“Of course. This is what I do.” Lola followed the shelves down to the ones labeled with the correct year. She grabbed several books and handed one to each of them. “These are all February. They should be in alphabetical order by blood name.”
After several moments of riffling through the pages, none of them found a mention of Enne. She wasn’t listed under Salta, nor even Scordata, Dondelair or Alfero. They checked every day for the entire year, but there was no evidence of her birth to be found.
“I was expecting that,” Lola said nonchalantly, as if it were obvious. Maybe it was—of course Enne didn’t have a birth record, being what she was. But this was only another reminder that everything she’d once known about herself was a lie. She was so accustomed to being ordinary and ignored, yet now, even with her notorious heritage revealed, she felt twice as invisible. “We’ll try the family trees next.” Although Lola’s tone wasn’t exactly enthused, it was still somewhat optimistic, and Enne clung to the hope that there would be something for them to find. Something to lead them back to Lourdes.
The family lineages were in a hallway much like the previous one. All crates and metal and fluorescent lighting. They sat on the cold white-tiled floor as Lola plucked out a laminated file labeled “Dondelair.” She handed it to Enne.
“We won’t find any Scordata records here—those have all been destroyed. We’re lucky the Dondelairs’ haven’t been, too,” Lola said. “What was your adopted mother’s full name?”
Enne took the Dondelair file with unease. It felt criminal even to read it. “Oh, um, Lourdes Reids Alfero.”
While Lola hunted for Lourdes’s family tree, Enne, Levi and Jac flipped through the Dondelair file. Levi sat beside her, their shoulders almost touching, so he could examine the documents with her. Enne tried to ignore his nearness and focus.
The trees included the names of each family member, their birth dates, their death dates and their causes of death. They looked so clinical, as though they’d been written by coroners rather than historians.
The tree ended abruptly on the last page. “‘Claude Dondelair,’” she read, mainly for Jac’s benefit. “‘Born July 10, 1884 of the old calendar. Died April 18, Year 9. Gunshot wound.’” And beside him: “‘Gabrielle Dondelair. Born November 24, 1887 of the old calendar. Died February 3, Year 9. Gunshot wound.’”
Enne shivered. She recognized their names from her history classes. Brother and sister. Arsonists. Circus performers. Traitors.
“This is giving me the creeps,” Jac said.
The blood didn’t end with Claude and Gabrielle, however. Their mother, Geraldine Dondelair, was hanged later that year. Their split brother, Dorian Dondelair Osire, saw the guillotine. How dramatic.
“’Lo, missy,” Levi said. Were they not using first names now? Enne rolled her eyes. “The day Gabrielle Dondelair died...that’s the day after your birthday, isn’t it?”
They exchanged a glance. That was an unhappy coincidence.
“Well,” Enne said, her voice catching, “I’m sure there are other Dondelair women who could be...” She hurriedly flipped through the pages. Every last Dondelair, dead before Year 10. Not even the most distant cousins of Claude and Gabrielle had been spared. Enne pointed out the names of several women who could have theoretically birthed her before their untimely ends.
Lola returned, two more books in hand. “There’s no record of this Lourdes Reids Alfero. You sure that’s her real name?”
The last salvageable remnants of Enne’s happy life in Bellamy were shattering. “No,” she murmured. “I guess I’m not.”
“You sure she’s a Protector?”
“Yes,” Enne said. That she was certain of. “Just being around Lourdes...you felt safe. She has an air about her like she’s trustworthy.”
“For everyone? Or just for you?” Lola asked flatly.
Enne thought for a moment. Most of Bellamy society didn’t associate with Lourdes. It didn’t really have to do with her frequent vacations to New Reynes, or her often distastefully honest way of speaking...it was something about her as a person, something indefinable. Other people weren’t comfortable around her. They hadn’t had any friends in Bellamy. It was always just Enne and Lourdes in their large, empty house, their weekends perpetually unoccupied, their telephone never ringing.
“You’d feel safe like that,” Levi said carefully, interrupting Enne’s thoughts, “if she’d sworn her protection to you.”
It was frightfully obvious, now that Enne knew the truth about her talents. She should’ve realized it before. Lourdes must have sworn her protection to Enne, a seal of magic that kept Enne’s secrets safer. But that also meant, by doing so, Lourdes had surrendered her ability to protect herself. She could never act in her own interest—only Enne’s. Enne had always considered the practice barbaric, the sort of treachery that Mizer kings had used for their own benefit.
Why would Lourdes go to such lengths? Was it because she loved Enne? Had it been a promise to her parents? A belief that Enne’s talents were something important, a piece of Lourdes’s greater cause to be protected?
“Did you find anything in the Dondelair book?” Lola asked.
“Gabrielle Dondelair died the day after Enne’s birthday,” Jac blurted.
Lola blanched. “You must be mucking with me. Gabrielle was...infamous.”
Enne waved the other pages. “And we have a list of names of other women in that family. Besides, we don’t even know if February 2 is my real birthday. For all we know, Lourdes lied about that, too.” She mustn’t have sounded very convincing, however, because Lola stomped away.
Jac jumped to his feet. “Where are you going?” he demanded.
“To find the newspapers,” she snapped. “I’m not storming off. I’m not about to—” she raised her voice “—let all the world know about this shatz. And that she—” She pointed at Enne, and Jac grabbed Lola’s arm and shoved it down. “That she...shouldn’t be allowed to live.” Her voice was quiet and strained. She could barely say the words, and Enne realized that was the power of the street oath binding her. She tried not to feel hurt at the intensity in Lola’s conviction, but the words still stung. Lola thought of her more as a weapon than a human being.
Jac pushed Lola against the bookshelves. Enne frantically shoved the books back into their places. Levi was already on his feet, ready to back Jac up.
“What is your problem, Dove?” Levi asked.
“I’d think you’d know my problem more than anyone,” Lola hissed. “Everyone knows about you and Vianca. What would Vianca do with someone like her?”
“Vianca won’t know about her.” Both kept their voices low. Thankfully, there was no one on this floor to hear, anyway.
“And if she demands you tell her?” Lola challenged Levi. “I know how omertas work.”
Enne’s annoyance piqued, as it did whenever people started talking about her like she wasn’t there. She stood up and pulled the boys away from Lola. “I’m right here,” she seethed. “And you might have already made up your mind about me, but I’m not from New Reynes. I go to finishing school. I spend my days dancing and curtsying and baking. I dot my i’s with hearts because I think it looks pretty. Whatever you think I am, you’re wrong.”
“Two nights ago, you almost killed me,” Lola growled. “Maybe I know exactly what you are, and you’re the one who’s wrong.”
The words hit Enne like a slap. “Th-that’s not true.”
But there was more truth in Lola’s words than Enne cared to admit.
“I’ve lost everything to the gangs—my parents, my brothers. Every time the city finds their favorite villains, people end up dead.” Lola scowled as she looked between them. “So you might be here flirting and bickering as if nothing else matters, but you’re all in a library with loaded pistols in your pockets. Trying to find Lourdes Alfero as if the monarchists are anything other than lowlifes—yeah, I know who Alfero is.” She shook her head. “This story will end badly.”