ENNE
Although she’d never admit it to the boys, Enne was rather enjoying the cabaret.
Everything about New Reynes felt unfamiliar, and the Sauterelledid, too. The burlesque fashions bore little resemblance to the chiffon and white lace in Bellamy. The dancing wasn’t the sort she’d learned in school. The liquors weren’t even allowed in her town.
But it was also intriguing. Exciting. For the first time since she’d left home, she was content to be out of her comfort zone, eager to explore the unknown.
“What will you have?” the Scar Lord asked over the music as he led her to the bar.
“I’m not sure I need a drink,” she said, remembering how little she’d cared for the wine last night.
“You’ll look more approachable with something in your hand,” Reymond assured her. She still couldn’t understand why Reymond had so quickly volunteered to guide her, but she found herself grateful for his presence and the power he wielded. She saw the way the people here looked at him. Like seeing him was a story they would tell their friends later that night. Like they would do whatever he asked.
If they were going to find information on Lourdes, that power was something she needed.
“Water will work,” she countered.
“Has no one told you not to drink the water in New Reynes?”
Enne thought back to the water she’d guzzled at rehearsal. It hadn’t tasted bad. “Is it contaminated?”
“Not polluted, just corrupted.” He winked at her and laughed. Enne suspected he was the sort who always laughed at his own jokes. “Better be careful, missy. Souls can go black in this city.”
The bartender, who also didn’t seem to be amused by Reymond’s humor, looked toward Enne impatiently.
“She’ll have a Snake Eyes,” Reymond said for her. “It’s a signature cocktail around here. Can’t say you’ve been here ’til you’ve tried it.” Enne doubted she’d enjoy anything popular in New Reynes. “What’s the drink of choice in Bellamy?”
“Lemonade,” she said drily.
Reymond shook his head. “I’ll have a Gambler’s Ruin,” he said. When the bartender left to prepare their drinks, Reymond lowered himself so he spoke directly in her ear. “We’ll ask the staff questions first. Then the performers.”
“Are you sure they’d remember her?” Enne asked, surveying the crowd. Lourdes’s simple style and quiet manner wouldn’t have stood out here among the outrageous clothes and layers of harsh makeup.
“It’s not remembering her that we have to worry about,” he said darkly. “It’s them lying.”
Enne didn’t have time to ponder that, as their drinks had arrived. Hers was fizzy and pale gold.
Before the bartender could turn to the next customer, she asked, “Have you ever met someone here named Lourdes Alfero? She also goes by Séance.” When the bartender shook his head, Enne persisted. “She’s tall. Blonde. Thirties. She usually wears trousers and—”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he grunted, then walked away.
“Well, that was rude,” Enne muttered. She angrily took a sip of her cocktail. It wasn’t sweet enough, but it was certainly more palatable than the wine.
“He was telling the truth,” Reymond said matter-of-factly.
“You seem awfully sure.”
“I can see when someone is lying,” he explained. “Not from a tell or whatever Levi calls it. It’s my blood talent.” He inspected his walking stick, as though avoiding her gaze, but Enne strangely felt as though she could still feel his eyes on her. “Not that anyone is thick enough to try to hide anything from me.” His tone sounded accusatory, but she couldn’t imagine why.
She took another generous sip of her drink and cleared her throat. He couldn’t know anything about the volts she’d promised Levi. “You’re the local, as you said. Who should we talk to next?”
The two of them gradually made their way around the cabaret, speaking to members of the waitstaff and to the bouncers. Enne did most of the talking. Each time, Reymond presented Enne as “Miss Salta,” but provided no introduction for himself—he simply stood beside her and looked threatening.
They didn’t find many answers—the closest they came was someone who remembered Lourdes, but had never spoken to her, nor seen her with anyone else. It was terribly disheartening. Each time someone nodded with recognition, Enne felt a thread of hope tighten in her chest, but each time, that thread snapped with disappointment. She was likely closer to finding her mother than she’d ever been, but there were no real leads. The trail could, very easily, end here.
Soon her drink was finished, and a replacement quickly found its way into her hand. The liquor eased the pain of her disappointment, as well as the aches of her horrendously sore muscles from rehearsal.
“I’m not giving up,” Enne announced, her face oddly feverish.
