Ace Of Shades: the gripping first novel in a new series full of magic, danger and thrilling scandal when one girl enters the City of Sin

“This casino has been in my family for generations,” Vianca told her. “But New Reynes isn’t the city it was when St. Morse was first built. Have you ever heard of my family, Miss Salta?”

“No, Madame.”

“So you don’t know what kind of business we run?”

“A...casino, Madame?”

Vianca stood and turned her back to Enne, facing the Mizer family portrait. “There are people in these halls who can unhinge your mind with a kiss. Who can distill poisons and narcotics from a single flower fallen from a bouquet. Who deal in tricks, deceit and even death. And they are all under my employ.”

Sweat broke out along Enne’s neck. Donna of the Augustine crime Family, Levi had told her. This must’ve been what he’d meant.

But what would that have to do with Enne? She was a simple performer. If Vianca truly had those kind of people within St. Morse, then what use could she have for her?

Vianca turned to face her. Her green eyes looked nearly black. “Among my friends, I keep a few favorites who perform a little extra for me. There are enemies everywhere in this city—even within this casino—who seek to destroy me. I need to know their plans. I need listeners. And I can no longer afford to be short on ears.”

Before Enne could process Vianca’s words, the donna ushered Enne out of her seat and to the center of the room. She made a twirling gesture, and Enne, confused, obliged. Enne kept her shoulders back to make them appear larger, stronger—the right build for an acrobat. Whatever this was, it felt like a test.

“You’re young. No one ever notices the young,” Vianca commented wistfully. She grabbed Enne’s cheeks and brought her face closer, then absentmindedly ran a bony finger down Enne’s Cupid’s bow to her chin. Her fingers tasted foul, like rancid perfume.

Enne resisted the urge to free herself from Vianca’s grasp and ignored the sickening feeling in her stomach. She needed a job. She needed to survive in this city long enough to find Lourdes.

“But you’re a performer,” Vianca continued, unaware of or unbothered by Enne’s unease. “You can be noticed if you want. You’re smart and can move in higher society, but you also know Levi—and I’m sure, if you ask nicely, he’d be willing to show you a thing or two about the streets. You’ve only just arrived—this city hasn’t corrupted you. Yet.” She relaxed her grip on Enne’s face, and Enne backed away, her cheeks sore. “And I could use a girl.”

Whatever Levi had told her about Vianca Augustine, she hadn’t been prepared for this. The way Vianca looked at her, touched her...like she was a possession. This meeting felt more like an appraisal than an interview. Under different circumstances, Enne would have fled the room and the donna’s frightful presence.

“I’m going to do you a favor, Miss Salta. I’m going to give you this job.”

“Thank you, Ma—”

“But I need a favor in return. I need you to do another job for me.”

I will find Lourdes, Enne recited, winding herself back up. I will find her and bring her home. No matter what it takes.

“Of course, Madame,” she responded swifly, despite her nervousness.

“I need you to deliver messages to my enemies. Can I trust you to do this for me?”

Enne swallowed, staring into the woman’s predatory gaze and vicious smile, and wondered who would be reckless—or dangerous—enough to make an enemy of someone like her.

No matter what it takes.

“Yes, Madame.”

“Hold out your hand,” Vianca instructed. When Enne obeyed, she clasped both of her wrinkled hands around Enne’s. She whispered something that Enne couldn’t hear, and a cold tingling shot up Enne’s arm. Enne gasped, but when she tried to yank her arm back, Vianca held it in place. The tingling accumulated in Enne’s chest, and her lungs shook and hardened as if surrounded by a shell. No air would release. She couldn’t breathe. Her balance swayed, but Vianca just gripped her hand tighter, her face unconcerned.

Her nails dug deep into Enne’s skin, and Enne choked for breath. Nothing. Nothing. There was no panic like the panic of suffocating, and she stared wildly at Vianca’s apathetic green eyes, pleading for aid.

Help, she mouthed, but no air came out.

Just as her vision began to darken, the feeling released. Air rushed down her throat, and Enne coughed as her lungs stretched like cramped muscles. She collapsed on the floor, tears welled in her eyes.

“That was my omerta,” Vianca said, looming above her. “It’s not an oath I bestow often. But now you are mine.”

Enne grasped for Lourdes’s rules, for something to tell her how she should react, how she should behave, when confronted with the worst. Words to recite. Words to wind herself back up.

Don’t let her see you squirm, Levi had said.

Never show them your fear, Lourdes had warned.

But the loudest word, the only word, was Vianca’s.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Enne stared at Vianca in horror. The woman had strangled her without touching her. Though Enne’s lungs had returned to normal, a phantom soreness lingered, and panic still clawed up her throat. For several moments, she’d thought she would really die, that Vianca would kill her in this dreadful office, while her secretary and Levi waited outside. She could’ve died. And no one had heard a thing.

Enne felt small. She felt ill. What had Vianca done?

“You may sit now,” Vianca told her, a smile playing on her lips.

Enne sat down slowly, carefully, and she watched the old woman with growing alarm. She needed to run. To be alone. To bathe. She needed comfort, and there was none to be found in Vianca’s domineering expression, in the stiffness of the desk chair or the uncomfortable heat of the office.

Vianca called it an omerta, but Enne had never heard of such a thing. What had she done to her? And Levi...had he known she could do this? Why hadn’t he warned her?

“Sedric Torren will be paying St. Morse a visit tonight,” Vianca said, already returning to business. “Your first assignment will be to bring a message to him in the Tropps Room at ten o’clock.”

The name sounded familiar for some reason, but Enne was too traumatized to place it, picking at a scab along her thumb to focus on anything other than the woman before her. By the way Vianca spoke the name, it sounded as if everyone should know him.

Her scab popped off, and blood trickled down her palm.

“Look at me while I’m talking to you,” Vianca snapped, and Enne’s head jolted toward Vianca of its own accord. Enne’s heart thundered. This woman could control her like a puppet, force her own body to betray her. She was trapped within her own skin.

“What is the message, Madame?” She wasn’t sure if she had spoken those words on her own, or if Vianca had made her.

Vianca pulled a vial of clear liquid out of her drawer and handed it to her. “This is your message. See that he receives it. I’m tired of young Mr. Torren playing with my things.” Once again, Vianca leaned closer, and this time, Enne winced and put as much distance between the two of them as possible. She knew her terror must have been plain on her face. “This won’t kill him, but it will incapacitate him for several days. That should send him a message, don’t you agree?”

“Y-yes, Madame.”

Enne’s conscience twisted when she realized what she’d agreed to do, even if Sedric Torren was a stranger. Surely, he didn’t deserve to be poisoned, and she couldn’t possibly be the one to do it. She was a schoolgirl, for goodness’ sake, not some kind of assassin.

But Vianca’s menacing glare rooted Enne to her seat.

This was her chance to refuse. To run. But the more she considered it, the more air was sucked out of her. Her breath thinned until she was gasping again. Each inhale was weaker than the next. While Vianca thoughfully twisted an emerald ring around her finger, Enne gripped the edges of her seat, her lungs aching as they demanded oxygen.

Then Vianca’s lips coiled into a smile, and Enne’s chest expanded in relief. She took large, gulping breaths and blinked the tears away from her eyes.

Somehow, the omerta knew what Enne was thinking. It knew Enne didn’t want to do this. And it was playing with her, punishing her.

This woman could murder her at any moment she wished.

Enne bit her lip to hold back the helplessness squirming in her throat. Breathe. Sedric was a stranger. Someone who meant nothing to her. Breathe. This wasn’t permanent. She was leaving this monstrous city the moment she found Lourdes.

“We’ve come to an agreement, then,” Vianca said. Clearly, Enne’s silence was what she’d wanted to hear. “The acrobats are in the middle of a show. Tonight is their last performance, so you can begin rehearsing a new act with them tomorrow. I’ll be sure to send you something special to wear tonight for your date with Mr. Torren. Time to abandon your Bellamy values.”

Enne didn’t need to worry about the city corrupting her. Vianca Augustine seemed confident in achieving that all on her own.

Vianca retrieved a bronze key out from a filing cabinet. “As part of your newfound employment, you will live here in St. Morse. Your apartment, room 1812.” She handed the key to her, and Enne mumbled a thank you, sliding it into her pocket beside the vial and her token. “Welcome to the greatest casino in New Reynes, Miss Salta.”

Enne stood so fast her knees cracked. She needed to get out of here. Away from her. She needed to get out of this city.

This had all been a terrible mistake.

“I’ll contact you again when I have a new task for you,” Vianca promised, her eyes flinty. “Or if you disappoint.” The threat in her words was clear.

As Enne stumbled on her near-run to the door, Vianca didn’t even look at her. She returned to her papers. No smile. No nod. Not even enough acknowledgment to call it indifference. And that was what terrified Enne most of all.

Levi stood in the waiting room, repeatedly checking his watch. He looked up as Enne closed the door. “Well?” he asked impatiently.

Enne hesitated a few moments, waiting for Levi to add something else. Anything else. Had he known this would happen? Surely he wouldn’t have brought her here if he knew about the omerta. He would’ve warned her. He wouldn’t have let her anywhere near St. Morse Casino. She’d only just met Levi, but criminal or not, she had heard true sincerity in his voice when he promised to help her. Unless everything in this city was a lie.

She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but her chest constricted. It was a simple word, omerta, but when she tried to form it, no sound would come out. Enne realized that, whatever Vianca had done to her, Enne couldn’t talk about it. So she smiled to hide her panic, as she had always been taught to do.

Wasn’t that one of Lourdes’s sayings about being a lady? Smile widest when you are about to cry. Enne had already broken rule after rule, and she needed this one. She needed to do something right. She needed to feel in control.

More than anything, she needed to be alone.

“I got the job,” Enne managed, though she didn’t sound excited. Everything felt numb. Tonight she was going to...going to...

“You got the job?” Levi echoed, and Enne hated that he looked impressed. Hated that she’d wanted that minutes ago, when now she felt so shaken.

“I’ll walk you to your new room, then.” He opened the door to the hallway, and Enne avoided staring at the Mizer portraits, suddenly all too aware that these faces belonged to the dead. When she stared into their purple eyes, she felt Vianca’s green ones gazing back.

“How kind of you,” she muttered, wishing he would instead leave her to herself. As intent as she was on finding her mother, she didn’t know if she could do anything else today, with all the questions and stress of this morning and tonight’s assignment weighing on her shoulders.

“Ever the gentleman,” he said cheerily as they stepped inside the elevator.

The pulleys above them spun, and the platform jerked as they ascended. Enne held the railing in a steel grip.

“What did you say that impressed Vianca so much?” Levi asked. Everything about his tone was pleasant and friendly. It made her want to scream.

“She appreciated my etiquette skills,” Enne snapped. That was another broken rule—she couldn’t pinpoint which one. Not in this death trap. Not with the curse Vianca had cast on her. Not when she kept picturing Lourdes in a similar metal cage, only one that was descending and descending, never to reach a bottom.

She was still smiling, though. Her teachers would’ve been proud.

“Ah, there’s that attitude again,” Levi said.

“Are you quite finished?”

For some reason, that made him smile. He didn’t hear the panic in her voice. Didn’t realize he’d just introduced her to a monster.

“Why do I have the feeling I need to watch out for you?” he asked.

Goodness, he’s exhausting. “I’m not helpless, you know.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant that maybe I should watch out for you, because you seem like the kind of person someone might underestimate.”

Enne blinked in surprise. “What gave you such an idea?”

“I don’t spend my mornings helping out just any pretty missy, you know.”

Was Levi Glaisyer flirting with her? The boys in Bellamy never flirted with her unless they hoped she’d introduce them to her richer classmates. Few people paid attention to someone as common as a Salta.

He must’ve been making fun of her again. She was emotionally wrung dry, and she didn’t have the patience to watch Levi fling one smirk after another. He’d sat unaware while, in the next room, Vianca had assaulted Enne in the most terrifying way. He’d mocked her at every opportunity. He might’ve been helping her find Lourdes, but only because Enne would pay him that night.

“I’m flattered,” she sneered, her voice vicious. “Truly.”

He stiffened, wilted. “Excellent,” he said drily. “Wouldn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with a new coworker.”

The word coworker sounded stranger the more Enne let it sink in. Her teachers—and probably Lourdes, for that matter—never would have let her within fifty feet of a casino, and probably not within one hundred feet of Levi and the collection of lost things in his closet.

But the Lourdes Enne knew and the Lourdes Levi remembered seemed to be completely different people. To think that Lourdes spent so much time in this wretched city boggled Enne—disturbed her, even. Maybe Lourdes knew how to survive in New Reynes. Maybe the reason Lourdes never told her the truth was in case Enne might have been foolish enough to believe that she could survive here, too.

Her mother had been right to keep her daughter in the dark, because each hour spent in New Reynes formed a new crack, and there was no way Enne was going to emerge from this city unbroken.

LEVI

Levi’s poker face didn’t waver as he studied his hand: a four-card straight and the kings of clubs and spades. Clearly luck was on his side. The player to his left eyed him warily and threw in five green chips. Two hundred and fifty volts.

From beside him, Sedric Torren also slapped five green ones in the pot.

Levi equaled their wagers on behalf of the house. Normally with the betting so high, he’d fold. But tonight was different. He hadn’t expected Sedric Torren himself to visit St. Morse. He could’ve been there for only one reason, and that was Levi.

Which meant that Levi couldn’t afford to look weak—not even for a moment.

When the hand ended, Levi had managed to earn a 27 percent profit. At this rate, he’d have thirty in the next hour, which was the highest he’d ever made in one shift. Unlike poker or blackjack, where the dealer was little more than a moderator in the game, Tropps treated the dealer like a player who represented the house. The game placed a heavy emphasis on strategy and bluffing, and it was so well-known across the city that the main street of the Casino District was named after it. Dealers like Levi were famous for their skill, and Levi was one of the best of them all.

The other players grumbled and stomped their way to the next table, their pockets significantly lighter. Levi took a break to collect the cards, as well as his bearings.

The only player who didn’t leave was Sedric Torren.

“’Lo, Pup,” he murmured. His brown hair was slicked to the side and shiny with grease, and his smile was wolf-like. He switched to the seat beside Levi.

“Sedric,” Levi gritted, concealing the ugly feeling of dread in his stomach. The Tropps Room around them was loud with jazz and the chatter of guests, all gussied up in designer gowns and carrying cigarettes in long jewel-encrusted holders. Surely Sedric wouldn’t try anything in public. Even the don of the Torren Family wouldn’t do something that reckless. “What can I do for you?”

Sedric turned to one of the waiters carrying a tray of champagne. “Two glasses.” He set one in front of Levi, who didn’t bother to reach for it. Drinking with a Torren—least of all the don—sounded like asking for trouble, and Levi needed all his concentration to survive this encounter unscathed. “Should we make a toast?” Sedric suggested.

“To what?” Levi asked, keeping his voice steady as he shuffled the Tropps decks. Sedric Torren had a reputation for playing with his prey before he killed it, and Levi needed to make it clear to Sedric that he wasn’t afraid. As far as Sedric should have been concerned, Levi had no reason to fear his family. If anything, this should be an exchange between two businessmen, a celebration of an advantageous trade.

Sedric raised his glass. “We toast to your continued good health. You’ve managed to push back the date for our investment return not just once or twice, but three times.”

Levi’s skin went clammy. This was no celebration—this was a threat.

“Cheers, Pup.” Sedric clinked Levi’s glass before taking a swig. “So where are my promised returns?”

Levi swallowed. “They’re coming.”

Sedric leaned closer. He had a sickly sweet smell to him, like toffee. “I’m not a thickhead, you know,” Sedric said. “Just tell me what you’ve really been doing this whole time.”

He suspects, Levi thought with panic. Or he knows. And he’s forcing me to lie.

The truth meant death.

“You’ll get the volts soon,” Levi rasped, shifting away from him.

Sedric laughed, then adjusted his suit jacket. A silver knife gleamed from an inside pocket, a ruby winking at Levi from its hilt. Only a Torren would carry a weapon that flashy.

Levi reminded himself that he couldn’t look vulnerable. He searched around the Tropps Room for some of Sedric’s cronies, and sure enough, he spotted several men lurking near the door in crisp suits with black-and-red-striped ties—Luckluster colors. He fought to maintain his poker face. He was surrounded.

“You gonna kill me in St. Morse?” Levi dared, mustering up the appearance of confidence. “Doesn’t seem you’d get your volts back, then. And Vianca would never forgive you.”

“I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to warn you.” But despite his words, Sedric removed the knife from his jacket. With only an arm’s length of space between them, it would take Sedric only a heartbeat to stab the knife through Levi’s neck.

Any rational man would run, but Levi was frozen. Maybe that was a good thing. It made him appear bold, even when he was terrified.

Sedric ran his finger along the blade, then inspected the red droplet on his fingertip, as if assuring Levi the knife was sharp. He licked away the blood. The sight of it made Levi shudder.

“Whatever scheme you’ve been running,” Sedric murmured, “it’s over. Maybe you will be, too.”

Sedric flipped over the top card on the deck.

“Ten of hearts. You got lucky, Pup. We’ll give you ten days. With reminders.” He stood, slid his knife back into its sheath and drained the rest of his glass. “A present from my family.” He tossed a silver card face down in front of Levi. Sedric whistled and walked to a different table.

Levi’s heart hammered, both from Sedric’s threat and the gift he left behind. He recognized the card instantly—its metallic back was signature to the Shadow Game, the rumored execution game of the Phoenix Club. It was a North Side legend, as notorious as the Great Street War or the original lords. To Levi, it was an object plucked out from a story, from a nightmare.

It can’t be real, Levi thought, hoped. But even his cynicism couldn’t rationalize away the card’s plain existence right in front of him.

The tales claimed the cards had magical properties once you touched them. Even though Levi didn’t believe in those shatz superstitions like Jac did, he flipped it over with a morbid curiosity, seeking some assurance that the legends weren’t true.

The moment he touched it, the lights of the Tropps Room faded, and silence pierced through the music.

* * *

Levi stared down a long hallway that stretched endlessly in both directions. The impressively tall doors alternated black and white, each parallel to the other. The walls and ceiling were marble, clean enough to glint off the hallway’s collection of mirrors and crystal. The floor was tiled in black and white, as well. Like a chessboard.

Vaguely, he got the sense he was dreaming. But if he was, he couldn’t seem to wake up.

He reached for a black door, but it was locked. He tried the white one next to it, and it clicked open. The air that rushed past felt like a sigh against his skin.

Once he crossed the threshold, he found himself dressed in a smart suit, far nicer than his St. Morse uniform. The mud squished beneath his oxfords, and it smelled of earth. He was in a graveyard. The sky was gray, as the sky in New Reynes tended to be. The City of Sin followed him wherever he went, even in his dreams.

Levi moved to return to the hallway—graveyards unnerved him, as cliché as that was—and tripped over one of the headstones. It was painted metallic silver.

Levi Canes Glaisyer, it read.

Levi scampered to his feet and backed around it. On its other side was a face: the Fool, one of the Shadow Cards, the invitation to the Shadow Game. The bells on the Fool’s hat chimed, high-pitched and eerie in the silent graveyard. The diamonds and triangles painted on his face spun like pinwheels, and he strutted toward the cliff in front of him. Levi reflexively took a step back, as though he could also fall.

The Fool laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed.

It’s not real, Levi assured himself. It’s only a nightmare.

But it didn’t feel like one. The earth sticky under his shoes, the cold sweat dripping down his neck, the Fool winking from his headstone—how could this all be in his head?

He whipped around and faced a new row of fresh, unfilled graves. He peered into the first hole, above which the headstone said Jac Dorner Mardlin. Jac’s coffin was lidless. Soot coated his blond hair and cap, and his eyes were wide-open, his mouth twisted into an unnatural scream.

Levi jolted back with horror and nearly stumbled into the next grave. It was Chez’s, and beside him, Mansi’s, and dozens of other Irons from around the city. Levi bit back a wave of nausea looking at Mansi’s gray-toned skin and lifeless eyes, matching the bodies of the other kids around her. Even if the investment scheme had gotten in the way of most of Levi’s responsibilities as lord, he still cared. They were his kids. His to protect.

This was all Levi’s fault.

He ran back to the hallway. The moment he crossed the threshold, his shoulders relaxed, his guilt and fear fading along with the nightmare.

There were hundreds of doors, but none of them was the right one.