Ace Of Shades. Amanda Foody

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      Half a block ahead, a man in a trench coat stared at them from beneath a dull and flickering yellow sign. Rusted chains dangled from it like metal streamers. The man’s face was sallow and sunken, and he reached a shaking hand forward like a prisoner trapped behind bars, begging for food or volts.

      Enne stiffened and knocked into Levi’s shoulder, piquing his annoyance. “Why is he watching us?” Enne whispered.

      “He’s a street slave. Don’t worry—he can’t follow us.”

      “What does that mean? What’s stopping him?” She ducked to his other side so that Levi was between her and the man.

      “He’s trapped on that street,” Levi explained. “The families there have a talent that binds people in debt to them within a certain area. That street is like a jail cell.”

      She shivered. “What are they in debt for?”

      “Drugs. Mostly Rapture, Mistress and Lullaby—all from Torren and Augustine suppliers. Try to avoid Chain Street.”

      She nodded fearfully and fiddled with something in her pocket. If Levi didn’t know better, he’d guess she was an antsy runner carrying an expensive package. The farther west they walked down Tropps Street, the closer they came to Scarhand territory. Even if it wasn’t peak hours, there were probably still a few gangsters roaming the alleys, hunting for orb pouches or—for the particularly skilled—grazing trace volts off unlucky passersby’s skin. Enne was marking herself as a target.

      Then, to Levi’s ever-increasing aggravation, Enne removed her coin from her pocket and began fiddling with it as she walked. He glanced at the cameo of the queen on the front. If it was from before the Revolution, it was probably worth more than sentimental value. All the more reason to avoid wandering eyes.

      “Put the coin back,” he snapped. “That looks like gold from far away.” This missy was bound to be more trouble than she was worth. He didn’t have the time or patience to teach her the rules of New Reynes.

      Enne bit her lip and slipped it back into her pocket. At least she listened to what he said.

      “What’s the coin from, anyway?” he asked.

      “It’s an old token. Lourdes gave it to me.”

      She’s alone and agitated, Levi reminded himself. Of course she was acting jumpy. What she needed was a distraction.

      “So just how different is New Reynes from Bellamy?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer: completely.

      “Well, to start with, it’s a lot dirtier,” she said, her nose crinkled. Levi was beginning to think that was her signature look. “And it smells foul.”

      “What? This city?” He inhaled deeply through his nose. “That’s the smell of opportunity. And maybe a little piss.”

      “Yes, well, I suppose you might be fonder of it if you were born here.”

      “You can’t tell from looking at me, but I wasn’t born a Sinner,” he said. “But yes, I am rather fond of the eau de New Reynes. Maybe you will be, too, after a while.”

      She crinkled her nose again. Pretty or not, Levi wondered if he had ever met such a delicate, unpleasant creature. “Where are you from, then?” she asked.

      “My family lives in Elta.” The word felt like a shard of ice on his tongue. It was a city a few hours east, on the opposite coast. “Before that, my parents came from Caroko.”

      Caroko was once a great capital of one of the seven Mizer kingdoms. During the Revolution, like many orb-maker families who’d been loyal to the Mizers, the Glaisyers were forced to relocate near the ever-suspicious eyes of New Reynes, the capital of the Republic. His mother, who’d been a bit of a world traveler in her youth, hadn’t resented the move. His father, however, had mourned the loss of his home and the king he’d once served. Rather than teach Levi about Caroko, his father had refused to discuss it, as if the city itself was gone, left in an unspeakable state of grief. He considered himself a martyr.

      “How long have you lived in New Reynes?” Enne asked, bringing Levi’s focus back to the present.

      “Since I was twelve.” Levi had fled the brutality of his home seeking the brutality of somewhere else—a place where, this time, he could fight back.

      Frowning, he shook away the unpleasant memories. In less than a minute, she’d managed to steer the conversation entirely away from herself. He didn’t like it when people didn’t talk about themselves. In his experience, that usually meant they had something to hide.

      “You’re full of questions, aren’t you?” he commented.

      “You’re a stranger leading me through an unsightly area in an unseemly city. Of course I’m full of questions.” He supposed that was a reasonable response, though he’d hardly call his own territory “unsightly.”

      Someone cooed to their right.

      “Welcome to Sweetie Street,” he said, not bothering to hide his grin. He could think of no place better to watch Enne squirm.

      Swarms of people stumbled down the alley, all flushed and in some degree of hungover stupor. The women dressed in dark skirts with lacy tulles, lipstick every shade of red, faces white or pink with powder. The men wore black-and-white-striped suits, with jewel-studded pipes resting suggestively between their lips. At night, the dancing silhouettes in the windows beckoned customers from all across the city with promises of warm beds and warmer embraces.

      “Whatever you do,” he whispered in Enne’s ear, “don’t look anyone in the eyes.”

      “Why not?” she asked, jerking her gaze from the window displays to the ground, which was covered with broken glass and sparkly confetti.

      “Their talent is seduction.” He swore he saw goose bumps prickle against her skin, and he fought to contain his laughter. “You can’t let them get too close, either. One touch—” he squeezed her shoulder “—and even you would be discarding your skirts and stockings. One kiss, and you’d be overcome by an almost primal sort of lust.”

      Enne narrowed her eyes like she’d realized he was mucking with her, but then a woman giggled to their right, and Enne jolted as if she’d heard a gunshot. The woman swayed back and forth, wearing only a ruby corset covered in black lace, her glitter-covered chest spilling out the front. The number ten was written across her cleavage in violet lipstick.

      “Oh goodness,” Enne gasped, her gaze darting wildly between the cobblestones and the woman’s breasts. “What does the number mean?”

      “Price.”

      The whimper that escaped her lips was enough to send Levi into hysterics. He laughed so hard he needed to clutch his abdomen to steady himself.

      “Oh, I’m glad you find my decency so amusing,” she snapped. “So is Sweetie Street frequented by everyone in the City of Sin? Is this where you come every night after...whatever illegal things you do?”

      “Me? I don’t СКАЧАТЬ