There were footsteps on the stairs of the station.
Levi and Enne immediately stood up and backed into the corner. Enne pressed against him as they each pointed their guns at the mouth of the stairwell. Levi bit his lip to silence his breathing. He could feel Enne shaking. She reached for his hand, and he squeezed it.
“Together,” he whispered.
The woman who appeared, however, wasn’t a whiteboot. She also brandished a gun, but she relaxed once she saw them. “You’re here.” She was dressed like one of Vianca’s typical gangsters—a fedora hat and a tight, pin-striped dress. “We need to hurry. The whiteboots are already at St. Morse.”
Relief washed over him—they wouldn’t die, not here, not yet. Levi slid away from Enne and lowered his gun. He took a shaky step toward their savior.
“Then where do we go?” he asked.
“Oh, we’re going to the casino. We’re just not walking through the front doors.”
ENNE
Enne had never been so grateful to step out of a motorcar. She and Levi had spent the entire thirty-minute ride crouched in the back seat beneath blankets, jostling painfully each time they’d skidded around a turn, holding their breaths each time a siren passed.
They were parked in front of a den called The Palace, but the majesty of the den began and ended with its name. It was a tall, narrow building wedged between a casino and an apartment complex off Tropps Street. The P and the c of its neon sign flickered cheaply. The exterior reminded Enne of a pastry shop: all swirls and pastels and glitter.
“Is this Sweetie Street?” Enne asked.
“No,” their driver answered. “We’re only a block from St. Morse.”
Their driver quickly led them inside the den, a firm hand on both their shoulders. Despite the late hour, The Palace was empty, but the air still reeked of smoke and the overwhelming smell of orchids. They walked around cushions and through sheer curtains to the staff room in the back. Enne tried to figure out exactly what type of New Reynes entertainment was offered here. Potentially all of them.
Their trek was long and winding—appropriate for two criminals running from the law. Down the steps. Across the basement. Through a trapdoor. Into a tunnel that stank of sewage. Enne shivered. They were in the bowels of the city.
“This leads directly to St. Morse,” the woman explained. “We’ll take the private elevator to Vianca’s suite.”
The hair on Enne’s neck rose at the thought of visiting Vianca’s personal residence. Enne whispered to Levi, “Have you been there?”
“No,” he said grimly. “I’ve not yet had that misfortune.”
“What do you think she’ll do with you? It’s not as though you can deal cards anymore.” Unlike Enne, the Phoenix Club knew exactly who Levi was—and where to find him.
“I’m not leaving New Reynes,” he said firmly. “Vianca would miss me too much.” He elbowed her in the side. “You would, too, right? After all, we’re partners in crime now.”
She smirked to conceal her embarrassment. She had a thousand reasons for not wanting Levi to leave the city, the chief one being the way he was looking at her right now. Like it was just her and him and no one else.
They reached the elevator at the end of the tunnel. The woman ushered them inside but didn’t follow. The lights flickered, and the elevator rose with a jerk.
Enne’s stomach clenched. They were about to enter the donna’s true lair.
She reached for Levi’s hand, seeking courage and comfort. At first, he tensed, then he laced his fingers with hers, sending a nervous spark across her fingertips.
“What do we tell her about the Game?” he asked hoarsely. “I’m sure her little spies have told her all about what happened in the House of Shadows. She’ll know you were there.”
“We tell her that you played.” It was safer for Vianca to assume that Levi had won the Game. Vianca knew Levi’s card abilities—she’d believe that story. If she knew Enne had played and cheated the Game, she’d grow suspicious as to why.
“And if she knows otherwise?” Levi asked, squeezing her hand in warning.
“How could she? She had spies in that room?”
“I’m not sure what the Phoenix Club has told others.”
Enne pressed her free hand to her heart and felt its pounding. “I don’t have any other ideas.” Her voice hitched in panic. Vianca couldn’t know the truth. They needed more time. They needed a better lie.
Levi wrapped his arms around her and hugged her reassuringly. She let herself lean into him. She let herself sigh. It’d been a long night.
“We’ve faced scarier things than her,” he said.
“I know.”
Just as in the phone booth, she was hyperaware of him behind her, how his chest felt pressed against her back, warm and steadying. It would be easy to turn around. To slide a hand behind his neck. To pull his lips to hers. She held her breath, certain Levi could feel the racing of her pulse, could hear the desire in her thoughts.
Then the elevator doors opened, and Levi and Enne sprang apart.
Vianca was perched on an armchair in a sitting room, her snake eyes leering at them curiously. “Well, wasn’t that a picture.” She set down her teacup on the end table. “I found this one in your apartment, Levi. Lucky I found him before the whiteboots did.” She nodded at Jac across the room, who was several shades of green from being so close to Vianca. He looked like he’d just found the monster beneath his bed. “I also fetched that girl you requested.” Lola sat beside Jac. She fiddled anxiously with her harmonica in her lap.
“It’s been quite a night, hasn’t it?” Vianca frowned, scanning Levi. “You’ve looked better, dear.”
“I’ve felt better,” he croaked.
Vianca stood and wiggled a bony, ring-covered finger at Enne. “You first, Miss Salta. You and I need to have a little chat.”
Even something called a “little chat” with Vianca sounded dangerous. Enne gave the other three a parting, desperate glance before following Vianca into the next room. Levi nodded at her reassuringly, reminding her once again that they had faced worse this night.
Don’t let them see your fear.
Never allow yourself to be lost.
Trust no one unless you must.
Two days ago, Enne had been certain that she was broken beyond repair, yet still her mother’s words held their familiar power, winding Enne back together.
Just not all the way back, she thought as Vianca closed the door behind them. The ache of missing Lourdes and her old life would never leave her. All she could do was keep surviving, keep playing. In ways that were both better and worse, Enne wasn’t the same girl who’d arrived, lost and alone, in the City of Sin.
“Séance,” Vianca said with a hiss. “A rather interesting choice of name.”
They were in what appeared to be Vianca’s parlor. Like the rest of St. Morse, it was furnished in her typical dark, antique fashion—cheap luxury that bordered on gaudy. Each upholstery had a different sort of print. Dozens of glass gemstones dangled from the chandelier above the couch, a piece of costume jewelry set out as decoration. On the largest wall of the room, there was a portrait of what Enne imagined must’ve been Vianca’s family: Vianca, years younger, though clearly recognizable; a man who didn’t smile; and a boy with a princely grin.
“I would never have guessed it. I mean, look at you,” Vianca said, gesturing at Enne’s body. “I imagined you easily discarded.”
Enne was still frozen by the door. She shouldn’t be this paralyzed by Vianca, not when she’d already slain one monster tonight. But fear didn’t need to be logical to be felt.
“Don’t just stand there like a wallflower,” Vianca snapped. “Take a seat.” She patted the spot beside her.
“Yes, Madame.” Enne sat as far away from Vianca as she could without looking rude.
“So polite. I wish Levi spoke to me that way.” Vianca’s eyes narrowed as she inspected Enne’s face. “You look different.”