Читать книгу 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 - Amanda Foody - Страница 13

ENNE

Levi and Enne passed through the revolving doors of St. Morse Casino. Enne had never set foot in a casino before, but she’d glimpsed some of the smaller establishments on Tropps Street, and none of them came close to resembling St. Morse’s old-world glamour. A crystal chandelier stretched across the entire ceiling. Emerald green carpeting trailed up the stairs, matching the velvet curtains draped over the windows and the uniforms of the concierges. Metallic silver archways led into rooms labeled Tropps Room, Theatre and Ballroom with sapphire-blue calligraphy. Everything smelled of fine leather and whiskey, and each patron donned the Republic’s most famous designers: Gershton, Ulani Maxirello, Regallière.

It was, without a doubt, the gaudiest place to ever affront Enne’s senses.

At least fifty guests mingled in the lobby, champagne glasses in hand. They wore elegant tea gowns with pleated skirts, feathered hats and long strands of black pearls. In her tailored suit and scuffed heels, Enne felt exposed in more ways than one.

She’d lied to Levi about the volts.

At first, she hadn’t felt guilty in the least. Levi was a criminal after all. He probably cheated tourists like her every day. But that didn’t make it right. And after what he’d said to her earlier, like he had more at stake in this than his wallet, it didn’t make her feel good, either.

It hadn’t been a total lie. The volts did exist. Last summer, when Enne had sneaked into Lourdes’s private office for the first and only time, she’d seen the bank slips. She and her mother certainly didn’t live like they had millions of volts, but Enne had read the documents herself. It was...wealth beyond imagination. And Lourdes had kept it from her.

So the volts did exist, and paying Levi would hardly put a dent in their fortune. But Enne had no idea where the bank account was. Or where the volts came from.

It didn’t matter. Once she found Lourdes, she’d have her answers. Once she found Lourdes, Levi would have his volts. It wasn’t a lie. It just wasn’t the truth.

She and Levi walked into a hallway lined with portraits of men, women and occasionally whole families, each with blazing purple eyes. Mizers, Enne thought with a chill. She wondered whether or not it was dangerous for the casino to have portraits of the royal families on display, as if they were people to be revered. Most people alive today had witnessed the Revolution, and, however corrupt the Republic might’ve been, it was nothing compared to the tyranny of the Mizers.

The deeper they ventured into St. Morse, the more Enne felt like she was walking into a castle out of a history book. The mahogany woodwork. The blue and green, everywhere. The white stone walls. A hotel casino, Levi had called it. Really, it was more of a fortress. In the nighttime, it might even resemble a mausoleum.

They stopped in front of an elevator, where Levi pulled a lever that illuminated an up arrow above the doors.

“How many volts did you bring?” Levi asked. “Enough to last until you leave?”

“No, not with all of my belongings gone.” A jolt of panic shot through her. She had no clothes. No toiletries. And not enough volts to replace them and still purchase her ticket home, after paying Levi tonight.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. The elevator doors opened, and they stepped onto a shaky metal platform. The black iron gates creaked closed as the operator turned a crank. “How are you with heights? This is the tallest building on the North Side.”

“I’m all right,” she lied. The floor shifted beneath her feet, almost like the deck of the ship she’d traveled on to New Reynes—but then, she hadn’t been terrified of falling to her death. Enne held her breath and squeezed the railing.

Levi watched her with amusement, much as he had all morning. At first, when Levi had tried to steal from her, Enne had considered him a crook. But after they left Scrap Market, there had been an unmistakable sincerity in his voice. It had improved her opinion of him, if only slightly. Still, he was terribly rude. She reminded herself that she needed to tolerate him only until they found her mother.

“Never ridden in an elevator before?” he asked.

“Not one quite so in need of maintenance.”

The operator grunted.

The doors opened to a hallway with emerald wallpaper and silver trim. It looked opulent and grand, but beneath, Enne could see that it was royal only in the cheapest, most obscene manner possible. Every metallic finish was paint; every bit of crystal was actually glass.

“The top floor is only for Vianca Augustine’s favorites,” Levi said, except with more disgust than pride. “This includes the highest-paying guests, close friends of the Augustines, Vianca herself and, of course, me.”

“You mentioned Vianca earlier. Who is she?” Enne asked.

He scowled like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “You should pay better attention to that guidebook. Vianca is the donna of the Augustine crime Family, and she owns St. Morse Casino.”

As Enne digested his words, Levi led her to a room labeled 2018 and unlocked the door. He held it open for her, but she couldn’t tell whether his politeness was meant to mock. It was impossible to differentiate between his smirk and his smile.

The apartment was unnaturally clean. Levi took a seat on the stiff armchair in the living room while Enne examined the shine of his counters and the strange black oven that looked out of place in his cramped kitchen. Bookshelves covered every wall, filled with volumes and papers arranged by height, and a glass conch shell glittered on the coffee table.

Enne took a seat on the couch.

“What?” Levi asked, studying her face. “Missies always expect that I live in a gutter,” he muttered. Then, as though he were actually going to play host, he offered her a green candy from the bowl on his table. “Tiggy’s Saltwater Taffy. Absinthe-flavored. It’s the signature New Reynes treat.”

Enne shook her head, certain anything signature to this city would prove repulsive. “Why are we here?” She’d never been alone in a young man’s home before, and she hoped he couldn’t see her cheeks redden, couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Surely there must’ve been other places in St. Morse to talk in private besides his apartment. The whole ordeal of Sweetie Street and the unfamiliarity with New Reynes didn’t ease Enne’s mind, nor did the pleasing slopes and angles of Levi’s jawline.

“I’m gonna get you a job,” he declared.

She startled. “A job? Here?”

“What? Too below you to earn an income?”

She doubted her teachers at finishing school would have approved of a lady working at a casino. Or a lady working at all, for that matter. “What kind of job do you have in mind?” she asked coolly, refusing to rise to his provocation.

“You’re a dancer. We’ve got several groups of performers—”

“I’m not that type of dancer.”

“And St. Morse isn’t that type of establishment.” He stood and turned into a narrow hallway, motioning for her to follow. By the time she got up, he’d disappeared into the room at the end, and she realized with no small amount of horror that it must have been his bedroom.

“What are you doing?” Enne called from the doorway, unable to even peek inside.

“Finding you something to wear. Your clothes belong in an antique shop.”

Enne sniffed in indignation. Her outfit was considered fashionable in Bellamy, where women had a sense of modesty.

“What do you expect me to wear?” she asked. “Trousers?” Or worse, one of those fishnet numbers she’d seen all over Tropps Street?

He emerged with a dress and an easy smile. “What? Don’t you trust me?”

“Hardly.” And certainly not with that gleam in his eyes. Or with the not-entirely-unpleasant smell of his citrus cologne.

She allowed herself to admit that Levi Glaisyer was very good-looking—at least, in an up-to-no-good way that she supposed some people found attractive. He was of fairly average height, but his build was slender and trim. Of all his noteworthy features—his smooth brown skin, the sharp slopes of his cheekbones—the most identifiable was his hair. It started bronze at the roots, but the tight curls gradually turned to black at the ends, as if singed.

Sometimes talents, especially Talents of Mysteries, carried a particular physical characteristic with them—like the purple eyes of the Mizers. She remembered Levi melting the lock earlier and lighting Reymond’s cigar. He might have had a fire-making talent, but the fire-makers she’d met in the past were different—they smelled of smoke and depleted the oxygen from the air around them, suffocating anyone in close contact. He didn’t smell like...

Levi smirked, and Enne realized with a start that she’d been staring.

To avoid his gaze, she spent several moments examining the dress. It was floor-length, with a gold ribbon trim lining the silky, sage-colored fabric. It was actually rather nice. “Where did you get this?” she asked as she daringly entered his room and took it from his hands.

“I’ve got a collection of lost things.”

Lost things? Oh. He meant left behind. She lifted the dress up to hide her mortified expression.

“You get dressed,” he said. “I’ll be out here.”

“Levi,” she protested as he walked away. “This is ridiculous and unnecessary. My clothes are perfectly fine.” Although, as she looked down, she noticed that her hemline was rather filthy.

“Look, missy,” Levi said flatly. “You can call as much attention to yourself as you want, but I prefer to keep my head down. Time to fit into our society.” He closed the door but kept talking, his voice diminishing. “Now get changed. I’ve things to do and only time for half of them.”

Hmph. Though her attire did stand out in this city, it was for the right reasons. But the dress he’d chosen didn’t appear too outrageous, and the color would suit her nicely.

As she changed, she realized how low the neckline was cut. Goodness, she thought, it would be almost like strutting around topless. She turned to his wardrobe and rooted around for a new outfit. Nudged between another blouse and several pairs of men’s undershirts in various sizes—this was quite the collection—she selected a red dress with a more conservative front.

When Enne returned to the sitting room, she found Levi in the armchair turning the glass conch shell over like an archaeologist examining a fossil. He raised his eyebrows upon seeing her in a different dress.

“Where did you buy it?” she asked, referring to the conch. “It’s beautiful.”

“I made it. There was a shell like this in my house when I was young, so I tried to replicate it.”

“You have a glassmaking talent?”

“No, an orb-making talent. But I don’t use it much.” He talked with a kind of bitterness, as if admitting to something shameful. The orb-making talent certainly explained his hair and his affinity for fire; she’d never met an orb-maker, but she should’ve guessed it before. They had nearly as much lore surrounding them as the Mizers did. Most of them were even executed alongside the Mizers, so there weren’t many families left.

“Then why be a card dealer and a...” She didn’t say criminal, in case she might offend him, though Levi seemed to take pride in his particular line of work. “Orb-makers could make a very fair living.”

“You mean, why be poor when I could be rich?” He laughed hollowly. “For plenty of reasons. For one, most people assume orb-makers are Mizer sympathizers, and I’d rather not associate myself with that muck. The only reason my family survived was because we haven’t called attention to ourselves.”

Enne flinched at Mizer sympathizers and survived. She didn’t like how, in only one morning, New Reynes had drawn a heavy, black line connecting those two phrases to her mother, followed by a bloodred question mark.

For the second time that day, Enne wondered how she would face it if she never learned the truth about Lourdes’s other life. The newspapers...the monarchists...the Mizer sympathizers...it was so far from what she knew about Lourdes.

But what did she know about her mother?

Lourdes had taught her how to analyze people meticulously. She had a method to this, and a set of rules that she observed with an almost religious reverence. Enne could replicate her skills in a heartbeat.

But they never worked on Lourdes.

It began with a person’s air. Lourdes was tall with features full of right angles and fair colors. She dressed fluidly—a practice uncommon but not unheard of in Bellamy, where reputation depended on social circles and income and nothing else. Her Protector talents—her blood and split talents were the same, making her exceptionally powerful—made her every word sound consoling, soothing, no matter how sharp her tone. She followed each code of societal etiquette, but did so with such precision that it always seemed as if she were poking fun.

Next was what you could’ve gathered from pleasant small talk. Lourdes claimed she was thirty-seven years old, but she looked no more than thirty. Her family—now all dead, as far as Enne knew—had vacationed in Bellamy when she was young, but she hadn’t moved there until she’d adopted Enne, and no one in Bellamy knew her from her childhood.

Last were the more intimate details. Within the privacy of their home, Lourdes cursed. She read New Reynes newspapers. She sang loudly and terribly. Enne had seen strange scars shaped like perfect circles on the inside of her elbows. She’d heard her laugh too hard or yell in a way that made the beads on their chandelier quiver, but she’d never seen Lourdes shed a tear. She’d seen Lourdes walk into her office each morning with a cup of coffee and lock the door behind her, and Enne, for years, had been too nervous to follow her inside.

Enne loved her, but she didn’t understand her. No one in Bellamy did. It was why their names rarely graced the guest lists of balls and salons, why no one ever paid attention to Enne.

Now Enne wanted to understand, and she regretted, more than anything, avoiding these questions before.

“I want to hear everything,” Enne told Levi seriously. “Everything you know about the monarchists, the Mizer sympathizers, this world. Lourdes never shared any of this with me, and I need to—”

“Have you ever considered that your mother purposely kept you in the dark?” he asked—not unkindly, but not gently, either.

Yes, she thought.

Instead she answered, “Why would she do that?”

“No idea, but before we chat with Vianca Augustine about hiring you, it’s very important that we’re on the same page. If you haven’t noticed by the decor of this casino, Vianca has a fetish for all things Mizer. She certainly knows who Lourdes is, but—” he said loudly as Enne began to interrupt “—under no circumstances should you ask Vianca about Lourdes. Under no circumstances should you ask Vianca anything.”

The way Levi spat out Vianca’s name, Enne wondered what exactly he’d asked of Vianca. Or what she’d asked of him.

“Mizers created volts, that was their talent,” he began.

“I know that—”

He shushed her. “Being an orb-maker, I was taught a lot about Mizers—I’m sure I know more than you. We’re different from the metalsmiths or glassmaker families. As you might know, Mizers don’t technically make volts—they make energy. Orb-makers filter that energy into volts, sort of like a by-product. Without orb-makers, no one would’ve ever started using volts as money. Without orb-makers, holding that energy in your skin would be unbearably painful.”

Enne was tempted to interrupt and remind him that very few people stored volts in their skin. In Bellamy, it was considered too lowbrow not to use orbs—they weren’t that expensive. And in New Reynes, she imagined such a method could prove risky. With enough practice, someone could steal your volts with only a graze of your skin. Forgoing orbs was impractical.

“The Mizers were all systematically murdered during the Revolution. Adults and children alike,” Levi said gravely. “There were protests, of course, but the Phoenix Club didn’t much care. Twenty-five years ago sounds like a long time, but not for the North Side. Mizers are still a political topic, but we don’t need them anymore, now that volts can be manufactured artificially. Still, the monarchists have been slowly gaining momentum to fight against corruption.”

“Do you agree with the monarchists?” Enne asked quietly. Levi almost made it sound like the monarchists were in the right, when all Enne had ever associated them with was extremism and violence.

He smiled in a way that wasn’t much of a smile at all. “I don’t involve myself in politics.”

Seeking reassurance, Enne took her token out of her pocket. It’d always seemed like a unique trinket, something pretty Lourdes had thought Enne might like. Now Enne saw the woman in the cameo as a Mizer queen. She saw the Revolution. The queen’s execution. The murder of every Mizer and their sympathizers. She couldn’t decide which was more horrific: that Lourdes had gifted her an object with such a blood-soaked history, or that Enne had treated it as a trinket.

“I still...” She squeezed the token, and it felt warm and steady in her palm. It was her only comfort away from home, alone in this city. “I still can’t picture Lourdes being involved with monarchists.”

“She was more than involved. She was Séance, practically the face of the Mizer sympathizers’ crusade.” He gazed at Enne fiercely, the judgment clear in his dark eyes. What exactly did Levi Glaisyer think of her—that she was desperate? Foolish? Childish? She wondered why she cared. “Why did you think she came to New Reynes so often?”

“She said she was visiting friends,” Enne answered.

“She never thought to bring you to meet those friends?”

“It was more important I stay in school.”

“You never questioned that?”

She squeezed the token in her fist. Was this some kind of interrogation?

“She’s my mother. Why should I have questioned her?” Although Enne had certainly had her suspicions, she’d ignored them. Admittedly, there had once been a time when Enne resented Lourdes for her secrets, for her strange behavior, for the way she alienated Enne from any chance of society’s approval.

But now, with Lourdes’s whereabouts and even survival unknown, she hated herself for those thoughts.

“It’s easy for Protectors to keep secrets,” Levi prodded. “They never seem as if they’re lying. It never occurred to you—”

“No. It didn’t.” Enne’s voice rose, marking the dozenth time she’d broken the show no emotion rule. She didn’t appreciate what Levi was suggesting, that Lourdes would use her talents to purposefully keep Enne in the dark. If a Protector officially swore their powers to someone, they were forever bound to act in that person’s best interest, no matter the implications for themselves. Lourdes had never sworn to anyone, thank goodness. The practice was barbaric and unused since the Revolution. Levi was suggesting Lourdes was protecting someone—probably someone in New Reynes—and, by extension, that Enne hadn’t even noticed that her mother’s life was barely her own.

“I trust her,” Enne snapped. What did he want her to say? That yes, it had occurred to her that Lourdes had purposefully kept information from her? Of course it had. Enne knew Lourdes kept secrets, but he made it sound as if their entire relationship was a lie, and Enne would never believe that. “I trust her. Maybe trust is a foreign concept to you.”

She realized, once she said it, that the words had come out rather harsh. This whole time, Levi had kept a remarkably cool expression. She was the one working herself up. For a moment, she considered apologizing. Then...

“Maybe naïveté is a foreign concept to you,” he said drily.

That thought vanished.

“How dare—”

“If you’re so jumpy answering my questions, how are you going to last one night on the North Side? How are you going to face Vianca Augustine?” He shook his head, and Enne couldn’t decide if she felt ashamed or aggravated. He wasn’t being fair. “I’m just trying to keep you from getting yourself killed.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. It wasn’t as though she was in any real danger. At least, as long as she didn’t speak to any whiteboots again.

He leaned forward and steepled his fingers, his expression grim. “Have you ever heard of the Phoenix Club?”

“Only now, when you just mentioned it,” she answered.

“They’re the most powerful and dangerous people in the Republic. Businessmen, wigheads, scholars...all with a talent for immortality. They’re the ones who orchestrated the Mizer executions. The whole Revolution, even.”

She searched his expression for one of his telltale smirks, but found none.

“There’s no talent for immortality,” she said. “That’s impossible.”

He sighed, cracked his neck and checked his watch. Enne’s nostrils flared. If anyone had a right to feel impatient, it was she. “Chancellor Semper himself is part of the Phoenix Club. He’s their leader.”

She barked out a laugh. “You expect me to believe that?”

Levi stood. “Fine, missy. I was trying to prepare you. But if you’re so sure of yourself, you’re obviously ready for Vianca.”

He walked to his front door and motioned for her to follow. Enne hesitated, wanting to challenge him. But if she kept arguing, she might start crying again. The urge to do so throbbed in her chest, and if she even used enough breath to say fine, it would explode. She’d already cried twice this morning. She didn’t know how she had enough tears left for a third.

They were silent until the elevator reached the bottom floor, where she followed Levi through another hallway lined with portraits of Mizer monarchs with amethyst eyes.

“You should address Vianca as Madame,” he said, more like a warning than a suggestion. “She likes that.”

“I’m more than comfortable addressing superiors.” Her voice sounded steady and precise. The streets might’ve been Levi’s arena, but etiquette was hers. After everything she’d faced so far this day, an interview with Vianca Augustine hardly intimidated her.

Enne held her head up high, smoothed down her hair and focused. She repeated Lourdes’s rules in the back of her mind.

His eyes trailed over her—almost enough to ruin that focus. “I take it you didn’t like my choice of dress for you.”

“It was inappropriate. Particularly for an interview.”

“Maybe that’s why I liked it.”

He smiled, and no, no, she wouldn’t let that smile break her resolve to be aggravated with him. She stared in the direction of her pointed-toe heels, hidden underneath the hem of the dress, and hoped with every fiber of her being she wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of blushing like a Bellamy schoolgirl.

“Though I will admit, this dress is a bit long,” she commented, trying to remain aloof.

“Yeah, you should grow some.”

She couldn’t think of a snappy enough retort, so, left with no other options, she let out a hmph.

He snorted, but then his smirk receded. “I’m sorry, Enne. I haven’t been trying to upset you. But this city...it’s rotten, down to its very core. And you need to be prepared for what you might face. Or learn.” He looked away and stared at his oxfords. “I’m trying to help you.”

He was attempting to soothe her, but his honesty made Enne only feel worse. Maybe she was no match for this city. Maybe the North Side would take everything she had and spit her out into the harbor. Maybe the streets where Lourdes walked freely would spell ruin for her daughter.

They walked into a waiting room with several marble busts lining the walls. A pale, fragile-looking woman hunched over a desk in the corner. She startled at the sight of them.

“Levi,” she exclaimed, standing as he approached and even giving a slight bow of her head. She had a pinched nose and a collar so tiny it was a wonder she could breathe. She drank in the sight of him, never once glancing at Enne. “I wasn’t aware you had an appointment.”

“I don’t. Is Vianca available right now?”

“Yes.” She hesitated before adding, “I can announce you if you wish—”

“We’ll announce ourselves.” He grabbed Enne’s wrist and tugged her to the door on the far side of the room. “Here we go.”

He knocked.

“Come in,” a woman’s voice invited.

Before opening the door, Levi bent down, his lips inches from her ear. “Whatever you do, don’t let her see you squirm.”