“You mentioned Vianca earlier. Who is she?” Enne asked.
He scowled like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “You should pay better attention to that guidebook. Vianca is the donna of the Augustine crime Family, and she owns St. Morse Casino.”
As Enne digested his words, Levi led her to a room labeled 2018 and unlocked the door. He held it open for her, but she couldn’t tell whether his politeness was meant to mock. It was impossible to differentiate between his smirk and his smile.
The apartment was unnaturally clean. Levi took a seat on the stiff armchair in the living room while Enne examined the shine of his counters and the strange black oven that looked out of place in his cramped kitchen. Bookshelves covered every wall, filled with volumes and papers arranged by height, and a glass conch shell glittered on the coffee table.
Enne took a seat on the couch.
“What?” Levi asked, studying her face. “Missies always expect that I live in a gutter,” he muttered. Then, as though he were actually going to play host, he offered her a green candy from the bowl on his table. “Tiggy’s Saltwater Taffy. Absinthe-flavored. It’s the signature New Reynes treat.”
Enne shook her head, certain anything signature to this city would prove repulsive. “Why are we here?” She’d never been alone in a young man’s home before, and she hoped he couldn’t see her cheeks redden, couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Surely there must’ve been other places in St. Morse to talk in private besides his apartment. The whole ordeal of Sweetie Street and the unfamiliarity with New Reynes didn’t ease Enne’s mind, nor did the pleasing slopes and angles of Levi’s jawline.
“I’m gonna get you a job,” he declared.
She startled. “A job? Here?”
“What? Too below you to earn an income?”
She doubted her teachers at finishing school would have approved of a lady working at a casino. Or a lady working at all, for that matter. “What kind of job do you have in mind?” she asked coolly, refusing to rise to his provocation.
“You’re a dancer. We’ve got several groups of performers—”
“I’m not that type of dancer.”
“And St. Morse isn’t that type of establishment.” He stood and turned into a narrow hallway, motioning for her to follow. By the time she got up, he’d disappeared into the room at the end, and she realized with no small amount of horror that it must have been his bedroom.
“What are you doing?” Enne called from the doorway, unable to even peek inside.
“Finding you something to wear. Your clothes belong in an antique shop.”
Enne sniffed in indignation. Her outfit was considered fashionable in Bellamy, where women had a sense of modesty.
“What do you expect me to wear?” she asked. “Trousers?” Or worse, one of those fishnet numbers she’d seen all over Tropps Street?
He emerged with a dress and an easy smile. “What? Don’t you trust me?”
“Hardly.” And certainly not with that gleam in his eyes. Or with the not-entirely-unpleasant smell of his citrus cologne.
She allowed herself to admit that Levi Glaisyer was very good-looking—at least, in an up-to-no-good way that she supposed some people found attractive. He was of fairly average height, but his build was slender and trim. Of all his noteworthy features—his smooth brown skin, the sharp slopes of his cheekbones—the most identifiable was his hair. It started bronze at the roots, but the tight curls gradually turned to black at the ends, as if singed.
Sometimes talents, especially Talents of Mysteries, carried a particular physical characteristic with them—like the purple eyes of the Mizers. She remembered Levi melting the lock earlier and lighting Reymond’s cigar. He might have had a fire-making talent, but the fire-makers she’d met in the past were different—they smelled of smoke and depleted the oxygen from the air around them, suffocating anyone in close contact. He didn’t smell like...
Levi smirked, and Enne realized with a start that she’d been staring.
To avoid his gaze, she spent several moments examining the dress. It was floor-length, with a gold ribbon trim lining the silky, sage-colored fabric. It was actually rather nice. “Where did you get this?” she asked as she daringly entered his room and took it from his hands.
“I’ve got a collection of lost things.”
Lost things? Oh. He meant left behind. She lifted the dress up to hide her mortified expression.
“You get dressed,” he said. “I’ll be out here.”
“Levi,” she protested as he walked away. “This is ridiculous and unnecessary. My clothes are perfectly fine.” Although, as she looked down, she noticed that her hemline was rather filthy.
“Look, missy,” Levi said flatly. “You can call as much attention to yourself as you want, but I prefer to keep my head down. Time to fit into our society.” He closed the door but kept talking, his voice diminishing. “Now get changed. I’ve things to do and only time for half of them.”
Hmph. Though her attire did stand out in this city, it was for the right reasons. But the dress he’d chosen didn’t appear too outrageous, and the color would suit her nicely.
As she changed, she realized how low the neckline was cut. Goodness, she thought, it would be almost like strutting around topless. She turned to his wardrobe and rooted around for a new outfit. Nudged between another blouse and several pairs of men’s undershirts in various sizes—this was quite the collection—she selected a red dress with a more conservative front.
When Enne returned to the sitting room, she found Levi in the armchair turning the glass conch shell over like an archaeologist examining a fossil. He raised his eyebrows upon seeing her in a different dress.
“Where did you buy it?” she asked, referring to the conch. “It’s beautiful.”
“I made it. There was a shell like this in my house when I was young, so I tried to replicate it.”
“You have a glassmaking talent?”
“No, an orb-making talent. But I don’t use it much.” He talked with a kind of bitterness, as if admitting to something shameful. The orb-making talent certainly explained his hair and his affinity for fire; she’d never met an orb-maker, but she should’ve guessed it before. They had nearly as much lore surrounding them as the Mizers did. Most of them were even executed alongside the Mizers, so there weren’t many families left.
“Then why be a card dealer and a...” She didn’t say criminal, in case she might offend him, though Levi seemed to take pride in his particular line of work. “Orb-makers could make a very fair living.”
“You mean, why be poor when I could be rich?” He laughed hollowly. “For plenty of reasons. For one, most people assume orb-makers are Mizer sympathizers, and I’d rather not associate myself with that muck. The only reason my family survived was because we haven’t called attention to ourselves.”
Enne flinched at Mizer sympathizers and survived. She didn’t like how, in only one morning, New Reynes had drawn a heavy, black line connecting those two phrases to her mother, followed by a bloodred question mark.
For the second time that day, Enne wondered how she would face it if she never learned the truth about Lourdes’s other life. The newspapers...the monarchists...the Mizer sympathizers...it was so far from what she knew about Lourdes.
But what did she know about her mother?
Lourdes had taught her how to analyze people meticulously. She had a method to this, and a set of rules that she observed with an almost religious reverence. Enne could replicate her skills in a heartbeat.