Page 145 of Queen of Volts

Her Forgotten Histories

1 Oct YOR 10

LOLA

Lola shouldn’t have been surprised when Justin showed, but she still was. Time and time again, Justin had made it clear that he’d willfully abandoned her for the Doves and he’d gladly do it again. But he’d come, wearing a flat cap to cover his hair.

“You’re hurt,” he breathed, nodding to her face. Lola reached up and lightly patted her cheek, feeling what she guessed was a bruise from where she’d smacked the shift stick in Poppy’s motorcar.

“I’m fine,” Lola said, grasping onto the handle in the phone booth and pulling herself to her feet. She sucked in her breath—her broken rib ached. “I wasn’t sure if you’d really show.”

His face fell, and Lola warily braced herself for another fight.

Instead, he said, “You deserve a better brother than me. I was so angry after Sam died, and I didn’t know how to take care of you, or myself. When I found the Doves, they made me feel...competent, like I was really in control. It’s laughable now. When I found out Ivory had a secret, they...” He swallowed. “They discarded me. Like I was nothing.”

At first, Lola didn’t know what to say. Of all the betrayals she’d faced, Justin’s had always hurt the most. But she’d never thought he’d apologize, and for as good as it felt to hear it, it also rattled her. It meant that she’d been wrong.

“You’re not nothing,” Lola told him. “Not to me.” She’d done everything she could to get her brother back. Dyeing her hair Dove-white. Working with Bryce and Rebecca in the Guild.

It wasn’t until she met Enne that—for a moment—she thought she’d found a new family, and she could finally relinquish the lost hope she’d been clinging to. And even if Justin was here now, Lola was glad she’d given up. She’d needed to let herself let go.

It was so dark out that it took Lola a few moments to realize that her brother was crying.

Lola shushed him and threw her arms around him, and even if her side ached, she let him bury his face in her shoulder, let him lean his weight against her.

He had come back. And he cared, no matter how fiercely he’d claimed he didn’t.

“We need to find Arabella,” Justin said, pulling away from her.

“She’d be with the others,” Lola said, her voice tight. “That was the plan. To use me as bait. They were at Levi’s casino. We can drive—”

“But the Legendary burned down,” Justin answered.

“What?” Lola breathed. Her friends couldn’t be dead. No, she would’ve felt it, the moment her street oath to Enne snapped.

Then she shook away her thoughts. It wasn’t her old friends she should be worried for; it was Arabella. Who’d never wanted her to go to the Legendary in the first place. Who was the one person Lola had left.

One of the two people, Lola corrected herself, staring at her brother.

“I heard about it on the radio,” Justin blurted. “They said there were deaths, but they weren’t civilians. The fire took out half the boardwalk. And—”

“But we need to find them. If we find them, we find Arabella.” Lola hugged her arms around herself. They could be anywhere in New Reynes.

No sooner had she asked her question than a whiteboot car roared past them, its red lights flashing and its siren blaring. Moments later, a second followed.

“We need to follow them,” Lola said, pointing at the cars as they screeched and disappeared around the corner. Lola didn’t play games, but if she had to bet, if there was trouble brewing in the City of Sin, then she would find her friends at the heart of it.

“On foot?” Justin asked.

Lola grinned, looking around the uppity street, at the expensive motorcars parked along the curb. She rubbed her hands together. “Oh, I can think of something better.”

“When did you learn to hot-wire a car?” Justin asked, grasping at the door handle as the vehicle skidded around a turn.

“It’s a bit late for brotherly concern,” Lola pointed out.

Lola floored the gas pedal, delighting in the rev of the Houssen engine—likely a gift from a university student’s rich father. It rode exactly like you’d expect an eight kilovolt car to ride: like a dream. They zoomed down Hedge Street, swerving across the lanes and out of the path of light posts, tailing the whiteboot car less than a block ahead of them.

“Where are they going?” Justin asked. “We’re nearly at the Brint.”