King Of Fools. Amanda Foody

to criminals: We will show no tolerance...and no mercy.”

      Levi and Jac crowded around the radio together, their fight momentarily forgotten. “What happened? What does he mean?” Levi asked, his mouth dry. He wasn’t exactly used to hearing his name on the radio.

      “Eight people are dead?” Jac murmured. “Who did they say—?”

      “If you’d both be quiet, you’d have your answers,” Zula hissed.

      The newscaster continued, “Many have already called our station expressing outrage at the age of the victims. The Orphan Guild—”

      “Is a misleading title,” the Sergeant said quickly. “They are an organization comprised of people of all ages, feeding agents directly into gangs such as the Scarhands and the Doves. It’s little better than human trafficking. Although we were unable to apprehend the Guildmaster, Bryce Balfour—”

      “Lola works for the Orphan Guild,” Jac squeaked.

      “She couldn’t have been there,” Levi said, even though he didn’t know if that was true. Eight casualties at the Orphan Guild wasn’t just an operation—it was a massacre.

      It was war.

      Zula switched the radio off and glared at them. “This is how it began last time. Already, people are dead.” Her gaze fell on Jac’s fingers, clamped around his Creed. “Your prayers are worth nothing, boy. You’re the ones who started all this.”

      But Levi wasn’t in the mood to swallow Zula’s pointless judgment. He shot Jac a desperate look. “Please don’t leave.” Without Jac, he had no means of securing the information Harrison needed about the Torren empire. Without Jac, Levi was without a second, without a best friend, with the entire world in flames around him.

      Jac averted his gaze. “I won’t. Yet.”

      Levi realized this was the best he could hope for until he explained the truth. But there wasn’t time for that now.

      He spotted Zula’s telephone against the wall and limped toward it. His fingers trembled as he turned the dial. “Operator? I need you to connect me to St. Morse Casino. I need to speak to Erienne Salta.”

       3

      “They say the Bargainer wanders the world, approaching those desperate enough to strike a deal. But everyone knows that the Bargainer is from New Reynes. The most fearsome legend ever told, and it started here.

      “And one day...the Bargainer will come back.”

      —A legend of the North Side

       ENNE

      Enne sat on her bathroom counter, gingerly examining her bloodshot eyes in the foggy mirror. The contacts Levi had given her were uncomfortable and, she suspected, deeply unsanitary. She’d managed to find better ones at a costume shop, colored a warm brown as opposed to the unnatural blue of the old ones. She prayed Vianca didn’t notice her eye color changing every other day. Thankfully, the donna had other things on her mind.

      “It looks like a crime scene in here,” Lola said from behind the shower curtain.

      “Pleasant,” Enne muttered.

      “I still resent this. I want you to know that.”

      Enne rolled her eyes and unscrewed the bottle of eyedrops. “You can’t keep your white hair. You look like a killer.”

      “That’s why I liked it.”

      Enne cringed as the cold liquid touched her eye. The redness still looked no better.

      Lola turned off the water and drew back the curtain. She looked gangly and awkward in Enne’s short towel, her newly red hair plastered across her shoulders and dripping on the floor.

      Despite Lola’s jokes, Enne knew her old hair meant far more to her than just the intimidation factor. Lola had originally bleached it because her brother had joined the Doves, and white hair was their trademark. Years had passed since then, but she still kindled the hope of finding him. And though her disguise had gotten her nowhere but trouble—which Lola herself acknowledged—Enne knew it couldn’t have been easy to let her past go.

      Lola glanced at herself in the mirror. “Wow. I hate it.”

      “You can’t keep looking like a Dove,” Enne told her. “Not when we’re supposed to...”

      Enne trailed off and bit her lip. She’d recounted her conversation with Vianca to Lola earlier, and Lola hadn’t taken it well. Since then, all she’d done was order them the most expensive room service on St. Morse’s menu and pick at her food in stony silence. Enne had waited for her to say something—anything—all day, but Lola’s cold shoulder treatment meant Enne just wound up reading one of her favorite Sadie Knightley romance novels and brooding for six hours.

      When Lola didn’t respond and walked back to the bedroom to change, Enne jumped off the counter and called after her, “Are we going to talk about this?”

      Lola whipped around. “Talk about what, Enne?” Still clutching her towel, she marched over to the bags of clothes from Enne’s shopping trip. She grabbed the top item—a simple blouse with a lacy collar. “What are you supposed to wear? This?” Lola threw the shirt on the couch. “What are you supposed to say? With your posh, South Sider accent?”

      She stormed back to Enne and loomed over her. “You’re going to march into the Orphan Guild and...and what? No one there went to finishing school. They’re thieves and killers and liars, and all you look like is a target. Bryce Balfour will eat you alive.”

      Enne blinked back tears. She’d already made the decision not to apologize for who she was, and besides, there was nothing Lola said that Enne hadn’t already considered herself. She didn’t know anything about organized crime, how she’d find the volts to pay for associates, how she’d ever convince anyone to follow a clueless schoolgirl from Bellamy. It didn’t matter that the world thought she’d assassinated the Chancellor. Within minutes of meeting her, anyone would know she was a fraud.

      “I thought you wanted this! Isn’t that what you said at Scrap Market? That I could be a—”

      “That was before I knew about you and Vianca.”

      “So did you mean anything that you said about me, then?” Enne asked, her voice shaking. Lola once saw a potential in her when no one else did, but it seemed like now she only saw her as a pawn.

      Lola crossed her arms and looked away. “Of course I meant what I said. You’re a Mizer, Enne. And the world doesn’t know that—the world can’t know that—but regardless of Vianca, you have real power. And you don’t want it. That’s what makes you different from the other lords, different from everyone in New Reynes. You don’t want it, and so, maybe, you could do good with it.”

      Enne went silent. Of course, Lola was right. Enne didn’t want this, hadn’t asked for this.

      “You...” Enne said carefully. “You think I can do this?”

      “I wouldn’t be here if I thought otherwise.”

      Lola was bony and uncomfortably wet, but Enne threw her arms around her, anyway. “Thank you,” she whispered, her mind whirling with Lola’s words.

      Did she have real power?

      And if so, what could she do with it?

      “You’re welcome. Now please let go of me.” Lola writhed out of Enne’s grip, smirking. “I’m going to get dressed, and then we can talk about making an appointment with the Guildmaster.”

      The telephone rang.