you?” Semper asked.
Enne froze. She didn’t have any choices left. She was weaponless, powerless, and she had walked directly into their hands. She’d made a fatal error for the second time that night, and now it was too late.
After a few moments of horror, she regained her composure enough to hand him Sedric’s envelope. Semper tore it open and scanned the contents, then cleared his throat. “It seems... What is your name?”
“Séance,” she said, the name Lola had given her. The name her mother had once used, long ago.
Semper blinked, as if startled for a moment. Maybe he, too, glimpsed the ghost of Lourdes at the edges of his vision.
He returned to Sedric’s letter. “Mr. Torren has recommended that Séance be the one to play.”
“What?” Levi hissed. Enne froze. What did that mean? Weren’t they both supposed to play?
“Well, with your background in cards, Mr. Glaisyer, you don’t need to prove your prowess. Perhaps this newcomer should be given a chance to impress.”
Levi shook his head. He looked utterly defeated.
“Take a seat,” Semper urged her, and Enne carefully claimed the only empty one at table. Every few moments, she tried again to reach into her pocket for the revolver, but to no avail. If she ran—if she could run—that would mean leaving Levi here, and she’d already come this far. No matter how panicked she felt, she couldn’t abandon him in his final moments. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself afterward.
“Don’t bother eyeing the door, dear,” Semper said. Every monster in this city always found a pet name for her. “The Game began the moment you stepped into the House. The rules are binding. There is no escaping. No cheating.”
That explained why Enne couldn’t reach for her gun. There was a magic to the Game, like there was in oaths. A magic she couldn’t explain.
“During the Game, the player typically bets their own life,” Semper explained, “but since there are two guests, it will be Mr. Glaisyer’s life on the line, and Séance the player.”
Enne’s heart sank. It should’ve been the other way around. She didn’t know anything about cards.
“Last time we did this—” a younger woman started.
“That was a mistake,” Semper snapped. “Besides, these two don’t even know each other. Isn’t that right?”
They were referencing the Game of Gabrielle Dondelair, when it had been Enne’s life on the line. They had no idea that same child sat in front of them now, prepared to play the Game a second time.
“I’ve never heard of him,” she answered. Levi shot her an annoyed look, as if he could honestly be worrying about his ego at a time like this.
“Players don’t just walk through our door,” the woman from earlier snapped. “If you don’t know him, then why are you here?”
The words came easily. “To win,” Séance answered.
Semper smiled. “People do not play this Game to win, my dear. They play this game not to lose.”