Enne pulled him through an archway. The next room smelled strongly of Mistress’s signature sweet smoke, and a few men slept on the floor. They didn’t stir as Levi and Enne dashed toward the exit.
This was too easy. They had simply let them escape. Did the Phoenix Club believe the House of Shadows to be that well protected? Or that they’d meet their fates by the end of tonight?
Enne swung open the front door, and Levi took a deep breath of fresh air and tried to push his anxieties away.
Then he tripped over the body.
He crashed down, knocking his head on the man’s shoulder with an agonizing whack. Enne landed face-first on Levi’s back. Her knee jammed painfully into his wounded leg, and he let out a long, stifled curse.
“Sorry. Sorry,” she said, scrambling up.
Levi stretched himself onto his knees, then nearly let out a scream. He was face-to-face with Shark, the man who had beaten him in the basement. Blood had pooled over the concrete step, trickling down from the bullet hole in his forehead.
“Muck.” He reached for Enne’s hand and nearly jumped to his feet. He’d accidentally laid his palm in the blood, and he hurriedly wiped away the red on his pants, feeling ill.
“I forgot he was here,” Enne murmured.
“How long has he been here?”
“Since I arrived.”
“Since you...you shot him?”
She nodded, her face grim. “Let’s go.”
Levi bent down and carefully removed his pistol from Shark’s pocket and shoved it into his own. If they were going to survive the rest of the night, they both needed protection. “Let’s go,” he breathed, reaching shakily for Enne’s arm to steady him.
Together, they raced across the front lawn and the woods adjacent to the estate’s long driveway, toward the glittering skyline of New Reynes. They could still faintly hear the ghostly music from the House of Shadows in the air.
Levi shivered. Tonight, they’d been the entertainment.
They made it to the main road and waited several moments, hoping for a carriage or motorcar to pass by so they could beg a ride. None did.
“It’s a long walk back to the city,” Enne said, her voice hitched. “They’ve probably already called the whiteboots. They’ll know we can’t have gone far.” He felt her trembling beneath him.
“We could take the Mole. No one takes the Mole,” Levi said, never so eager to ride the subway in his life. If they kept running, they’d find a station within a few minutes.
“The whiteboots will look there,” she answered. She placed a hand on her forehead, breathing deeply, trying to steady herself.
The cool nighttime wind, the agony of every step, the adrenaline of nearly dying—their reality crashed over him all at once, and Levi let out a manic laugh. “Maybe we should consult your guidebook. What does it say to do in this situation?”
Unamused, Enne grabbed his arm and yanked him down the street. He tried to keep up, but it was almost impossible to run. Standing up alone was a struggle, and the pain from his broken ribs and dislocated shoulder were enough to make him faint.
“It says we change our clothes and call Vianca,” she hissed.
“Good plan.”
They ran for a few more minutes before they reached the eastern edge of the Factory District, even beyond the realms of Scar Land. Levi couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so far from downtown. They crept down an alley between two apartment buildings. Enne pointed to a clothesline several floors above them and started toward a metal escape stairwell.
“Wait here,” she whispered, unwrapping his arm from around her shoulder.
Levi nodded, doubting he could make such a climb in his condition. He slumped onto the ground and leaned his head against the wall. The alley reeked of garbage and the odors of the Brint. Very faintly in the distance, he heard the calls of sirens. They were probably meant for them.
He was exhausted. He was beaten. He was light-headed. Even though he should’ve been focusing on their escape, his thoughts jumbled together, and he fixated on only one question.
Gabrielle Dondelair had only lasted hours. How much longer until the Phoenix Club found them?
Enne returned with several articles of clothing. She tossed him a shirt that was clearly several sizes too large. “Get dressed,” she commanded. “And turn around.”
He raised an eyebrow—they were in far too much of a rush for modesty. But still, he stood up painfully and faced the wall, hyperaware of the approaching sirens, hyperaware of Enne in some state of undress behind him. Both of these thoughts made his heart pound.
“Those look terrible,” Enne said from behind him. He realized she was looking at the swollen bruises on his back.
He shot her an annoyed look over his shoulder. Hurt as he was, he couldn’t change as fast as her. He was wearing very little. “I don’t remember giving you permission to peek.”
She flushed indignantly. “I thought you’d be done. Now hurry up. We need to find a pay phone.”
He grumbled and pulled up the too-big pants. Enne was dressed in trousers, a checkered men’s button-up and a pair of socks. Her dress and heels were discarded on the ground.
“I know that dress,” he said, managing a smirk. She’d obviously pulled it from his closet. “You wear New Reynes well.”
Her blush deepened, but after he finished dressing she propped his arm over her shoulder again. “Come on.”
They hurried out of the alley, away from the direction of the sirens. Enne pointed ahead, where a yellow phone booth stood below a streetlamp. They raced toward it.
“Do you have volts?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She rooted around her pocket, pulling out a tube of lipstick, the gun and the silk mask. All the girlie necessities, apparently.
Finally, she pulled out a small orb, bright with volts.
They slid into the phone booth. Enne held the orb up to the meter, and Levi stood behind her. There wasn’t much space, so his chest was pressed against her back. He coughed awkwardly and drummed his fingers against the metal counter, waiting for her to suggest he wait outside. She never did.
Outside, the distant sirens approached. They didn’t have much time.
“Is it safe to call the phone operator?” she asked hurriedly.
He reached over her to the number pad. “Vianca has a private line.”
After he dialed the numbers, Enne held the phone up to both their ears. He held his breath, listening to the ringing. Enne’s face was only inches from his. He stared at all the strands of hair that had fallen from her bun and now draped across the slopes of her neck and shoulders. She had goose bumps, he noticed.
“This is St. Morse Casino, Vianca Augustine’s office,” the secretary answered.
“We need a motorcar,” Enne said frantically. “At the...” She squinted at the Mole station outside. “At the Paidalle station.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s us,” Levi growled. “We need a car.”
“Oh. Oh. Yes. I’ll tell her—”
“And send another car to Luckluster Casino,” Enne told her. “There’ll be a girl there. Tall. Fair skin. Top hat. Black laced boots. She’ll be looking for us.”
“Yes. I’ll let her know.”
Enne hung up. “I hope Lola’s still there, but it’s been hours.”
“I’m sure she’s fine, even if she’s gone.” Levi held his breath. Bent over like he was, his mouth was awfully close to her neck. He cleared his throat. “We need to find somewhere to wait.” A place where there wasn’t negative space between them, and where they wouldn’t be so exposed.
Levi opened the glass door and stumbled out. They stood on a strip of sidewalk that cut down the middle of a street, forking it on either side. The shops around them were closed, metal security doors down and locked. With nowhere else to wait, they climbed down the steps of the adjacent Mole station and collapsed in a corner—close enough to the exit to still hear the sirens and faint noise of the city, but deep enough inside to remain out of sight.
Both of them panted.
“How long will we wait, do you think?” she asked.
“Maybe thirty minutes. We’re a long way from St. Morse.”