Page 22 of Queen of Volts

Enne rarely ventured into the Deadman District; she wasn’t familiar with that station. But even if it would be helpful to drag the boy with them for extra guidance, it wouldn’t be smart. He looked as stable as a homemade pipe bomb.

“Roy, could you take him upstairs?” Enne asked. “Now that we have what we need, the rest of the Spirits can keep an eye on him while we go. And Charlotte, I’d like to be the one to tell Lola. So don’t let her know about the Dove until I come back.”

The boy screamed as Roy picked him up. “No!” he shouted. “Take me with you! You have to! I’m not a traitor!”

Shuddering, Enne tuned out his cries and turned to Grace. “Let’s go.”

IV

DEATH

“What is buried is not always dead.”

Séance. “Semper Orders Thousands of

Mizer-Era Records Destroyed.”

The Journey of Reynes

12 Mar YOR 6

LOLA

In the Factory District, the Brint River reeked of manufacturing waste, a putrid funk of chemicals and slop that was certainly unsafe to breathe. Her Scarhand guide had led her to a block of row houses wedged between two industrial complexes, less than a mile from where she’d been born. But despite her years spent here, Lola had forgotten the smell. She’d forgotten the front lawns with gravel instead of grass, the churning of hydrolics in the distance, the litter, the graffiti—all of it. How depressing that the happiest years of her life were spent in such a muckhole.

Lola might’ve traveled here at Enne’s request to study Jonas’s files, but that didn’t mean she supported Enne’s delusions of uniting the North Side under one lord. Enne had claimed Levi’s decision to meet with Fenice was dangerous, yet she’d race off to challenge the most notorious killers in the city. It was absurd, hypocritical. And Lola rarely—if ever—sided with Pup.

But Lola hadn’t only agreed to the errand for Enne’s sake.

You can be my protégée, little Lourdes, when you learn Lourdes Alfero’s true name.

Zula Slyk’s words from yesterday had planted a parasitic seed in Lola, sprouting roots that burrowed into her curiosity and demanded to be fed. Zula was a bitter old woman, all of her associates and friends dead from a war long over. For all Lola knew, her test was a lie, meant to send Lola scrambling for answers she’d never find.

But Lola couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Lourdes had supposedly been a Protector—someone whose talent provided an extra layer of defense to the secrets of those they’d sworn loyalty to. Based on Enne’s descriptions of her childhood, Lourdes’s talent did match that of the Alfero family. But when Lola, Enne, and the Iron boys had visited the National Library last summer, Lourdes’s name had been missing from the Alfero family archives.

And if there was anywhere Lola could unearth Lourdes’s true name, it was in Scavenger’s files.

Her Scarhand guide unlocked the front door of the duplex, and they walked inside what Lola imagined had been Jonas’s personal home. The furnishings were sparse. Stacks ofThe Crimes & The Timeswere piled on the coffee table, many of their articles cut out, words highlighted or crossed or underlined. Similar clippings coated the walls.

It looked like the work of a madman, but Lola admired the dedication. Maybe she wasn’t the only one in New Reynes who paid attention.

“Down there,” the Scarhand told her, pointing to a cellar door.

It creaked when Lola opened it. She swallowed and descended into the darkness. The Scarhand didn’t follow after her.

Once Lola switched on the lone dangling lightbulb, she saw that the basement looked even worse than the upstairs. Folders were heaped in piles both on and around the sole desk. Many of the towers had spilled over, leaving papers strewn carelessly across the floor. Lola stepped around them carefully so not to damage them. These documents were valuable, more valuable to her than anything else in New Reynes. A thrill pulsed in her fingertips. She felt like an archeologist, uncovering ruins left behind for her to find.

She started with the closest pile. Each folder represented a citizen of New Reynes, but the handwriting of their names on the tabs was scratchy and hard to read, slowing her process. Occasionally, she passed over names she recognized—celebrities in the South Side, business owners, politicians. But after the first pile, then the second, then the third, she didn’t come across any name that mattered.

Time ticked by. Enne, she knew, would be growing impatient, but this kind of work couldn’t be rushed.

But still, as several hours passed, frustration snapped in her like a muscle pulled taut. Jonas hadn’t only saved his important files—he’d saved themall, a symptom of his obsession with his work. But Lola shared in that affliction, and if it had been her, she wouldn’t store all of her files together, a disorganized, chaotic mess. She would hide the ones that mattered somewhere else.

She wrenched open the drawers of Jonas’s desk, feeling past the loose, empty orbs and food wrappers for...something. Anything. To her satisfaction, she found a false back in one of them, and she carefully pushed down the flap to reveal a bronze key.

Lola raced upstairs, clutching it in her fist. She was breathless, her heart juddering. Muck, she was actually having fun. “Do you know where Jonas kept a safe?” she asked the Scarhand eagerly.