Enne could’ve easily risen to her provocation. By the way Lola grinded her teeth beside her, she clearly wanted Enne to.
But then Enne pictured the gray, lifeless faces of the Phoenix Club fading out one by one. The practice soothed her, grounded her.
She’d never thought this would be simple. But checklist or not, she refused to still be taken as a joke.
“You’re right—we’re not a gang. Not yet. That’s why you can swear when you choose to.” Even if an oath was different from an omerta, Enne had no desire to push Grace into anything. She’d rather earn her respect.
Grace gave her a pointed look. “That isn’t the way things work in the North Side.”
“As you can tell, I’m not like the rest of the North Side,” Enne said. She marched over to the blackboard and grabbed a piece of chalk, which she thrust into Grace’s hands. “Lola and I will clean this place. You have a different job.”
Grace stared at the faded arithmetic on the board with displeasure. “I can already tell I’m not going to like this.”
“You’re a counter, and we need volts,” Enne said.
Grace tossed the chalk over her shoulder. “I have quite literally killed men to avoid doing math. Besides, I’m a counter, not a Mizer. I can’t make volts appear out of nothing.”
Behind them, there was a crash as Lola tripped and dropped all the cleaning supplies. She sheepishly muttered an apology and bent down to pick everything up.
“We don’t need a miracle,” Enne told her. “Just a business model.”
“Set up a flower shop, then.”
“You know that’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m a wanted criminal. Design me a crime.”
Grace’s face twisted with anger. “You don’t get it. There used to be dozens of gangs in New Reynes, and not that long ago, either. The Doves weren’t the only killers. The Scarhands weren’t the only forgers and arms dealers. But over time, as lords died and turf wars were fought, the gangs condensed. Whatever crime you decide to claim, one of the other lords has already claimed it. And it would be a bad idea to make an enemy out of Ivory or Scavenger.”
Enne agreed with her there. “Then all we need is something that no one has thought of before.”
Grace scoffed. “If that were simple, you wouldn’t need me to come up with it.”
Enne ran her gaze over Grace’s chain-link belt and sharpened Creed jewelry and wondered how they both cherished the same romance novels. But they did, and Enne had to believe that somehow—very, very deep down—that made them kindred spirits. No matter if she wore a lacy blouse while Grace wore studded boots.
“The first South Side party is in two weeks. You haven’t sworn to me, and until then, I don’t need to explain myself to you. But if you still wantthis.” Enne held up one of the invitations. “Then you better figure out that business model, because it’s going to take time to prepare you to pass as a South Sider.”
Grace stalked to the blackboard. “I hate puzzles,” she growled.
“I hate cleaning,” Enne said flatly.
“And I hate both of you,” Lola muttered.
* * *
The cleaning was backbreaking, disgusting work, and no matter how many times Enne scrubbed the windows, they never seemed to shine. Lola had been attacking cobwebs and dust mites all morning, and she looked it. Her trousers were covered in dirt, and both girls smelled of sweat and disinfectant. After three hours, they’d removed the disturbing film from the walls, leaving only faint stains behind, and scrubbed the wooden floor clean.
But while Enne and Lola might’ve been miserable, Grace had lied about hating puzzles.
For the first hour, Grace had merely stared at the blackboard while muttering curses under her breath. When the second hour struck, she scribbled furiously over every inch of it. By the third hour, she’d screamed profanities, thrown her chalk against the wall, and stormed out of the room. Then she’d skulked back in a few minutes later and started over.
When she at last shouted out, “I am amuckinggenius,” a mess of numbers covered the board that made Enne’s head throb.
“What is this?” she asked warily.
“Thisis your answer. Something to help the North Side, not to hurt it. Something to make allies of the other lords, not enemies. Something to make yourich.” Grace swung herself around on the teacher’s desk and faced them, like Enne and Lola were both her students. She had a terrifying gleam in her eyes that Enne suspected was also there when she talked about murder. “Thisis a stock market.”
Lola frowned. “Like in the Financial District?”
“If it were like the stock market on Hedge Street, what would you invest in?” Grace asked, though she didn’t wait for either of them to answer. “You’d invest in corporations, like motorcar companies and product manufacturers. But we’re not on the South Side, are we? So what will the North Side invest in?” She pointed to the board’s corner, where she’d written DVES, SCRH, IRNS, and OPHG. “The gangs.”
