“The Scarhands live under Scrap Market.”
“The Scarhands?”
“One of the gangs.”
She halted in the middle of the street. “You said your friend wasn’t in a gang.”
Levi hauled her along, this time not letting her shrug him off. She was going to lose her purse.
“No, I said he wasn’t an Iron,” he grunted. Besides, Reymond Kitamura was a good place for them to start. Not only had Reymond introduced Levi to Lourdes, but he was the Scar Lord, and all secrets of New Reynes flushed down to him eventually.
“Letgoof me. It’s terribly impolite—not to mention improper—”
“I’m trying to keep you from getting your purse stolen. You’ve already lost your luggage. Wanna lose your volts, too?” Levi refused to suffer through this entire morning only for Enne to lose his reward.
She stopped struggling, and he led her into a ramshackle building with a sign reading Cheep Orbs and Metalwork. They slid between a couple examining a box of empty glass orbs.
“Those are real shoddy quality,” Levi muttered. “Probably can’t hold over twenty volts without shattering.” He could make better blindfolded...not that he’d made orbs in years. His blood and split talents didn’t mix together well, so he’d decided a long time ago to avoid orb-making altogether.
Enne stared at a crate full of knives, each with a little rust on the handle or cracks in the blade. “How many street gangs are there?”
Levi cleared his throat. Really, there was no person better suited for introducing Enne to New Reynes than himself. “There are three: the Irons, the Scarhands and the Doves. They all live on the North Side.” There were also the two casino Families, the Augustines and the Torrens, but Levi didn’t want to overwhelm her. Besides, he’d rather not think about the Families right now. It was a mistake involving himself with either of them.
“Why do you call yourselves the Irons?” Enne asked.
“It’s a nickname. We didn’t have a name at first—the dens just called us ‘mechanics.’ People who fix games.” He shook his head. “Of course, our clients didn’t actually like to call us that—bad for business. Somehow the name Irons caught on.”
“So you cheat,” she said, the contempt obvious in her voice.
“We make a business out of winning.”
Levi took her to a door in the back of the shop. A rusted lock dangled from the knob.
Although Levi never used his blood talent anymore for its actual purpose—making orbs—he often relied on his skill for fire. Levi could do a few tricks: light a match with the snap of his fingers, walk through open flame without being burned, craft a glass ornament with only his bare hands. Nothing powerful, but his talent was often useful.
Levi grabbed the lock and concentrated on heat. After a few moments, it glowed red and hissed with steam.
“How are you doing that?” she asked.
“It’s my blood talent.” He tugged it, and it snapped. He would’ve thought that obvious, given the orb-maker colors in his hair.
“Which is—”
“Someone will hear you.” He didn’t need the Scar Lord blaming him for giving away today’s location to all of Scrap Market. Reymond liked to lie low.
Levi slipped inside the crack of the door into a dark, narrow staircase. When Enne closed it behind them, everything went black.
“You’d better leave. We’re not seeing anyone today,” someone growled. Enne made a sound somewhere between clearing her throat and a squeak.
“It’s me,” Levi said.
“Pup?”
Hehatedthat nickname. People assumed that Canes smelled auras like bloodhounds, even though they read them with all their senses. The nickname was, in Levi’s opinion, the embodiment of everything he needed to change about his reputation. Once upon a time, the Irons had been the richest gang in the city. Even if he was young, Levi deserved to be taken seriously.
“Nice to see you again, Jonas,” Levi lied.
Jonas Maccabees, the Scarhands’ second-in-command, sneered, “You should stick to Olde Town where you belong.”
