ENNE
Enne had never been so grateful to step out of a motorcar. She and Levi had spent the entire thirty-minute ride crouched in the back seat beneath blankets, jostling painfully each time they’d skidded around a turn, holding their breaths each time a siren passed.
They were parked in front of a den called The Palace, but the majesty of the den began and ended with its name. It was a tall, narrow building wedged between a casino and an apartment complex off Tropps Street. The P and the c of its neon sign flickered cheaply. The exterior reminded Enne of a pastry shop: all swirls and pastels and glitter.
“Is this Sweetie Street?” Enne asked.
“No,” their driver answered. “We’re only a block from St. Morse.”
Their driver quickly led them inside the den, a firm hand on both their shoulders. Despite the late hour, The Palace was empty, but the air still reeked of smoke and the overwhelming smell of orchids. They walked around cushions and through sheer curtains to the staff room in the back. Enne tried to figure out exactly what type of New Reynes entertainment was offered here. Potentially all of them.
Their trek was long and winding—appropriate for two criminals running from the law. Down the steps. Across the basement. Through a trapdoor. Into a tunnel that stank of sewage. Enne shivered. They were in the bowels of the city.
“This leads directly to St. Morse,” the woman explained. “We’ll take the private elevator to Vianca’s suite.”
The hair on Enne’s neck rose at the thought of visiting Vianca’s personal residence. Enne whispered to Levi, “Have you been there?”
“No,” he said grimly. “I’ve not yet had that misfortune.”
“What do you think she’ll do with you? It’s not as though you can deal cards anymore.” Unlike Enne, the Phoenix Club knew exactly who Levi was—and where to find him.
“I’m not leaving New Reynes,” he said firmly. “Vianca would miss me too much.” He elbowed her in the side. “You would, too, right? After all, we’re partners in crime now.”
She smirked to conceal her embarrassment. She had a thousand reasons for not wanting Levi to leave the city, the chief one being the way he was looking at her right now. Like it was just her and him and no one else.
They reached the elevator at the end of the tunnel. The woman ushered them inside but didn’t follow. The lights flickered, and the elevator rose with a jerk.
Enne’s stomach clenched. They were about to enter the donna’s true lair.
She reached for Levi’s hand, seeking courage and comfort. At first, he tensed, then he laced his fingers with hers, sending a nervous spark across her fingertips.
“What do we tell her about the Game?” he asked hoarsely. “I’m sure her little spies have told her all about what happened in the House of Shadows. She’ll know you were there.”
“We tell her that you played.” It was safer for Vianca to assume that Levi had won the Game. Vianca knew Levi’s card abilities—she’d believe that story. If she knew Enne had played and cheated the Game, she’d grow suspicious as to why.
“And if she knows otherwise?” Levi asked, squeezing her hand in warning.
“How could she? She had spies in that room?”
“I’m not sure what the Phoenix Club has told others.”
Enne pressed her free hand to her heart and felt its pounding. “I don’t have any other ideas.” Her voice hitched in panic. Vianca couldn’t know the truth. They needed more time. They needed a better lie.
Levi wrapped his arms around her and hugged her reassuringly. She let herself lean into him. She let herself sigh. It’d been a long night.
“We’ve faced scarier things than her,” he said.
“I know.”
Just as in the phone booth, she was hyperaware of him behind her, how his chest felt pressed against her back, warm and steadying. It would be easy to turn around. To slide a hand behind his neck. To pull his lips to hers. She held her breath, certain Levi could feel the racing of her pulse, could hear the desire in her thoughts.
Then the elevator doors opened, and Levi and Enne sprang apart.
Vianca was perched on an armchair in a sitting room, her snake eyes leering at them curiously. “Well, wasn’t that a picture.” She set down her teacup on the end table. “I found this one in your apartment, Levi. Lucky I found him before the whiteboots did.” She nodded at Jac across the room, who was several shades of green from being so close to Vianca. He looked like he’d just found the monster beneath his bed. “I also fetched that girl you requested.” Lola sat beside Jac. She fiddled anxiously with her harmonica in her lap.
“It’s been quite a night, hasn’t it?” Vianca frowned, scanning Levi. “You’ve looked better, dear.”
“I’ve felt better,” he croaked.
Vianca stood and wiggled a bony, ring-covered finger at Enne. “You first, Miss Salta. You and I need to have a little chat.”
Even something called a “little chat” with Vianca sounded dangerous. Enne gave the other three a parting, desperate glance before following Vianca into the next room. Levi nodded at her reassuringly, reminding her once again that they had faced worse this night.
Don’t let them see your fear.
Never allow yourself to be lost.
Trust no one unless you must.
Two days ago, Enne had been certain that she was broken beyond repair, yet still her mother’s words held their familiar power, winding Enne back together.
Just not all the way back, she thought as Vianca closed the door behind them. The ache of missing Lourdes and her old life would never leave her. All she could do was keep surviving, keep playing. In ways that were both better and worse, Enne wasn’t the same girl who’d arrived, lost and alone, in the City of Sin.
“Séance,” Vianca said with a hiss. “A rather interesting choice of name.”
They were in what appeared to be Vianca’s parlor. Like the rest of St. Morse, it was furnished in her typical dark, antique fashion—cheap luxury that bordered on gaudy. Each upholstery had a different sort of print. Dozens of glass gemstones dangled from the chandelier above the couch, a piece of costume jewelry set out as decoration. On the largest wall of the room, there was a portrait of what Enne imagined must’ve been Vianca’s family: Vianca, years younger, though clearly recognizable; a man who didn’t smile; and a boy with a princely grin.
“I would never have guessed it. I mean, look at you,” Vianca said, gesturing at Enne’s body. “I imagined you easily discarded.”
Enne was still frozen by the door. She shouldn’t be this paralyzed by Vianca, not when she’d already slain one monster tonight. But fear didn’t need to be logical to be felt.
“Don’t just stand there like a wallflower,” Vianca snapped. “Take a seat.” She patted the spot beside her.
“Yes, Madame.” Enne sat as far away from Vianca as she could without looking rude.
“So polite. I wish Levi spoke to me that way.” Vianca’s eyes narrowed as she inspected Enne’s face. “You look different.”
It took everything in her to conceal her panic. “I... I haven’t slept, of course. It’s nearly morning.”
Vianca waved her hand dismissively, and Enne’s shoulders relaxed. Levi’s contacts had worked, even under the donna’s calculating inspection. “You’ll have time for rest after we’re done. I need to hear if the rumors are true.” Vianca leaned forward gleefully. Happiness was an emotion that didn’t suit Vianca’s face. “Is Sedric Torren dead?”
Enne nodded, swallowing. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his hand around her throat and the repulsive lust in his stare.
“And the Chancellor?”
“Yes, he’s dead.”
Vianca laughed with such mirth that—to Enne’s horror—she reached forward, grabbed Enne’s hand and shook it in excitement. “The whole city is talking about you—about Séance. How you killed them both.”
Enne startled. “But Levi was the one who killed Semper.”
“My Levi?” Vianca echoed, dumbfounded. “How interesting. But the truth hardly matters. What’s important is what people say, what the papers are printing. Your Séance character is about to become the most notorious criminal we’ve seen in almost twenty years.” She laughed and gave Enne’s hand a last little shake. “You must tell me all about it.”
“About...the murders?” Enne asked. She fought the urge to look away from the donna’s face. Her many frown lines coiled unnervingly when she smiled.
“Yes. And about the House of Shadows.”
Despite not having properly rehearsed her words, the lies flowed easily. Vianca was so enraptured, she listened to the entire story without asking questions.
“When Levi won, and the Game finished, its rules were over. So he stood, pointed his gun—” she swallowed again “—and shot the Chancellor in the head.”
Vianca clapped. “Delightful. Delightful.”
Then the donna leaned back and studied Enne a second time. The presence Enne had felt during the Game—her Mizer abilities—hummed inside her, and she nearly tremored, imagining Vianca’s stare peering straight through Enne’s lie.
“This whole act you put on is quite convincing,” Vianca purred, “but I’m starting to believe you were corrupted before you ever set foot in this city.” Vianca grabbed Enne by the chin and peered at her closely, turning her face from side to side. Enne shuddered and kept her gaze fixed on her lap, in case Vianca noticed the faint outline of the contacts. “Are you a pearl, or are you a bullet?”
There was an unpleasant truth to Vianca’s question. Enne wished she knew the answer herself. She’d like to consider herself a pearl, but pearls were breakable, and she had proved herself not to be.
Maybe she could be both.
“I have excellent plans for you, my dear,” Vianca cooed, relinquishing her grasp on Enne’s face. “But for that, we must talk in the morning. I want to speak with Levi now. Send him in.”
“Yes, Madame,” Enne responded, more than eager to leave.
Enne slipped out the doors into the other room, and the others snapped to attention. Levi immediately stood and came to her side. “She didn’t notice the contacts,” Enne whispered.
“Good. Anything else?” His hands found her wrists, and he turned her arms over, as if examining her for injuries.
“She wants to see you.”
He eyed the closed door warily, then he took a deep breath and cracked his neck. “The night’s almost over.” Enne didn’t know if he was reassuring her or himself.
Then he molded his face into something expressionless and entered Vianca’s parlor. The door closed behind him.
Enne tried not to worry about whatever meeting was unfolding in the other room. Levi had braved Vianca for years before she’d met him, but the way he’d braced himself before walking in, the little bit of fear in his eyes—it almost broke her heart. Because he felt just as trapped as she did, and it was a terrible way to feel.
It was too easy to let her feelings slip out of control. It had nearly happened in the pay phone booth. In the Mole station. In the elevator.
The Phoenix Club knew Levi’s face now. They’d be hunting for him. Enne’s purple eyes were deadly enough—it wasn’t safe to fall for someone with a bounty on his head.
Even if she already had.
She collapsed on the seat beside Lola. From across the room, Jac tossed her a box of spice cookies. Enne hadn’t even realized how hungry she was. She thanked him and tore into them.
“Levi told us,” Lola said. Her eyes found Enne’s. “What have you done?”
Enne was too exhausted for words. She wasn’t prepared for another round of Lola’s paranoid accusations. “I thought we were past this.” It wasn’t a question—it was a challenge.
Lola shifted awkwardly. “We are. I mean, I waited at Luckluster for hours.”
“And I told Vianca to find you. I wanted to make sure you were all right.” Enne handed her a cookie. “Because we’re friends.”
Lola nodded numbly.
“So, Enne,” Jac said. “Does your new power thing mean we’re all about to be rich? I’m your friend, too.”
She might’ve laughed if she weren’t so tired. Since the Game, she’d worried about her eyes all night, but somehow Jac had managed to find humor in her dangerous situation. He, too, had seemed wary of her talents before, and maybe he still was, but she also trusted him. Yes, she would also call him a friend.
Levi, Jac and Lola—only they knew her secret. It was now the four of them against the entire city.
“Priority number one, in the morning,” he said. “I’ve always wanted a car. Something really sleek. Like an Amoretti. In white.”
“As if you’ll be driving in the near future,” Lola said. “You’re the second of the street lord who helped kill the Chancellor. Maybe you should talk to Vianca after Levi and beg for her protection, too.”
Jac blanched. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Enne tried to come up with something comforting, but found she had nothing to say. Lola was right. Through no fault of his own, Jac had lost his freedom, too. “So I’m a wanted man now, eh? That means I need a street name. The other seconds have street names.”
This time, Enne did laugh. Jac managed to find reasons to smile when there should have been tears.
“The other seconds are scarier than you,” Lola told him.
He raised his eyebrows incredulously. “You’re her second. You’re not scarier than me.”
“Yes, she is,” Enne said, popping a cookie in her mouth.
“I am,” Lola agreed. “And Enne’s scarier than Pup, too.”
Jac pondered this. “True.” Then he shot Enne a teasing smirk.
“I am not scary,” Enne grumbled. “I’m elegant. And charming.”
“You can be all three,” he ceded, and Enne decided that was satisfactory.
Her guidebook had been right about the City of Sin. It was morally decrepit. It was disgusting and rotten. It was stained black to its very core.
But her guidebook had been wrong about one thing—it had been wrong about her. She had entered New Reynes as delicate as glass. She had even shattered. But as it turned out, beneath the dust and shards, something stronger lay within her, a substance less easily broken.
She would never forget the ache of her mother’s death, but she would also never regret uncovering the truth—about Lourdes and about herself.
Even deep within St. Morse, Enne could still make out the wail of sirens outside. She could still hear the echoes of engines roaring, timers ticking and guns firing.
Her guidebook claimed the City of Sin was a game.
She’d made her first move.