“You probably have questions,” she said.
“One or two,” he managed.
“Insomnia is currently being operated by Charles,” she explained. “Delia said Charles will run out of volts by the end of the month, and knowing Charles, he’s itching to act out. So whatever we do to the den, he’ll assume it was Delia, and he’ll retaliate.”
Letting them destroy each other was a clever plan, but it came with a heaping amount of risk. Like the possibility of Jac and Sophia getting caught and killed before they finished their “date.”
Still, Jac didn’t object when Sophia took his hand in hers and led him down the street. His heart constricted when he smelled that familiar waft of chamomile, and a phantom noose tightened around his neck.
In every legend, the hero was forced to face the worst of their adversaries. As Jac passed the foggy windows of each of the shopfronts, he saw the ghost of his old reflection—twenty pounds skinnier, skin ruddy, eyes sunken.
His worst adversary was himself.
At this hour, the shops were still closed, and the prisoners of the street paid them no mind as they passed. Still, Jac didn’t let go of Sophia’s hand until they’d made it to Insomnia. She retrieved two lock picks from her pocket and made surprisingly quick work of the door.
“Do all girls know how to pick locks?” he asked, thinking of Enne.
“I can rewire a radio, too.” She winked at him. “I know, I’m quite the catch.”
“Yeah, like the flu.”
Sophia ignored him and eased open the door. When Jac reached for the light switch, she swatted his hand away. “If it looks like the den’s open, they’ll come.”
Jac’s stomach clenched. She meant those sitting outside, waiting for their next Lull.
“Taffy?” she offered gently.
“Oh, yeah, sure.” It would distract him from the haunting smell of this place, which had already settled into his lungs, making him anxious and dizzy. Sophia handed him the taffy, and he unwrapped it with shaking hands and popped it into his mouth. The anise and fennel flavors made his head clear, and he sent her a grateful smile.
Sophia flipped her coin. “Seventy-eight,” she said. “I think we’ll be okay, but let’s make this quick.”
“Are you going to finally tell me why you do that? Or do you just like annoying me?”
She shot him an irritated look, as though Jac’s questions were spoiling the romantic mystery of their date. “Haven’t you ever wondered why the Torrens’ casino is called Luckluster?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“The Torren blood talent is luck. We can measure it, manipulate it. Every time I flip heads, I know my luck is on the up. The more I’ve flipped in a row, the luckier I am.”
“And when the luck runs out?”
“Good deeds make your luck rise. Bad deeds make it fall.” She made a slashing motion across her throat. “Fall too low, and you might even die.”
“How has your family lasted as long as they have, then?” Jac asked. “They’re as rotten as they come. Um, no offense.”
She grinned, showing off the taffy between her teeth. “None taken. And in answer to your question, there are tricks to raise your numbers. I carry charms on me. My cousins have their own methods.” She didn’t elaborate, but her tone was dark enough that Jac didn’t want her to. “It all depends on your conscience, and it’s unlucky for me I’ve got one. Noble cause or not...” She uncapped the bottle of gasoline and started pouring it over the front of the shop. “This is still destruction. We’ll need to be fast—my rabbit’s foot won’t last much longer.”
Jac took a deep breath and looked around. The Lull den resembled so many of those he’d seen before, sparsely decorated, with cushions crowding the floor that made it difficult to walk—especially when using. The first thing he did was pick one up, pull at it with two hands, and tear it clean in half. The down feathers drifted onto his boots.
It was very satisfying.
Another cushion—ten, twenty. Then he went for the lights, pulling wires out of the walls, chucking bulbs onto the ground. Every shatter soothed his nerves. He would destroy this place, brick by brick. And, if given the chance, he would destroy the next den, and the next.
He kicked the bar so hard the wood broke through. He let out a shaky, freeing laugh.
When Jac turned around, panting and exhilarated, Sophia was standing by the door with a match in one hand and her coin in the other.
“Wish me luck, Todd.” She struck the match and held the flame to her lips, as if giving it a kiss. With her free hand, she flipped the coin, and Jac waited for her to say “seventy-nine.”
