Zaria didn’t stop to think. She was on the thief in an instant, wrenching at his arms in an attempt to stop him from pummeling Jules. Someone in the crowd screamed as the boy turned and elbowed her in the stomach, but Zaria barely felt it. She scrabbled for her knife. Jules grunted as he took a punch to the side of the head, and then Zaria drove the blade into the meat of the thief’s shoulder, clenching her teeth with the effort it took.
The boy screamed, whirling for her once again. His eyes met hers, wide and furious, the scleras tinged red. His unfamiliar face was gaunt and speckled with grime. Zaria yanked the knife out and leapt back, her entire body trembling from the sudden rush of energy. She bared her teeth.
“Give it to me,” she hissed. The fingers clenching the blood-slick knife felt numb. “The soulsteel. Give it back.”
The thief made an offensive gesture, spat at her feet, then took off at a run. Zaria made to follow him, but a hand grabbed her arm, pulling her back.
“Zaria,no.”
She turned to glare at Jules, chest heaving. Blood still dripped from his nostrils, and discoloration was already starting to spread beneath his eyes. His hair was in disarray, damp from rain and sweat, and his coat was rumpled, torn near the collar. His expression was exhausted and utterly forlorn. Zaria’s anger abruptly dissipated at the sight of him.
With the small crowd having dispersed, she pulled him into anembrace. Tears blurred the corners of her vision. Not tears of sadness, but of frustration. Of helplessness and anger and fear. She might have crumpled to the ground in that moment had Jules’s steadying arms not kept her upright.
“I’m sorry, Zaria,” he rasped. “I understand how important the soulsteel was, but he’s clearly not giving it back without one hell of a fight. You’re better off letting it go.”
She wiped at her eyes. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”
“I know.” He still looked miserable, though. “What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know.” Zaria winced as she studied his busted face more closely. “But you should go back to Louisa. Get her husband to take a look at your nose.” Gert Hoffman was a former apothecary with a great deal of medical knowledge, though these days he sold drugs more than he administered them.
“Your commission—”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m not going to get in any trouble. The explosive will still work.”
Jules appeared doubtful but capitulated. “Fine. I won’t be long. If you need anything, my father should be in his office.”
Zaria nodded. As she watched Jules walk away, though, she wasn’t nearly as confident as she’d claimed.
The explosivewouldwork—just not the way it was supposed to. Not unless she got her hands on more soulsteel.
And it was too late for that.
When Zaria returned to the pawnshop, soaked to the bone and caked to her knees in muck, her misery had hardened well and trulyinto anger. Was some unseen force conspiring against her? As if she wasn’t already having enough trouble fulfilling her father’s outstanding commissions, now she was down twenty shillings with nothing to show for it. She couldn’t afford to keep living like this. George was lenient with her when it came to rent payments, but she was still barely keeping her head above water. Even her most impressive commissions didn’t yield enough of a profit.
Then there was the fact that Jules could have been seriously hurt, and it was all her fault. She knew full well that pickpockets were rampant in Devil’s Acre, and she hadn’t been careful enough. The theft never should have happened in the first place. It had, though, and now Jules was the one paying for it. When would he finally stop trying to help her? He had to know it was hopeless. That she was merely putting off the inevitable.
Once she had changed and retrieved the unfinished explosive, Zaria made her way to the pawnshop proper to wait for Jules. With George in his office, she wouldn’t be able to meet her client’s representative there, so she settled herself behind the shop counter and trained her gaze on the door. Her thoughts revolved in an infinite loop, each one more miserable than the last.
For God’s sake, she’dstabbeda man today. Had stuck her knife into his flesh like it was the most natural thing in the world. She was always prepared for the eventuality that she might need to defend herself—and this wasn’t her first time doing so—but she couldn’t stop thinking about the onlookers. The ones who had simply… watched. The people in the slum had become hardened to all manners of violence, and was she any different? Was she destined for a life where such things were the norm?
Blessedly, she was released a moment later from her hypothetical spiral by a small shape darkening the pawnshop door. It opened witha gentle protestation of hinges as a young woman squeezed through, shutting it behind her. Zaria relaxed her stance. Whether in disappointment or relief, she wasn’t entirely sure.
“Apologies,” she called out, “but the owner’s busy. You’ll have to come back later.”
The young woman snorted. She looked around Zaria’s own age—perhaps a year or two younger—with a knot of reddish-blonde hair and narrowed dark eyes. Though her hips were narrow, her shoulders were broad, and she stood at least a head taller than Zaria in stature. “Don’t be obtuse. I’m here to collect.”
“I—oh.” Zaria knit her brow, pushing back from the counter to straighten up. “Forgive me.”
The girl’s mouth twisted. The result wasn’t quite a smile but something wry and derisive. “One of the only female alchemologists dealing on London’s dark market, and you’re surprised when another girl comes to pick up a commission? Please.”
“It’s not exactly commonplace,” Zaria said, schooling her expression to impassivity. She knew of a single other female seller; the woman supposedly sold weapons up near Christchurch. Luckily, their clientele didn’t seem to overlap.
“Do you have it or not? Mister Vaughan has waited long enough. He’s disappointed by the amount of time it took, by the way. Would rather like his deposit back.”
Zaria huffed a laugh. Not only at the audacity, but also at the impossibility of the suggestion. The deposit from Mister Vaughan—whoever he was—had been long gone for months. “Your boss made a request, and I delivered. There’s no reason for me to return his deposit.”
The other girl drew herself up tall. Her dress, although deceivingly simple, was clean and well-made, allowing for ease of movement.Despite her youthful face, she was threatening, with a glint in her eye Zaria neither liked nor trusted. “I didn’t come alone, you know. I’ve two companions waiting just outside. If your work is anything less than impeccable quality—”
