“The front doors were unguarded.” Her eyelids fluttered half-closed. “That should have been the first sign something was wrong. But I was so excited, I scarcely noticed. I barreled up the stairs. I could hear voices coming from Ward’s office and recognized his at once. The door was cracked, just slightly, so I shoved it open the rest of the way.”
Zaria had to remind herself to breathe. The silence turned oppressive, absolute, until she found her voice. “And then?”
“Then.” Cecile said the word as if it were an entire sentence on its own. A moment encapsulated by a single word. “Then I saw them, lying on the floor of his office. A man. A woman. And—” Her voice cracked, sputtering out. What she said next was a mere croak. “And a young boy. He wasn’t on the floor; someone had lifted him onto Ward’s desk. His face was turned toward the door, toward me, and it was as pale as anything I’d ever seen.”
“They were dead,” Zaria said quietly.
“The man and woman had been shot. The boy—God only knows whether he was still alive at that point. There was blood all over thefloorboards. It was fresh, spreading toward the door where I stood. In the center of it all, standing casually as if they’d been discussing the weather, was Ward and two of his men. He looked up at me, met my eyes, and I saw that his were…” Cecile exhaled a shaky breath. “They were empty. Sohorriblyempty. That was when I decided to leave.”
“And he let you?” Zaria said, her stomach churning as she tried and failed not to imagine the scene Cecile described.
“He did. I still don’t know why—perhaps it was easier that way. I got a place near Regent’s Park, far outside of his territory. But he found me, of course, and to this day, he sends me small sums of money in exchange for my silence. I suspect helikesit, knowing I live in fear of him and that I’m reliant on him. Alexander Ward likes control far more than he likes killing.” Cecile’s throat bobbed. “I haven’t touched alchemology since. I wanted to get in touch with you so many times, but I feared it wasn’t safe.”
A strange ache took up residence in Zaria’s chest. “Can we… I mean, will you contact me now? I’m no longer a child. I’m willing to take the risk.” Hell, she was already taking so many.
Cecile’s face softened. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I think so.”
Zaria bit her lower lip to hide her smile. For the first time in years, she felt warm with optimism. She owed Kane Durante, frustrating bastard though he was.
“When it comes to your father,” Cecile continued—and Zaria was grateful for the change of subject—“he did much of his research alone. That said, he was positive magic sourcesdidexist, and he was convinced there was one in Britain. The difficulty lay in finding it. You see, nobody’s quite sure what the source would even look like. Some believe it can take the shape of nearly anything. And if your father knew anything for certain, that was a long time ago.”
Zaria’s heart sank. “So you can’t tell me anything more.”
“I’m sorry,” Cecile said, her brows drawing together. “I really am. But your father was not one to confide in others no matter how well he knew them. We worked together for a time, yes, but our relationship was purely business. Any side projects he may have had, he did by himself.”
It was what Zaria had expected, but it still hurt to hear. Rediscovering Cecile had been a beacon of hope. A promise that she hadn’t yet exhausted all possibilities. Now she had hit another dead end, and the expression of the woman before her was full of such pity that she could scarcely bear it. Gathering her determination, she made one last-ditch attempt.
“Your note—it said something about the source possibly being disguised. Were you doing research of your own?”
“Ah. Yes,” Cecile said, an emotion Zaria couldn’t decipher lighting her face. She leaned closer, voice low and furtive, one hand reaching into her pocket. “When it comes to primateria sources, I have suspicions of my own, but I need you to besmartabout this, Zaria. I debated whether or not to even share this with you. You see, I believe—”
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps grew audible above their heads, echoing through the crypt walls. Surely it was too late for even the most devout to pay the sanctuary a visit. What had Cecile been about to say? Frustration swelled in Zaria’s chest alongside the panic.
The voices came next, and her eyes locked with Cecile’s.
“Did you bring someone else?” Cecile said, a barely audible whisper, and Zaria shook her head. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a caged animal trying to escape. She could feel sweat beginning to bead on her upper lip. The footsteps belonged to more than one person—it couldn’t be Kane, then. Or, at least, not Kane alone. Sheset the lantern down, intending to extinguish the flame, when it snagged on a duo of silhouettes at the entrance to the crypt. One of them lifted something. Zaria’s vision wasn’t clear, but she suspected she knew what it was.
A masked man swam into view. When he spoke, his low voice held the echo of a smile.
“Miss Mendoza,” he said. “Regret working with Kane Durante yet?”
His finger twitched, and several things happened simultaneously.
Zaria reached for her own gun, screaming Cecile’s name as the woman lunged, moving with astonishing speed. She shoved Zaria harshly aside, causing her to stumble just as a single shot reverberated through the crypt. There was a flash. A cry that might have come from her own lungs. The ashy, bitter scent of magic.
Then silence.
KANE
KANE CLAWED HIS WAY FREE WITH A GRUNT.
He had been trapped firmly beneath the body of a man twice his size, hand outstretched in pursuit of his gun, which lay a few feet away. His opponent was masked, armed with only fists and a knife: Kane had wrested the man’s revolver from him at the start of the fight and chucked it a considerable distance down the street, only to get his own gun knocked from his grip in return.
The man and his companions had caught Kane unawares outside the building as he unloaded and reloaded his gun, waiting for Zaria to emerge. At first, Kane had wondered what the hell they were doing here. It wasn’t unusual for criminals to be lurking around at night—hewas here, after all—but something about the way they’d approached the church had raised his proverbial hackles.
It was immediately obvious they hadn’t come for him. Kane doubted they would have bothered with him at all had he notshouted as they ascended the steps to the church’s entrance. Perhaps the move had been a foolish one, but he hadn’t been able to help it. A single, desperate thought had cycled through his mind on a loop: that Zaria wasin there. He didn’t even know whether she was armed.
Realization had hit then, followed by a searing jolt of panic. Just like the masked figure who’d accosted Zaria in the alley near Kane’s home, they’d come forher.
