The hand ended, and to his luck, Levi was dealt an excellent new one—not that he needed one to win. But he preferred not to resort to cheating, unless he thought he might leave the den with his pockets lighter than when he’d entered.
Fifteen minutes later, Levi had won the pot. He slid the small pile of chips toward himself with satisfaction.
“You play a lot?” the dealer asked.
“On occasion.” Levi glanced over his shoulder. “It’s the crowds I like. No other place like this. All sorts come here.”
“I don’t really pay much attention,” he said blandly.
Levi realized he wasn’t likely to find either much information or fun with the dealer, so he decided to try for a different form of entertainment. He ordered himself his favorite drink, a Gambler’s Ruin, and planned to bet his entire pile on the next hand, even if his cards were mediocre. He liked playing it cocky, especially when the stakes got high. He needed to dig himself out of the rut from last night and lift his spirits.
By the time he had his drink in hand and a new music act had taken the stage, Levi was in an excellent mood. He plucked the cherry out of the bourbon and twisted the stem between his teeth as he played, trying to tie it in a knot. It was easier to focus on this than maintaining his poker face, especially when he felt so certain he would win.
Besides the handsome but disappointing dealer and himself, there were two other players at the table: a woman who was as large as two Jacs put together, and a boy who was making a point to match Levi’s every bet.
Levi held two two-of-a-kinds. Certainly the boy could’ve held something better, but it wouldn’t matter—not if he broke first.
The dealer passed out a new card. It did nothing to help Levi’s hand.
But still he bet.
The woman folded; the boy kept going. Levi sat up straighter, took another sip, added another chip. Tropps was a waiting game, one of the few where the bluff was worth more than the cards themselves. The players began with three cards but, if they played out the whole hand, ended with twelve. That rarely happened, though—players folded, players broke. Especially after the first play, seven cards in, when the players were required to turn over at least three cards.
Levi turned over his cards first, revealing the lower of his two pairs. The boy’s cards were random, mismatched of suit and number. Worthless. Yet still he bet.
Levi spit the knotted cherry stem into his glass. The night was getting interesting.
But in the end, the boy broke, as Levi knew he would. Levi pressed him up until the eleventh card, then, finally, he folded. They each showed their cards. The boy had four sixes, all hiding in his hand, while Levi had finished with a full house. Levi would’ve lost, had they reached the last trick.
It was his favorite way to win, knowing he’d been within an inch of losing.
The boy, to his credit, didn’t look irritated. He nodded at Levi with approval.
They played ten more hands. It took Levi only a few to pick out the boy’s tell. Whenever he was bluffing, his eyes drifted more often to the stage, searching for a distraction to hide his expression. He wasn’t as handsome as the dealer, but he had an interesting face. His skin was several shades darker than Levi’s, his hair black, straight and tied at the nape of his neck. He had a small tattoo of a pair of dice beneath his jaw, and he wore a smoking jacket with a gold tie.
Levi’s buzz was growing, his mood lightening, his pocket four hundred volts heavier—he was quickly forgetting why they’d come to the Sauterelle. Then he spotted Enne speaking with someone in the corner by the stage, her fur coat swallowing her small frame. He couldn’t see who was talking to her—their back was facing Levi—but it definitely wasn’t Reymond.
As he craned his neck to get a better look, Dice slid into the seat beside him.
“She’s pretty,” he commented matter-of-factly. It took Levi a moment to realize he was referring to the woman singing on the stage, not to Enne.
Levi shrugged.
Dice picked up Levi’s glass and shook it. The ice cubes rattled. “You need another drink.” He didn’t wait for Levi’s response before walking over to the bar.
Levi waited for his internal logic to remind him that mysterious boys met in cabarets were a terrible idea, and that he was here for an entirely different purpose tonight. But his logic remained quiet, subdued by the whiskey. He pocketed his chips and followed the young man to the bar.
“Do you often gamble where the other Irons work?” Dice asked Levi as he sat in the barstool beside him.
“Not usually, no,” Levi replied. He unrolled the cuffs of his shirtsleeves to conceal his tattoos, though he was secretly pleased he’d finally been recognized—even if it was in the den of one of his own clients.
“It’s your hair,” Dice said. “Orb-maker hair. Gives you away.” Levi smiled and shrugged ruefully. He’d often considered dyeing it—it wasn’t as if he used his orb-maker talent—but he couldn’t picture himself without it.
The bartender handed Levi his new drink. Levi immediately went for the cherry.
“I didn’t expect to win,” Dice said. He’d ordered a Snake Eyes for himself. It was a drink you ordered if you were stuck in a losing streak, a drink meant to bring luck. “I’d heard you were good. But I don’t usually believe what they say about people like you.”
“People like me?”
“The players. They say the city is a game, one only the reckless play.”
Levi preferred to think of himself as ambitious rather than reckless. “Hmm, who are these ‘they’?” Levi asked, thinking of Enne’s ridiculous guidebook.
“The spectators.” Dice scooted closer to Levi—awfully close—and kept his voice low. “So why are you really here, then, if not to gamble or to watch?”
The alcohol warmed him from inside out. It made everything louder and quieter at the same time. The music, the taste of the bourbon and coffee liqueur, the smell of cigarettes, the touch of Dice’s hand against his—louder. The lights, the burn of the liquor, Sedric’s voice in his mind as he delivered the Shadow Card, Levi’s own caution—quieter.
“I’m looking for someone,” he said. Up close, Dice smelled like honey and designer cologne.
“A woman?” Dice asked.
“Sometimes, but not always,” he answered. “She goes by ‘she.’ Here, they’d probably call her Séance.”
Dice nodded, tracing his thumb against Levi’s wrist in a way that made everything else fade into the background.
“Another player,” Dice mused. “Why are you looking for her?”
Nine days, whispered Sedric’s voice.
“Do you know her?” Levi asked, his voice high and hopeful. He twisted the cherry stem between his teeth.
Dice moved his hand away so he could take a sip of his drink. “What do you think about, when you’re trying to bluff?” he murmured, deftly changing the subject.
“What do you mean?” Levi asked, playing along.
“When you have the winning hand, and you know it. How do you keep your face so still?” He tapped Levi’s forehead, just above his brow bone. His finger lingered a moment too long. “And don’t say ‘nothing.’”
Levi hadn’t been going to. “I think about the beach.”
“Not many nice beaches in New Reynes, but I hear that boardwalk they’re building will be something else.”
Levi took another sip as his memories washed over him. They were too loud, enhanced by the whiskey. “There was a beach near where I grew up. I think of the sound of the gulls, the feeling of the wind on my neck, the smell of the salt.” It was a trick he’d learned, living in that house. How to be somewhere else. How to be anywhere else.
“I just kept thinking, looking at you, that you had a winning hand. You play like you’ve already won.”
“That’s the only real way to play.”
“Until you need to show your cards.”
The ragtime grew louder behind them. Dice’s honey smell: louder. Levi’s heartbeat: louder. “Do you know the person I was talking about?”