Enne crept across the classroom to her purse. She retrieved an empty orb and clutched the sphere of glass in her hand, her stomach in knots. Of course it couldn’t be that simple. And even if it worked, like Lola said, creating volts would call attention to herself. But it was her talent. It was a part of her, and she wanted to understand it.
This was the power of kings. And now it was hers.
Enne held the orb to her inner elbow, where people usually deposited volts. She felt the energy pulsing in her blood, felt it leap in the direction of the glass—like a magnetic pull, like a snap. She wondered how many volts flowed inside her. There could be hundreds. There could bethousands.
The orb shattered, slicing open some of Enne’s skin. She yelped in surprise and pain, and blood trickled down her arm. Being barefoot, she froze where she stood and peered through the darkness at the dozens of glass fragments littering the floor around her.
“It was worth a shot,” Grace managed.
Lola stood up angrily, slipped into her boots, and helped Enne back toward the mattress. She tore off a piece of the aged bedsheet and wrapped it over Enne’s cuts, not bothering to be gentle. “Are you all right?”
“It was a bad idea, anyway,” Enne muttered.
The phone rang, making all three of them jump. It was a private line, and only two people possessed the number. Enne carefully tiptoed around the glass to answer it.
“Did you see the papers?” came the voice through the receiver. There was something rasping about the donna’s tone, which was as unexpected as the call. It was well past midnight. “His poll numbers are higher than Worner’s.” Vianca laughed hollowly. “He’s always been good at these sort of things—playing the part. Even when he was a child.”
“It’s...it’s the middle of the night,” Enne stammered.
“These restrictions they’re proposing on Talents of Mysteries. How could he support these?Hehas a Talent of Mystery! The hypocrisy!” There was a strange slur to her voice, like Vianca was drinking. “He’s a fool if he thinks he can beat me. I killed the last candidate—could I not do the same to him?”
Enne didn’t answer. Honestly, she didn’t think so. Not because Harrison was too powerful, but because she didn’t think even Vianca had it in her to kill her own son.
“Why are you calling me?” she asked tiredly.
“Because this is important. It’s what you’re doing for me, isn’t it?” Vianca snapped. Enne didn’t remember Vianca ever asking Enne to become her late night confidante. “My son will lose. I know he will.”
Enne slid down to the floor and hugged her knees to herself. She waved Grace and Lola away—there was no point in them losing sleep, as well. And then she assured the donna of everything she wanted to hear.
* * *
The next evening, Enne stood at the edge of Sweetie Street, wearing her black silk mask and swallowing down her ladylike sensibilities. She didn’t consider herself a prude—at least, not by Bellamy standards—but seeing the man in front of her parading down the alley shirtless, red lips swollen, lipstick stains across his chest and shoulders, Enne couldn’t help but feel out of place. She reached into her purse and rooted around for her black lipstick. As she applied it, she reminded herself that she wasn’t the same girl who’d left Bellamy. Then she returned the tube to her bag, tucked right beside her revolver.
She was so distracted that she didn’t notice the black Houssen motorcar brake in the alley behind her, splashing puddles onto the curb.
Levi slipped out of the driver door, his collar popped to conceal his face, his homburg hat casting a shadow over his eyes.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.
“Is that your motorcar?” she asked. “Is that how this works now? I get one, so you need to get a fancier one? How did you even buy that?”
“I signed a bunch of contracts for the Irons today. I thought after this, I’d drive you home, and you could give it to Lola.” He had the decency to look apologetic, but she’d already agreed to let him help her tonight. That seemed forgiveness enough.
A memory crept across her skin where Levi’s lips had touched. She crossed her arms. “Or I could drive it home.”
“Can you drive?”
She could not. “Yes.”
He watched her warily, as though waiting for her to snap at him. Part of her liked that she knew exactly how to break Levi Glaisyer. The other part of her found it depressing. He’d apologized, and he’d supported her in front of Ivory when no one else would. She was still hurt, still indignant, but she was also tired, and despite it all, she would rather see him smile.
Levi strolled to the edge of the street and took a step down it. Enne reluctantly followed. “So what does your guidebook say about Sweetie Street?”
“Shockingly, it didn’t recommend touring the red light district with one of the North Side’s top ten most eligible people.”
She expected him to laugh, but instead he tripped awkwardly over a cobblestone. “You saw that?” he asked.
Enne smirked. “Nine seemed too high. Don’t they know you’re better looking in your wanted poster?”
