“I’m sorry,” he told her. His hand trembled as he sipped the water.
“I know that, too. We’re all sorry.” She tapped the letter. “So what are you going to do about this? Can Harrison be trusted?”
Levi had once considered Harrison Augustine, Vianca’s estranged son, an ally. And maybe he still was. Even if he’d orchestrated the assassination of his political opponent—an assassination he’d originally askedLevito perform, last time they’d spoken alone—Harrison had still killed his mother, freeing Levi, Enne, and Bryce from her unbreakable omerta. Harrison could’ve sold Levi out on a number of occasions... Levi had no reason to believe Harrison would turn on him now.
“I think so,” Levi answered. “But it’s Fenice I’m not sure about.” Josephine Fenice became Chancellor five months ago, after the death of Malcolm Semper, and Levi doubted the newly appointed chief of state would want the first year of her term in office soiled by scandalously consorting with criminals.
“Shecould be planning a trap,” Tock said.
“Harrison isn’t naïve.”
“The Scar Lord was just executed six days ago. What makes you, Enne, and Bryce any different from him?”
“The last surviving Mizer. An orb-maker. A malison. Given the history of our talents, I’d say there’s more political nuance to this than just our criminal records.” The government liked to pretend that the brutality of the Revolution was over; they wouldn’t execute the three of them—not so quickly, not outright. But it was still a gamble.
After deliberating another moment, he said, “We’ll go.”
Tock pursed her lips, clearly swallowing down her characteristic urge to put up a fight. “You’ll have to tell Enne.”
Levi’s resolve collapsed. He’d used to feel like he and Enne were partners, that they could face the city side by side and always emerge victorious. But Enne had killed his friend, and so Enne was the last person he wanted to see right now.
“It’s only been a week,” Levi whispered for the second time, his gaze darting back to the splattered puddle of whiskey.
Tock put a hand on his shoulder and bent to his eye level. “You got one of the things you wanted—you’re a legend. And legends die at Liberty Square, not at the bottom of a bottle.”
“Are those words meant to encourage me?” Levi asked. Not that long ago, they would have. Levi had been prepared to pay the ultimate price for glory, but he’d been wrong about what that was. And he could never take it back.
“They’re meant to sober you.” Tock patted his back, and he winced. Muck, his whole body ached. “I’ll go call the Spirits.”
Enne arrived at the museum dressed in a simple wool coat and a tea-length skirt. The Irons paused their games of Tropps and poker to ogle her—not because she looked like a South Sider, but because she hadn’t worn her mask or colored contacts. For so long, half of Séance’s notoriety had been the mystery of the girl hidden behind the black satin blindfold, but no one had expected her to be a seventeen year-old girl. And even more shatz, a Mizer, with the violet eyes to prove it.
It didn’t matter what Enne wore. It didn’t matter that several delicate, clever-looking girls in the Spirits flanked her on either side, each wearing matching dainty white gloves. All of the Mizers were dead. No one—especially not Levi—could look at Enne without seeing the blood of history in her wake.
It was unnerving. But it was also impressive.
Levi tried not to think of how he must look in comparison. His pinstriped shirt wrinkled from being wadded in his dresser. His brown complexion ashen and sleep-deprived. A cut on his chin from where he’d nicked himself shaving, from pulling himself together in a haphazard, bone-tired rush.
As Enne approached where he stood at the foot of the stairs, he stiffened. The last time they’d seen each other, Jonas had died. And before that, Jac. Death would always haunt the space between them, and any of Levi’s other desires for her felt buried beside all those he had lost.
“How are you?” she asked, and Levi’s gaze dropped from the tenderness in her eyes to her side, to the outline of the gun tucked within her coat.
I love you, she’d told Levi, only minutes before she’d killed his best friend.
“Let’s talk in private,” Levi managed.
Enne bit her lip and followed him upstairs, motioning for Tock, Lola, and Grace to follow. They wandered into one of the many abandoned galleries of the museum and shut the door behind them.
“On the phone, Tock mentioned a letter,” Enne started. “A letter from Harrison?”
Levi handed it to her and stared out the window while she read it out loud. The museum overlooked an untamed park at the edge of Olde Town, one of the two neighborhoods in the North Side that were the Irons’ claim. Olde Town was the haunting shadow of New Reynes, full of crooked alleys, barred windows, and barbed wire. Ever since he’d come to the city when he was twelve, he’d called it home. It might’ve been decrepit and broken, but it was still far better than his last one.
“We can’t trust this,” Enne said after finishing.
“I think we can,” Levi said.
“Bryce murdered over one hundred people at St. Morse—you think this is about compromise?” Grace shook her head. “This is a trap. You three go there, and both you and Bryce are dead.”
“Levi knows Harrison,” Tock pointed out.
