“Then maybe we can get on with our meeting.”
Levi pulled out the bag of orbs in his pocket and handed them out. As the third, Chez was responsible for distributing the shares to the other Irons.
Chez didn’t waste any time. He pulled his meter out of his pocket and counted the volts, as if Levi would sting his own crew to their faces. “We need more,” Chez said, “for the dealers taking more shifts. They’re pulling extra weight, and they could use the volts.”
“We don’t collect from the dens for a few more days,” Levi said, echoing the excuse he’d given Jac earlier. “I would if I could.” He was tired of those words. Even if they were the truth, they felt like a lie. He could always do something more, give something else. Except, this time, he was truly out of options.
Chez’s eyes narrowed. “There should be more. Where are the other volts going? Where are the extra shares from last week?”
The extra shares were now in the whiteboot captain’s pocket.
“There weren’t any,” Levi said, swallowing his guilt.
It’s not supposed to be this way, he thought.
“But things are going to change,” Levi swore. “Real soon. In fact, an opportunity has come up, and I have a favor to ask both of you because of it.” Mansi nodded enthusiastically, but Chez didn’t respond. As always, he looked skeptical. Levi supposed Chez had little reason to believe him anymore. His word didn’t hold much value these days, and Chez needed more than promises from him—he needed action. “I’m looking for information about someone called Lourdes Alfero.”
“The one the missy yesterday was talking about?” Mansi asked.
“Yeah, but you need to be on the low about it. People will be after Alfero, I think, if they haven’t already found her.”
It was a dangerous favor to ask, which was why he didn’t add that Lourdes was a monarchist. He didn’t intend for Chez or Mansi to go digging and leave an incriminating trail. Lourdes was well-known, but only in a few circles—nothing that would’ve touched the Irons. The less they knew, the better.
He turned to Mansi. “I also need your help tonight.”
“For what?” she asked eagerly.
“I need you to help me sneak four people into the Sauterelle.” Mansi worked there as kitchen staff, as well as an amateur card dealer.
“Celebrating something?” Chez asked, a slight sneer in his voice.
“A business meeting of sorts,” Levi said.
Mansi nodded. “I can do that. No problem. Who’s going?”
“Me, Jac, that girl you met yesterday and a friend.” Reymond. He couldn’t say that in front of Chez. Tonight, he’d make Mansi swear to keep it a secret. It wasn’t fair to her, but Levi didn’t have the luxury of playing fair. “I’ll even bet a hand or two at their tables. You should play, too.”
She beamed. “I’ve been practicing. The boss says I could be as good as you someday.”
“You could even be better.”
Behind her, Chez glared. It was an empty glare, Levi thought. He suspected the truth, but he didn’t know. Like Mansi, the Irons were loyal to him. And no matter what Chez told them, no matter how bad it got, they all needed to believe in him for nine more days. He needed to believe it, too.
Nine more days, and he would fix this.
ENNE
Enne stared down an impossibly long hallway. The tiled floor, the alternating doors, and the stone columns all repeated the same pattern of black and white.
She knew she was dreaming, but she couldn’t wake up. Not until she found the right door.
She turned the knob on a white door to her left. Locked. She tried the black one beside it, and it clicked and swung open. Once she stepped across the threshold, she slipped back into her own mind from four months past...and entered a memory.
She was in a wool coat. February—she didn’t detest anything quite so much as she did February, even if it was her birthday month. She stomped through the snow. Look at her. Stomping. Ladies were supposed to glide. A girl from her class passed by in a motorcar whose two flags bore her family’s crest. Enne froze and tried to make herself appear smaller. This really was a hideous wool coat. Perhaps if she didn’t move, the girl wouldn’t see her.
The girl didn’t. But to Enne, that was almost worse.
The motorcar drove away, and Lourdes was behind it, standing beneath a streetlamp with a newspaper tucked under her arm, wearing her favorite crimson scarf. She smirked; she must’ve seen Enne stomping. Hmph. Well, Lourdes might think it was amusing, but she didn’t have her society entrance in a year. Besides, Lourdes didn’t glide, either. Her mother strode, the heels of her boots clicking rhythmically, deliberately. Not that Lourdes was a lady every day, like she had dressed this morning.
Lourdes hugged her when Enne crossed the street, and despite Enne’s worries a few moments ago, she instantly felt safer. Lourdes smelled like fresh ink, which meant she’d spent all morning writing letters to her friends in New Reynes. Honestly, Enne didn’t understand why Lourdes associated with them. Everyone knew they defined reputation by the amount of voltage one gambled away or the number of mistresses one kept.
They entered a nearby café and were instantly enveloped in the aroma of fresh bread. Lourdes and Enne shared a cheese pastry to start, as they always did when Lourdes visited on Thursdays. Lourdes ate delicately, her slender fingers easing the crust from the filling. Enne refrained from tearing at it and tried to mimic Lourdes’s easy grace.
“How are your classes?” Lourdes asked, sipping her tea. It was in that moment that Enne admired—as she had many times before—how striking her mother was. Her blond hair was as pale and thin as the threads spun from a silkworm, her features serious yet elegant, from her aquiline nose to her deep-set eyes. Enne considered her best quality to be her skin, free of freckles or blemishes of any kind, and surprisingly youthful despite her age. Lourdes had an effortless grace that Enne was convinced she’d never possess. No matter how many etiquette lessons she took, how many classes she spent walking with books upon her head—nothing in Enne’s life had ever felt effortless.
“They’re horridly dull. Algebra is illogical. My history teacher’s voice puts everyone to sleep. Madame Tensington threatens to strap a ruler to my back to keep my posture straight—”
“Breathe, Enne. You’ll impair your digestion.” Lourdes laughed. “You know, I bet algebra isn’t all that illogical.”
“It is to me. Some days, if it were not for my ten fingers, I don’t know how I’d survive.”
“Surviving with fewer than ten fingers would be taxing, indeed,” she said solemnly. Somehow, Enne still suspected she was joking.
They picked at the last pieces of the pastry, or rather, Enne did. Lourdes seemed to have lost her appetite.
“I’m leaving for New Reynes tomorrow,” she said. “I have some business there.”
What business? Enne wanted to ask, but she never did. She’d decided long ago that she didn’t want to know.
“I’ll be back before school finishes, of course.”
Enne sighed. She didn’t have many friends, so Lourdes’s business trips typically meant months of loneliness. Enne would go home every weekend to an empty house.
“Be careful while I’m gone,” Lourdes said seriously, though maybe Lourdes was the one who should have been careful. Enne had heard some appalling stories about the City of Sin. “If I’m not back in two months, I’m dead.”
Enne stiffened, even though Lourdes had given that warning before. “Don’t be so dreadful.”
Then the memory deviated from what had actually happened, and the dream took over.
“I don’t want you to go,” Enne whispered. In that moment, she was no longer the same person from last February. She was present Enne, the one who’d spent a day in New Reynes, who knew what the future held. “Please don’t go.” Her voice was stronger this time.