And yet she couldn’t help but feel certain Kane would protect him. It was why she’d never considered that part of the equation with much concern: Kane would keep Fletcher alive no matter what it cost him. Zaria knew as much because she would have done the same for Jules.
She let the frantic wave of people engulf her, plastering a terrified look onto her own face as harried officers ushered them farther away from the Crystal Palace. Here, people milled around on the grass of Hyde Park, hollering for their families or exchanging panicked theories about what had happened. Zaria had no doubt that at least some of the patrons would’ve recognized the effects of aleuite, but to say as much was to admit a connection to the dark market, and thus she suspected it would be a while before the mystery was solved.
The sky above had turned a uniform gray, a colorless drape tossed over the heavens. She paused a moment, allowing herself to be buffeted by the cool wind. Her mouth was dry, her heart beating a relentless countdown. Once she returned to the pawnshop, Jules would be prepared to go, either with George or without him. Zaria would grab her alchemology supplies, and then they would start over someplace else. Someplace she could build a new reputation for herself. Someplace she could deal in magic only if and when she wantedto. She would have to go by a different name, of course, but that was no matter.
Her blood thrummed in her veins. Everything felt surreal. The day she’d been anticipating for so long was finally here.
The pawnshop was eerily quiet when she arrived. The trio of golden orbs swayed above the entrance as the wind picked up, the stench of piss and impending rain on the air. As she wrenched her hair out of its updo and shoved open the door, Zaria hoped it was one of the last times she’d ever smell this place. The last time she’d skirt reeking puddles and dirty, wailing children. The last time her chest would clench painfully as she tried to avert her gaze from the hopeless ones staring back.
She couldn’t save any of them. London’s working poor had to fend for themselves, and they all knew it.
Neither Jules nor George was in the front of the shop, but Zaria could hear footsteps upstairs. She doubted George would agree to leaving. It would break Jules’s heart, but he’d conceded that if it came to it, they would leave his father behind. He could make his own choices.
She drew a finger along one of the dusty shelves before turning into the hallway. She thought of how she’d led Kane down here, his own gun pressed against his back. How calm he’d been, that self-satisfied grin making him look devilishly, frustratingly handsome.
Something horribly close to guilt roiled in the pit of her stomach, and she shoved it aside. Nothing Kane did had been for her—it had all been for himself. He had merely been helping her to help him.Zaria knew as much, and yet the thought of Kane brought back the mental image of him lying motionless on the Exhibition floor. They were enemies now, she realized. Honest-to-God enemies.
She didn’t know how to feel about that.
In another life, perhaps they could have worked well together. Could have pulled off countless heists with her skills and his cunning. A formidable team for more than just a week, had they chosen it.
But Zaria had made her choices. And if there was one thing she’d always been good at, it was following through.
She pushed the door to her workshop ajar. It was dark inside, and she felt her way over to the table as her eyes fought to adjust. The place was painfully familiar; she knew there were candles around here somewhere.
As she had the thought, one flickered to life just in front of her.
Zaria froze, her mouth going bone-dry. Kane couldn’t have found her already. There was no way for him to have gotten here before her. By now, he should have barely regained consciousness.
But it was not Kane’s voice that echoed in the room around her.
“Good afternoon, Miss Mendoza.”
Zaria turned and looked directly into the face of Alexander Ward.
She’d only seen him once before—at a dark market exchange she’d attended with her father back when she was all of twelve—but she couldn’t forget those eyes. They had an oddly metallic sheen to them, and there was something feline about the way he blinked far too infrequently. They were the eyes of a man who did notfeelthe way most people did. In fact, Zaria suspected they were the eyes of a man who did not feel at all.
For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Every muscle in her bodytensed. She was tempted to flee, but she knew instinctively that Ward would be able to stop her. Besides, Jules and his father were right upstairs. Her gaze flicked up to the ceiling as she mentally urged them both to stay put. As her thoughts realigned themselves, she reached for the gun at her waist.
She saw too late that Ward was already holding one of his own, and he pointed it right at her.
“Put it down,” he said calmly, almost politely, “and take a seat. I realize that, of the two of us, only one of our weapons is lethal, but wouldn’t it be nicer if we could chat like civilized folk?”
Fear spiked in Zaria’s blood. “How did you—”
“Price works forme. Not Kane. Put the gun down.” Ward took a slow step, then another, beginning to circle her like an animal circling its prey. Zaria’s head spun, but she couldn’t foresee an outcome where she managed to shoot Ward before he shot her first. She dropped the gun. It felt like the worst kind of surrender. Everything she’d dreamed of only moments ago suddenly felt out of reach again.
Because of course she knew why Ward was here: He wanted the necklace. The primateria source. Forget leaving the city—Zaria would be lucky if she left this room alive.
“Say what you came to say.” Her voice sounded dead, little inflection to it. She sank numbly into the chair by her desk.
Ward gave a breathy chuckle as he grabbed her gun, setting it aside. It didn’t make Zaria feel any less trapped. He was lovely, this man, with a face befitting a sought-after suitor. He looked precisely the same as he had six years ago, not a line creasing the smooth skin of his face. Zaria thought she understood why he was so good at getting what he wanted—whyKanewas so good at getting what he wanted. They were cut from the same cloth whether Kane had allowed it to happen willingly or not.
“When I found out Kane had gotten involved with Itzal Mendoza’s daughter, I was certain you had to know he was after the primateria source. Why else would you have agreed to help him seek it out? I knew you’d betray him. I tried to get rid of you, but he turned out to be annoyingly gallant.” Ward tilted his head to the side, surveying Zaria with mild interest. “I told him to cut ties with you and let him think I’d dropped the matter. But no matter how apt a thief my boy may be, you’re far cleverer. I figured you’d be the one to end up with the necklace.” He stretched out a hand, a pleasant smile gracing his lips. “Now give it to me.” Zaria swallowed hard. The kingpin was clever. He’d read the situation perfectly and had predicted each one of her movements. But he was wrong about the first thing he’d said—she hadn’t known the necklace was a primateria source at first. She hadn’t known, and she’d been desperate enough to help Kane anyway.
It was strange, looking at Ward and knowing he’d made Kane what he was. She couldn’t imagine being fathered by the man who’d killed your parents. Zaria wondered what sort of things Kane had carved out of himself to make space for the lessons Ward taught him.
“You destroyed his life,” she found herself saying, her voice hoarse. She didn’t know where it had come from, the emotion that now swelled in the cavity of her chest, but she let it grow. “You destroyed his life. He was achild.”
