“But we should wait for the boys,” Lola said. “The Street of the Holy Tombs is deeper into Olde Town. We might not be safe if we ran into any Irons.”
Enne had faced Dove Land unscathed—certainly she could manage the same in Olde Town. But truthfully, even if Lola had proved helpful today, Levi’s presence would be a comfort. His absence today already had her worried.
“Tomorrow morning, then,” Enne suggested.
“But I have Guild meetings tomorrow.” Lola sounded almost let down about it. “Do you think Lourdes will be there?”
Enne stilled. She didn’t want to consider that she might actually find her mother tomorrow—her chest was already weary from carrying all this repeated hope and disappointment.
“I don’t know,” Enne answered quietly.
She and Lola walked back outside. They leaned against the pedestal of one of the statues. The plaque with the Mizer’s name on it had been shattered beyond legibility, and Enne ran her fingers over the cracks, thinking about the cracks within herself.
“If nothing turns up,” Lola said, “I was thinking we could go to Scrap Market. They have old newspapers there. Ones Lourdes probably wrote for.”
Enne nodded, trying not to focus on the words if nothing turns up. Something would. At some point, the trail needed to lead somewhere.
“That sounds good,” she answered.
Lola pulled her harmonica out of her pocket. “I’ve always liked puzzles.”
Enne almost snapped that her life wasn’t a puzzle, wasn’t some game, but there was no point in angering the blood gazer. Enne preferred this Lola to the one who’d wanted her dead.
Lola blew out an eerie, low note: appropriate for a garden full of hooded statues. While she played, Enne mentally recited Lourdes’s rules to herself to release all the pressure in her heart. Those feelings of power and confidence she’d gained from New Reynes felt like a dream, in this moment, caught between another dead end and another lead.
She rubbed her lipstick off on the back of her hand. Maybe it didn’t suit her after all.
LEVI
It was the end of Levi’s Saturday night shift. He was dressed in an emerald St. Morse suit, complete with silver cuff links and sapphire velvet tie. The moment he left the Tropps Room to begin his break, he slipped the jacket off and draped it over his shoulder. He hated to wear Vianca’s clothes any longer than he had to, and it felt especially wrong to be in his uniform, pretending everything else was fine.
He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up his forearms, exposing the matching ace and spade tattoos.
Vianca’s woman had brought makeup to cover the impressive shiner on his left eye, but the tone was too pale, and it left him looking even more sickly than he felt. He should consider himself lucky to be walking—limping, really—only several hours after waking up. One broken rib, the doctor had said. A concussion. A minor stab wound that would leave him with a permanent scar.
And a lethal blow to his pride. He still had his tattoos, but without the Irons, he didn’t know who he was anymore. He was Levi Glaisyer, but that was the name his father had given him. The Iron Lord was the one he’d fashioned for himself.
He was surprised Chez hadn’t come back to finish the job. Typically, an oath broke when someone died during the duel or if the lord relinquished their claim on their vassal. If Jac hadn’t fought off Chez, Levi would be at the bottom of the Brint right now. But he wasn’t dead, so the oath was still—at least partially—intact.
Regardless, Chez was probably marching around Olde Town calling himself the new Iron Lord. The thought of it made Levi feel worse than all the injuries combined. He’d been humiliated, betrayed and beaten; dying might’ve been a more merciful fate.
To make matters worse, Chez had stolen the five hundred volts he’d already been planning to give to the Irons. Ungrateful bastard.
Levi hadn’t seen Enne since last night, and he had no idea if she knew what had happened, or if she had ever hunted down that bank. The thought of her seeing him like this was more than a little embarrassing, but she would soon find out one way or another—and besides, he wanted to catch the last half of her show.
Not needing to pay for tickets while wearing his St. Morse uniform, Levi strolled into the theater. It was dark—intermission must’ve just ended. He stood in the back rather than squeeze into an empty seat in the middle of a row. A dozen burlesque dancers onstage performed some kind of interpretive theater, pointing and running as a group of acrobatic birds swooped down and clawed at their heads. He spotted Enne immediately. She was dressed in black, with droopy wings that spread apart as she swung. It was obvious from only a few minutes of performing that she was one of the more talented acrobats on the stage, despite her minor role in the show. The Dondelairs were from the highest tier of acrobatics families, just as the Glaisyers were the most respected of orb-makers.
The orchestra hit a crescendo.
Crack! The “sky” broke open, and glitter rained over the performers. Lights flashed. One of the male dancers brandished a golden sword and pointed it toward the birds, but as soon as he gained his balance, one of the birds on the lowest trapeze kicked the sword from his hands. It clattered across the stage and stopped beside one of the smaller dancers. The young man grabbed it, and the moment he did, the glitter stopped falling and light poured in from above.
There was a final dance number, but the acrobats were gone. Seemed like a pretty useless story to Levi, but he didn’t know much about art.
The bows began, and the acrobats took the stage as a group. Enne smiled and curtsied with the rest of them, and Levi couldn’t take his eyes off her. Very briefly, Enne’s gaze found his, even from all the way on the stage. She smiled wider. Levi decided the whole show had been worth it just for that.
He left soon after, and a crowd of women in flowing satin gowns and men drowned in cologne exited behind him. Levi eyed a vase of orchids on the concierge’s counter. People gave performers flowers, right? But he decided against it—he already had a stolen box of cookies wedged awkwardly in his pocket—and turned down one of the small hallways that led backstage.
It was empty. When he reached a door labeled Dressing Room, Levi stopped and leaned against the wall. Enne was probably changing. He didn’t mind waiting a few minutes.
A little while later, another performer popped out and startled at seeing Levi there, looking as ill as he did. Her eyes ran over his St. Morse uniform with suspicion. Levi might’ve been well-known in the casino, but he wasn’t so recognizable outside of the Tropps Room, especially by those who didn’t pay attention to the city’s most notable dealers.
He self-consciously adjusted his tie and wiped at the concealer on his eye. Maybe coming to see Enne was a bad idea, but it seemed silly to turn back now.
Levi cleared his throat. “I’m looking for Enne.”
The girl nodded and disappeared. Enne stepped out a moment later, still in her costume, but without her wings or feathered skirt. Heavy black stage lashes covered her eyes, and her cheeks were extra pink. Despite the fact that she looked a bit ridiculous, Levi couldn’t help but stare at the way the lacy leotard hugged her waist and the makeup accentuated the pout of her Cupid’s bow.
“You look nice,” he managed.
She looked at him closely and gasped. “What happened to you? Are you all right?” She lifted a hand toward his face, rubbed the skin under his eye and inspected the purple bruise with concern.
Under different circumstances, Levi would’ve been happy to submit to her touch. But he could already see the unease in her eyes. He swatted her hand away and smiled, a bit too widely. “I’m fine.”
“You look terrible.”
“Really? I feel great.”
She crossed her arms. “Are you really not going to tell me what happened?”
“I... I had a bit of an argument with Chez.”
“Looks like he won.”
He winced. “Take it easy on me.”