“What’s going on here, Jac?” he asked, keeping his gaze fixed on her. It wasn’t every day such pretty or strange girls showed up asking for him.
“She said you could help her contact someone. And before you say no—” Levi snapped his mouth shut, and Jac continued “—she outran two whiteboots this morning after just arriving. Not bad, eh?”
Not bad? By the looks of her, Levi would say unbelievable. What could she have done to anger the whiteboots? Curtsy the wrong way?
“Who is she?” he asked.
“I’m right here,” she said haughtily. “You might as well ask me.”
“Exactly,” Levi snapped. “But I didn’t. Which means I didn’t want to.”
That shut her up.
“She’s from Bellamy,” Jac explained. Bellamy was one of the Republic’s territories, a mostly self-regulated island that paid taxes to the wigheads. It had a reputation for being twenty years backward, which explained her conservative clothes. “Bit of a snob, really.”
She cleared her throat with a sharp ahem.
The only person Levi knew from Bellamy was Lourdes Alfero, but he hadn’t thought about her in years. She was one of those “anonymous” journalists who wrote for the monarchist papers. Though the Mizers were all dead, the monarchists kept lobbying for a reinstatement of the old kingdoms and the crowning of new families to rule them. The monarchists were the only ones in opposition to the First Party, the core political party of the Republic.
Levi owed Lourdes Alfero a big favor, but that was from four years ago. He’d always assumed she’d gotten herself killed—all the monarchists did eventually.
“Are you quite certain this is Mr. Glaisyer?” the missy asked Jac.
“Think carefully,” Levi said, winking at him. “Better be sure.”
Jac plopped on the couch, and the girl tried to subtly scoot away from him. He made a show of throwing his hands up in the air. “You meant the other Levi Glaisyer. Terribly sorry, missy. But dont’cha worry, the other Levi Glaisyer is a real nice fellow. Nothing like this guy.”
Levi tossed his jacket and hat on the coffee table. “He’s a bank teller. Three kids. Nice house on the South Side. Not even a splotch on his criminal record. Instead, you’ve got me. Best card dealer in the city. The Iron Lord.” Chez rolled his eyes. “Though I like to call myself a businessman more than, well, a con man.” He claimed the seat on her other side.
“There’s no other Levi Glaisyer,” she whispered, her lip quivering.
“Jac, you didn’t tell me she was a smart one.”
“Then...there must be some mistake,” she stammered. To her credit, she managed to keep her chin snobbishly high. Maybe Levi wasn’t the only one here with some bravado.
“Why else would such a fine Bellamy lady like yourself be looking for someone like me in the City of Sin, if not by mistake?” By her large purse, well-made clothing and leather pointed-toe heels, Levi bet she carried some decent voltage. “How about you give us your purse and we forget this ever happened? Maybe I’m not the other Levi Glaisyer, but I’m still a generous man.”
“No,” she said. Her voice cracked, and he couldn’t tell if the word was a plea or a refusal.
“Might want to repeat that,” Levi warned. “I don’t think I heard you right.” Chez walked up beside him, flipping his knife between his hands so fast the blade was a blur of silver.
She shrank away and choked a bit, like she was trying to keep from crying, holding her hand over her mouth and shaking all over. Muck. He hated when missies cried.
Unmoved, Chez ripped her purse from her hands and threw it to Mansi, who caught it as nimbly as in one of her card tricks. Half the contents fell out—a passport, a few loose buttons, several cookies and a folded piece of paper. Smirking at the mess, Levi picked up the last item. It was a letter with fancy, precise handwriting:
Dearest,
I hate to think of the worry I’ve caused you. I am well and missing you. Although I have encountered a little trouble that has delayed my return, I plan to leave in a few days. By the time this letter reaches you, I’ll be eagerly sailing home.
If a storm were to further delay my return or another unforeseen circumstance occurs, you can speak to Mr. Levi Glaisyer, a friend of mine who lives in New Reynes. He will be glad to help you.
With much love,
Lourdes
Levi’s stomach knotted. Lourdes. He knew that name.
Chez peered over Levi’s shoulder blankly. “What’s it say?”
Levi didn’t respond. The girl watched him with wide, puffy brown eyes, hugging her arms to herself.
He pointed to the letter. “By ‘Lourdes,’ I’m guessing this is...”
She shook her head indignantly and reached to snatch the letter from him. He moved it away from her reach.
“Relax, missy. It’s just a question. Do you know Lourdes Alfero or not?”
She took a deep breath to compose herself and wiped away the tearstains on her cheek. “I do. That’s why I’m here.”
Jac stiffened with recognition and met Levi’s eyes. His expression seemed to prod, This changes things, right?
Levi looked away. Of course it changed things. His best friend had a low opinion of Levi’s conscience. Levi owed a debt to Lourdes—at the very least, he’d hear the missy out.
“Would you three leave me and Miss...” He paused and looked at her.
“Miss Salta. But you may call me Enne.” Despite still tearing up, her voice remained controlled and steady. She spoke more formally than the managers at St. Morse did when addressing their rich patrons, but her jaw was locked, her fists clenched. She wouldn’t forgive him so easily for trying to cheat her—not that Levi cared what she thought of him. He wasn’t trying to be a gentleman; he was trying to pay his debts.
“Could you leave me and Enne alone for a few minutes? Leave her purse.”
Chez’s jaw dropped, but Jac put his hand on his shoulder and steered him away. Mansi tossed the purse on the table before they all left through the back door.
When Levi was certain they were alone, he asked, “How do you know Alfero?”
“Lourdes is my mother. I traveled here because I need you to find her.”
I take it, after writing this letter, Levi thought, Alfero never did make it home. He was liking this day less and less, and it was barely eleven in the morning. “You came a long way, and this place isn’t much like Bellamy.”
“No, it’s not,” she said flatly. “But the reputation of New Reynes is the least of my worries.”
That was her first mistake.
If she’d known anything about her mother, she wouldn’t have gone within a hundred feet of whiteboots, much less actually approach them.
Which meant Levi had the unfortunate job of telling her that her mother was almost certainly dead.
He studied her. If she didn’t share Alfero’s blood name, she must’ve been her split daughter, with a blood talent inherited from her father. Enne Alfero Salta. From what he remembered of Alfero—a devoted journalist, a staunch progressive and a profound political mind—Levi couldn’t picture her walking out with someone with a dancing talent. She’d seemed too serious for that. Nor did he recall her being particularly interested in men. It’d been four years ago, but Levi still remembered the determined fury in her eyes. The Republic had wronged her in a way she could never forgive.
Whatever her cause had been, Levi wondered, was it worth dying for? Worth leaving behind a daughter for?
He doubted it. Nothing was worth that price.
She cleared her throat. “Tell me, Mr. Glaisyer—”
“Call me Levi.”
“Tell me, Levi, why would the whiteboots be so interested in my mother?” She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a bronze coin, which she squeezed the way gamblers squeezed dice before they tossed them. Like a prayer.