“’Lo, Auntie,” Delaney said sheepishly. “I’ve come to ask a favor.”
“Creighton said you’d come back,” she said flatly. “So nice of you to visit.”
“You told me not to.”
“I first told you tostay. There’s a difference.”
Enne cleared her throat. Even after all this time, there were still some things she did that looked so uppity. The way she tapped her foot impatiently, lifted up her chin.
“We’ve come to ask for help,” Enne told her. “It’s urgent. He needs care. He’s...” She swallowed. “Dying.”
The woman’s eyes flickered to Levi, and Levi attempted to straighten, attempted not to look so pathetic. But as he took a deep breath, his chest heaved in staggers, and he shuddered from the pain of it.
“I can see that,” the woman said, softening.
“It’s the same as what happened to Rebecca, isn’t it?” Delaney asked, and Levi flinched at the defeated quality to her voice.
“It’s not,” the woman answered. “A Slyk could have told you as much. Rebecca was a split shade-maker. But orb-making is his blood talent.”
“Does that mean you can help him?” Enne asked hopefully.
The woman sighed. “Creighton was the shade-maker who helped craft that curse in the token—at Veil’s request. Unfortunately, Creighton is dead.”
“You have to be able to do something,” Enne pushed.
It should’ve bothered Levi how Enne and Delaney spoke for him, but it didn’t. He was happy not to acknowledge his condition. He’d watched his mother die from sickness. The pneumonia had come on gradually, changing from something dismissible to deadly seemingly overnight, and she’d passed the next day. Levi had always known he couldn’t choose the way he died, but a bullet, the gallows, a crash—he would’ve preferred any of them to this.
The woman pursed her lips. “I can try.” Then she walked into the apartment and motioned for them to follow.
The home was an uninviting place, clean but poorly decorated, and lacking in any natural light. The four of them sat down at a kitchen table, and Levi wished that he had a pack of cards—something to keep his hands busy, his mind occupied. Instead he could only fiddle with the buttons of his sleeves.
“How do you feel?” the woman asked, finally speaking to him directly.
“How do you think I feel?” he shot back. Harsh—too harsh. It would be far easier to stay calm if he didn’t have to think about dying in the very place where he’d come close to it before. He’d prefer to crawl back to Olde Town and let the place he’d once claimed claim him.
But truthfully, despite his fondness for Olde Town, he didn’t want to die in New Reynes.
It was a strange thought—all he’d ever cared about was this city. But there was a world beyond this place. And he’d like to see it. He’d like to see Caroko especially. Orb-makers hadn’t been permitted to travel far beyond New Reynes since the Revolution, but he had a feeling Harrison would make an exception for him. Or maybe change the laws entirely.
“Mizers leave traces on volts that they’ve created,” the woman said. “I’m sure you know that.”
“Obviously,” Levi said flatly. It was why he’d never used to like to make orbs, why his blood and split talents never blended well together.
“Malisons do much the same. I can’t remove it—not entirely. But I can drain it. It’ll only be temporary, I’m afraid. The curse will grow back.”
Enne breathed a sigh of relief, but Levi wasn’t ready to relax—not yet. “How temporary?”
“A few days, at most. Then you’d have to come back, and I’ll drain it again.”
Levi bit his lip. “You’re telling me this is forever? That I’ll always have this?”
“Shades live in metal, and you let a corrupted shade into your blood. What did you expect would happen?”
Levi hadn’t been expecting anything—all he’d thought about was winning, same as all he’d thought about for a long time.
Levi let out an inappropriate burst of laughter, shaking his head. There was a joke in this. He’d always wanted to be the Iron Lord. Well, he’d finally earned that title.
Enne’s face darkened at his illogical reaction. She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Levi. But it’s...it’s better than—”
