“Let’s keep him,” Charlotte declared, and several of the Spirits nodded in agreement.
“Let’skillhim,” Grace growled, waving around his badge. “He’s a whiteboot.”
Enne didn’t like the idea of murdering someone in cold blood, but Charlotte’s alternative sounded no better. He would be a liability if he escaped, which meant someone would need to watch him around the clock. That was one less girl working, and they were already growing short-staffed.
“We can’t keep him here,” Lola said matter-of-factly, “or Marcy will have a stroke.”
“He could be a hostage,” Charlotte suggested.
“I amnota hostage,” the whiteboot spat. He turned his face away from them, exposing the blossoming purple mark on his cheek. “You might as well kill me. Captain Hector won’t negotiate with...” His eyes roamed over the girls, each dressed in little more than pajamas, with rollers in their hair or green charcoal masks still on their faces. “Gangsters.”
“I know who you are,” Lola said, stepping forward. “I know your voice. You’re Sergeant Roy Pritchard. You’re the whiteboot who led the Orphan Guild operation. You gave an interview on the radio afterward.”
The other girls quieted. Nearly all of them had been present for the attack on the Guild.
They definitely weren’t giggling anymore.
“If that’s true,” Enne said, “then why are you here alone?”
Lola picked up the mask that Grace had thrown away. “I knew I saw something strange earlier. I spotted someone wearing this when we were leaving the Orphan Guild. He followed us here.”
Enne didn’t like this. Why would the sergeant have acted alone? Once he’d spotted the finishing school, he could’ve left at any time and called for backup. And if he’d done that, he wouldn’t have snuck inside by himself—he would’ve planned an ambush.
“If you don’t want to kill him,” Marcy suggested, “the Scarhands know people who can muddle memories. I’ve done jobs for them before.”
Enne didn’t fancy the idea of visiting Jonas, but that was the best idea they’d come up with. “Someone call the Scarhands and schedule me an appointment for tomorrow morning with Scavenger. Lola, see if you can find any information about whether the sergeant was recently let go from the force, or a reason why he’d be acting alone.” Roy stiffened at her words, but still said nothing. “Grace, get everyone back to work. We’ll need to spare someone every few hours to watch him, and we can’t afford to fall further behind on work. I’ll take the first shift.”
As the girls scattered, Enne flopped down on Marcy’s bed. She grabbed Marcy’s pistol from her bureau and set it on the nightstand, then reached for the most recent edition ofThe Kiss & Tell.
“If you try anything, I’ll kill you,” Enne told him, and she meant it. She would protect her girls, no matter what.
Sergeant Roy Pritchard turned his pretty face away and glared at the floor. Enne ignored him as she stroked Veil and read the front page exposé, which speculated about the woman behind the criminal enterprise that had revolutionized the North Side.
After finishing it, Enne flipped back to the glossy portrait on the tabloid’s cover and gave her own wanted poster a kiss.
JAC
In the month since their meeting with Harrison Augustine, Jac and Sophia had mastered the art of persuasion. Defeating Charles Torren wasn’t like a simple game of cards. It was night after night of sweet-talking dens and clientele and Apothecaries into abandoning the man currently paying them, all to support a teenage girl they’d never heard of.
It began with intimidation.
“How do I know you’re really who you say you are?” a den manager might ask.
“Charles has never once denied who I am,” Sophia would respond. “You should ask him, after you tell him how you agreed to meet with me.”
Then they needed to charm.
“There’s been trouble all across the North Side,” Jac would say, taking a protective step closer to an Apothecary. The woman was nearly twice his age, but the team had learned her sort was the type he could most easily sway. “We all know Charles’s reputation. If you were in trouble, would you rather be going to Charles, or to us?” He stood taller, arms crossed, trying to emphasize the build of his strength talent. “To me?”
“W-well...” the woman would stammer, a flush creeping across her face.
The last, most important step was to remind them that even though Sophia and Jac were inexperienced and risky, they were also rich—thanks to the under-the-table support from Harrison Augustine.
“We’ll give you twenty percent more than whatever he pays you,” Sophia would say, batting her eyelashes at the burly supplier. “Maybe even twenty-five, just for that smile of yours.”
Now they controlled almost half of the Torren dens in the Casino District. They wereearningvolts in addition to spending them. And they could finally celebrate.
Jac was all grins as he swirled a straw around his glass of iced water, his head lazily propped on his hand.
