“Come here,” Vianca cooed as Enne shut the office door. The pale skin around her forehead and lips sagged in the dim fluorescent light. “Let me look at you.”
Enne gulped and walked to Vianca’s desk. The old woman wrapped her bony, ring-covered fingers around Enne’s chin and pulled her down to examine her face. Her breath smelled of tea and vermouth.
Startled at the close inspection, Enne swallowed as her stomach leaped into her throat, and she prayed the purple of her eyes didn’t show through the contacts. Keeping secrets from Vianca Augustine was dangerous. She kept enough portraits of Mizers in her casino to recognize when one was trembling right in front of her, even if the world believed every Mizer to be dead.
Don’t let them see your fear.She mentally recited one of Lourdes’s rules, which her mother had always told her were for proper behavior. She’d learned last week that they were actually the street rules of New Reynes. Apparently behaving like a lady or like a criminal wasn’t so different.
“You’d never know, looking at you,” Vianca mused. “You must have fangs hidden beneath your cupid’s bow. Or shadows lurking in those doe eyes.”
Those words didn’t sit well with Enne. Vianca was the only monster in this room.
Vianca let her go. “I gained more than I’d imagined with you, my dear. And I reward those who please me.”
She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a leather pouch. She opened it and removed a glass orb, sparking with volts. It glowed bright enough to light the room, and Enne guessed there were at least a hundred inside. A small fortune on its own, and there looked to be several orbs in the pouch.
“I’ve put up with interviews about Mr. Glaisyer all morning for this voltage, and here I am, giving it to you.” Vianca patted Enne’s hand. “Remember this. Remember how well I treat you.”
“Thank you, Madame,” Enne managed. Volts were hardly enough to forgive how Vianca had quite literally delivered Enne to Sedric Torren, wrapped in a bow and all, but Enne wasn’t so proud that she wouldn’t take them—nor so unintelligent as not to thank the donna of the Augustine Family for such a generous gift.
“Buy yourself whatever you need. And Mr. Glaisyer and Mr. Mardlin, as well. Now take a seat.”
Enne did so, laying the pouch on her lap. Of course she hadn’t come here only to be doted on. Vianca always wanted something. She might give occasionally, but she would always take twice as much.
Vianca slid Enne that morning’s edition ofThe Crimes & The Times. Enne stared in horror at the wanted sketch of herself below the headline. Séance’s black mask covered most of her features, and although Enneknewit was supposed to be her, it wasn’t an exact match. Her jawline wasn’t wide enough, and her forehead was much too high. No one would pass her on the street and look twice.
Unlike hers, Levi’s adjacent sketch was entirely recognizable. He wore his signature smirk, like he wasn’t the least bit surprised to find himself on the front page.
SENATE CALLS FOR WAR ON THE GANGS
Enne’s stomach dropped as she scanned the article. There were portraits of the lord and second of every gang, as well as the Orphan Guild. She held her breath as she examined Jac’s easy smile and the warrant for his arrest and execution below it. She really hoped he’d listened to her and stayed in her room.
“Have you heard of Worner Prescott?” Vianca asked.
Enne skimmed the page, in case she’d missed his name. He wasn’t mentioned. “No, Madame.”
“And that is precisely the problem.” Vianca sighed and poured herself a refill of her tea, though the drink looked long cold. “There’s an election this November for the seat of the New Reynes representative—one of the most influential positions in the Senate. Worner Prescott is the monarchist party’s candidate.”
Enne knew little of politics. Because Bellamy was only a territory, not a state of the Republic, they didn’t have voting or representation rights. The rivalry of the First and monarchist parties was no concern to them. Most found politics a beastly discussion at salons and parties.
Still, she knew the reputation of the monarchists: violent radicals. Lourdes had devoted her life to their cause, but Enne didn’t know why. She wasn’t sure if this meant Lourdes, too, had been a violent radical, or if the monarchist party was less despicable than she’d always believed. It unnerved her that Lourdes and Vianca had something so fundamental in common.
Malcolm Semper, the late Chancellor of the Republic, had been the father of the First Party. Josephine Fenice, his successor, was another First Party politician, another soulless member of the Phoenix Club. Enne might hesitate to call herself a monarchist, but she did know if the Phoenix Club was on one side, then she was on the other.
“Sedric Torren was running against Prescott,” Vianca continued. “Now that he’s dead—much thanks to you, my dear—the First Party will need to scramble for a new candidate and campaign. For once, we have the advantage.”
The Augustine and Torren Families had rival casino and drug empires, and so Enne had always assumed Vianca had wanted Sedric gone because he was a business competitor. But clearly Vianca had also had political motives since the beginning.
“On top of this, we have this supposed war,” Vianca continued. “Do you know anything about the Great Street War?”
Enne shook her head. She only vaguely remembered it from Levi’s stories and from her guidebook.
“For the South Side, it wasn’t noteworthy. It barely touched them,” Vianca explained. “But for the North, it was bloodbaths and chaos.” Her tongue lingered on those last few words, as if savoring their taste. “We can only hope for history to repeat itself. The monarchist party thrives on troubled times.”
Bloodbaths and chaos.Would that happen again? What must that have meant, by New Reynes’s standards?
“You’ve thoroughly impressed me, Miss Salta. But this new assignment is long-term, and you’ll need more than luck and charm to manage it,” Vianca told her, as if Enne had escaped the Shadow Game solely on her superficial qualities. “Because of it, I’m terminating your role with the acrobatics troupe.”
Enne gaped. “But...but—”
