“Of course I do,” Jonas answered. “Maybe you’re unaware of what we offer here, but there’s nothing we can’t provide. Skin-stitchers, trackers, protectors. There’s no information in New Reynes that I don’t already know, or that I can’t find out.”
Enne’s skin prickled at his last words. “Are you trying to sell me something, or are you trying to threaten me?”
“What would I gain by threatening you? The Scarhands have never been richer, thanks to you.” He flashed her a too-wide smile. “My only ulterior motive is curiosity. I mean, why would a hopeless finishing school student want to become a street lord?”
“Vianca doesn’t usually take one’s desires into consideration.”
He stood up and perched at the edge of his desk, much like Reymond had when she’d first met them both. Even so, Jonas didn’t remind her of Reymond at all. Reymond had collected information by sniffing out lies and breaking bones, but Jonas’s office was cluttered and full in the way Reymond’s had been bare. File cabinets lined the walls, their drawers pulled out and stuffed with folders. Jonas might’ve had a report on every citizen of New Reynes tucked away in this room.
“I have no doubt you’re doing this for Vianca,” Jonas murmured, “but that didn’t mean you had to excel at it. Youwantthis.”
Ennedidexcel at this, which was why she knew better than to be flattered. She gestured around the room. “I’ve made you rich, yes, but I don’t believe you when you say it’s about volts. You inherited this position from Eight Fingers, and it’s like you said—you didn’thaveto excel at it.” She stood up and inspected the closest filing cabinet. The folders were meticulously organized in alphabetical order. “So is it knowledge just for the sake of it? Or something else?” Enne brushed her fingers across the folders, as though strumming an instrument. “Maybe you’re desperately trying to conceal your own secrets. Or trying to find a particular someone else’s.”
He hopped off the desk and slid the drawer she perused closed. He had a playful gleam in his eyes. “I’ll tell you my truth if you tell me yours.”
“Tempting,” she said, “but I’m more curious about other things.”
Jonas laughed, as though even he acknowledged that he wasn’t the most interesting thing in this room. He had a strangely relaxed laugh.
“What do you know about Harrison Augustine?” she asked.
He stiffened. “Are you just trying to test my knowledge?”
“My only ulterior motive is curiosity,” she told him simply, repeating his own words back at him.
“You probably want to know why Harrison hates Vianca,” Jonas guessed. “I can’t tell you the answer to that, but I do know something. During the Great Street War, Veil kidnapped the children of several influential people and held them for ransom. Harrison was one of those children. Before that, he was every bit an Augustine prince. After, well...”
Enne wondered what Levi would make of this connection between his favorite New Reynes legend and his secret ally.
“That was a simple question,” Jonas told her. “I think you could ask a better one.”
Enne had come here for business, but now her curiosity really was getting the better of her. Maybe Jonas wasn’t as slimy as she’d once thought.
“Do you know who Vianca’s third...” Her voice died in her throat. She couldn’t say the wordomerta, not without the omerta fighting back.
Jonas pursed his lips. “Thatisa better one. I have no idea. But I would pay you for the information, should you happen to find out.”
She could’ve stopped there, but already a third question—a far more dangerous question—came to mind. “Do you know the names of any members of the Phoenix Club?”
She held her breath all through the Scar Lord’s silence, wondering if her curiosity had revealed too much.
“Besides our newest chancellor? Only one.” Jonas brushed past her and opened one of the cabinets. He removed a file marked “Owain, Aldrich” and handed it to Enne.
Her heart thundered as she flipped through the documents. A photograph was paper-clipped to the top, and Enne instantly recognized his face. She’d replayed the memory of that night so often in her mind that she would have recognized any of them. He looked old and frail, but his appearance was no indication of his true age, thanks to his immortality talent. According to the papers, he owned the media conglomerate that ranThe Crimes & The Timesand several famous radio networks.
Enne finally had a name. This man had helped murder her mother—he had almost murderedher—and now Enne had his name.
“That’s a dangerous look you have right now,” Jonas commented.
Enne handed him back the papers before she squeezed them so hard they tore. “I should get going.” She fished an orb out of her purse and placed it on his desk. “For the memory fixer. Should I bring the client here tonight?”
“Bring him whenever you’d like. My door is always open.” Jonas collapsed back into his chair and opened her own file, his eyes drifting between the documents and her. “You can tell me more about your plans for the Phoenix Club.”
“And you can tell me more about that person you’re looking for.”
At first, he frowned, and then he chuckled to himself. “You were wasted in finishing school.”
* * *
