Lola had lied about her driving skills.
They sped down the streets of the Deadman District, the motorcar swerving and skidding through every turn. Enne white-knuckled the door handle each time Lola slammed the brakes.
“You said we needed to get there fast,” Lola pointed out.
At this point, Enne would just be thankful if they got there alive.
After narrowly missing several cars, road signs and pedestrians, they screeched to a halt a block away from Luckluster.
Lola pulled something black and silky out of her pocket—Enne’s mask from Scrap Market. “You might need this.” She slipped it into Enne’s concealed pocket, beside the leather box with the poison.
“Knock him dead,” Lola said cheerfully.
Enne grimaced. “Really? That’s distasteful.”
The lights of Tropps Street danced around her, flashing in no particular pattern. They made her feel the way she had after drinking those Snake Eyes at the Sauterelle.
“Better him than you,” Lola replied gravely.
“If I’m not out by eleven...” Enne paused before repeating her mother’s oft-used phrase. “Then I’m dead.”
Lola nodded solemnly. “Be careful.” And Enne knew that she meant it.
Enne took a deep breath, shoved down the storm raging in her insides and walked down the block and through the revolving doors. Where Vianca had decorated St. Morse to resemble an old Mizer palace, all gaudy opulence and vintage luxuries, the Torrens had opted for New Reynes’s famous burlesque sinfulness. The staff wore uniforms easily mistaken for lingerie. Red carpet lined the floor and stairwell, darkened by dirty footprints, and scarlet lights blinked against the black-and-red-striped walls. It reminded her of a fun house. Even the jazz band played a carnival tune that beckoned players to contortionist shows and roulette tables.
Enne checked the gambling rooms first, then the theater, the ballroom. Neither Sedric nor Levi were anywhere to be found.
Maybe she was already too late.
As she dashed around the corner, Enne collided with a man with his back turned, his white button-down a canvas for the dancing shadows and crimson lights.
“I apologize. I didn’t see—”
The stranger spun around. He smelled faintly of citrus cologne, and he had a fading black eye and complementary ace and spade tattoos on both his arms.
Any relief she felt at finding Levi safe quickly vanished. If Sedric Torren sighted Levi, then Enne had little idea how she could save him.
“Levi?” she croaked. “You need to get out of here—”
“No,youneed to get out of here.” He grabbed both of her arms and pulled her close, nearly knocking her into his chest in his urgency. He backed the two of them into an alcove off the lobby, away from the bustle of the crowd. Enne’s back pressed against a door leading to a coatroom.
“You don’t understand.” She tried to shake him off, but he only held her firmer. “Sedric Torren—”
“I know why you’re here.” She could smell the bourbon on his breath. “I can’t let you do it.”
“Why not?” she hissed. “I’m trying to help you.”
“I’m not letting you get yourself killed. Especially not over me.”
“It’s not only you. It’s...” She tried to say Vianca, but the omerta caught the name on her tongue. And, of course, there was something else. The cold, angry hurt inside her that wanted to end Sedric Torren and put a stop to the Shadow Game forever.
“Let me help you,” she urged.
Levi swallowed, then gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was delicate, hesitant, as if they had time for such tender gestures. “You can’t help me.You’rethe one who needs to leave.”
Didn’t he know her better than that by now? She had thrown everything away to save someone she loved before, and she would do it again for him.
“I thought we were in this together,” she murmured. “You and me.”
