Levi pursed his lips. “Yes, well, I’m not sure if I have their trust yet, but their admiration counts for something. Plus, I don’t know how the dens are reacting to the news. What casino will want Irons dealing if there are bounties on all their heads?” If the Irons didn’t have work, they’d run out of volts fast. “That’s our first priority—making the den owners feel secure.”
“That won’t be enough,” Tock said. “Right now, if we call this a real war, then the South Side has already won one battle, and the North Side has won zero. The dens will need to think you can protect them. And you’ve done nothing so far to prove that.”
Levi grimaced. Tock might have been lazy, but she wasn’t thick. He was just one person, though—one verybrokeperson. So he had no idea how to do that. Not alone.
A desperate thought occurred to him. “Then this is what we’ll do—we’ll send a message to each of the other lords named inThe Crimes & The Times: Ivory, Scavenger, and Bryce Balfour.” He could tell Enne himself. “You know where to find them, right?”
Tock nodded hesitantly. “Sure, I guess.”
“Tell them, after what happened with the Orphan Guild, we need to meet. All of the lords together. Ten o’clock at the Catacombs, tomorrow night.”
Tock raised her eyebrows. “You think you can convince Narinder to agree to that?”
“Well, what do you think? You know him better than I do.”
“He doesn’t like risk. Doesn’t even like gangsters. He just likes you because you have a pretty face.”
Levi wasn’t positive how he felt about that, but he settled on flattered for now.
“It’s the only place I can think of.” With the whiteboots bribed to stay away from Olde Town, it was the safest. It was also public and crowded, so it would be difficult for the other lords to try something. “Let’s hope my face is pretty enough.”
“When should I send the messages?” she asked.
“Right away. I don’t want to wait too long.”
“Do you think they’ll agree to this?”
Levi straightened. His messages to the other named lords might not even be acknowledged. Sure, he’d helped kill the Chancellor, but to them, he’d always been Pup, the boy playing at being lord, the punchline of the North Side.
Still, he let himself imagine his call being answered. He would meet Ivory, a street legend. He would gather all the lords in a single room, a feat never before accomplished in criminal history. He’d be able to provide Harrison the intel on the others, like he’d asked for. Everything he’d ever wanted would be right in his grasp.
“Let’s hope so,” he said. “I’d also like Jac there.” Last night, Jac had called from some pay phone in the Factory District. He’d chosen a den to approach, and it seemed like the right move to Levi. Even though the specifics had made the job feel suddenly all too real, their conversation had actually put him at ease. Jac had given his plans a lot of thought. “He’ll be at a den called Liver Shot tonight.”
“I’ll leave now, but you better hope Narinder says yes to all this,” she said drily.
Levi flushed and straightened his tie. He could use another distraction. “I’ll do my best.”
She rolled her eyes. “You just convinced a whole room of people you’re some genius, but you’re just a hustler and a harlot.”
He furrowed his eyebrows. “You’re a dagger to my ego, you know that?”
“Somebody needs to be.”
As she marched to the door, Levi added a quick, “Be careful.” Walking into the lairs of the other lords was a dangerous assignment, and even if Tock gave him a hard time, he admitted she was growing on him.
Tock paused at the door and turned around to smirk at him. “I’m not someone who needs to be careful.” She rolled up her sleeves, as though ready to get her hands dirty, exposing the fresh tattoos on each of her arms. As she left and let the door close behind her, Levi decided she wore the Irons well.
4
“I know it’s just a Faith story, thickhead. But I swear it. A fellow I knew—Sullivan, his name was—he saw one once. A malison, they’re called. He said it looked like a human, and that it had eyes the color of blood.”
—A legend of the North Side
JAC
Jac Mardlin knew a bad idea when he saw one.
Liver Shot didn’t look like much from the outside—no signs, no music, no welcome of any sort. But customers found it all the same. Its acidic aroma wafted all the way down the block, guiding you toward it as firmly as a hand on your shoulder. It smelled of harmless curiosity and a chemical rush, and even if it wasn’t the soothing smell of Lullaby, it made his heart pound all the same.
