Fifteen percent was the deal.” Reymond flicked his ashes in a porcelain bowl that was broken on one side. “No can do.”
“Are you both quite done?” Enne snapped. “It’s very inconsiderate to talk business in front of a stranger.”
Reymond snorted and picked at his well-manicured cuticles. He took precise care of the fingers he had left and never liked to get his hands dirty. “She’s a real charmer, Pup.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t come here to charm you,” she snapped. “I came here in search of information on Lourdes Alfero.”
Reymond paused. “Did you, now?”
Despite Enne’s numerous flaws—namely that she was mucking annoying—she knew how to weasel in and out of a conversation. Levi respected that.
“Have you heard anything about Alfero lately?” Levi asked Reymond, more than eager to steer the discussion away from their failing con.
“She comes and goes,” he answered. “The usual spots. But I haven’t heard anything noteworthy recently. What do you need to know?”
Enne’s face lit brighter than a neon sign outside of Luckluster Casino. “I need to find her. She’s missing.”
“How do you know her? You don’t look like the type to read monarchist papers.”
“You can tell this just from looking at me?”
The Scarhands worked in the business of counterfeiting, arms dealing and information, and Reymond had sacrificed ten years, dozens of men and two fingers to carve out his gang’s place in the North Side. Reymond credited his power to his blood talent: he could see through any lie. But he probably didn’t need it to guess that the dare in Enne’s words was empty.
“Most of the Pseudonyms are dead,” Reymond said flatly. “Lourdes Alfero is smart. She survived this long. If she’s missing, though...”
“Please, where was she last seen?” Enne’s voice quivered.
“She frequented the Sauterelle. It’s a cabaret a few blocks off Sweetie Street. There, they’d probably know her as Séance, her pen name.”
Enne paled at the mention of Sweetie Street. “Are you sure—”
“Levi and I both have friends there. We can get you in.”
Levi nodded. Mansi worked at the Sauterelle. “My shift is this evening. But tomorrow we’ll pay a visit,” he said. This was perfect. With the promise of a lead tomorrow, Enne would need to stay with Levi and pay him tonight. He doubted she would attempt to brave Sweetie Street by herself. And if he could promise her this night, then the next, then the next, maybe they really could find Lourdes. Maybe she was the answer to all of his problems.
He just needed Lourdes to be alive. And he needed Enne to stay.
“What’s wrong?” Reymond smirked, seeing Enne crinkle her nose. “Got a problem with variety shows, doll face?”
Enne shook her head.
“No...” Reymond tilted his head to the side. “That’s not it. It’s that you’re afraid Lourdes is probably dead.” Reymond had many good qualities, but no one would call him considerate. He didn’t hold back any blows. “You know, you still never mentioned how you knew Alfero.” Reymond was already using past tense.
Enne’s face was pale as she rose from her seat in a rush. “Thank you, but I need some air.” She nearly tripped on her dash to the door. Levi stood hurriedly and followed her. He didn’t like Enne much, but even he admitted that Reymond’s words were harsh, considering the morning she’d already had.
Enne pushed through the back room and up the stairwell. By the time they exited the orb shop, tears glinted in her brown eyes.
Outside, the wind had picked up, and the clouds—black from factory smoke and an oncoming storm—cast a shadow over the city. The tents were gone. Carts, gone. Stands, gone. Scrap Market had picked up and left, and Enne and Levi were the only ones standing on the empty street.
“Is she really dead?” Enne asked, her voice high and broken in a way that stirred his own memories.
For a moment, Levi was eleven years old again, kneeling at his mother’s sickbed. He swallowed.
“Don’t,” he warned.
She didn’t listen. She let out a gasp, then a sob.
Levi stepped back from her, unsure what to do or how to comfort. Tears pooled down her cheeks, and she blotted them away with the back of her hand.
“I don’t know if she’s alive,” he said truthfully but gently.
“But I’d feel it. I’d know if she was dead.”
If Jac were here, he would’ve agreed with Enne. Jac was sentimental like that. Levi was usually too cynical to indulge such hopes, but, this one time, he needed to believe. He needed Enne’s reward.
I need her to stay.
But it was also something more than that. He recognized his own ghosts in Enne’s eyes.
He put a hand on Enne’s shoulder and bent down to her level. “Look at me. We can’t talk here, in the middle of the street for the whole world to hear. You know that, and you know why, don’t you?”
Enne nodded, her hand fiddling in her coat pocket. Even with her limited knowledge of New Reynes, she understood why the monarchists were a dangerous subject.
“I have a shift tonight at St. Morse Casino, so I’m going to take you there now.” Levi swallowed hard, hoping he wouldn’t regret his next words. “But I promise, I’ll help you find your mother, no matter what.”
Levi and Enne passed through the revolving doors of St. Morse Casino. Enne had never set foot in a casino before, but she’d glimpsed some of the smaller establishments on Tropps Street, and none of them came close to resembling St. Morse’s old-world glamour. A crystal chandelier stretched across the entire ceiling. Emerald green carpeting trailed up the stairs, matching the velvet curtains draped over the windows and the uniforms of the concierges. Metallic silver archways led into rooms labeled Tropps Room, Theatre and Ballroom with sapphire-blue calligraphy. Everything smelled of fine leather and whiskey, and each patron donned the Republic’s most famous designers: Gershton, Ulani Maxirello, Regallière.
It was, without a doubt, the gaudiest place to ever affront Enne’s senses.
At least fifty guests mingled in the lobby, champagne glasses in hand. They wore elegant tea gowns with pleated skirts, feathered hats and long strands of black pearls. In her tailored suit and scuffed heels, Enne felt exposed in more ways than one.
She’d lied to Levi about the volts.
At first, she hadn’t felt guilty in the least. Levi was a criminal after all. He probably cheated tourists like her every day. But that didn’t make
