At some point, in her sleepy, half-conscious state, she inserted someone else into her fantasy. An admiring gaze. Hands trailing down her hips. Lips brushing against her chest.
The light in her window brightened from the sunrise. She was now mostly conscious and exceptionally frustrated. She untwisted her nightdress and scratched an itch on her thigh, then her hand trailed up and lingered between her legs, making up for the fantasy that was slowly fading. If she were anywhere else but New Reynes—in her dormitory, in her own bedroom—she probably wouldn’t have dared. She rubbed her lips together, as if she could still feel the smoothness of the black lipstick, could still feel the thrilling empowerment of the stage lights and the stranger’s stomach pressed against hers.
When she finished, she was breathless and sweaty. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling of her St. Morse apartment. At first, she felt embarrassed, even if it was no different from that stage where no one could see her. She’d never been a prude, but inexperience lent itself to shyness, even around herself.
She climbed out of bed and sat at her vanity. Her face was slightly flushed, and the indentations of the pillow lined her cheek.
She examined her lipsticks and selected the shade closest to black.
* * *
Enne waited in the St. Morse lobby, tapping her foot. It was past the meeting time, and no one else had arrived yet. When she’d knocked on Levi’s door, there’d been no answer, and she honestly wasn’t certain if Lola would even show.
It was ludicrous to put any faith in dreams, but nothing about the hallway felt like one. The scenes were still fresh in her mind, the memories exact in every detail, as though she’d really experienced them.
She traced her finger over the guidebook’s map. Virtue Street was located in Olde Town, exactly where Lola thought the bank would be. The road ran parallel to Tropps Street, virtue and vice never intersecting.
Just as she’d begun to worry about the others, Lola strode in through the revolving doors, wearing her now-familiar top hat. She took one look around St. Morse’s gaudy interior and grimaced.
“You’re wearing lipstick,” Lola commented. She squinted at Enne’s face, as if examining an optical illusion. “It suits you.”
This was the first nice thing Lola had ever said to her. She beamed. “Thank you.” Enne felt it suited her, too.
“Where are the Iron boys?”
“I’m not sure. They should’ve been here a while ago.” She shouldn’t worry. What trouble could they have found by midmorning? Maybe they’d just slept in after a long night.
“Then it’s just us,” Lola said. Even though there was no threat in her voice, the words unnerved Enne. She was glad she’d brought Levi’s revolver—several days had passed since the night she’d stolen it, but he’d never asked for it back. Maybe she’d keep it.
Still, Lola was right. There was no point in wasting more of the day.
They ventured outside and headed to the bank. Olde Town was particularly quiet that morning, few people venturing outside due to the sudden heat. Enne, however, relished the weather; she’d felt as though she’d left summer behind her when she sailed away from Bellamy.
She pulled her guidebook out and followed the route on the map. Neither of them spoke for some time, which was just fine with Enne, as she was too lost in her own thoughts. Without even sharing Lourdes’s blood name, how would she gain access to the account? Would Lourdes have opened the account in her name or under another alias? And even if Enne gained access, what would she do with all those volts?
Lola’s voice interrupted Enne’s thoughts. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” Enne said nervously. There was no bite or threat in Lola’s voice, but that was precisely why she was nervous.
“If Lourdes raised you as your mother, why do you call her by her first name?”
Enne shrugged. “She never wanted me to call her Mother.” She had wondered this herself when she was younger, but even though Lourdes never discussed her own family, Enne got the sense she’d had a complicated relationship with her own mother.
“Can I ask you a question now?” Enne asked.
Lola’s eyebrows furrowed, and she crossed her arms. “I guess.”
“If you’re not a Dove, why do you dye your hair white?”
It felt like a simple question, but clearly, it was one Lola didn’t want to answer.
“Don’t ask me that,” she growled, then brushed past Enne and walked several steps ahead of her for the rest of the trip.
The sign for Virtue Street was rusted over, and layers and layers of kiss marks covered it in all shades of lipstick.
“We’re here,” Lola said. “You can kiss the sign if you’d like. It’s a New Reynes tradition.”
Enne grimaced. “I’ll pass.”
