Arabella laughed softly. “You’d try to run? You know I’m faster.”
Lola was in no condition to fight, but still, she reached a hand into her pocket, seeking her scalpel but finding only her harmonica. She’d forgotten Poppy had removed it while Lola had been unconscious.
“I’m the only one who knows your true name,” Lola rasped. A pitiful defense.
Arabella stepped back, offering Lola an escape route. She shook her head. “Yet you don’t know me well, after all. I’m not going to kill you.”
Arabella’s words hung heavy in the air, waiting for Lola to claim her mistake—that Arabella couldn’t be a monster.
Instead, Lola ran. Even though it hurt, she ran the best she could.
She didn’t stop until she charged through the emergency entrance of the hospital. She entered a sterile white hallway, the fluorescent lights blinding compared to the night outside. She squinted and stumbled as her vision adjusted.
Then she skidded to a halt at the edge of a waiting room, locking eyes with exactly the people she’d hoped to find.
Tock sat on a chair, Poppy beside her. In the time Lola had waited for Justin, Poppy must’ve reunited with her friends. Her head was still bruised and blood-crusted, however, like she had yet to see a doctor. Lola felt a pang of guilt for leaving her in the first place, but it couldn’t be helped now.
“Tock,” Lola breathed.
“Lola,” Tock said, stricken. She stood up.
Lola didn’t know this girl, but maybe some part of her did, because her feet moved automatically toward her. Only minutes earlier, Lola had nearly made the worst decision of her life, a decision that would’ve made her a monster. And though Lola didn’t expect Tock’s understanding, she had a feeling that Tock would listen.
But Tock didn’t respond, only continued to gape. It took Lola a moment to realize that Tock wasn’t looking at her—she was looking behind her.
“Well, what do we have here?” someone asked—a man’s voice. Something flashed in the corner of her vision, something sharp and metallic.
Lola whipped around to face Justin, his chin raised and his eyes wide as a tall man placed a scythe against his throat.
“The birdie who didn’t come home,” Scythe purred, in a voice that made Lola’s blood turn to ice. In the man’s other hand, he carried a machine gun. “Maybe you can help me find my next card.”
XIX
THE TOWER
“We warned you this was coming. You live in the
City of Sin, but you did not guess the sleight of hand.”
Jester. “The City with a Street Name.”
Her Forgotten Histories
9 Oct YOR 12
SOPHIA
Harrison woke mere minutes after Sophia, Levi, and Enne had returned to the hospital and settled back into the harshly fluorescent room. While he slept, the doctors had removed Harrison’s eye patch, revealing the rippled scar where a knife had dragged down his flesh. She’d caught Narinder staring at it more than once, clearly unsettled.
And the first thing Harrison did when he woke was lift his hand and gingerly feel his empty eye socket. He grimaced when he realized his patch was missing.
“Here,” Sophia said, reaching to the nightstand and handing it to him.
Harrison blinked at her, then he looked down at his bandaged stomach, then at the dozens of whiteboots and members of Harrison’s own service officers stationed out in the hallway.
“Muck,” he said, sighing, as though he’d utterly forgotten that he’d been shot and rushed into surgery.
At his voice, one of the servicemen straightened and turned to the others. “He’s awake!” Several more of them poured into the room, Roy at the lead.
