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,lookat 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.”
It took everything in her to conceal her panic. “I... I haven’t slept, of course. It’s nearly morning.”
Vianca waved her hand dismissively, and Enne’s shoulders relaxed. Levi’s contacts had worked, even under the donna’s calculating inspection. “You’ll have time for rest after we’re done. I need to hear if the rumors are true.” Vianca leaned forward gleefully. Happiness was an emotion that didn’t suit Vianca’s face. “Is Sedric Torren dead?”
Enne nodded, swallowing. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his hand around her throat and the repulsive lust in his stare.
“And the Chancellor?”
“Yes, he’s dead.”
Vianca laughed with such mirth that—to Enne’s horror—she reached forward, grabbed Enne’s hand and shook it in excitement. “The whole city is talking about you—about Séance. How you killed them both.”
Enne startled. “But Levi was the one who killed Semper.”
“MyLevi?” Vianca echoed, dumbfounded. “Howinteresting. But the truth hardly matters. What’s important is what people say, what the papers are printing. Your Séance character is about to become the most notorious criminal we’ve seen in almost twenty years.” She laughed and gave Enne’s hand a last little shake. “You must tell meallabout it.”
“About...the murders?” Enne asked. She fought the urge to look away from the donna’s face. Her many frown lines coiled unnervingly when she smiled.
“Yes. And about the House of Shadows.”
Despite not having properly rehearsed her words, the lies flowed easily. Vianca was so enraptured, she listened to the entire story without asking questions.
“When Levi won, and the Game finished, its rules were over. So he stood, pointed his gun—” she swallowed again “—and shot the Chancellor in the head.”
Vianca clapped. “Delightful. Delightful.”
Then the donna leaned back and studied Enne a second time. The presence Enne had felt during the Game—her Mizer abilities—hummed inside her, and she nearly tremored, imagining Vianca’s stare peering straight through Enne’s lie.
“This whole act you put on is quite convincing,” Vianca purred, “but I’m starting to believe you were corrupted before you ever set foot in this city.” Vianca grabbed Enne by the chin and peered at her closely, turning her face from side to side. Enne shuddered and kept her gaze fixed on her lap, in case Vianca noticed the faint outline of the contacts. “Are you a pearl, or are you a bullet?”
There was an unpleasant truth to Vianca’s question. Enne wished she knew the answer herself. She’d like to consider herself a pearl, but pearls were breakable, and she had proved herself not to be.
Maybe she could be both.
“I haveexcellentplans for you, my dear,” Vianca cooed, relinquishing her grasp on Enne’s face. “But for that, we must talk in the morning. I want to speak with Levi now. Send him in.”
