Enne let out a hollow laugh. “Like you’d need it.”
“What do you mean?” Grace asked.
“You’re the steadiest, strongest person I know.” Enne gestured to Grace’s bedroom, as though to submit Grace’s black drapes and garlands of pigeon bones and barbed wire as evidence in her case. “You’ve never once looked vulnerable. You face every problem head-on. It’s why I’ve always admired you so much.”
“That’s absurd. Take that back. No one is allowed to admire me.” After a moment’s pause, Grace added, “You don’t even know the person I was before, when I worked for the Orphan Guild.”
“I remember meeting you pretty well,” Enne said. Even amid the crooks of the Orphan Guild, Grace had stood out, devouring a romance novel and dressed for a funeral she’d likely caused.
“Right, but I got to be a different person, once I met you.” Grace met Enne’s gaze seriously. “I had a reputation for taking any job, no matter how terrible. At first, it was because I needed to—I needed the volts to leave the One-Way House. And by the time the Orphan Guild bought my contract, it was too late. That’s who I was. Until you offered me a way out.”
Enne didn’t realize that Grace had grown up in a One-Way House, the city’s cruel indentured worker schemes disguised as orphanages. From the moment you arrived, your living expenses accumulated a debt, and no matter how many jobs you accepted, escape was nearly impossible. Jac had been raised in one, too.
It was no wonder Grace never took jobs as a counter. All her life, every breath she took had a price.
“I didn’t know that,” Enne said softly. “And I’m glad you told me.”
Grace reddened. “I’m just saying, once people think they know you, it’s hard to change that. It won’t matter if you go to the interview dressed up as a worker on Sweetie Street. Or with your face all bandaged up, like a second coming of Veil. They’ve already made up their mind about you. It will take a lot to change that.”
Enne flipped the tokens over and over in her palm, biting her lip. “I don’t know—Levi seems to think we can pin everything on Vianca. That I can pretend to be some silly, seventeen-year-old girl.”
“Silly, seventeen-year-old girls fare pretty well in Sadie Knightley’s romance novels, you know,” Grace pointed out.
Enne’s life was far less pretty than the swoons and courting of the books from their favorite novelist. But as a lifetime devotee of the romance genre, Grace’s words gave her an idea.
“I think I know a way to convince the public to change their minds about me. To love me, even,” Enne murmured. “Even the City of Sin loves a romantic story.”
It took Grace several seconds to decipher what Enne meant. Her eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”
But she was. Enne had tried the gangster approach—it hadn’t worked. She was done putting her friends in danger or latching on to someone else’s idea of who she was. She’d put away her gun. It was time to trust herself.
“If the city loved me, the Chancellor couldn’t execute me. It would be politically unwise,” Enne explained. “And that would still put me in a position of power. I could negotiate for my pardon.”
“Ifyou can convince New Reynes,” Grace said carefully. “Last time I saw you and Pup together, you were at each other’s throats—and not in a sexy way.”
Enne frowned, wondering exactly which Sadie Knightley novel contained such a scene. Then she picked up Grace’s vanilla candle and smirked. “I should hope that’s not what I’m interrupting tonight. If I didn’t know better, I might think your heart is not as ruthless as you’d like everyone to—”
“I have no heart,” Grace snapped, glancing frantically at the door and back again. “Anyway, will Levi even agree to such a plan? He used to be theIron Lord.” Grace rolled her eyes at the nickname. “Will he be happy with you painting him as a lovesick romantic?”
After Levi had played her so easily at the workshop, Enne saw nothing wrong with playing him. “I won’t give him much choice in the matter.”
Grace whistled and grinned wickedly. “Well, youaregoing to giveThe Crimes & The Timessomething to write about.”
SOPHIA
“Thisis more what I expected,” Poppy said, wobbling as her stiletto heels sunk into the lawn of the House of Shadows with each step. She wore only a beaded dress—no coat—and it glimmered as she giggled and motioned the two other girls to follow her through the dark.
“I can’t believe you invited her,” Delaney grumbled as she and Sophia lagged behind. Delaney, as usual, wore a stiff, conservative dress and a tight ponytail. Only this time she’d gotten festive and added a baby blue ribbon.
“She worries about you,” Sophia told her, even if Sophia’s reasons had been far more selfish than that: she’d invited Poppy because Poppy was her target.
“That’s not your business.Neitherof you should even be here. I don’t care what history you have with the Bargainer—you’re in over your head, and you’ll only make this job harder to get done.” Delaney sighed, her breath fogging in the chill air. “I can’t save both of you. You better keep that in mind.”
Then she started after Poppy.
Sophia was hardly offended—she barely knew either of the two girls. Of course they would protect each other before her. What stung was the acknowledgment that she was utterly on her own. Especially because it was true.
She stumbled as she followed them to the front door—walking was tricky in her skin-tight, scarlet number—where the same bouncer from last week loomed in the threshold. “You three are back.”
