Ace of Shades (The Shadow Game #1)(58)

They paused outside St. Morse.

“That’s it?” Jac asked her. “No thank you for coming to your rescue?”

“You didn’t rescue me.” She turned to walk through the revolving doors, but Levi grabbed her arm.

“Tomorrow,” he said. It wasn’t a command, but a request. For once, his expression betrayed his thoughts. He looked worried. And he was right to be.

“Tomorrow,” she promised.





      DAY FOUR

   “Desire fame, and the city will make you a tragedy.”

   —The City of Sin, a Guidebook: Where To Go and Where Not To





LEVI

Levi was on dangerous ground with Enne Salta.

He’d known it since the beginning. Her connection to monarchists, Alfero’s Shadow Card, whatever had happened at the blood gazer’s... Enne’s secrets followed her like a shadow, and Levi was shatz to mix himself up with her. If he had any sense left to him, he’d call it quits. Never mind that he’d given his word; he hadn’t known what he was getting himself into, and he was already in enough trouble.

But maybe he didn’t have any sense about him. Every time Enne surprised him, he craved a little more trouble.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and tried to decide exactly what he should do about himself. About Enne Salta. About Enne Salta and himself.

Someone pounded on the door. Levi scowled. It might’ve been Enne, and he hadn’t come to a decision yet about their...working relationship. And he knew that if she barged into his apartment, all hands on her hips and flushed cheeks, he’d be incapable of anything but “yes.”

It was Jac. He crossed his heart and brushed past Levi, his blond hair dripping with sweat.

Levi’s brows furrowed. “Didn’t you just leave?”

“I did. And I ran all the way back here,” he said, panting.

“What happened?”

Jac leaned against the doorframe, gathering his breath, and snatched Levi’s coffee from his hands. “There’s a huge fight—” he took a swig “—in Scrap Market. Scarhands and Torren’s men.”

“Torren’s men?” Levi echoed. Why would they care about the Scarhands? They might’ve shared some territory, but the Families and the gangs had agreed long ago not to interfere with each other, in an effort to maintain order in the North Side. The only other connection the Torren Family had to the Scarhands was the investment scheme, but they couldn’t have uncovered his partnership with Reymond. Both of them had covered their tracks too well.

Still, dread knotted in Levi’s throat. This couldn’t be his fault.

“I didn’t see it happen,” Jac explained. “I ran into Chez—he was really running, you know? Trying to warn the other Irons away from Scrap Market.”

“Where is the Market today?” Levi asked.

“Chez said near the clock tower on the border of Dove and Scar Lands.”

Levi grabbed his jacket and hat off the coatrack. “Let’s go.”

Jac leaned over, his hands on his knees, and gave Levi a thumbs-up. He set the empty mug on the counter. “Yep. Yep, all good. Ready to go.”

Ten minutes later, they were racing down Tropps Street toward Scrap Market. The morning was cool and damp from dew, and a wind blew east, carrying the smell of the sea.

“We could’ve taken the Mole,” Jac huffed.

“No one takes the Mole.” The subway system that sprawled across the city was infamously unreliable.

“No, gangsters don’t take the Mole,” Jac retorted. “You’d just rather skulk around everywhere so you look with it.”

“I am with it.” Levi charged ahead of him. “You’re just getting soft.”

They passed the Luckluster Mole stop. Jac groaned longingly in between pants.

“Do you know what this fight is about?” Levi asked.

“No idea.”

They turned the corner into Scrap Market. It was early—too early for the Market to close—but already people were in a rush to pack up their stalls. Levi and Jac ran against the crowd, knocking vendors and customers out of their way. Down the street, the bottom floor of an old tenement—the Scarhands’ residence for the day—was engulfed in flames. Smoke streamed out of the cracks in its shutters, and the closer they got, the more the air reeked of it.

They shoved their way to the front of the spectators watching the fire. A man stormed out the front door, clutching a girl over his shoulder. She kicked and pounded at his back with hands covered in scars. The Scarhands outside watched the burning building in horror. Although several had guns raised, no shots were fired. Most people seemed confused about what was happening.

A Scarhand beside Levi pointed at the balcony on the second floor, where Jonas Maccabees was fighting three men at once. Blood ran down Jonas’s split lip and nose. He dodged a swing toward his stomach and collided with the balcony railing.

“What’s going on?” Levi yelled to the Scarhand beside him, but he couldn’t hear his response over the noise of the crowd.

Someone screamed from inside the building. A moment later, the flames exploded through the third story. The building would fall within a few minutes, and whoever had screamed was still in there. But no one dared approach. Not the Scarhands. Not the whiteboots. Not Sedric’s men.