“The Dove set us up,” Roy breathed.
Grace cursed. “I knew it was too easy to find him. I told you—”
“Don’t blame me,” Roy said. “I didn’t even want to do this in the first place.”
Blame me, Enne wanted to speak but couldn’t.
“Leave,” Ivory ordered them. “Leave with the few friends you have left.”
Enne looked behind her—now only four other Scarhands remained, trembling with wide eyes. The twenty others who hadn’t run... They couldn’t truly be dead, could they?
Bang!
This time, it was Roy who fired. The sound of it made Enne’s knees weak, and she put a hand against the wall to steady herself. She wanted to see if Lola was all right, but couldn’t bring herself to look at her after what she’d done.
The bullet struck Ivory in the chest so hard she fell backward. Enne and the others stared, horrified, as Ivory propped herself on her elbows and let out a howling laugh.
“She has on a vest,” Grace said.
“Or she’s another demon like Bryce,” Roy said weakly.
Grace scoffed. “You’re a muck detective, you know that?”
Then, Grace’s flashlight burned out, plunging them into almost total darkness. Enne dimly made out Grace’s silhouette as she cursed and shook the contraption. The only sound was the rattle of the battery.
A strong hand grabbed Enne by the shoulders and threw her back. She winced as she collided with the wall and as something hard found its way to her throat. A staff, of some sort.
A blade gleamed on its end—a scythe.
“What did you expect when you came here?” Scythe snarled at her.
Enne choked and tried to kick him, but he pressed the staff harder against her neck. He might’ve been many decades past his prime, but he was far from feeble. “What did you do to the others?” she demanded.
“We evened out the numbers,” Scythe said. “That’s only fair, isn’t it?”
“Let them go,” she growled. The Doves might’ve been assassins, but even they wouldn’t outright murder so many people.
Would they?
Scythe laughed. “Pathetic words for someone who snuck in here looking for, what, power? The North Side doesn’t want a queen.” The staff slid across Enne’s neck as Scythe brought the blade closer. The metal licked her cheek. “Any last words?”
“Let them go, Scythe,” Ivory ordered, her voice weak. Enne heard her faltering footsteps as the Dove Lord approached, her ragged breathing as she reached Scythe’s side. “You can’t kill her.”
Why not?Enne wanted to ask but knew better than to speak.
Ivory picked something up off the ground—Grace’s flashlight. She shook it, and the light flickered on. When she shined it around the tunnel, Enne realized that the Doves held all of her friends and the four remaining Scarhands captive. A gun to the temple. A rope around the throat. A knife in the side.
They all stood frozen, their petrified gazes fixed on Enne.
Enne had been so focused on appearing like a proper leader that she’d acted rashly. The only place she’d led her friends was to their deaths.
Ivory peered at them all. Blood dribbled down her lips, and she swayed as she made her way to Grace, as though drunk.
“Don’t touch her,” Enne and Roy snapped at the same time. Grace, however, didn’t speak—only glared.
Ivory ignored them, then dug into Grace’s pocket and pulled out something golden and shiny—the Shadow Card from Bryce’s game. Grace’s card was the High Priestess—perhaps morbidly appropriate for a girl who wore so much Faith jewelry.
However, the card didn’t look as it did before. A red word was scrawled across the foil, as though written in blood.
