But there was nothing else to tell. She understood, and he could already see the unease on her face.
It was the same unease he felt when looking at her.
“Tell me about what happened tonight. Everything before the Game. Like...” He reached into her pocket and pulled out the mask. “Where did you find this? Not really something ladies just carry around with them.”
Enne snatched the mask from his hands. “There was an incident, of sorts, at Scrap Market.” She told him the story. How Lola had changed her mind about Enne and about the oath. How she’d come up with the name Séance, taken from one of Lourdes’s older pseudonyms.
Then the story continued. How Vianca had called her into her office. How Enne had found Lola and stolen a car. How the blood gazer gave her the poison Enne brought with her to Luckluster.
At some point during her tale, she rested her head on Levi’s shoulder. He struggled to pay attention to anything other than the way her body felt pressed against his, and his attempt to forget his desire became a muddled afterthought. He wondered if she knew what she was doing to him.
“I woke up in Sedric’s motorcar outside of the House of Shadows,” she said.
The words gradually sank in. “Hedruggedyou? Did he hurt you?”
“Only a little. I killed him before he had the chance to do more.”
Sedric Torren was dead.
“What?” he asked, even though he’d understood her perfectly. His mind spun. This changed...everything.The Torren family was without a don. The upcoming election was without a candidate. The North Side had one less monster on its streets.
“You already know I had to kill the guard, too. The one who opened the door,” Enne continued. “I keep waiting for everything to hit me, but I don’t feel bad. I don’t even feel like Ishould.”
“I killed the Chancellor,” Levi whispered, only just remembering now, as they confessed their sins in the dark. That would change everything, too.
Enne gave Levi’s shoulder a gentle but comforting squeeze. “He was a terrible man.”
Even so, Levi had never killed someone before. He’d never thought of himself as a killer. That was Ivory. That’d been Eight Fingers. But not him. He felt like he’d been stained in some uncleansable way, that the person he was before was somehow purer than the person he was now. He didn’t mourn the Chancellor, but he mourned himself.
The chorus of sirens outside grew louder. Several cars were speeding through the streets above, searching for them. The two held their breath as the sirens passed by the station. They had been lucky in their hiding spot for now...but soon their luck might run out.
“Vianca’s motorcar should be here soon,” he whispered, hoping to reassure himself as much as her.
Even in the dark, she looked pale. “What if the whiteboots come and we need to run? We told Vianca this is where we’d be.”
“I told you—no one takes the Mole. They’ll never find us here.”
She pressed her hand over her heart. “Don’t joke. I’m actually terrified.”
“So am I. That’s why I’m joking.”
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.
