King Of Fools. Amanda Foody
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into joining the Guild. He referred to himself as a salesperson, but Reymond had called him a poacher.
When the couple finally broke apart, Bryce said, “This is Rebecca.”
Rebecca looked Enne up and down. “I’m his partner.”
Harvey scowled a second time.
Enne watched Harvey with unease. When they’d met, she hadn’t been wearing this mask. But unlike the other members of the Guild, he showed no interest in her or any hint that he recognized her. His gaze only followed Bryce as the Guildmaster sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms.
“Can we call you something other than Séance?” Bryce asked.
“Séance is fine,” she answered, not wanting to compromise her identity. “Um, please,” she added.
Bryce gave her an odd look and scratched at the marks on his neck. “And what business have you come for?”
“I’m looking to hire a girl.”
“What sort of girl?”
“I don’t have anyone particular in mind,” she answered blandly.
“How...unusual. For a permanent position?”
“Yes.” Though, after paying Bryce his cut, she’d only have enough volts to compensate this person for two more weeks. Maybe whoever she hired could find a solution for their income predicament.
“Whatever you need, we can assist.” Bryce snapped his fingers. “Lola, the files.”
Lola immediately responded to the order. She hurried to the file cabinet, pulled out a handful of folders, and laid them neatly across the desk. Bryce licked his fingers and perused the papers. Occasionally, he’d show one to Rebecca or Harvey, who would shake their heads or shrug. Rebecca often leaned over to stroke Bryce’s hand or play with the edges of his shirt.
Finally, he handed Lola several files. “Go fetch these girls.”
Lola took them, shot Enne a warning glance, and left the room.
Enne took the seat beside Harvey—not because she particularly liked him, but because it was the farthest position from Bryce and Rebecca. Harvey hummed a ragtime under his breath and fiddled with a Creed necklace, one that matched Jac’s, except for the set of gold keys that shared its chain.
“You called Lola your second,” Bryce said. “Do you call yourself a lord?”
If you’d like, I’m sure you can make them call you a lady.
Enne’s cheeks reddened. “Yes.”
“Do you know how many lords there have been, since the Great Street War?” Bryce rolled up his sleeves, revealing a bandage and gauze peeking beneath one. Judging from the fresh scratches below it, Enne guessed he’d sustained some sort of injury from the attack last night. When he caught her looking at it, he quickly tucked it away again.
“No,” Enne replied.
“Take a guess,” he pushed. Enne had heard enough condescension in her life to recognize it in his voice.
Harvey cleared his throat, saving her from answering. “Don’t mind us. We’re only anxious, as I’m sure you can imagine—plus it’s thanks to you that this war was called. And it’s thanks to this war that eight of our associates are dead.”
Harvey rested a hand on Enne’s shoulder. Even when his words were harsh, his tone was still warm. She had no reason to trust him, yet suddenly, she wanted to.
“Not that you’re the one to blame, of course,” he said, flashing her a gap-toothed grin.
Enne was about to respond with apologies, or explanations, or whatever else Harvey wanted to hear, but even as transfixed as she was, she didn’t miss the dark look exchanged between Harvey and the Guildmaster. Harvey immediately wrenched his hand off her and leaned away, and the spell was broken.
Enne’s skin prickled, remembering just how dangerous Harvey’s talent was. With only a touch, he could probably convince her to spill her deepest secrets. And if she ever accepted a favor from him, Enne would be forever trapped where he pleased.
Every time she thought she’d decided which of the three intimidated her the most, one of them introduced some new kind of threat.
“Courtesy,” Rebecca snapped at Harvey, clicking her tongue.
“You know he can’t help it,” Bryce told her, as though Harvey weren’t even there.
Rebecca narrowed her eyes at Harvey, then she slid her arm around Bryce possessively. Enne leaned back into her seat to avoid their mutual glares. She realized that their attempts to challenge her weren’t what made her so uncomfortable—rather, she felt trapped in the intimate squabbles of someone else’s dysfunctional home.
She sighed with relief when Lola returned. Four girls followed behind her, most old enough to be called women. Enne examined their yellowed teeth and knotted hair with uncertainty.
“All of them are looking for full-time work,” Bryce said. “A variety of talents. A runner, a wordsmith, a truthseer, and a singer.”
Lola rifled through the papers with confusion. “Why didn’t you include Talia? I thought she wanted something full-time.”
Bryce faltered, and a haunted expression crossed his face. “Talia was injured last night. She’s here.” He looked suddenly young as he spoke. There was something darker than grief in his eyes, something that Enne recognized as guilt. “But she won’t be working.”
“Well?” Rebecca asked Enne sharply. “What do you think?”
Enne snapped her gaze away from the Guildmaster. “Is this really all you have?” Enne might’ve been playing at being a real street lord, but she would’ve preferred someone a little...cleaner, at least.
“You haven’t been very specific in your request,” Harvey said flatly.
“I’ll know her when I see her,” Enne said, which she realized sounded absurd. What sort of decision-making was that? Lola scowled in the corner.
“Fine,” Rebecca sniped. She grabbed a heap of files off the desk and thrust them into Lola’s arms. For the first time since coming here, Enne’s annoyance piqued. Lola wasn’t their servant. “Let’s go find this mystery person, then.”
As the others left the warden’s office, Lola and Enne lingered behind.
“You’ve irritated them,” Lola whispered.
“I’m not sure I could’ve helped that,” Enne said. “I’ve never seen you so...submissive. Are you afraid of them?”
“Aren’t you?” Lola responded pointedly.
Enne was, and it probably showed. But now she was also irritated.
In the courtyard were close to sixty people, soaking in the warm June sunshine, playing games of backgammon or Tropps. Many of them stopped what they were doing to stare at Enne. Shoulders straightened, chests puffed out, knives danced between fingers. They were showing off, she realized. The thought bolstered her confidence.
Enne’s gaze wandered until it settled on a book. It was a romance novel by one of her favorite authors, Sadie Knightley.
The girl holding it, however, made Enne pause. Despite the summer heat, she wore black from head to toe. She had dark hair, dark eyeliner, and dark fishnet gloves. A collection of necklaces hung from her, chains and rusted nails and the largest Creed Enne had ever seen, the bottom of its knot sharpened into a blade. Her skirt was obscenely short, making her stockings more suggestive than functional—she was clearly trying to cover nothing. Unlike the other members of the Orphan Guild, she didn’t bother to vie for Enne’s attention, as her gaze was focused on the book.
“Who is that?” Enne asked.
“That’s