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They hadn’t been that loud. Lila needed the money for gas.
She slid into her sedan, the door creaking in the dark and quiet complex. She’d never had to worry about gas before. Compared to her chief’s salary and her dividends, a tank of gas had never registered. Even buying a new car had never registered. Up until the age of twenty-eight,
the world around her might have been free, but now she saw the strings attached to the world. Price tags dangled and danced in the wind.
She hadn’t even had to pay for anything yet.
Other people had paid for her. She owed. She was in debt.
At a red light, she checked her accounts on her palm, but they were still empty. If her mother had planned to return her money, she would have done it by now.
A decision would have to be made about that.
Soon.
Lila filled her tank at a self-serve pump, then drove through the sleeping city, few people awake and moving throughout New Bristol. Only the poorer workborn moved on the streets so early, walking in worn boots on the gritty sidewalks because they could not afford cars. In fact, the interstate might have been filled with ghosts, for few cars traveled upon it. Only a couple of lone semis shuffled along, stuffed to the brim with things for people to buy. The boxes inside would soon be attacked by workers, unloaded onto shelves, ready for the morning.
Lila threaded through the trucks, sped southward, and quickly approached the oracle’s gate.
The eye did not blink in the darkness.
A purplecoat emerged from the gatehouse, peeking into the car while Lila rolled down the window. His chubby cheeks and chubby fingers tapped on her roof absently, like concentrated raindrops. Green eyes stared at her, eyes that reminded her of La Roux.
“You’re her, aren’t you?” he said. “Lila?”
“Yes. Hurry, please. I need to see the oracle.”
Though she’d wanted more proof of Camille’s identity and a bead on the second mole, she’d changed her mind about waiting while tossing and turning on Helen’s couch. Camille knew far too much about the compound to wander freely, regardless of whether or not the other mole got spooked and ran. They could not give her another second to vanish. One mole was far better than none, for they’d never learn what the Italians knew about the oracles if they allowed her to slip away. That knowledge was far more important than the second mole. The truth serum would reveal the snoop’s identity, anyway.
“No one sees the oracle at five o’clock in the morning. I’ll let you inside, but don’t go near her cabin. We’ll detain you if you do.”
He slapped the top of her vehicle and whistled to the gatehouse. The compound’s doors opened with a small screech and a groan.
Lila didn’t budge. “How long have you been in the oracle’s militia?”
“Five years,” the guard said, standing up straighter.
“Five years, and you’re working the overnight shift on a Friday night. You have no rank. You realize you can’t be demoted much further than this.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed.
“I suppose they’ll find a place. They always do.”
The man mumbled something and punched a few buttons on his radio. Static filled the air.
Lila winced at the racket.
A familiar figure strolled through the open gate doors, his purplecoat waving in the blustery, damp wind. “I’ll handle it, Jackson. Finish cleaning the guard station.”
Jackson shuffled toward the little structure.
Nico leaned upon her window frame. “Why aren’t you sleeping in your cabin, Lila? Dixon returned last night.”
“I slept somewhere else.”
He raised a brow. “Slept with someone else or slept somewhere else?”
“It’s not really any of your business.”
