They looked at each other a moment. Then Zaria couldn’t help it—she laughed. It came out much as Fletcher’s had, the sound twisted and strange. OfcourseKane had been conning her from the start. She’d known exactly who he was, what he did, and had decided to trust him anyway. “Well then. Fuck you.”
“You were prepared to let me be killed,” Fletcher reminded her, and she blew out a sigh.
“What a mess.”
“I’ll say. For what it’s worth, though, I’m sorry about Cecile.”
“It’s not worth a lot, but I appreciate it.”
They were silent another long moment. Then Fletcher asked, “What are you going to do now?”
Zaria recoiled from the question. It felt too big somehow. “I don’t know. I mean, Jules and I have to get out of here. Kane will come after me, Fletcher. Assuming the coppers don’t find me first.” After all, she still had the other pieces she’d stolen from the Waterhouse display. “The plan was always to leave London.”
“Fair enough. Kane will take some time to regroup, though,before he makes his next move. Despite everything, he’s not impulsive. You should have at least a few days.” Fletcher cut her a sidelong glance. “And you’ll need it. You sound like you’ve spent fifty years blowing clouds.”
Zaria mustered a tight grin, accepting his advice as the olive branch she suspected it was. Cautiously extended, but a peace offering nonetheless. “What about you? What’s your plan?”
Fletcher sighed. He looked impossibly tired, his light hair askew and his brow furrowed. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “You know, I always thought Kane would break free from Ward. I never thought he’d end up being like him. I should have seen it coming.”
She felt herself soften. It couldn’t have been clearer that Fletcher, despite his faults, was not like Kane. Still, as much as she wanted to, Zaria couldn’t say she agreed with him. She could see perfectly well the similarities between Kane and the very man he’d hated. Had seen that depravity in him from the very beginning.
It should have been enough to deter her, but it hadn’t. Even now, after all that had happened, some twisted part of her balked at the thought of never seeing him again.
She pushed that part aside, deftly and with finality, locking it up in a very small box. She would try to forget about Kane Durante. The look on his face as he snatched the necklace from Ward’s neck and the way his voice had wavered, nearly imperceptibly, as he’d bellowed for them to leave.
This wasn’t the way she’d pictured leaving London: no primateria source in hand, running from the boy whose face she knew she would see each time she closed her eyes.
“Excuse me,” she told Fletcher, throat tightening. He nodded, and Zaria ducked to the back of the murmuring crowd, the noise a dull buzzing in her ears. She needed silence. A moment’s reprievefrom the commotion in the street and in her head. She hoped Jules would understand when he looked around and saw her absence.
“Zaria Mendoza?”
Her own name sounded from behind her, and she spun around, finding herself face-to-face with another girl. It took her a heartbeat to place the muscular frame, dark eyes, and reddish-blonde hair. When she did, her pulse kicked up another notch. “Can I help you?”
The girl smiled, and not kindly. Last Zaria had seen her, she’d been holding a magical explosive. Adefunctone.
“You can, actually,” the girl said, drawing a tiny sleek revolver from the folds of her gray skirt. “You see, Mister Vaughan isn’t very happy with you.”
“Thereisno Mister Vaughan,” Zaria snapped back, remembering what Kane had told her. How he’d attempted to look into her client, only to find that he didn’t exist.
One side of the girl’s mouth curved up. “I’ll be sure to tell him that. Now start moving.”
Zaria complied but not before glancing around anxiously for Jules. Relieved when he was nowhere to be seen, she began a slow, unsteady walk to the end of Horseferry Road. There was a stagecoach waiting there, she saw, drawn by two sleek black horses. Her stomach churned.
“Faster,” the girl hissed, sounding at once too close and strangely far away.
Zaria’s thoughts were a tempest. What was she going to tell this Mister Vaughan, whoever he was? She ought to have known she would answer for this eventually. Somehow, with everything that had happened since, the troubles associated with her outstanding commissions had seemed so far away.
The stagecoach loomed ahead, the door thrust open by a singlegloved hand. Letting out a shaky breath, Zaria slid her own hand into the pocket of her dress, a desperate attempt to conceal her fluttering fingers.
Then she froze.
The cold press of a delicate metal chain met her fingertips.
EPILOGUE
KANE
KANE SWEPT INTOWARD’S MOST RECENT PLACE OF RESIDENCEas dusk stole across the rooftops of London.
