Grace shot Roy a smug look. “Go on, say it. Say that I was right.”
“We found him not far from Liver Shot,” Roy explained with little mirth. “One of the workers said he’d been loitering. He wasn’t even hiding. It was like he wanted to be found.”
“They’ll take me back,” the boy barked. His voice was nasal-y and tinny. “They keep trying to get rid of me, but I’m still alive, aren’t I? They’ll take me back.”
“What’s your name?” Enne asked.
He said nothing, only straightened into a kneeling position and grimaced at the floor.
Enne frowned at Grace. “You should’ve called me before bringing him here.” Not only would this compromise the finishing school, Enne felt inclined to agree with Charlotte, who was currently scowling and spritzing perfume into the air.
“Of course I brought him here.” Grace reached into her bag and pulled out a few items: a gun, several empty orbs, and—of all things—a flute. “Look at him. He’s Lola’s brother.”
His gaze snapped to Grace at her words. “You’re wrong,” he snarled. “I’m no one’s brother.”
But suddenly Enne wasn’t so sure. Lola had a split music talent—it made sense that her brother would carry a flute. And he looked like her, especially the Lola Enne had known when they’d first met, with dyed white hair. Freckles dusted the boy’s fair skin, and he was tall, big-boned and skinny like a blunt instrument. Their eyes matched, as did their small noses, their pink ears. He looked the right age, too—maybe only a few years older than herself.
“Lola has a brother?” Charlotte asked, her brows knitted.
“Only Grace and I knew,” responded Enne. “Has Lola called yet?” Enne asked. Beside her, Marcy shook her head.
“I’m telling you, I don’t have a sister,” the boy said. Barely after rasping the words out, he stood and broke for the door. Roy grabbed him by the shoulder and wrestled him back down. The boy let out a wounded, pathetic cry, then bit into Roy’s arm.
Charlotte cringed. “That’ll get infected.”
Enne hoped the boy was right, for Lola’s sake. This boy looked rabid and desperate, and thanks to Grace’s questionable judgment, they would be forced to keep him here much the way they’d once imprisoned Roy. Enne had enough to worry about without letting the Spirits house any more dangerous strays.
“Do you know where the Doves live?” Enne asked him.
“I’m not telling you anything,” the boy snapped.
“You said you want them to take you back,” she said, cringing as she examined his many injuries. “Did they do this to you?” She brushed her finger over his swollen eye, but he turned away.
“I’m going back. They’ll welcome me back.”
“Why did they make you leave?” she asked.
“Because I learned... I...” He bit down on his lip, as though trying to prevent himself from speaking. His face scrunched up like even his own thoughts hurt.
“Lola will be able to tell us the truth, when she gets back,” Enne said.
The boy winced but said nothing. It only confirmed Enne’s suspicions, but she took no pleasure in that.
“Or you and I can strike up a deal,” she added, thinking quickly. If the boy hadn’t contacted the Doves since he’d been sent to attack Jac and Sophia, then he didn’t know that Ivory was dead. “I know Ivory. I can convince her to take you back. But I can’t speak to her unless I know where to find her.”
“Ivory would never listen toyou,” he hissed.
“I now control the largest gang on the North Side,” she told him, using Lourdes’s old rules to lace her voice with confidence. “I think she will.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What do you even want from her?”
“What does anyone want from her?” Enne asked. “I want somebody dead.”
She didn’t—not anymore. She’d once craved the death of the Phoenix Club as retribution for her mother’s murder, but all she really craved now was a sense of security. She didn’t want to lose anyone else.
The boy stilled under Roy’s arms, as though Enne’s choice of words had relaxed him. Enne had heard rumors of the Doves resembling a cult more than a gang, and truly, the boy did look deranged. It would be all the better for him when there were no Doves to return to.
“Their hideout in the sewers. You can enter through an abandoned Mole station—Pinochle. In the Deadman District,” he said quietly. “Go in through the tunnels.”
