Page 43 of Queen of Volts

“I’ll convince her to.” Even if it meant apologizing.

“Owain will agree to that offer, I think,” Harrison said. “Then he won’t run these opinion pieces—for now. But that isn’t enough to get Enne the pardon.”

“But there’s another way to spin Enne’s story. The Senate knows how omertas work. We could play off everything that happened over the past two months as your mother’s doing—then Enne wouldn’t be held responsible.”

Harrison drummed his fingers against the table. “It’s a clever idea. But I can’t promise anything until the story runs and we can see how the public reacts to it. That’s all going to take a few days.”

Levi swallowed. Enne wouldn’t be happy at the idea of working with Owain—he was a member of the Phoenix Club, and thus one of the parties responsible for murdering Lourdes and nearly killing them. But if she wanted that pardon, she’d have to put her years of finishing school to use. She’d have to be on her best behavior.

“I like the idea of the two of us working together,” Harrison told him, which was good, because Levi liked it, too. “And that’s why I also want to talk to you about Bryce’s game.”

Harrison reached into his pocket and slid Levi a gold Shadow Card. Levi froze as he stared at it. Strength.

“How did you get this?” Levi asked hoarsely, unsure if he actually wanted to touch it.

“I have an arrangement with Harvey Gabbiano.”

At first, Levi couldn’t put it together. A politician and...a Chainer? Bryce’s partner in the Orphan Guild? But then it dawned on him, the way Augustines used the termarrangements.

Harrison had once told Levi that he didn’t use his talent, but clearly he’d been lying. Levi straightened, putting space between him and the politician. It had only taken a shake of the hand for Vianca to ensnare him with her omerta, and Levi would die before he fell victim to another.

Seeing Levi’s expression, Harrison cleared his throat. “In the interest of transparency, all three of my omertas are filled. And I’d like to see them stay that way. I won’t have their blood on my conscience.”

If Reymond, Levi’s old mentor, was still alive, he could tell Levi whether or not Harrison was lying. A useful, tricky talent. Levi grimaced at the thought of him and all the people he’d lost.

You don’t get to be powerful in New Reynes by only being good, Levi thought. After all, Levi had plenty of guilt on his own conscience. But this still felt personal and ugly in a way he didn’t like. He’d wanted to trust Harrison, but maybe he couldn’t trust anyone. What a miserable thought.

“Could Harvey kill Bryce?” Levi asked quietly.

Harrison frowned. “IfI’ma muck person, then clearly so are you. I don’t ask people to kill the people they love.”

“Fine,” Levi said, irritated. He was only being pragmatic. Harvey knew Bryce’s weaknesses better than any of them did. Maybe there was a loophole to Bryce’s protection as Gamemaster.

“Besides, I’ve been informed that killing Bryce wouldn’t be enough to end the game, anyway.”

“But is it even possible to win this game?” If any player who hadn’t collected their target’s card by the end of the game would die, then that had to include those who volunteered away their card to secure the string of five. By definition, they wouldn’t end the game with their target’s card if they’d given them all away to the game’s victor, which meant there was no way to approach this game without some of the players dying.

Harrison murmured, “I’m working on an answer to that.”

He stood to leave, and Levi followed him to the door. It opened directly onto the boardwalk, facing the grayish-green sea. It looked more like the same sea behind his parents’ home than it ever had.

“Be careful,” Harrison told him, then shot Levi a look daring him to make a joke about it. “And buy some new suits—ones that actually fit you and don’t have pinstripes. You’re playing politics now. Time to belong in the South Side.”

HARVEY

Harvey used to come to the Street of the Holy Tombs as a child, to the church now called the Catacombs. Once a month, his parents dressed him and his four siblings in their best clothes and dragged them into the Mole, entering in the chaotic bustle of a Tropps Street station and exiting at Olde Town’s eerie quiet. It was always darker in this neighborhood, always seeming an hour closer to sundown.

There are ghosts here, his older sister used to whisper. She smelled like chamomile—they all did, living on Chain Street. Like Lullaby.The quiet keeps them asleep.

Their mother would hush them. His sister’s stories weren’t true, not like the Faith’s stories were. But they still left goosebumps prickling across Harvey’s skin, so they must’ve had their own sort of power, holy or not.

Harvey knocked on the door, piercing the silence. The sign on it readHer Forgotten Histories, and faintly, he made out a Faith symbol scratched into the windowpane. The eye from the Story of Omens, an icon meant to ward away harm. It did nothing to stop Harvey from knocking a second time, an acidic mixture of guilt and bile brewing in his stomach at what he’d been sent here to do.

The door swung open, revealing a fair-skinned older woman with a weary look in her eyes and a collection of Creed necklaces around her neck. They reminded Harvey of his mother.

“I, um...” His voice died in his throat, in the same place where he could feel the omerta tightening around his neck, sealing off his air. Tears blurred his vision as he choked out, “I’m here for good deeds. Good deeds to cleanse a dirtied soul.”

Those were Faith words, contrition words. As a child, whenever he or his siblings did something wrong, his mother would drag him to a neighbor’s house, where they would knock on the door, humiliated and humbled, and offer to perform a favor to make up for their troublemaking.