The Shadow Game series
“The Orphan Guild was attacked last night without warning, with automatics that fire five bullets a second. The Guild might work primarily with the gangs, but you know where else the workers go? Casinos. Dens. Bars. Night clubs.” He lifted his arms up, gesturing to all of the Catacombs. “I’m willing to bet someone who works here has a past. I’m willing to bet gangsters find their way here every weekend, just like any other patron. The wigheads are only going after the gangs now, but at some point, what they call a gangster just means a criminal. Then what they call a criminal means an accomplice. Then what they call an accomplice means a bystander. Sit it out, if you want. But the life I want for the people loyal to me isn’t one of violence. Sorry if that’s boring to you. Maybe one day, if they ever come for this place with automatics or matches, you’ll get to see something exciting.”
Levi clenched his fists and whipped around, if not to storm out the door, then to drag Narinder back into the hallway and ask for someone better. He didn’t care if she could blow up the entire South Side—maybe the violinist or the pianist would have more moral fiber.
But before he could leave the office, he was grabbed by the shoulder. His knees nearly gave out with the sudden pain of it, like a bolt of lightning straight to his ribs. He shouted out a curse.
“Muck,” Tock said, startled by his volume. “You’re delicate.”
“And you’re—”
“Sorry,” she said, cutting off the insult before he spat it. “I’ll take the job.”
“What job?” he growled, turning around.
“Convincing people you’re a smart-ass, or whatever you said,” she said. Narinder’s face, which had seconds ago brightened, slid back into a scowl. “Not being a bystander when the Great Street War happens all over again. I don’t care that the Chancellor is dead, or that you and this Séance person killed him. I don’t think anyone in the North Side cares about politics and the laws that doesn’t affect them. But like you said, it’s the whole North Side that will go to war.”
Levi had heard far better apologies. “Is that the best you can do?” he asked.
“I’m sorry I called you delicate.”
He cringed. That wasn’t what he meant, but it did strike him as just absurd enough that he could laugh. “How do I know you mean it?” Levi asked.
“Because I’ll say the oath.”
If Tock grew up in this city, then she knew the legends of the North Side. When you swore a street oath to your lord, it wasn’t simply for show. There was a power to the words. It wasn’t like the omerta, which was power taken. An oath didn’t force you to do someone’s bidding. An oath was loyalty given, a solemn promise not to harm the lord or others who had sworn to them.
Levi nodded. “Go ahead then.”
She crossed her heart and recited the words. “Blood by blood. Oath by oath. Life by life.” When she finished the rest of the speech, there was an unmistakable tingling in the air. If Tock noticed it, though, she paid it no mind.
“There’s a tattoo parlor across from St. Morse,” he told her. “Tell her I sent you, that you need a diamond and a ten. She’ll do it no charge.” At least, with the papers saying what they did, he hoped that was still the case.
Tock’s gaze flickered to the set of tattoos on Levi’s forearms: the black A and spade. “What does the suit mean?”
“Diamonds mean you’ll get to blow things up.”
She grinned. Then she took the saxophone off her shoulder and heaved it ungraciously onto the couch. Narinder winced and picked it up.
“After you get your tattoos,” Levi continued, “find Mansi Chandra, at the Sauterelle. She’ll help you find the others.”
Mansi was a card dealer in the Irons. Levi had always considered her his protégée, and she’d once looked up to him like a little sister. Then she’d betrayed him and sided with Chez. That blow had hurt more than any of the ones Chez had landed.
Levi should’ve been angry with her. But really, he just wanted her admiration back.
“Yeah, I know the Sauterelle,” Tock said. “So I find your gangsters, I give them your message, and then what?”
“We’ll all meet tomorrow at the abandoned art museum,” he said. If Levi was going to lead differently this time, then he needed to appear more present in the Irons than before. He’d been too distant, and he wouldn’t make that mistake again. “Seven o’clock. Make sure they know.”
“And for the ones who say no?” she asked.
Unlike the Scar or Dove Lords, Levi swore he’d never run his gang on fear. But the Irons had betrayed him, and there had to be a better line between being weak and being a monster.
“They bear the tattoos, which means they each have bounties on their heads,” he said. “Tell them, as long as they stay in Olde Town with me, they have my protection.”
“And if they leave?” Tock asked.
Levi didn’t know what he’d do if the Irons left. He couldn’t help Harrison. He couldn’t help Olde Town. He might not like it, but in New Reynes, power wasn’t a commodity freely given. If he wanted it, he had to take it.
“Then they can face the gallows.”
JAC
By eleven o’clock the next day, Jac had smoked another half a pack of cigarettes—far more than he typically burned through in a morning. Every time he finished one, after twenty minutes or so passed, his fingers started to tremble and his heart palpitations sent him reaching into his pocket for another. All his new clothes already reeked of smoke.
He’d left Zula’s nearly as soon as he’d woken up, and the walk to the eastern side of the Casino District had cleared his head. For a while, he stood outside Luckluster Casino, staring at its slick black stone and flashing scarlet lights, and thought about how choosing a don for Harrison to sponsor would only help the Family to survive.
Jac would prefer to see them burn.
But Jac was one man against the entire Torren Empire. That included Luckluster Casino, the only other casino in New Reynes as large as St. Morse. It included the profits of drug sales all across the North Side, particularly its two most popular substances: Rapture and Lullaby. It included thirty-four different pubs they’d bought and converted into smaller gambling enterprises or drug dens. It included hundreds of employees, thousands of addicts, and millions of volts.
And he was just one man.
At eleven thirty, Jac slid into a yellow phone booth and called St. Morse. He knew Levi had scheduled a meeting with Enne around now, but it wasn’t Enne he wanted to talk to.
“’Lo?” Lola answered. Her voice sounded strangely on edge.
“It’s me.”
“Is that supposed to mean something? Who is this?”
Jac choked in surprise and coughed out a puff of smoke. “It’s Jac. Why do you sound all wrung out? What’s wrong with you?”
“I just spoke to my bosses, and now we have an appointment scheduled later today,” she explained. Jac supposed her bosses meant Bryce Balfour and the two others who ran the Orphan Guild. Judging from what he’d heard about that trio, that seemed a reasonable excuse for anxiety. “Why do you sound all wrung out?” Lola asked snidely.
If Jac explained all that over the phone, he’d run out of volts to feed the call. “Can you meet me?”
“Now? Where?”
“At, um...” He gave the first cross-street he could think of in this neighborhood that wasn’t near a Torren place. “18th and Rummy.”
“Fine,” Lola huffed. “But you better not be in trouble, because I really don’t have time today to save you.”
* * *
There was a bench on the corner, just as he remembered. He sat on it, his back to the building, trying to convince himself to wait an hour before his next smoke. He stared at the line of pubs across the street, a sight that had once been the view from his cramped bedroom window for nearly eight years. From here, it was a short walk to the factory where he’d worked. Jac imagined one of the wardens walking past him on the sidewalk, not recognizing him with his dyed hair or glasses.
It made him feel powerful.
It also made him feel like a ghost.
Lola appeared across the street. Even though no cars were coming, she waited for the light to turn before she crossed over. For nearly a whole minute, Jac watched her just stand there and thought...maybe she’d gotten herself lost. But when the light finally flashed green, he realized she was actually a rule-abiding, knife-collecting fraud.
Lola sat on the bench beside him. She wore her usual top hat, but it was strange seeing her hair down, now that she no longer needed to hide it in public.
“You’re less scary with the red hair,” he commented.
She frowned. “It’s blood red.”
“It’s...cherry red.”
“Why are we here?” she asked, ignoring him and turning around to look at where the address had brought her. “Is this some kind of school?”
“It’s my old One-Way House,” Jac explained.
Because many had fled the city during the Revolution, the wigheads had started shipping in children from orphanages across much of the western coast about two decades ago, in an effort to bring workers and “community” back into New Reynes. Most of those children ended up in One-Way Houses like the building behind them.
The worst part of the One-Way Houses wasn’t the work—it was the debt. From the moment Jac arrived when he was six years old, he was given a tally. Everything he was provided had a price, and the earnings he made at the factory were supposed to pay for his necessities. But within months, the charges quickly surpassed his earnings. Once in the indenture, it was nearly impossible to work his way out. Jac finally managed it when he was thirteen, through the volts he’d earned helping Levi with his schemes.
Lola crinkled her nose and turned back around. “Well, that’s depressing.”
“I’m going to tell you a few things that you have to promise not to tell Enne,” he said. He remembered how she’d ratted him out about the teacup, but he liked to think that’d been a joke. He liked to think that he could trust her.
She sighed. “Why not?”
“Because none of this can get back to Vianca.” He rubbed his hands together. Even talking about the donna made him nervous.
“Fine,” Lola said, though she didn’t sound happy about it.
And so he told her everything that Levi had confided in him last night—and what he’d asked Jac to do.
“What happens when everything doesn’t go to plan?” she demanded once he finished.
Jac pursed his lips. “It’s a gamble.”
“It’s a disaster,” she hissed. “You’re right—Enne can’t know about this. So why are you telling me?”
Because he didn’t have anyone else to share the burden with—not that he would admit that.
Lola took off her top hat and ran her fingers nervously through her hair. The shade from the buildings behind them was creeping back, and now that they sat in the sun, both their faces were slick with sweat. “This will end badly.”
“Your catchphrase,” he muttered, because he couldn’t help himself.
“And when Levi’s deadline with Vianca expires? How is he going to help Harrison then?”
“I’m honestly not sure,” Jac answered. “Which is why the most important piece is the Torrens. If anything happens with Vianca, or if—muck—if Levi loses this wager, at least there’s still the Torrens’ vote. At least Harrison could maybe still win. And then the wager won’t matter, because Vianca will be dead.” It was an awful lot of pressure, far more than he felt he was capable of taking on. His fingers shook as he reached for another cigarette, hating himself for it.
Lola stared at her knotted fingers for several silent moments. Finally, she looked up, her expression dark.
“Was it Rapture or Lullaby?” she murmured.
Jac’s fingers slipped as he flicked the lighter. He hated the idea that she could know such a thing by looking at him, but he also suspected she’d known for a while.
“Lullaby,” he admitted. “I’m two years sober.”
He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. It was almost too hot outside to take a full breath. He hated the stifling feeling of smoking in summer, but he didn’t feel like he could breathe without the nicotine.
“I have it all figured out,” he said quickly, coughing a bit. “There’s this place that’s Torren-owned. It’s called Liver Shot. It’s the only den that—” he counted off on his fingers “—one, has a boxing pit. An easy way for me to get an in. And two, that sells exclusively Rapture, not Lullaby.”
“And you’ll... What? Fight your way into getting a job? Is that how that works?” she asked.
“That’s about as far as I’ve worked out, yeah.”
“Muck, Jac, you can’t do this. The fact that Levi even asked you is... It’s repulsive. He knows, right? Of course he must know—”
“Levi literally pulled me out of a Lull den when I overdosed and saved my life,” he told her seriously.
“That makes it even worse, and you shouldn’t be defending him,” Lola chided. “You might have this all planned out now, but you don’t really know what sort of situation you could walk into. If this family feud gets messy, you’ll be right in the middle of it. It’d be dangerous for anyone, but for you—”
“Well, it’s not like Levi has anyone else he could ask, does he?” Jac snapped. Maybe Lola was right. Maybe he shouldn’t defend Levi, but he still felt he had to. “Anyone else could handle this better, but instead, he has me. Unlucky for him, I’m the only friend he’s got.”
He threw the stub of his cigarette behind him, toward the One-Way House. “I grew up in that place, trapped by a debt I never thought I’d escape until I met him. And I think all the time about how easy it is to get trapped in this city. How my first real job after that really wasn’t any type of improvement. How I kept feeling trapped, so I took the Lullaby when they offered it to me the first time, and then I trapped myself when I kept going back.
“I might be the absolute worst person for this job, but he’s my best friend. If it means he’s not trapped anymore, then maybe it’s worth it.”
Lola leaned back on the bench, still knotting her fingers together. “You realize what this means for the city—for the whole Republic, right? An election that the monarchists could actually win?” She shook her head. “It’s just one seat, but that isn’t what matters. What matters is that, ever since the Revolution, we’ve pretended this is peace. But there are talents that don’t exist anymore because people were systematically killed by the First Party. And not just Mizers—anyone with true power, anyone who could be a threat. That’s been the heart of the monarchist platform for years. That this is not peace. That we cannot stop changing. And to think—the fate of an entire history-altering election could rest on your shoulders.”
Jac didn’t actually think he could have felt worse, but now he did. “Very eloquent. You have a real way with words, you know that?” he snapped. “But you missed the last bit you meant to say. The ‘we’re doomed’ part.”
She half smiled, the sort of expression that told Jac there was an element of truth to his joke. “You know how they say this city is a game? Well, I always felt like I was surrounded by players. My bosses at the Orphan Guild, my brothers, and now Enne... I’m the sort of person who watches from the outskirts of the story. Who hopefully lives to tell the story.”
“I get that,” Jac said, and he did. At least up until the point about living to tell the story. He’d honestly never been quite so optimistic.
“So when are you going to this place? Liver Shot?” Lola asked. “Tonight?”
“No, it’s a Thursday. If I wait until tomorrow, it’ll be busier, and my chances of talking to the right people will be better. I have a few volts. I’ll stay at a hostel.” He could save his volts and go back to Levi’s, but he didn’t think he had it in him to face his friend a second time.
Lola checked the expensive watch she’d stolen from him. “I have to meet Enne soon. I...” She bit her lip.
“You know, I only told you because I thought you of all people wouldn’t worry about me,” Jac said.
She punched him in the arm. “Of course I’ll worry about you, muckhead.”
Jac smirked. “That didn’t hurt much. You won’t jaywalk. You’ve got no strength. No wonder you collect all those knives—how else would you convince people to fear you?”
She scowled. “I have my methods.”
Jac wondered why someone like Lola would stay in New Reynes. When they were in the National Library a few days ago, she’d claimed she had people she cared about in this city, but as far as he could tell, she was alone. But she was smart, and she could read, and even if it was sometimes easy to forget, the world was a lot bigger than the City of Sin. And a lot kinder, too.
“If volts weren’t an issue,” he started, “if you weren’t some assistant to the Orphan Guild, if you weren’t Enne’s second... What would you be? What would you be if you could be anything?”
“A librarian,” she answered matter-of-factly.
He couldn’t help himself. He hollered. “I can’t believe you just admitted that you’re actually a softie.”
She crossed her arms. “What’s your answer, then? What would you be?”
“I don’t know,” he said. It was a depressing thought. “But thanks for coming out here. I don’t... I don’t actually have a lot of people to talk to, other than Levi. But you get things that he really doesn’t. You’re a good friend.”
“Friend.” She squinted. “That’s pushing it, don’t you think?”
“Acquaintance?” he offered.
“Better,” she said, smirking.
The two of them stood up, and she eyed him with suspicion. “You look like you’re about to hug me. I don’t like hugs.”
He held out his hand. “Fine. Acquaintances.”
She snorted and shook it. “The ones who never wanted to be players.” And with that, she gave him a final order to be careful and a wave goodbye. Jac watched her walk down the block and disappear around the corner.
He was glad he’d called her—he did feel better now, with far less of an urge to smoke, at least for a few hours.
But there was still something that bothered him. Something about the last words she’d said.
The ones who never wanted to be players.
Sure, maybe Jac had never asked to be a player.
But Lola’s words about him weren’t entirely true.
ENNE
Lola scanned Enne’s ruffled sleeves, visible even beneath her black trench coat. “That’s what you’re wearing? To meet my bosses?” Her voice was barely more than a squeak.
“I like the blue.” Enne pouted her lips and followed Lola into the Tropps Street Mole station. Though it hadn’t rained in several days, the cement steps were mysteriously and disturbingly covered in puddles, which Enne carefully avoided.
“You have a reputation now,” Lola groaned. “You have to look the part, otherwise we won’t attract the best.”
“And what attracts the best?”
Lola frowned at Enne’s necklace. “Not pearls.”
“This city thinks I killed the Chancellor. Everyone knows I killed Sedric Torren. And I did so while wearing pearls.”
“You’re in a mood,” Lola grumbled as they slid their tickets through the turnstile and followed the signs for the gold line.
Enne thought of her meeting that morning with Levi and soured further. “Maybe I am.”
They descended the steps and waited along the platform.
“If you could buy anything you wanted, what would it be?” Enne asked her.
Lola narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve just been thinking about it lately.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. It’s—”
“Only a question.” Enne leaned her head back, smiling to herself wistfully. “I bet I can guess it. You strike me as a Houssen girl. In silver? In—”
“In black,” Lola answered quickly. This was clearly a fantasy she’d already given some thought. “Are you trying to buy my contentment for some reason? Because we should really be discussing the plan for today. You said Levi would—”
“There is no plan,” Enne responded. “I’d hoped Levi would have one, but he didn’t.” Her voice dripped with resentment. At least she’d learned her lesson: if she wanted something in New Reynes, then she needed to learn to depend on herself.
The train sped its way to the platform in a rush of wind, saving Enne from having to look at Lola’s undoubtedly frustrated expression. They claimed seats in a shadowed corner of the train. Advertisements by the doors featured perfumes held by famous opera stars and prima ballerinas of the South Side, or the address of a real estate agent selling “Once in a Lifetime” properties on the up-and-coming New Reynes boardwalk.
“Then what were you and Levi doing all morning?” Lola hissed. “No, no, I don’t actually want to know.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Enne said, flushing. “But I’d rather not talk about it.”
“So that explains the mood,” Lola remarked. “Regardless, you can’t be distracted. Not today. In fact, we need to be very, very careful. I don’t like Bryce on a good day, and after what happened at the Guild, he’s distraught.” She looked around the train car nervously, as though Bryce might’ve been able to overhear. “And he’s not typically a stable person.”
The more she heard Lola speak of Bryce, the more the prospect of this meeting intimidated her. “Tell me more about the Guild?” Enne asked.
“It works like a temp agency,” Lola explained. “If you’re interested in work, Bryce will find it for you, whether it’s with the gangs or otherwise, temporary or permanent. Bryce sets the price of each guildworker based on their talents and various skills. Two thirds goes to the worker, and one third goes to him.”
“Why give a portion of your earnings to Bryce when you could find a job yourself?” Enne asked.
“Some people aren’t looking for steady work. And some places only hire from the Guild, like the Doves. Expect a lot of assassin hopefuls there.”
Enne nervously tucked her ruffles into her sleeve. Maybe everyone else’s jokes were right. Maybe she was about to be eaten alive.
Lola drummed her fingers on the metal seat. “So we have no idea how to earn an income. No idea what sort of talents we’re looking to hire. No place for them to live—”
“I want to find a place in the Ruins District,” Enne told her.
“By tonight?” Lola asked with exasperation.
“Well, I don’t want to bring them to St. Morse. Can’t they stay with you?”
“I live in a studio. I’m not hosting some would-be killer for a slumber party in six hundred square feet.”
“Who said they have to be a would-be killer?” Enne asked.
“Well, it’s not like you’re going to find a lady,” she muttered, piquing Enne’s irritation. “I’ve convinced Bryce you’re some aspiring street lord, and so you’ll need to act like it. For starters, we need a trademark. The Irons have tattoos—”
“I already have that covered,” Enne said hotly, pulling two pairs of lacy, cream-colored gloves from her purse. “Let me guess, you hate them.”
“These are...ridiculous,” Lola sputtered with exasperation. “They’ll stain. A bit of dirt, a bit of blood—”
“Well, then,” Enne replied, her voice weary with fatigue and nerves. “Don’t get blood on them.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, as they wove through the Deadman District’s maze of alleys, Enne slipped on the black silk mask that she hadn’t worn since the Shadow Game. She and Lola walked the path side by side, dressed all in black except for the whites of their gloves and the bits of blue ruffle peeking out from Enne’s jacket. As they approached the end of the street, Enne suddenly wished she’d listened to Lola’s advice and changed her shirt.
After the attack, the Orphan Guild had relocated into what had once been called the National Prison. It was the tallest building for a mile in either direction, with a watchtower that overlooked the entire North Side. The metal gate stood open, one door broken off its hinges and leaning against the adjacent wall, the other in pieces on the ground, rusting away to nothing. The pathway inside was littered with loose barbed wire, cigarette butts, and wrappers of Tiggy’s Saltwater Taffy.