He leaned forward and steepled his fingers, his expression grim. “Have you ever heard of the Phoenix Club?”
“Only now, when you just mentioned it,” she answered.
“They’re the most powerful and dangerous people in the Republic. Businessmen, wigheads, scholars...all with a talent for immortality. They’re the ones who orchestrated the Mizer executions. The whole Revolution, even.”
She searched his expression for one of his telltale smirks, but found none.
“There’s no talent for immortality,” she said. “That’s impossible.”
He sighed, cracked his neck and checked his watch. Enne’s nostrils flared. If anyone had a right to feel impatient, it was she. “Chancellor Semper himself is part of the Phoenix Club. He’s their leader.”
She barked out a laugh. “You expect me to believe that?”
Levi stood. “Fine, missy. I was trying to prepare you. But if you’re so sure of yourself, you’re obviously ready for Vianca.”
He walked to his front door and motioned for her to follow. Enne hesitated, wanting to challenge him. But if she kept arguing, she might start crying again. The urge to do so throbbed in her chest, and if she even used enough breath to say fine, it would explode. She’d already cried twice this morning. She didn’t know how she had enough tears left for a third.
They were silent until the elevator reached the bottom floor, where she followed Levi through another hallway lined with portraits of Mizer monarchs with amethyst eyes.
“You should address Vianca as Madame,” he said, more like a warning than a suggestion. “She likes that.”
“I’m more than comfortable addressing superiors.” Her voice sounded steady and precise. The streets might’ve been Levi’s arena, but etiquette was hers. After everything she’d faced so far this day, an interview with Vianca Augustine hardly intimidated her.
Enne held her head up high, smoothed down her hair and focused. She repeated Lourdes’s rules in the back of her mind.
His eyes trailed over her—almost enough to ruin that focus. “I take it you didn’t like my choice of dress for you.”
“It was inappropriate. Particularly for an interview.”
“Maybe that’s why I liked it.”
He smiled, and no, no, she wouldn’t let that smile break her resolve to be aggravated with him. She stared in the direction of her pointed-toe heels, hidden underneath the hem of the dress, and hoped with every fiber of her being she wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of blushing like a Bellamy schoolgirl.
“Though I will admit, this dress is a bit long,” she commented, trying to remain aloof.
“Yeah, you should grow some.”
She couldn’t think of a snappy enough retort, so, left with no other options, she let out a hmph.
He snorted, but then his smirk receded. “I’m sorry, Enne. I haven’t been trying to upset you. But this city...it’s rotten, down to its very core. And you need to be prepared for what you might face. Or learn.” He looked away and stared at his oxfords. “I’m trying to help you.”
He was attempting to soothe her, but his honesty made Enne only feel worse. Maybe she was no match for this city. Maybe the North Side would take everything she had and spit her out into the harbor. Maybe the streets where Lourdes walked freely would spell ruin for her daughter.
They walked into a waiting room with several marble busts lining the walls. A pale, fragile-looking woman hunched over a desk in the corner. She startled at the sight of them.
“Levi,” she exclaimed, standing as he approached and even giving a slight bow of her head. She had a pinched nose and a collar so tiny it was a wonder she could breathe. She drank in the sight of him, never once glancing at Enne. “I wasn’t aware you had an appointment.”
“I don’t. Is Vianca available right now?”
“Yes.” She hesitated before adding, “I can announce you if you wish—”
“We’ll announce ourselves.” He grabbed Enne’s wrist and tugged her to the door on the far side of the room. “Here we go.”
He knocked.
“Come in,” a woman’s voice invited.
Before opening the door, Levi bent down, his lips inches from her ear. “Whatever you do, don’t let her see you squirm.”
ENNE
Enne and Levi stepped inside a dark office with emerald velvet curtains and matching chairs. Behind Vianca’s desk hung a mural of another Mizer family: two parents, two daughters and an infant on the mother’s lap—the last royal family of Reynes, executed twenty-five years ago during the Revolution. Mahogany bookcases lined the side walls, filled with more vases, marble busts and antiques than books.
Amid the darkness of the room, Vianca Augustine was fair. Her white hair and ivory, sallow skin made her appear ghostlike, and there was certainly something haunting about the emptiness of her gaze. Soulless. She looked to be in her sixties, and her age was exaggerated by the powdery makeup caked within the creases of her face. Despite her ornate dress and overwhelming amount of jewelry, nothing about her was elegant. She had clearly never been beautiful, and—judging from the severe frown lines and pruned wrinkles around her pursed lips—she had never been kind, either.
“Levi,” Vianca said. She spoke his name slowly, as if savoring its taste. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I owe this girl a favor. She needs work, and with all I need to juggle at the moment—” He smiled, a bit too widely. “It would put my mind at ease knowing she gets settled.”
Vianca raised her pencil-drawn eyebrows and shifted her gaze to Enne. “What’s your name, girl?”
Grace, Enne told herself. I am grace and ease.
“Erienne Abacus Salta, Madame.”
“A dancer? I already have more dancers than I need. And usually my dancers come with a vocal or instrumental split talent. What use do I have for a dancer who can count?”
Enne wasn’t sure how to respond, especially as, truth be told, she wasn’t much of a counter at all.
“She’s a gymnast, as well,” Levi added quickly. “I heard there’s a spot open for a new acrobat.”
Enne struggled to contain her alarm. She hadn’t bargained for that. She didn’t know the first thing about gymnastics.
“Is she, now?” Vianca asked, not looking at Enne so much as through her. “You may go, Levi. I’ll speak to Miss Salta in private.”
He blinked in surprise, then nodded. After giving Enne a final weary look, he slipped out the door. Enne tried not to let his apparent nervousness bother her. She had faced worse interviews for admission to her finishing school.
Vianca beckoned her forward, and Enne moved to stand in front of one of the chairs before the donna’s desk.
“Do you plan on taking a seat, Miss Salta?” she asked.
“Not unless you ask me, Madame.”
Vianca’s green, lizard-like eyes inspected every foot, inch and hair of Enne’s body. Her lips curled, and Enne couldn’t help but notice her uneven red lipstick. “Sit.” Once Enne had taken a seat, Vianca asked, “Where are you from?”
“Bellamy, Madame.”
“That’s quite a journey. How long have you lived here?”
“About half a day, Madame.”
That made Vianca smile. For a moment. Enne hadn’t been trying to be humorous.
“Is Levi trying to court you? He serves a number of roles for me, and I require him to have a clear head. If his belle is living within St. Morse, it will distract him.”
Enne would never walk out with a card dealer, not if she planned on keeping the last shreds of her reputation intact. And if the card dealer in question was Levi, she’d also need to salvage what remained of her dignity. Even if he was attractive, she had no patience for his jokes and smirking. “No, Madame. Nothing like that.”
“Then why is he so interested in your well-being?”
Enne uttered the first lie she could think of: “He owes a favor to my father.”
“I should’ve guessed Levi would be in debt to a counter. How good are your counting abilities?”
Enne could barely add or subtract without the use of her fingers. “Quite good, Madame.”
“Are you literate?” With each new question, Vianca leaned closer to Enne over her desk, almost close enough to grab her.
“Yes, Madame.”