The Shadow Game series

Levi was struck speechless.

“I realize, with the headlines, you’re in a tough spot,” Harrison added, “so if you do agree to help me, I’m willing to leverage my own assets to ensure you won’t need to worry about the bounty.”

It was too good to be true—of course it was. And Harrison had expectations Levi would certainly fail to meet.

But even with his heart racing in warning, all Levi asked was, “How?”

“I know the whiteboot captain,” Harrison answered, his voice slick as a businessman’s, even as they discussed murder and war. “He can be convinced to ignore Iron Territory, if given enough voltage. I’ll purchase local property to make it seem like my interests in Olde Town are purely financial. It should provide you some safety. But while I pay him off, you’ll still need to do your own work increasing your personal protection. You might be safe from the whiteboots, but you’ll be vulnerable to betrayal. I hear you know a thing or two about that.”

Harrison Augustine hears a lot of things.

He was referring to Chez Phillips, Levi’s previous third in the Irons. A few days ago, Chez had turned the Irons against Levi and challenged him for lordship—nearly killing him. In the end, Levi had overpowered him, but he’d gone further than he’d meant to. Chez would bear those scars for life, and he’d never be back.

If Harrison knew about Chez, then he knew Levi’s friends were few. Yet still he saw potential in him.

It made Levi want to prove him right.

Harrison rolled down the window to let out the smoke building in the back seat. The noise of sirens filled the car, but Levi stayed focused on Harrison’s words. “Visit the Catacombs. Ask for Narinder Basra. He’s on the Street of the Holy Tombs in Olde Town, and he’s well connected. He’ll find you a replacement for your third. Maybe even a new reputation.”

Hesitance pinched the back of Levi’s mind. This was too simple. If Harrison was offering him the world, then what would Levi need to sacrifice in return?

“You’ve thought of everything. This would solve all my problems,” Levi conceded. “So what would you have me do for you?”

“I’m nervous that any violence between the North and South Sides will only fuel the monarchist cause. They believe the First Party has taken advantage of the system to keep themselves in power, to keep the North Side weak. I’m not sure either of us can stop the conflict from escalating, but what I need is information. You were friends with Eight Fingers—become friends with the other lords. I need to know about everyone who matters in the North Side. I want to know the plans before they happen.”

Though it was true Levi had been friends with Reymond—Eight Fingers, the previous lord of the Scarhands—he had no reason to be friends with the other lords. Despite what The Crimes & The Times reported, Levi barely was a lord anymore. And if he was going to cultivate any relationship or influence with them, at the very least he needed to have the Irons back. The Irons might have betrayed him, but they were the slickest, most cunning tricksters in the city, and Levi had spent years scouting his gangsters and building their clientele. He wouldn’t turn his back on them yet. But regaining their trust would mean taking deadly risks, rising up when he should be lying low. Even with the protection Harrison offered, it was a dangerous gamble.

It was lucky for Harrison that what Levi wanted, more than anything, was to have the Irons back.

Lucky for Harrison that Levi was a gambling man.

“That could be arranged,” Levi said. Even as he tried to keep his voice steady and professional, his own excitement betrayed him. This was truly an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Harrison smiled. “I like your confidence.”

“It won’t be easy,” Levi admitted. “But it can be done.”

“There’s one job in particular, though, that my entire plan absolutely hinges upon. What Sedric Torren was providing that I cannot,” Harrison continued, and Levi leaned closer. “The gangs might have monopolies on certain crimes, but the Augustine and Torren Families control almost the entirety of the North Side. If they don’t directly employ someone, they own their building. They provided them a loan. They did them a favor. With the monarchist support growing, the votes that Sedric would have provided for the First Party are pivotal to the whole election. Without them, as things stand now, I would lose by a landslide.”

Levi’s eyes widened. He always thought the monarchists were a radical minority. He had no idea they wielded that much power. Maybe he should’ve paid more attention to Vianca’s political lectures.

“It seems Chancellor Fenice should’ve just tapped Sedric’s Family successor, then, rather than you,” Levi said.

“That’s true, but the Torren Family is likely to be without a don for a long time—maybe months. Neither Charles nor Delia—Sedric’s cousins, brother and sister and equally bloodthirsty—will relinquish their claim without a fight. I could help one of them win, but I can’t ensure it. So I need to know who to sponsor. I need the next don of the Family to be in my debt, otherwise my election and your freedom are off the table.”

“You’re asking me to call the winner,” Levi said slowly. “I don’t have the means to do that. I still owe the Torren Family ten thousand volts that I have no intention or ability to repay. I can’t give you more than fifty-fifty odds.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be you. You’ll send someone inside the Torren empire, someone you trust.”

Levi could count the number of people he trusted on two fingers: Enne and Jac. Vianca was certainly already concocting her own plans for Enne as Séance.

Which left Jac.

Levi’s stomach churned. There was no way he could send his best friend, barely two years clean, into the very narcotics empire that had nearly destroyed him.

Levi couldn’t manage even a smile of false confidence. “Surely you have someone you trust?”

“I don’t want this traced back to me,” Harrison answered. “The monarchists—somewhat correctly—believe the First Party is corrupt. The other advantage I offer as a candidate is my blank slate. I might be able to bribe some whiteboots for what appear to be business ventures, but I can’t be caught rigging power struggles in crime Families or making deals with the person who killed the Chancellor, can I?” His smile looked uncomfortably wide.

Levi took a deep breath and swallowed his nausea. He knew what Jac would say, of course. That Harrison was too great of an opportunity to lose. That Levi always had too little faith in him. That Jac was ready for it.

Levi wasn’t so sure.

“These are my terms,” Harrison told him. “Will you accept?”

“Can I think on it?” Even if this opportunity meant everything and then some to Levi, it meant asking a lot of Jac—Levi needed to speak to him first.

“There’s no time for that. I have campaign strategy meetings in a few hours. I need your decision now.”

The car was coming to a stop. Harrison flicked what remained of his cigar out the window.

What Harrison was offering Levi was invaluable. A chance to escape Vianca. A level of protection while Levi built his empire. An opportunity to ally with power instead of merely playing with it.

Harrison was offering Levi his destiny.

But it meant throwing Jac into an assignment that could set him back years—or worse. It meant lying to Vianca for however long it took Harrison to carry out his plans. Those were dangerous risks. Levi preferred gambling with volts—not his best friend’s life, not his own.

Harrison peeked out the crack in the window. “You don’t have much time. The whiteboots are all over Olde Town.” His lips curled into a smile. “But give me the word and a few hours. They’ll be gone before this evening.”

Everything Levi had ever dreamed of versus throwing Jac into a dangerous assignment. He knew exactly what he wanted, of course: to play the game. He wanted it so badly he ached.

A relapse would be Jac’s fault, not Levi’s, but that didn’t mean Levi wouldn’t blame himself if it happened.

He knew he wasn’t being fair to Jac. If his friend were here, he’d be furious that Levi thought so little of him. Jac would tell him to worry about making them rich, and Jac would worry about himself.

Jac would tell him to take the offer.

At least he hoped that was the case, and not just his own selfishness swaying him.

“I accept,” Levi said, nearly choking on the words.

Harrison opened the door for him and handed him a business card. The only thing written on it was a phone number. “Contact me when you have something.”

Levi nodded, adjusted his felt homburg hat, and painfully climbed out of the car. Outside, the Street of the Holy Tombs was a grim lane of gothic cathedrals, sharpened spires, and ghostly remnants of the Faith. They’d traveled to the quiet eastern quarter of Olde Town, the most historic neighborhood of the city, where even the shadows were prickly, and where darkness reigned over the day.

It was home.

“I’m glad we met, Levi,” Harrison said. With that, he closed the door and the car sped off.

Collar popped, hat shielding his face, Levi ducked into Zula’s quaint shop front of Her Forgotten Histories, humming a ragtime tune and drowning out his nerves. He’d made his decision, and whatever dangers he faced as a result, from this moment on, his life was changed.

Yesterday he was Levi Glaisyer, a card dealer famous in niche circles.

Today he was Levi Glaisyer, accomplice in the greatest political assassination since the Revolution, survivor of a notorious execution game, and ally with a soon-to-be powerful force on the South Side.

Yesterday he was vulnerable. Today he would become untouchable.

His destiny was upon him.

ENNE

In her dream, she wore a gown. The sleeves were sheer, the color of meringue cream, and as delicate as moth wings. A lilac ribbon cinched her waist and fluttered down her skirts, lost amid the scalloped tiers and cascading chiffon ruffles. As she descended the grand staircase, the others in the hall watched her join them with approving smiles, and the chandeliers of Bellamy had never glowed so brightly.

Enne Salta woke with a gun tucked beneath her pillow, her Tokens clutched in her fist, and volts humming in her blood.

For a sweet moment, Enne lingered in the dream and forgot the events of the past ten days. Forgot that she’d abandoned all she knew to find her mother, Lourdes, in the City of Sin. That she was trapped within an unbreakable oath to a despicable Mafia donna. That she’d killed two men. That her mother was dead. That her old life—the life of that dream—was gone, and her innocence and identity along with it.

Then she rolled over to see Lola Sanguick—reluctant criminal, blood gazer for the Orphan Guild, and collector of pointy objects—drooling on the other pillow, and Enne’s reveries vanished. Lola looked just as unnerving asleep as she did awake, her white hair tangled and greasy, her canines bared, her arms resting at her sides like a corpse. If you asked Lola, she was Enne’s second. If you asked Enne, she was her friend.

Across the room, Jac Mardlin loomed in the bedroom doorway. Whether consciously or not, he always stood like a soldier—shoulders back, expression serious, fists clenched and braced for battle. Every inch of his upper body was covered in intricate tattoos—all black, except for the red J on the underside of his right arm, and the matching diamond on the left. Like Lola, he was intimidating at first glance—until his single dimple betrayed his stern exterior, or until he opened his mouth...to say anything at all, really.

Enne scrambled to cover herself. She was wearing only a nightdress. “Barging into a lady’s bedroom, are you?”

Jac cocked an eyebrow. “Is that how you’re going to refer to yourself? As a street lady?”

Admittedly, it did sound like a more fitting title to Enne than street lord.

“Where’s Levi?” she asked. Last night, she and Levi had returned to St. Morse in the hour after sunrise, and all four of them had slept through the morning in her apartment.

“He already left,” Jac answered.

Enne fought off a troublesome pinch of disappointment. Thinking about Levi brought back a rush of painful memories from the Shadow Game. The panic that had washed over her when she’d first glimpsed the House of Shadows. How dreadful Levi had looked as she gambled for his life. The surge of power she’d felt as she fired the gun and the Shadow Game’s timer shattered into a hundred pieces.

By now, the news of what had happened in the House of Shadows had surely traveled across the city. Although Enne’s true identity was unknown, Levi’s wasn’t. She hoped he’d left St. Morse without trouble. She didn’t even know when they’d next see each other. Levi had become something like a lifeline for her since she’d arrived in New Reynes, and he’d always been merely an elevator ride away.

She caught herself. Her emotions were stormy and twisted in her stomach, as they lately were whenever she thought about Levi. But she wasn’t a fool; Levi was being hunted by the law, and due to her Mizer heritage and persona as Séance, she was only one mistake away from exposure and execution. Romance was hardly worth that risk.

“I’m gonna meet him in a few hours,” Jac told her. He walked to the window on the far side of the room and peeked out the curtain. There was a faint sounding of sirens. “Listen to this. It hasn’t stopped for a second—not all night. I’m surprised Levi slept at all.”

“Did you?” Enne asked.

He ran his fingers nervously through his dull blond hair. He was already fair, but right now he looked especially pale. “I never sleep well.”

Enne’s hand trembled as she squeezed her two Tokens. The pair of coins were similar in many ways: both brass, both old, both depicting a cameo of a Mizer—a member of the families who had once ruled the world’s many kingdoms, until revolutionaries overthrew their thrones and killed every Mizer left alive. The smaller coin—the queen’s Token—was a gift from Lourdes, a trinket Enne always kept with her to remind her of her mother. Lola was the one who’d recognized the uneven ridge patterns on its side as a key, and together, they’d opened up Lourdes’ secret bank account, where an impossible fortune had once been stored.

By the time they got there, it was nearly empty. One of the objects that remained was the king’s Token, larger and purely a coin. Although the metal always hummed with an inexplicable warmth, last night, the king’s eye had turned purple. But only Enne could see that.

Likely because she’d awakened her dormant Mizer blood talent during the Shadow Game. Even now, she could feel the volts, warm and buzzing within her skin—faint, but there. Maybe the color of the king’s eyes was something only a Mizer could see.

Or maybe she was simply going shatz. The City of Sin had changed Enne in many ways, but she was far too practical to start thinking like a superstitious Faithful.

She closed her eyes and squeezed the coins again, tuning out the sirens searching for her and Levi. The more she listened to them, the more she could hear something else in their sounds—a phantom tick, tick, tick, like the timer from the Shadow Game. She could still picture the gray, unfeeling faces of the other players from the Phoenix Club. It haunted her that somewhere in New Reynes, they went about their own lives, despite how they had tried to end hers.

Lourdes was dead at their hands, and Enne’s birth mother had suffered the same fate.

Yet still the perpetrators lived.

Before Enne’s thoughts could continue down this unsettling path, Jac choked out, “They won’t stop looking for Levi.” He looked up through the space between the curtains, as if searching for gathering storm clouds in a clear sky.

His words did nothing to calm her nerves. The tick, tick, tick grew louder. She shot an anxious glance at her night table to assure herself the clockwork timer wasn’t actually beside her. Her free hand instinctively felt for the gun underneath her pillow.

She’d destroyed the timer once. She’d escaped.

She could do it again.

Lola stirred and pulled the blankets over her head. “Sounds like doom.”

“You could see doom in the burn markings on your toast,” Enne snapped. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with Lola’s constant pessimism.

Lola clicked her tongue and rolled over, her back to both of them.

Enne carefully set both the Tokens and her revolver on the nightstand before standing up. Once she did, she realized how tired she was—tired all the way down to her bones. The stains on her bedsheets betrayed how terribly she’d slept the past few nights; they were gray from sweat and grief-stricken tears.

Three days ago, Enne had learned that her mother was dead. And despite all that had happened, and all the mystery still clouding Lourdes’ double life, three days was hardly enough time to mourn.

Especially when there were other emotions layered within her grief, complicating it, twisting it. There was the frustration at never truly knowing Lourdes. Guilt that Enne had unwittingly foiled her mother’s efforts to protect her. Hurt that Lourdes had used her talents to keep Enne isolated her entire life.

Even worse than realizing she’d been wrong about Lourdes was realizing she’d been wrong about herself. Talents were more than simply abilities—they were a part of a person’s identity. Every person possessed two. The stronger one was called the blood talent, and the weaker one, the split talent. All of Enne’s life, she’d believed she was a Salta, that she came from a common, mundane dancing family. In Bellamy, she’d struggled and wept trying to keep up with the illustrious dancing talents of her classmates. That was who she had been—the person always reaching for next to last. The person never truly belonging. The person who couldn’t help but fail.

Because Lourdes had let her believe it.

It would take a long time to untangle those emotions. For now, all she understood was how deeply she missed her mother.

“Vianca will want to see you,” Jac said warily, once again interrupting Enne’s thoughts. He was right—last night, Vianca had instructed Enne to find her as soon as she woke up.

I have excellent plans for you, my dear, Vianca had purred.

An acidic mixture of fear and hatred rose in her throat when she thought about Vianca. Whatever Vianca had planned for her, it had little to do with Enne’s well-being and all to do with the donna’s games with her enemies across the city. Enne’s only value was her usefulness. Even though Vianca couldn’t remove her omerta even if she wanted to, there were other ways to dispose of Enne...if Enne no longer impressed.

Enne refused to let that happen. She’d lost too much to the City of Sin to lose her life, as well. No matter what it took, she would survive this city.

She rose, pushing her concerns away. “I’ll go see Vianca now. Both of you, wait here until I come back.”

“I didn’t realize I was taking orders from you now, missy,” Jac said, smirking.

Enne didn’t rise to his provocation. “It’s past noon. Vianca will have news about what’s happened while we slept. You shouldn’t go outside unaware.”

“And what will we do while we wait?” Lola asked, yanking the blankets from her face. “Play cards?”

“You look like a sore loser, Dove,” Jac teased.

“I don’t gamble away my voltage.”

He shot her a sly smile. “Oh, there’s more you can bet than volts.”

Lola sat up, her expression unamused. “I’ve killed men twice as big as you.”

Enne knew better than to believe her. Lola was all talk, like when she’d claimed she could drive and then nearly flipped their hot-wired motorcar, or when she’d threatened Enne’s life but could barely hold her own ground under attack. Jac would best her within seconds in a fight.

But still, her glare cut sharper than any of her knives. Jac averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

Enne grabbed a dress out of her closet and walked to the bathroom. She stared at her strange violet eyes in the mirror, eyes that had been brown until last night. Her hand trembled as she reached for the trick contact lenses Levi had given her. It would be easier if he were here. If she didn’t have to face the donna—and the consequences of what they had done—alone.

She wondered if he’d woken thinking the same.

On her way out the door, Enne called back to Lola, “Don’t scare Jac too much while I’m gone.”

* * *

One thing Enne missed desperately about Bellamy was the decor. There, upholstery was floral, curtains were frilled, and everything was the color of macarons—cantaloupe orange, pistachio green, and rose pink. Enne’s bedroom had resembled a patisserie, and for her, serenity was curling up on her bed amid cream-colored blankets, with a plate of cucumber sandwiches, a scandalous romance novel by her favorite author, and a beeswax candle scenting her room with lavender.

If Enne’s aesthetic was a bakery, then Vianca’s was a very expensive grotto. All of St. Morse Casino was decorated in emerald and sapphire, with dark wood and velvet fabric and whatever else devoured the light. There was something sinister in its details. The way the legs of tables curled like coiled snakes. The way it smelled of vinegar, like something pickled and preserved. The way the portraits of executed Mizer families lined each of the hallways, staring at unsettled patrons as they passed.

And Vianca, her long fingernails clacking against her desk, her reptilian green eyes narrowed and fixed on Enne’s throat, was exactly the sort of monster that slithered out of grottos.

“Come here,” Vianca cooed as Enne shut the office door. The pale skin around her forehead and lips sagged in the dim fluorescent light. “Let me look at you.”

Enne gulped and walked to Vianca’s desk. The old woman wrapped her bony, ring-covered fingers around Enne’s chin and pulled her down to examine her face. Her breath smelled of tea and vermouth.

Startled at the close inspection, Enne swallowed as her stomach leaped into her throat, and she prayed the purple of her eyes didn’t show through the contacts. Keeping secrets from Vianca Augustine was dangerous. She kept enough portraits of Mizers in her casino to recognize when one was trembling right in front of her, even if the world believed every Mizer to be dead.

Don’t let them see your fear. She mentally recited one of Lourdes’s rules, which her mother had always told her were for proper behavior. She’d learned last week that they were actually the street rules of New Reynes. Apparently behaving like a lady or like a criminal wasn’t so different.

“You’d never know, looking at you,” Vianca mused. “You must have fangs hidden beneath your cupid’s bow. Or shadows lurking in those doe eyes.”

Those words didn’t sit well with Enne. Vianca was the only monster in this room.

Vianca let her go. “I gained more than I’d imagined with you, my dear. And I reward those who please me.”

She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a leather pouch. She opened it and removed a glass orb, sparking with volts. It glowed bright enough to light the room, and Enne guessed there were at least a hundred inside. A small fortune on its own, and there looked to be several orbs in the pouch.

“I’ve put up with interviews about Mr. Glaisyer all morning for this voltage, and here I am, giving it to you.” Vianca patted Enne’s hand. “Remember this. Remember how well I treat you.”

“Thank you, Madame,” Enne managed. Volts were hardly enough to forgive how Vianca had quite literally delivered Enne to Sedric Torren, wrapped in a bow and all, but Enne wasn’t so proud that she wouldn’t take them—nor so unintelligent as not to thank the donna of the Augustine Family for such a generous gift.