At eleven in the morning, the floor of the Catacombs was sticky with spilled drinks from the night before. The stools sat upside down over the bar, the instruments rested in their cases, and the lights burned unusually bright.
Levi slipped down the hallway to Narinder’s office and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” his voice called from within.
Inside, Narinder sat behind his desk, his fingers dancing over a harp’s strings. He wore an oversize shirt that looked like he’d slept in it. His shoulder-length black hair hung down, unbrushed. He glanced up as Levi approached and grinned slightly, but continued to play. “You look better,” he commented.
Pay me a visit, when you’re not so bruised, Narinder had said to him a few days ago. Levi’s face heated at the memory. This wasn’t the time to lose his wits.
“The Catacombs has a reputation for being a place where gang affiliations don’t matter,” Levi started.
Narinder nodded and took a long sip of his coffee. His other hand continued to dance across the strings, dexterous and confident even when he didn’t look where his fingers fell. “That’s true. We don’t play favorites here.”
“In light of what happened to the Orphan Guild, the lords want to have a meeting. This location has been volunteered.”
Narinder’s fingers struck a clashing chord. “By you?”
Levi fiddled with his tie awkwardly. Narinder’s tone was sharper than he’d expected. “It’s the best place for it, and the lords have to meet. If there’s another attack—”
“I don’t see why you get to decide any of that is my responsibility,” Narinder snapped. Levi withered—the location had already been agreed upon. Tock had warned him to ask sooner, but he’d wanted to wait for assurances from the other lords—and he’d assumed from their last meeting that Narinder would want to help him. “The lords of every gang of the North Side, in my club? What could go wrong?”
“Tock said—”
“Tock doesn’t own this place. I do.” He crossed his arms. “Tock doesn’t make decisions. You do.”
Levi didn’t need someone he barely knew reminding him how he ran his own gang. “I’m sorry. I think I must’ve misunderstood. When you said you wanted to keep Olde Town safe, you actually meant to send the problem to someone else.”
Levi stormed out, cursing under his breath. He’d have to find somewhere else on short notice. Get a message out to the other lords that the plans had changed. He prayed that would be enough, with both the Irons and now Enne depending on this meeting.
As Levi hurried through the club, he heard Narinder running after him. “Levi, wait!”
With one hand on the back door, he shot Narinder an annoyed look. “I don’t have time to wait. I only have a few hours to let everyone know the plans have changed.”
Narinder swallowed. “It’s tonight?”
“Eight people died a few days ago. I didn’t want to wait longer.”
“So are you trying to be a saint, or are you just taking advantage of the situation?”
Levi clenched his fist. “If I don’t, somebody else will. And my interest is in alliances. Give Scavenger or Ivory the reins, and they might have other ideas.”
“You understand why I’d be wary to welcome you all here tonight, don’t you?” Narinder asked. “It’s a dangerous risk.”
“I know that. I shouldn’t have asked you.”
“But you didn’t ask me.”
Levi’s blood boiled, and he shoved open the door. “Forget it.”
Narinder grabbed his arm. “So ask me.”
“I said forget it.”
He let go. “If you’d asked beforehand, I would’ve said yes.”
Levi took a deep breath, trying to suppress the urge to shout. Narinder was right—he shouldn’t have assumed. It’d been a lot to ask, but he’d also thought Narinder would pay him this favor; that he wouldwantto help him out.
His pride told him to keep walking. But his head told him that Narinder’s words were still an invitation, one he desperately needed. If Levi was going to learn from his mistakes, then he needed to swallow his ego.
