Ace of Shades (The Shadow Game #1)(47)

She leaned closer, an invisible force drawing her to his voice. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or something else.

“I’m a dancer,” she offered to him. “And a split counter.”

“The Scarhands could always use counters. We have a lot of them, in the Guild,” he said thoughtfully. “A shame to scar those pretty hands, though.”

He reached out and touched Enne’s cheek, then turned her head side to side, inspecting her. At first, Enne let him. He was trustworthy. He was no threat.

“I’m a bad counter,” she admitted, because she felt like she needed to be honest with him. “And...” She searched for the words, and it was growing more difficult to find them, more difficult to remember why she’d denied the young man earlier. “I don’t want a job.” She tried to peel her eyes off him and his sleazy smile to find the others. Levi. Jac. Reymond. She squinted around the cabaret, but it was hard to picture their faces. Whenever she tried, she saw the young man’s.

He clicked his tongue and turned her head back toward him. Her shoulders relaxed. “Split counters aren’t bad counters, missy. Maybe that’s not really your talent.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We have blood gazers. They’re complimentary.”

“Blood gazers?” Enne repeated, confused.

“They can see your talents. Lots of people are mistaken about them, you know.”

His words struck a nerve, and Enne shook her head, the hold of the trance fading. She squeezed the edge of the table, her thoughts veering in several directions. Talents. His voice. Mistaken. A secret.

Maybe mommy didn’t really know the daddy after all, she heard Alice’s sneer. But her comment had been just a competitor being cruel. It shouldn’t have shaken Enne like it had.

Were you that terrible? Levi had asked about her rehearsal.

The truth was quite the opposite—she’d been a natural. She still remembered the look on Alice’s face when she’d perfected the simple routine in a matter of hours. How the entire troupe had noticed her, applauded her, and the rush that had sped through her chest.

She should’ve told Levi instead of making it a secret. But it felt like a secret. Like something wrong.

Something wrong with her.

The more the thoughts shook her, the more she listened to the other voices, the less she remained under the young man’s spell. She pushed her seat away from him.

“Stop it,” she told him.

“Stop what?”

She willed herself to get up, but her body felt heavier than usual—and not from the alcohol. “Let me go.”

“I’m just doing you a favor,” the young man said, licking his lips. “I could give you a name of a gazer. It never hurts to know.”

“I don’t want to know,” she snapped. She dug her fingernails into her thighs.

“Don’t be thick, missy. It’s free of charge.”

Enne tried to gather up the strength to move, but she couldn’t lift herself from her seat. His voice felt like an anchor dragging her below the surface. It’s a favor, she heard. He’s trustworthy. Kind. Helpful.

The young man started writing down a name and an address on the back of a business card. “She’s dependable,” he said, “and she owes me a favor.”

Enne knew she shouldn’t reach for it. She tried not to. But her arm lifted—not like a puppet, but more as if drawn to a magnet. Her fingers trembled.

Someone shouted behind her and, in a blur, ran and snatched the card out of the young man’s hand. Reymond grabbed Enne by the arm and hoisted her up, seething.

“Are you even allowed in here?” he spat at the young man. His voice sounded like the strings of a violin snapping. Enne jolted from her chair, alert, awake, and backed away from both of them.

The man frowned. “Eight Fingers. You know her?”

“He’s a Chainer, missy,” Reymond snarled, and Enne’s blood chilled as she remembered the man she’d seen on Chain Street. A debtor. A street slave. Another few minutes under his spell, and she could’ve been just like him. “Favors,” Reymond growled, brandishing the business card, “don’t count if you steal them.” His breath reeked of liquor.

“I’m not like them,” the boy said.

“Can’t change what you are. You’re a poacher.”

“I’m a salesman.”

“Does Levi know you’re here?”

“I’m not afraid of Pup,” he challenged. “Besides, Sundays are my nights off.” He grinned wickedly. “I figured you might remember.”

Reymond went scarlet. “Muck off, Harvey.”

He yanked Enne away from the table, back toward the bar. “I leave you alone for fifteen minutes, missy, and you manage to find the seediest person here.” He shook his head. “Don’t tell Levi about this. He’ll blame me, and he hates the Guild. He and Mardlin are real holier-than-thou about it.” Reymond took the card out of his pocket. “What did Harvey give you?”

“It’s nothing,” she muttered.

“I can hear lies, missy,” he hissed.

“It is nothing. I...didn’t want to take it.”

Reymond squeezed her arm tighter, so tight it hurt. “Why is it that half the time you speak, I can hear the lies on your lips?”