“You ought to be paying attention, too,” Kane told her as they passed the crystal fountain once more. “Given the escape plan, I mean.”
“I assume the plan involves running for the door.”
He looked affronted. “I didn’t join forces with an alchemologist so we could sprint for a public exit. You can create a chemical compound that melts glass, correct?”
“I’m not an amateur.”
“Trust me, I’m aware. I’m thinking a pane of glass on the north side of the building will have to go. It’s close to the exhibit but not too close, and with the smoke, security won’t have a good line of sight. I just need to examine it from the outside.”
Zaria considered the adhesive device she’d have to create and the chemical compound she’d need to imbue it with. Manipulating glass was a basic skill in alchemology, but Kane’s demands were adding up quickly. Now more than ever, it was crucial that she spoke with Cecile. “What happens if we’re caught?”
“We won’t be. But if we are, then you hope to hell I can bribe the coppers under Ward’s thumb to let us go.”
From his tone, Zaria suspected arrest wasn’t the only potential repercussion, but Kane’s mouth soldered into a line so firm that she let the subject drop. Better to badger him when they weren’t surrounded by people.
As they exited the Crystal Palace, it became clear she wasn’t finished with Kane for the day. Shoving through the turnstiles, she turned away in her eagerness to be rid of him, but Kane grabbed her arm. The wind was frigid after spending hours in the trapped-sun warmth of the glass palace, and already his cheeks were stained lightly with pink.
“Midnight. The converted factory on the corner of Millbank and Wood. Meet me there, and don’t you dare come alone. I’ve found what you’re looking for.”
Zaria recoiled in surprise, excitement pooling in her stomach. “Cecile? You’ve tracked her down already?”
He merely arched a wicked brow, striding away before she could reply. She kept her eyes trained on his back until he disappeared into the crowd, her glee quickly souring. It was unlikely Kane had managed to search London so quickly, which meant he must have knownwhere Cecile was all along. That or he’d asked Ward. Was it possible he’d only feigned ignorance to force her into making a second deal with him?
She couldn’t be sure either way, but Zaria ultimately resolved to keep her guard raised just a little higher when she was around Kane Durante.
So she’d spent the evening in the pawnshop with Jules, impatience gnawing through her insides as she tried to focus on relaying the day’s events to her friend. Truthfully, there wasn’t much to tell, and she must have seemed distracted based on the suspicious looks Jules kept tossing her way.
It felt like an eternity before dusk fell. At eleven o’clock, after Jules had gone to sleep, Zaria shrugged on one of his coats and swept into the night, unable to bear the anticipation any longer. She kept her head down and moved quickly, keen not to draw any attention from would-be murderers. It was dangerous, she knew, but the walk was short—less than ten minutes—and she was resolute that Jules wouldn’t be involved in this particular scheme. With his frock coat and her hair tucked up inside one of George’s hats, she undoubtedly looked like a factory boy finishing a late shift.
The converted factory Kane had described was easy enough to find. It was a place to be leery of, Zaria was certain, with its blacked-out windows and towering entrance. Faded letters on the exterior wall declared it to beMOORE&SONS.
She hovered outside it a moment, feeling foolish. Kane was nowhere to be seen, but then, she was far too early.
Wind swept her hair around her face in a flurry of dark strands as she removed her hat. Zaria exhaled through her teeth, pressing her back against the brick in an attempt to avoid the cold. This part of Ward’s territory was quiet compared to the constant tumult ofDevil’s Acre. She wondered if the kingpin was nearby, wondered how much he saw with eyes that weren’t his own.
There was a feeble whine as the door to the old factory was thrust open, and Zaria leapt away from the wall. Her heart pounded a frantic tattoo until she heard Kane’s voice say, “For God’s sake, Miss Mendoza, I told you not to come alone.”
He cut a lone figure in the darkness, glass of whiskey in hand, silhouetted by the faint glow of a candle on the other side of the door. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone. Shadows traced the line of his mouth and congregated in the hollow of his throat, and fury emanated from him like something physical.
“Yeah. Well—” Zaria swallowed, injecting more confidence into her voice before starting over. “Jules fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake him. Besides, I was out and about anyway.”
“Is that so? And are you commonly out and about at”—Kane procured his silver pocket watch, frowning down at the tiny hands—“eleven twenty-three in the evening?”
“Sometimes.”
“Have you quite forgotten that someone is trying tokillyou? And it’s not Mister Vaughan, by the way.”
“How can you be sure?”
Kane scoffed delicately. “He doesn’t exist. That is to say, whoever commissioned you gave a false name. I’m sure there are, in fact, many Mister Vaughans, but he’s not one of them.”
“Oh.” That shook Zaria a bit, although using an alias to do dark market business wasn’t uncommon. “Well, regardless, I took precautions.” She gestured down at her outfit.
“If this person knows where you live—who you live with—then it won’t make a lick of difference. You’re too short to be Julian, even ifyou’re wearing his clothes. Which, by the way, look positively absurd on you.”
Framed that way, the words made unease rise within her. She shoved it down. “It’s sweet that you’re worried about me.”
He snorted, but something in his gaze made her swallow as he said, “If you’re not going to involve Master Zhao, then I’ll be forced to escort you everywhere, and somehow I doubt either of us wants that.”
