Ace of Shades (The Shadow Game #1)(46)

Enne grimaced. “A few times.” With a tremendous amount of pleasure, she pictured Sedric Torren overturning his breakfast, lunch and dinner across the city. Enne applied a layer of the lipstick and eyed herself in the mirror, wondering, once again, if the City of Sin was turning her into a bad person.

She dismissed the thought and helped herself to the other makeup Demi had on the vanity. Makeup was always soothing, and besides, she knew Sedric deserved everything he was getting.

“What do you usually do to prep for a show?” Demi asked, patting down her false eyelashes.

“I repeat my mother’s rules to myself, over and over.” She had never admitted that to anyone. Not that it was shameful. It just made her sound...vulnerable. She wasn’t quite sure why she’d done it. Demi was a stranger, but maybe that was precisely why.

“Her rules?”

“She has these rules about how to behave, about things like getting lost, or showing emotion, or—”

“You mean street rules,” Demi said. She handed Enne her powder compact, apparently happy to share her products. “Like what the gangs say.”

Enne stared at Demi for a moment, almost uncertain she’d heard correctly. Lourdes’s rules were precious to her, and she didn’t like to imagine they belonged to anyone else—let alone that they had begun somewhere else. And the more she remembered Lourdes repeating those phrases to her, claiming they were about etiquette, the more cheated she began to feel.

Instead of getting upset, Enne pressed some powder on her forehead and mentally filed that thought away as a question she would ask Levi later.

She should find Levi now. She was wasting time, playing with Demi’s makeup. But Reymond had told her to stay here, and somehow she knew, deep down, that there were no answers waiting for her out there in the Sauterelle. Only more strangers and more disappointment.

“Every time I perform, I smoke a little of this,” Demi explained. “But that’s a terrible idea. Don’t start it. It’s already stained my teeth yellow.” She tapped its excess ash into the tray, and Enne tried not to crinkle her nose. It didn’t smell as good up close. “Before they got me into this, I was a little more self-sufficient. I could get that natural flush all on my own.” She held up two fingers and winked at Enne, who blushed. “Pleasure isn’t just for the boys, you know. You don’t even need lovers at all if you get good enough at it.”

Enne, in fact, had not known, and turned over Demi’s words curiously.

Outside, the audience clapped, and Demi straightened, took a last hit of Mistress and headed toward the stage. Enne stared around the empty dressing room. She supposed she would need to find Reymond, rather than wait for him to find her. But she was tired of searching, and the room wouldn’t stop tilting.

“Well, come on,” Demi urged. “You won’t find your mother while moping drunk in here.”

“I’m not moping,” Enne grumbled, following Demi without thinking.

They walked onto the darkened stage. The audience whispered and whistled, waiting for the next act to begin. Demi placed one hand on Enne’s shoulder and peered through the crowd.

“There,” she said, pointing at a young man near the front. “Go talk to him. He’ll know your ‘rules.’”

As the lights turned on and the music began to play, Enne scampered off the stage. She considered ignoring Demi’s suggestion—Enne was exhausted and doubted it would lead anywhere—but she hadn’t traveled all this way to quit just because she was tired and admittedly a little drunk.

The young man sat by himself, twirling his finger over a glass of red wine. His hair was corkscrew curly, peeking out from underneath his top hat. He put on a salesperson’s smile as Enne approached.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’m looking for someone,” she answered, her words slightly slurred. “Her name is Séance.”

“The writer?”

Enne perked up and slid into the chair next to him. Maybe he would turn out to be a promising source after all. “Have you seen her?”

“I don’t go looking for trouble, missy,” he said. “You don’t look like you do, either.”

“I was told writers like her come here.”

“They did, when they were alive.” He looked at her pointedly, and Enne, again, felt herself standing at the edge of that cliff. She was tired of feeling this way. Angry for feeling this way. She could no longer tell if she needed to sob or to scream. “Maybe there’s something else I can do for you,” he offered. “You need a job?”

“I’ve got a job. What I need is information.”

“Ah, but the Orphan Guild can always get you a better job.”

“The Orphan Guild?” The name sounded familiar—maybe something she’d read in her guidebook. Likely something to avoid. She looked around the room for an excuse, for an exit.

“Not from the city? Most people would know the Orphan Guild. It’s the name of opportunity.”

“I’m not an orphan,” she said defiantly. Not an orphan. Not a doll. Not a lost cause.

“What are your talents?” he asked. Something about his voice reminded Enne of Mistress—sweet as syrup. The way he leaned forward, the glimmer in his eyes, it was all very alluring. He did have something to offer, she felt instinctively. He was trustworthy. Speaking with him was a good decision.