Page 59 of Queen of Volts

They must have looked quite the trio—Poppy and Delaney, dressed like the two flavors of cotton candy; and Sophia like she came with a warning label.

“We are,” Poppy said cheerily.

The guard let them pass, and Sophia gaped at the difference mere days had made to the House of Shadows. It had come alive, candles aglow on barstools and fireplace mantels, crowds clustered in its maze of rooms, dancing or smoking from embellished cigarette holders or drinking out of heavy goblets. There was an element of exclusivity to this party. The guests followed a dress code of dark, muted colors—making Sophia stand out like a bloodstain. Silver glinted everywhere, in cards tucked into jacket pockets and jewelry dangling on slender wrists. Many moved between the others, not as strangers, but as familiar faces, friends.

Sophia searched them for the details she remembered about the Bargainer: fair skin, light brown hair, sunken eyes and haggard features. But she recognized no one. She knew that the Bargainer was unlikely to return to the House of Shadows, whose occupants conceived the very power that had barred her from New Reynes for twenty-six years, but the crowds still made Sophia feel adrift. Everyone looked like some version of a rich South Side party brat—some version of Delaney and Poppy, really. This had been her best chance, but it seemed hopeless Sophia would find a trail to the Bargainer here.

“I hate these people,” Delaney groaned, shrugging off her coat and slipping it over one of the dozens of racks. “Harrison knows I didn’t want to come back.”

Sophia was tempted to ask more about Delaney’s history with this place, but Delaney had a grimace like she was deeply annoyed. Or maybe she always looked like that.

“Who are these people?” Sophia asked instead.

“Delinquents, mainly,” Delaney answered flatly.

“They dress pretty spiffy for delinquents,” said Sophia.

Poppy rolled her eyes. “She only hates them because they kicked her out.”

Delaney’s cheeks reddened. “That’s ridiculous. Andwrong. I left on purpose.” Then she nodded for Sophia to walk ahead. “You’re tall. You go first.”

Sophia didn’t argue, only because her words made it sound like they’d stick together at this party, after all. Delaney’s hand on her shoulder pushed Sophia through the crowd, past the parlor and into the billiards room Sophia remembered from the first time they’d visited. The faces inside were far less ashen than before—sweaty and red cheeked, mouthing the words to a song Sophia dimly recognized from the radio. Even amid the Friday night glamor, it still felt more mundane than she had expected. Unless the music was merely overpowering the whisper of legends. Unless the secrets of this place were buried beneath discarded heaps of designer coats or sunken to the bottom of top-shelf liquor bottles.

Delaney steered her to a black velvet curtain behind the bar.

“What’s back there?” Sophia asked.

“You know in a museum how you exit through the gift shop?” Delaney asked cryptically. “Just don’t touch anything.”

Then she pushed them both through the curtain.

It looked like a smaller version of Kipling’s Department Store, if all of their merchandise only came in metal.

The girls passed a table of broaches, belt buckles, and eyeglasses, then a display of wristwatches and a rack of gowns embellished with sleeves like chain mail. Artwork of metalcraft was hung on every available wall space, price tags dangling below each frame. The gazes of the employees followed them as they passed, and chills crept up Sophia’s spine when she noticed many of their eyes were red.

“Shades are cast on metal,” Delaney said, as though sensing Sophia’s confusion. “Like how volts are stored in glass.”

“So these arecurses?” Poppy asked. “Forsale?”

“Like I said, don’t touch anything. Let me go talk to Creighton. He’s the manager and part of Bryce’s game.”

Delaney walked to the corner, toward the room’s largest piece of artwork—a rendering of Tropps Street at night, paint smudged across the metal buildings of the Factory District like a flaking layer of rust.

Sophia and Poppy glanced at each other and nervously tread toward the jewelry displays in the room’s center. Sophia bent over the glass, inspecting the dark, glittering diamonds, many filled with impurities that looked like clouds of black smoke or dust fragments trapped within stone.

“Are you looking for something specific?” one of the shopkeepers asked—a malison, judging from the red of his eyes. The color reminded Sophia so much of the Bargainer that she had to force herself not to stare. He gestured to the rings. “Is there something you’d wish to forget? Perhaps you need a little glamour—courage? Stamina? Cunning?”

There were a lot of things that Sophia wished to forget, but she had already forgotten too much about herself to sacrifice another broken piece.

Poppy, however, leaned in closer. “How does it work? Do you make a deal or—”

“No deals,” he snapped. “We don’t want your talents—what would we do with them? We only accept volts.”

Sophia didn’t realize that the Bargainer kept the talents of those she dealt with. Did she have many talents, then? Dozens? Hundreds? Even if Sophia’s split talent counted as only one in her collection, it soothed Sophia to know it still existed, that maybe she could get more than just her memories back.

Sophia dug her dice out from her pocket and rolled them across the counter, making a loud clatter. A three and a five. Those were good odds. There was no point in stalling, then.

“Speaking of deals,” she spoke confidently, “we’d like to know how to kill the Bargainer. Are you the right person to ask or—”