This is what you planned, Levi reminded himself, trying to trust himself. But he hadn’t anticipated the panic that gripped his chest, how he felt transported to that night at St. Morse. There had been havoc that night, too. Theclick, click, clickof Bryce’s cursed roulette wheel. The screams as each new victim fell.
Only minutes ago, Levi had felt in his element. Even among so many people, cardrooms were familiar—he felt no fear in his own kingdom.
But the pandemonium had changed that. Levi stood there for many heartbeats more, frozen, a paranoia seeping into his mind as his gaze flitted from guest to guest. It felt as though anyone could be the Bargainer, anyone could be the enemy.
Until someone shouting the wordwhitebootssnapped Levi out of his state, and he realized the intruder had not been the Bargainer at all. Captain Hector had driven a wedge through everything Levi had planned.
Then you’ll come up with a new plan, he told himself, but now his confidence had shattered. He’d been too foolish to account for the unexpected, and once again, his friends were going to pay the price for it.
Run, his father whispered to him.Run. Run.
But even if their mission had been compromised, Levi couldn’t leave his friends behind. He had no idea how many whiteboots had barged in and how many others waited outside. But if he trusted anything, it was the skill of his allies. Grace, Enne, Tock... They were all capable. They only needed an opportunity.
And so he did run, a plan forming in his mind.
While the guests and many of the Irons clamored out the emergency exit, Levi raced to the room’s corner, to a set of grand windows sheathed with black velvet curtains. To make himself less noticeable, Levi kneeled, and he snapped his fingers below the fabric. Like flint, sparks ignited over his skin, followed by a small, steady flame.
After a few moments, the curtain caught, flames licking the bottom of its hem and gradually sweeping up.
This was a dangerous ploy—Levi hadn’t been lying when he told Enne he didn’t have the skill of a fire-making talent. He had no control over the flames. He could burn down half the boardwalk.
Regardless, he lunged for the next curtain and did the same, then the next, and the next. Before he finished the eight of them, the fire had reached into the wood of the walls. Smoke swirled across the ceiling like storm clouds, its fumes making him choke.
I set fire to my own dream, Levi thought bitterly. But he didn’t mourn the casino the same way he mourned the person he had been, because as he watched the flames claim the Legendary, he realized he didn’t even care. He would find a better dream.
ENNE
Enne’s heart lurched at the sound of the first gunshot, certain, at first, that she was the one to fire it.
She frantically looked down at her hands—empty. She hadn’t hurt anyone. She hadn’t even brought her revolver. After what she’d done to Lola, to Jac, it still hurt to hold it, and so she’d left it behind at the finishing school.
Now she wondered if that had been a mistake.
Already positioned near the archway to the lobby, a flood of guests swept around her, fleeing the source of the gunfire. No one noticed Enne—she was too small. An arm knocked her backward. A shoe stepped on the hem of her dress, sending her teetering off-balance. Screams reverberated throughout the Legendary, and Enne fought for space, fought for breath, as she tried to squeeze through the mayhem. She needed to see what had happened, who was hurt, who was dead.
Once she’d stumbled into the lobby, it took her several seconds to make out the person strolling confidently through the guests careening for outside, a pistol in his outstretched hand. Though he and Enne had never met in person, she recognized him from photographs inThe Crimes & The Times.
Captain Jamison Hector. With at least a dozen whiteboots behind him.
At first, Enne assumed that Hector must’ve been here for her. That despite their precautions, she’d been recognized. But Hector’s eyes never once roamed the lobby in search of her, and Enne’s gaze swept frantically across the havoc, searching for his target.
Then she spotted Roy, charging toward him.
“Don’t!” Roy shouted, and Hector jerked in surprise, this time aiming the gun at Roy. Roy skidded to a halt, his arms raised.
I can’t do anything, Enne thought helplessly. She’d packed a knife in her purse, but it would be little use against a squad of whiteboots.
A moment later, one of the guests cramming into the cardroom barreled past her, and Enne collided with a column, shoulder to stone. She circled around the column, blocking herself from the whiteboots’ view, trying desperately to make herself small so Hector wouldn’t notice her.
As the last of the crowds dispersed, only a few people remained in the lobby. Narinder stood frozen at the foot of the stairs, his hands lifted in immediate surrender. Harvey sat below him in a matching pose. Grace stood exposed in the room’s center, her gun trained on Hector. Sophia knelt beside Harrison, and Enne gasped when she saw the dark stain seeping out over his shirt.
Don’t worry. I’ve beaten worse.
Enne’s chest felt tight, painfully tight. She reached into her pocket, fingers fumbling for her tokens. The warmth of the metal did nothing to ease her panic. If not for the column’s support, she might’ve fallen. Because one of them was already hurt, the whole night careening toward disaster.
“Put your weapon down,” Hector told Grace calmly, and Enne begged her silently to listen. “We have the building surrounded.”
Behind him, the team of whiteboots advanced forward.
