Down below, the last of Vianca’s guests were arriving, and Tropps Street—once congested with expensive motorcars—was emptying for the curfew. Any minute now, Tock’s explosion would light up the Casino District brighter than any of its neon signs.
And that would be their cue.
There were a thousand ways for this plan fail. But it was Levi’s plan, and Levi had a way of pulling off anything. Still, Jac’s fingers fiddled with his Creed. He craved a cigarette, but he hadn’t smoked one all day yesterday, and maybe that could become a new normal. He hoped so.
Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and Lola appeared. “The back entrance is clear.” She hurried to Jac and Sophia. “Grace went to tell the other group, and... Where’s Tock?”
“She’s not done yet. She’ll be back soon.”
Lola stared up at the roof of St. Morse Casino, her expression pale. “Did she go alone? I told her not to. She always does—”
“She took another Iron with her. Tommy’s a dealer, but he has a speed talent. He’s good for more than tricks.”
Lola swallowed and nodded.
“I don’t think Tock hates me,” Jac told her.
“What? Why would Tock hate you?”
He grinned. It wasn’t the time for jokes, but he couldn’t help himself. “You told me your date would hate me.”
The memory dawned on her, and she scowled. “It’s not your business.”
Jac bit his lip, initially wounded. He liked to think that, by now, they were friends.
But then she grumbled, “It’s been a few months. And yeah, I like her. She doesn’t get hung up on nonsense, like all of you.” Then Lola crossed her arms, and Jac knew that was all he would likely get out of her. Her lip curved slightly into a smile, but it quickly disappeared. “Enne is inside.”
“She is? Is she—?”
“She’s fine, but... I have a bad feeling.”
“Have you ever had a bad feeling that’s come true?” he asked nervously, because if there was ever a time for superstition, it was tonight. Levi was playing with legends, and just because Jac thought this plan was clever didn’t mean he thought it was smart.
“Once or twice.” Lola stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Enough times that I don’t ignore them.”
From his other side, Sophia flipped her coin, and it landed heads. “Eighty-four,” she said, her mouth full with a piece of taffy.
“That’s justyourluck,” Jac told her.
“I’m willing to share it.” She handed Lola the coin and curled her fingers around it. Jac doubted that her talent actually worked like that, but he supposed it was a supportive gesture. “Besides, my brother and sister used coins. I’d like to try something different.” Sophia reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of dice. She rolled them on the dusty window ledge. Two sixes.
“What does that mean?” Jac asked.
“That means we’re getting lucky.”
Lola crinkled her nose. “Gross.”
Jac ignored her and pulled Sophia closer to him. Her dress was Luckluster red, with sleeves that draped off her shoulders and exposed the delicate curves of her collarbone and the sparse freckles on her arms.
Sophia cast him a smile. “What are you thinking about?”
Jac grinned impishly. “Tomorrow, we get to burn Luckluster to the ground. And then you and I—”
Boom.
Sophia jolted, and Lola let out a stifled scream. It was the sound they’d been waiting for, but it was quieter than they’d expected. The rest of the gangsters scrambled to their feet, brandishing knives and pistols. Jac squinted up at the roof of St. Morse—there’d been no light, no visible explosion.
“What’s happening?” Sophia whispered, pressing her hand against the glass.
