“Yes, it is,” he croaked. “You’re a Mizer.”
Enne realized that she wasn’t wearing her contacts.
“Oh, good,” Grace said cheerily. “Now wehaveto kill him.”
Enne wouldn’t panic. Not yet. After all, Roy had already been a captive who knew too much information. “I guess now we’re all being honest.” She knelt in front of him. “If my mother hadn’t protected me, the Phoenix Club would’ve killed me when I was born, eight years after the Revolution, and called it justice. My mother wasn’t a Mizer, yet they called it justice when they killed her. You were going to tell the truth, and so Hector tried to kill you. If you want justice in this city, you have to take it.” She held out her hand to shake Roy’s free one. “I think we could help each other.”
Roy’s glare slowly faded into reluctance. “You could’ve tortured me.”
Grace shrugged. “That would’ve been easier, since you already hate me. But I realized, for you, the alternative would be worse.”
Roy grimaced as he reached for Enne’s hand to shake. “I have one condition.”
Grace frowned and opened her mouth to argue, but Enne quickly answered, “Sure.”
“I want to sleep in a different room.” He shot Grace a nervous glance. She bared her teeth.
“We’ll get you your own room,” Enne told him. After they added bars to the windows and padlocks to the doors.
Grace scowled, as though still disappointed they hadn’t killed him, but Enne was about to get exactly what she came for.
She reached into Grace’s nightstand drawer and grabbed the key to Roy’s handcuffs. She dangled them in front of his eyes. “Now tell me what I need to know.”
* * *
Vianca Augustine entered the tea shop wearing a dress black enough for a funeral. It was a pleasant spot, with outdoor seating and pots of flowers lining the patio. Enne gave the donna a small wave to indicate where she was sitting, and Vianca made her way over, servers darting anxiously out of her path.
“Where did you find a place like this?” she asked with pursed lips. The decor was very trendy, the wallpaper filled with geometric patterns rather than art nouveau swirls.
“We’re only two blocks from St. Morse,” Enne pointed out.
“Yes, but why are wehere?”
Because Enne was about to do something very dangerous—she was going to manipulate Vianca Augustine. And what else would sweeten Vianca’s mood better than a tea shop?
“I wanted to talk to you about something important,” Enne told her. “And it’s a beautiful day.”
“Yes, if you can ignore the sight of armed soldiers parading the streets,” Vianca responded coolly. “My husband was a soldier, you know.”
“I didn’t,” Enne said. Vianca never discussed her husband. The only men she liked to discuss were those who had betrayed her. “How did you meet?”
“At an execution.”
Enne was saved from having to respond by the waiter, who placed a complimentary basket of tea cookies on the table. Enne politely ordered a pot of their rose hip brew.
Vianca squinted at the menu of over three hundred choices. “I’ll try the gunpowder green. Something different.” As the server hurried off, the donna helped herself to a cookie. “I’ve never seen such a long list.” She examined the decor with a new admiration. “What is it you wished to ask me about?”
Enne had hoped to devise her plans for the debate on her own. But the Spirits, though clever, were few in number and narrow in skill set. In order to sway the crowds, she needed more gangsters at her disposal.
“I’m worried about the debate later this month,” Enne said, her words careful and practiced. “Prescott has been pushing ahead in the polls you asked us to run, even though the wigheads are keeping that quiet. What sort of personal protection does Prescott have?”
Vianca rolled her eyes. “Whatever I provide. He pays no attention.” She ate ungraciously, chewing loudly and licking her fingers afterward. “Why the concern? Did my son—”
“It was something Poppy mentioned to me,” Enne told her. “I think it would be wise to increase his guards.” She hoped saying so wasn’t too presumptuous of her, but she was saved, once again, by the waiter, who came bearing two kettles of tea.
“Prescott will make a fool of himself at this debate, no doubt. Harrison is a clever little snake. It will be a disaster.” Vianca downed her steaming cup in one furious gulp. “My father and grandfather would be turning over in their graves if they knew Harrison was running for the First Party. That the Augustine legacy was just fodder for gossip columns in tabloids.” She refilled her cup. “Not that anything I did prompted him to such extremes.”
“It’s not about you,” Enne said consolingly, her lies leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. “It’s about greed. You could’ve given him everything, but he still wanted more.”
