Ace of Shades (The Shadow Game #1)(76)

She knelt in front of Lourdes’s office door and pulled a pin from her hair.

It took nearly thirty minutes for her to pick the lock. She had no idea what she was doing, but the longer she sat there, fiddling, the more understanding she developed of the mechanisms. Finally, she heard the lock click, and she turned the knob and crawled into the room.

The office was stark, almost empty. She went for the desk first, yanking out drawers full of pencils and rubbish—Lourdes had always been impressively messy—searching for...something, anything to explain her mother’s business in the City of Sin. Enne turned on the lantern, heart pounding, and examined the bank slips in the cabinet.

The address on the papers was in New Reynes, but neither sixteen-year-old Enne nor the Enne peering over her shoulder recognized the address.

1089 Virtue Street, New Reynes.

The statement was dated from a few months ago—from Lourdes’s last trip to the city. And—both their eyes widened as they examined the document—it was for a bank account with a balance of over two hundred million volts.

Both of them gasped.

Memory Enne threw the papers back in the cabinet and slammed it closed, and the Enne who watched her remembered what she’d been thinking. It was wealth unlike that of anyone she knew, anything she’d ever heard of. Enne knew Lourdes had inherited money from her own mysterious family, but she’d never imagined anything like that.

The memory used to hold shame for Enne. This was the one time she had betrayed Lourdes’s trust and uncovered a secret she shouldn’t have known. But as her present self left the room and returned to the hallway, her guilt was gone. She wished she’d explored more of the office that night. Maybe she would have stumbled across another clue, something to help in the present search for her mother. Had Enne known any of the secrets she knew now, everything would be different. Enne would’ve journeyed to New Reynes sooner, or asked to go with Lourdes.

She found a new black door. It was the first one that wasn’t a memory.

The room smelled sweet. Enne stood facing a mirror. Below her, a joint of Mistress burned in an ashtray, its soot golden, matching her costume and the shimmery eyeshadow she wore. Enne’s boots were black, heeled and rose to midthigh. A garter belt snaked up her legs and disappeared underneath a corseted dress, which was sequined from navel to cleavage and crisscrossed in violet ribbon. The bust was strapless, meant to be removed more than admired. The feathers protruding from its bottom would do little to cover her if she bent over.

Still, it was hard to feel exposed when there was no one here but her. She shuffled through the cosmetic products on the counter, then reached for a sweet-smelling perfume and a lipstick black as licorice.

She examined herself in the mirror. No one would call her a doll in this outfit.

Or much of a lady.

She smiled to herself. There was no one but her to know. After all—this was only a dream.

Jazzy music played outside, and she followed it to the stage. The lights were too bright to see into the audience, if there was anyone there at all. She remembered Demi’s routine with a mixture of embarrassment and thrill. Without the leering eyes of anyone watching her, she felt powerful in these clothes. Attractive. If the world were a different sort of place, she might trim off the feathers and wear it for fun.

She danced alone on the stage. Nothing suggestive...at first. It took a few minutes for her to decide such a style would be fun to try. She unlaced the ribbons on her corset.

Several minutes into the routine, she became aware of the fact that she was no longer dreaming. Her head was pressed against the pillow. Her nightdress was twisted around her stomach, her feet dangling off the edge of the bed. But she wasn’t done exploring the dream just yet, so she didn’t open her eyes.

At some point, in her sleepy, half-conscious state, she inserted someone else into her fantasy. An admiring gaze. Hands trailing down her hips. Lips brushing against her chest.

The light in her window brightened from the sunrise. She was now mostly conscious and exceptionally frustrated. She untwisted her nightdress and scratched an itch on her thigh, then her hand trailed up and lingered between her legs, making up for the fantasy that was slowly fading. If she were anywhere else but New Reynes—in her dormitory, in her own bedroom—she probably wouldn’t have dared. She rubbed her lips together, as if she could still feel the smoothness of the black lipstick, could still feel the thrilling empowerment of the stage lights and the stranger’s stomach pressed against hers.

When she finished, she was breathless and sweaty. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling of her St. Morse apartment. At first, she felt embarrassed, even if it was no different from that stage where no one could see her. She’d never been a prude, but inexperience lent itself to shyness, even around herself.

She climbed out of bed and sat at her vanity. Her face was slightly flushed, and the indentations of the pillow lined her cheek.

She examined her lipsticks and selected the shade closest to black.

*

Enne waited in the St. Morse lobby, tapping her foot. It was past the meeting time, and no one else had arrived yet. When she’d knocked on Levi’s door, there’d been no answer, and she honestly wasn’t certain if Lola would even show.

It was ludicrous to put any faith in dreams, but nothing about the hallway felt like one. The scenes were still fresh in her mind, the memories exact in every detail, as though she’d really experienced them.