King of Fools Page 2

  “They should put these posters on trading cards.” Levi faked a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

  “You’re rather cavalier about all of this.” Harrison slapped the paper. “This is a death sentence.” That, too, he said like a purr.

  “So was the Shadow Game,” Levi countered. “Now tell me—why are you here?”

  Harrison drummed his fingers on the window ledge. On his middle finger, he wore the Augustine emerald ring, same as Vianca.

  “I’ve returned to destroy my mother,” he said.

  For the second time that morning, Levi had come face-to-face with his destiny. The sirens outside grew quieter, and the nerves knotting in his chest began to unravel. It was a second sign. Too blatant for Levi not to pay attention.

  A New Reynes without Vianca—that he’d risk nearly anything for.

  Maybe this was a new beginning after all.

  “You know I can’t help you.” The omerta, an unbreakable oath Vianca had trapped him into taking, prevented Levi from hurting her. Harrison’s blood name was Augustine, which meant he’d inherited his mother’s talent for omertas, so he knew their rules better than anyone. And, of course, all of New Reynes—and certainly Harrison—knew that Levi was at Vianca’s mercy.

  “But you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have a plan,” Levi added.

  “I know my way around omertas. You can’t directly hurt her, but you can do almost anything else so long as she doesn’t expressly forbid it,” Harrison explained. “The Senate election for the New Reynes representative seat is in November. It’s one of the most influential positions in politics. Sedric Torren was the First Party’s candidate, but now that he’s been so conveniently removed, I’ll be taking his place.”

  Levi’s breath hitched. It was no secret that Vianca supported the monarchist party, the First Party’s only opposition. However, despite radical measures, the monarchists had never once won an election, and they likely never would. Politics was Vianca’s crusade, and she would view Harrison’s campaign as the ultimate betrayal.

  “You’re certain you’ll replace Sedric?” Levi asked. The city hadn’t seen Harrison in eighteen years. He seemed like a dark horse candidate taken to a new extreme.

  “The new chancellor herself asked me to. You see, unlike previous years, the monarchist party has a growing amount of support—primarily here, in the North Side. Being from the North Side and with his Family’s connections, Sedric provided votes that are now crucial to whoever wins this election. So she gave me a call.”

  “But you’ve been gone for years,” Levi said, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you know about anything that’s been happening here?”

  Harrison leaned forward. In the darkness of the car, all Levi saw was the glow of Harrison’s cigar and the outline of his once-broken nose. Nervously, Levi wondered if he’d offended him.

  “That’s exactly why I need you to work for me in the North Side. I don’t have friends here anymore, but you do. We could become powerful together.”

  That was almost funny enough to be a joke. The whole city was after Levi. His own gang had betrayed him. Even if the Shadow Game had given him a slight boost in reputation, he’d always been the boy in way over his head.

  Before Levi could correct him, Harrison said, “In return, I’ll kill my mother. It will have to be after the election, after I win. I won’t let her be hailed by the monarchist party as some sort of martyr.”

  Not only would Harrison see his Family’s empire destroyed, but he’d end Vianca along with it.

  Levi was struck speechless.

  “I realize, with the headlines, you’re in a tough spot,” Harrison added, “so if you do agree to help me, I’m willing to leverage my own assets to ensure you won’t need to worry about the bounty.”

  It was too good to be true—of course it was. And Harrison had expectations Levi would certainly fail to meet.

  But even with his heart racing in warning, all Levi asked was, “How?”

  “I know the whiteboot captain,” Harrison answered, his voice slick as a businessman’s, even as they discussed murder and war. “He can be convinced to ignore Iron Territory, if given enough voltage. I’ll purchase local property to make it seem like my interests in Olde Town are purely financial. It should provide you some safety. But while I pay him off, you’ll still need to do your own work increasing your personal protection. You might be safe from the whiteboots, but you’ll be vulnerable to betrayal. I hear you know a thing or two about that.”

  Harrison Augustine hears a lot of things.

  He was referring to Chez Phillips, Levi’s previous third in the Irons. A few days ago, Chez had turned the Irons against Levi and challenged him for lordship—nearly killing him. In the end, Levi had overpowered him, but he’d gone further than he’d meant to. Chez would bear those scars for life, and he’d never be back.

  If Harrison knew about Chez, then he knew Levi’s friends were few. Yet still he saw potential in him.

  It made Levi want to prove him right.

  Harrison rolled down the window to let out the smoke building in the back seat. The noise of sirens filled the car, but Levi stayed focused on Harrison’s words. “Visit the Catacombs. Ask for Narinder Basra. He’s on the Street of the Holy Tombs in Olde Town, and he’s well connected. He’ll find you a replacement for your third. Maybe even a new reputation.”

  Hesitance pinched the back of Levi’s mind. This was too simple. If Harrison was offering him the world, then what would Levi need to sacrifice in return?

  “You’ve thought of everything. This would solve all my problems,” Levi conceded. “So what would you have me do for you?”

  “I’m nervous that any violence between the North and South Sides will only fuel the monarchist cause. They believe the First Party has taken advantage of the system to keep themselves in power, to keep the North Side weak. I’m not sure either of us can stop the conflict from escalating, but what I need is information. You were friends with Eight Fingers—become friends with the other lords. I need to know about everyone who matters in the North Side. I want to know the plans before they happen.”

  Though it was true Levi had been friends with Reymond—Eight Fingers, the previous lord of the Scarhands—he had no reason to be friends with the other lords. Despite what The Crimes & The Times reported, Levi barely was a lord anymore. And if he was going to cultivate any relationship or influence with them, at the very least he needed to have the Irons back. The Irons might have betrayed him, but they were the slickest, most cunning tricksters in the city, and Levi had spent years scouting his gangsters and building their clientele. He wouldn’t turn his back on them yet. But regaining their trust would mean taking deadly risks, rising up when he should be lying low. Even with the protection Harrison offered, it was a dangerous gamble.

  It was lucky for Harrison that what Levi wanted, more than anything, was to have the Irons back.

  Lucky for Harrison that Levi was a gambling man.

  “That could be arranged,” Levi said. Even as he tried to keep his voice steady and professional, his own excitement betrayed him. This was truly an offer he couldn’t refuse.

  Harrison smiled. “I like your confidence.”

  “It won’t be easy,” Levi admitted. “But it can be done.”

  “There’s one job in particular, though, that my entire plan absolutely hinges upon. What Sedric Torren was providing that I cannot,” Harrison continued, and Levi leaned closer. “The gangs might have monopolies on certain crimes, but the Augustine and Torren Families control almost the entirety of the North Side. If they don’t directly employ someone, they own their building. They provided them a loan. They did them a favor. With the monarchist support growing, the votes that Sedric would have provided for the First Party are pivotal to the whole election. Without them, as things stand now, I would lose by a landslide.”

 
; Levi’s eyes widened. He always thought the monarchists were a radical minority. He had no idea they wielded that much power. Maybe he should’ve paid more attention to Vianca’s political lectures.

  “It seems Chancellor Fenice should’ve just tapped Sedric’s Family successor, then, rather than you,” Levi said.

  “That’s true, but the Torren Family is likely to be without a don for a long time—maybe months. Neither Charles nor Delia—Sedric’s cousins, brother and sister and equally bloodthirsty—will relinquish their claim without a fight. I could help one of them win, but I can’t ensure it. So I need to know who to sponsor. I need the next don of the Family to be in my debt, otherwise my election and your freedom are off the table.”

  “You’re asking me to call the winner,” Levi said slowly. “I don’t have the means to do that. I still owe the Torren Family ten thousand volts that I have no intention or ability to repay. I can’t give you more than fifty-fifty odds.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be you. You’ll send someone inside the Torren empire, someone you trust.”

  Levi could count the number of people he trusted on two fingers: Enne and Jac. Vianca was certainly already concocting her own plans for Enne as Séance.

  Which left Jac.

  Levi’s stomach churned. There was no way he could send his best friend, barely two years clean, into the very narcotics empire that had nearly destroyed him.

  Levi couldn’t manage even a smile of false confidence. “Surely you have someone you trust?”

  “I don’t want this traced back to me,” Harrison answered. “The monarchists—somewhat correctly—believe the First Party is corrupt. The other advantage I offer as a candidate is my blank slate. I might be able to bribe some whiteboots for what appear to be business ventures, but I can’t be caught rigging power struggles in crime Families or making deals with the person who killed the Chancellor, can I?” His smile looked uncomfortably wide.

  Levi took a deep breath and swallowed his nausea. He knew what Jac would say, of course. That Harrison was too great of an opportunity to lose. That Levi always had too little faith in him. That Jac was ready for it.

  Levi wasn’t so sure.

  “These are my terms,” Harrison told him. “Will you accept?”

  “Can I think on it?” Even if this opportunity meant everything and then some to Levi, it meant asking a lot of Jac—Levi needed to speak to him first.

  “There’s no time for that. I have campaign strategy meetings in a few hours. I need your decision now.”

  The car was coming to a stop. Harrison flicked what remained of his cigar out the window.

  What Harrison was offering Levi was invaluable. A chance to escape Vianca. A level of protection while Levi built his empire. An opportunity to ally with power instead of merely playing with it.

  Harrison was offering Levi his destiny.

  But it meant throwing Jac into an assignment that could set him back years—or worse. It meant lying to Vianca for however long it took Harrison to carry out his plans. Those were dangerous risks. Levi preferred gambling with volts—not his best friend’s life, not his own.

  Harrison peeked out the crack in the window. “You don’t have much time. The whiteboots are all over Olde Town.” His lips curled into a smile. “But give me the word and a few hours. They’ll be gone before this evening.”

  Everything Levi had ever dreamed of versus throwing Jac into a dangerous assignment. He knew exactly what he wanted, of course: to play the game. He wanted it so badly he ached.

  A relapse would be Jac’s fault, not Levi’s, but that didn’t mean Levi wouldn’t blame himself if it happened.

  He knew he wasn’t being fair to Jac. If his friend were here, he’d be furious that Levi thought so little of him. Jac would tell him to worry about making them rich, and Jac would worry about himself.

  Jac would tell him to take the offer.

  At least he hoped that was the case, and not just his own selfishness swaying him.

  “I accept,” Levi said, nearly choking on the words.

  Harrison opened the door for him and handed him a business card. The only thing written on it was a phone number. “Contact me when you have something.”

  Levi nodded, adjusted his felt homburg hat, and painfully climbed out of the car. Outside, the Street of the Holy Tombs was a grim lane of gothic cathedrals, sharpened spires, and ghostly remnants of the Faith. They’d traveled to the quiet eastern quarter of Olde Town, the most historic neighborhood of the city, where even the shadows were prickly, and where darkness reigned over the day.

  It was home.

  “I’m glad we met, Levi,” Harrison said. With that, he closed the door and the car sped off.

  Collar popped, hat shielding his face, Levi ducked into Zula’s quaint shop front of Her Forgotten Histories, humming a ragtime tune and drowning out his nerves. He’d made his decision, and whatever dangers he faced as a result, from this moment on, his life was changed.

  Yesterday he was Levi Glaisyer, a card dealer famous in niche circles.

  Today he was Levi Glaisyer, accomplice in the greatest political assassination since the Revolution, survivor of a notorious execution game, and ally with a soon-to-be powerful force on the South Side.

  Yesterday he was vulnerable. Today he would become untouchable.

  His destiny was upon him.

  ENNE

  In her dream, she wore a gown. The sleeves were sheer, the color of meringue cream, and as delicate as moth wings. A lilac ribbon cinched her waist and fluttered down her skirts, lost amid the scalloped tiers and cascading chiffon ruffles. As she descended the grand staircase, the others in the hall watched her join them with approving smiles, and the chandeliers of Bellamy had never glowed so brightly.

  Enne Salta woke with a gun tucked beneath her pillow, her Tokens clutched in her fist, and volts humming in her blood.

  For a sweet moment, Enne lingered in the dream and forgot the events of the past ten days. Forgot that she’d abandoned all she knew to find her mother, Lourdes, in the City of Sin. That she was trapped within an unbreakable oath to a despicable Mafia donna. That she’d killed two men. That her mother was dead. That her old life—the life of that dream—was gone, and her innocence and identity along with it.

  Then she rolled over to see Lola Sanguick—reluctant criminal, blood gazer for the Orphan Guild, and collector of pointy objects—drooling on the other pillow, and Enne’s reveries vanished. Lola looked just as unnerving asleep as she did awake, her white hair tangled and greasy, her canines bared, her arms resting at her sides like a corpse. If you asked Lola, she was Enne’s second. If you asked Enne, she was her friend.

  Across the room, Jac Mardlin loomed in the bedroom doorway. Whether consciously or not, he always stood like a soldier—shoulders back, expression serious, fists clenched and braced for battle. Every inch of his upper body was covered in intricate tattoos—all black, except for the red J on the underside of his right arm, and the matching diamond on the left. Like Lola, he was intimidating at first glance—until his single dimple betrayed his stern exterior, or until he opened his mouth...to say anything at all, really.

  Enne scrambled to cover herself. She was wearing only a nightdress. “Barging into a lady’s bedroom, are you?”

  Jac cocked an eyebrow. “Is that how you’re going to refer to yourself? As a street lady?”

  Admittedly, it did sound like a more fitting title to Enne than street lord.

  “Where’s Levi?” she asked. Last night, she and Levi had returned to St. Morse in the hour after sunrise, and all four of them had slept through the morning in her apartment.

  “He already left,” Jac answered.

  Enne fought off a troublesome pinch of disappointment. Thinking about Levi brought back a rush of painful memories from the Shadow Game. The panic that had washed over her when she’d firs
t glimpsed the House of Shadows. How dreadful Levi had looked as she gambled for his life. The surge of power she’d felt as she fired the gun and the Shadow Game’s timer shattered into a hundred pieces.

  By now, the news of what had happened in the House of Shadows had surely traveled across the city. Although Enne’s true identity was unknown, Levi’s wasn’t. She hoped he’d left St. Morse without trouble. She didn’t even know when they’d next see each other. Levi had become something like a lifeline for her since she’d arrived in New Reynes, and he’d always been merely an elevator ride away.

  She caught herself. Her emotions were stormy and twisted in her stomach, as they lately were whenever she thought about Levi. But she wasn’t a fool; Levi was being hunted by the law, and due to her Mizer heritage and persona as Séance, she was only one mistake away from exposure and execution. Romance was hardly worth that risk.

  “I’m gonna meet him in a few hours,” Jac told her. He walked to the window on the far side of the room and peeked out the curtain. There was a faint sounding of sirens. “Listen to this. It hasn’t stopped for a second—not all night. I’m surprised Levi slept at all.”

  “Did you?” Enne asked.

  He ran his fingers nervously through his dull blond hair. He was already fair, but right now he looked especially pale. “I never sleep well.”

  Enne’s hand trembled as she squeezed her two Tokens. The pair of coins were similar in many ways: both brass, both old, both depicting a cameo of a Mizer—a member of the families who had once ruled the world’s many kingdoms, until revolutionaries overthrew their thrones and killed every Mizer left alive. The smaller coin—the queen’s Token—was a gift from Lourdes, a trinket Enne always kept with her to remind her of her mother. Lola was the one who’d recognized the uneven ridge patterns on its side as a key, and together, they’d opened up Lourdes’ secret bank account, where an impossible fortune had once been stored.