“What do I look like?” she asked.
Jac grinned. “Like a Sinner.”
She hmphed.
The back door to the cabaret opened at last, and Mansi poked her head out. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of Reymond. “Oh, um, Eight Fingers,” she said weakly.
“I’m a friend, little missy,” Reymond said, his voice welcoming, though Levi knew each of his eight rings contained a different type of poison, memorabilia from his days as a Dove. “We’ve come to enjoy a good show.”
Mansi looked hesitantly to Levi, who nodded, then opened the door. The four of them slipped in. He patted Mansi on the back. “This is our secret, isn’t it, kid?” he asked.
“People will stare,” she whispered. “People will recognize him.”
Mansi was right—neither Reymond Kitamura’s slimy face nor gaudy style was easy to forget. Levi preferred a more inconspicuous approach himself. In fact, he preferred almost any approach Reymond didn’t. He figured this was why Reymond had taken such a liking to him.
“He’ll behave,” Levi promised, as if he had any control over the Scar Lord.
Mansi nodded uncertainly and scampered off, back to her post in the kitchens.
Enne lingered in the hallway, clearly waiting for Levi. The music from the show grew louder, the cigarette smoke stronger, the lights brighter. But they paused briefly in the hallway’s darkness.
“What if she’s in there?” Enne asked breathlessly. It was obvious who she was talking about.
Levi had considered this, but it seemed unlikely. Lourdes wouldn’t let her daughter worry while she passed her nights at a variety show.
“She probably won’t be,” he said gently. “But this is the arts neighborhood. A lot of her associates come here.”
Enne nodded, but Levi could tell she didn’t feel much better by the way she reached out and grasped his arm. She might’ve been collecting herself, but the touch was enough to make Levi unravel. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the lights ahead, her breath hitched. Just the look of her like that made his chest knot.
She was dangerous, this missy. Barely two days of knowing her, and Levi was so fixedly intertwined with her troubles. He’d been Vianca’s prisoner for four years, and never had anyone else shared his cell. Never had anyone else understood.
He let her compose herself, even though his own heart was pounding. It was nice to feel needed, nice to provide. For the past several months, he had only taken, never given, and he couldn’t give her much, except some measure of comfort.
“We’re going to find her,” he promised. She nodded again. He wasn’t sure she was even listening, so he squeezed her shoulder. She shied away, wincing.
“Did I do something wrong?” Levi asked.
“Sorry. I’m just terribly sore,” she said, rubbing her arm.
Levi grinned. “Already had your first rehearsal? Well, you seem to be in one piece. Are you that terrible?”
She hesitated, then gave him a weak smile. “I soothed myself by imagining telling you off later.”
“Is that so?” he asked, stepping even closer to goad her. He probably deserved to be told off. He’d definitely pulled the acrobatics idea out of his ass. “Well, I’m ready. Let me have it.”
Then the music stopped, and they heard the audience clapping. Enne’s attention turned back to the show, and Levi found himself a bit disappointed. “Let’s go find the others.”
They emerged on a second-floor balcony, the show itself below them. Jac and Reymond perched at a high-top near the railing, drinks already in their hands. They hollered at Enne as she approached, real rowdy, though Levi couldn’t figure out why until he saw the stage, where a woman posed in nothing but a slinky garter set and silver tassels dangling from her nipples.
Enne went red as a cherry, and her lips formed a small O.
“I see why your mother likes it here,” Levi said.
Levi could tell from Enne’s expression that she was attempting to remain nonchalant about it all. But he still recalled their delightful experience yesterday passing Sweetie Street. She hadn’t given up her sensitivities that quickly.
“Yes, well,” Enne breathed, examining the mostly nude woman. “I imagine Lourdes probably does.”
Levi drummed his fingers against the countertop, then searched the floor below for a card table to make his own. He nudged Jac and pointed to the far corner. “That one,” he declared.
“Why that one?” Jac asked.
“Just a feeling.” Truthfully, the card dealer at the table—who wasn’t an Iron, wasn’t anyone Levi recognized—was devastatingly attractive. They were here to find Lourdes, and this was an opportunity for Levi to win some of the voltage he needed to pay back Sedric, but there was no harm in a little fun.
“Are we splitting up, then?” Enne asked, scanning the crowd below. Lourdes and her head of blond hair were nowhere to be found.
“Of course not,” Reymond said. “They are, but you can’t be wandering around a place like this all alone.” He put his arm around Enne’s shoulders, but—just as she’d done to Levi earlier—she groaned and batted him off, muttering about trapezes and bruises and handsprings.
Levi shot Reymond a questioning glance. Levi didn’t have the right to feel possessive—in fact, he would much prefer that he didn’t feel this way, would much prefer the idea of the handsome card dealer whose problems were so distant from his own—but he couldn’t imagine what interest Reymond might possibly take in Enne. While Levi leaned either way, Enne was most assuredly not Reymond’s type.
“You need a local with you, missy,” Reymond told her. “Levi will be asking around at the card tables, Jac will be keeping an eye on the floor and you and I can chat with the staff, who I’m sure see more here than anyone.”
Levi couldn’t argue with his logic, though it irked him how easily Reymond had taken the lead...even if Reymond was the one who’d suggested they survey the Sauterelle in the first place. Whereas Levi had always needed to work for his authority as a leader, being a lord came naturally to Reymond.
“Fine,” Enne said.
It also irritated him how quickly she’d agreed.
“Well, fine, then,” Levi muttered, then made for the stairwell.
Following the striptease act was a duo juggling knives. They weren’t ordinary daggers—they were hooked in a way that faintly resembled scythes. Levi studied the two girls tossing them, searching for the trick. They spun between throws, danced with blades between each of their fingers, played with the steel as though it were ribbon. It must’ve been a hoax.
But then he noticed the white hair of one of the performers. She was a Dove, a member of the most feared gang in the city. The assassins. It was no trick, then. He was surprised the Sauterelle let her perform, lest she frighten the audience. Or was the hair part of the show, too?
Levi slid into an empty seat at his selected table and put down a few volts. He was directly beside the handsome card dealer, who was very much the sort Levi liked in men. Delicate lips, rosy skin, all soft and boyish.
“I haven’t played here in ages,” Levi said casually.
“You don’t look familiar,” the dealer replied.
Levi gave him a moment, wondering if he’d recognize him after all. Half the other dealers here were Irons, and besides, Levi was famous to anyone who enjoyed Tropps. But when the handsome boy remained silent, Levi regretfully continued, his ego wounded. “I only come here on occasion. I like the arts scene. Pretty different from the university.”
The dealer nodded, showing he’d heard, though he had to pause to finish out the hand. Levi folded the first round, as he always did. It gave the impression he wasn’t an aggressive player. Gave the others a false sense of ease.
“South Side, eh? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“It doesn’t suit me.” Levi shrugged. “But I’m good with business.”