He’d launched himself at the men before logic could hold him back. The largest of the three had turned to face him while the other two darted into the church.
Hence his current situation. Even as he fought his way free, the fact remained that Kane was not nearly as strong as the brawny man with whom he was engaged in combat. Distantly, he reflected that he ought to have brought Fletcher for backup. He’d told his friend about his second pact with Zaria, but after thrusting Fletcher into Exhibition security duty, he figured this was something better dealt with alone.
Now he was having serious second thoughts.
The man slammed into him again, and Kane coughed an exhausted laugh. He was fighting poorly. His mind was on Zaria, on the other two men who had sprinted into the church, their own guns raised. He shouldn’t have cared. It was a distraction, and a foolish one at that.
“Let me—go,” Kane hissed through clenched teeth as he struggled out of a choke hold. His fist connected with the man’s temple, and he whirled once more for the gun as that thick arm refastened around his neck.
The man gave a grunt of frustration as Kane slipped free a second time. “This ain’t about you, idiot boy.”
They were the first words his opponent had spoken. His voice was low, gravelly—that of a man all too familiar with a pipe.
Kane had made it to his gun. He stooped to pick it up, never dropping his eyes from the man’s shrouded face, and raised the weapon. “Unfortunately for both of us, youmadeit about me. And I’ll admit, I don’t much like you and your pals meddling in my business.”
“Shoot me then.” The man’s eyes were alight with mockery. He took an exaggerated step back, then another. Kane moved with him. He was coming woefully close to the gun Kane had tossed at the commencement of their fight. If he bent down, he would be able to retrieve it.
Urgency stabbed at Kane, low in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t have time to play games. Two other men were in the church, both armed. And though Kane hoped Zaria could hold her own for a short while, he also knew it was a fight she would ultimately lose.
“You touch that gun,” Kane snarled, “and Iwillshoot you. Don’t test me.”
The man held his gaze as he bent his knees. “Oh yeah?”
“I’m serious.”
As he spoke, the man swiped a hand toward the ground. No sooner had his fingers wrapped around the gun than Kane fired.
They were quiet, these dark market guns, and Kane never quite got over the thrill of seeing the way magic streaked through the air and buried itself in skin.Rippedapart skin. Tendrils of light furled outward from the man’s chest like bright smoke, followed by a thick stream of blood. His eyes flew wide as his weapon clattered to the road, the sound distant in Kane’s ears. Tinny. The smell of ash permeated the air. Kane watched as the man pressed a hand to the left side of his chest, red pulsing from between his fingers.
When he fell, it was as if in slow motion, the remnants of magic swept away on the wind.
“I told you not to test me,” Kane said icily.
Then he sprinted away from the pooling blood.
His grip was deathly tight on his revolver, and his fingers didn’t want to let go even as he clawed open the church door. It had been some time since he’d killed someone, but the tension that came afterward was horribly familiar. He pushed it aside. The man would have killedhimhad he been given the chance. It was why Kane had fired without a second thought.
If Ward had taught him anything at all, it was this: When you encountered obstacles, you removed them. If something was in your way, you got rid of it—no matter what it took.
The church was even darker than the night-shrouded streets. Kane didn’t know how long it might have taken the man’s companions to find Zaria and Cecile, but he hoped to hell the crypt hadn’t been the first place they’d looked. He sprinted between the pews in the sanctuary, shoes skidding across the shiny wooden floor, and darted down the stairwell leading to the crypt.
It had been years since Kane had come to St. John’s for anything other than business. Once upon a time, though, he’d come here to pray. To kneel on the hard floor and stare up at the beautiful artwork of godly figures, hoping he might find… what? Comfort? The memory of his dead parents? Proof of the divine?
He’d found nothing but stiff muscles and a sense of impending misery, and thus hadn’t bothered returning. What Kane had told Zaria was the truth: He wasn’t angry at God. He didn’t expect anything from him. Not anymore.
But he had, once. And he’d been let down.
Kane was only partially down the narrow stairwell when he heard the gunshot. Horror seared through him as though he’d been the target, and he leapt over the remaining half-dozen steps, heart hammering in his chest.Don’t let her be deadwas the thought that prevailed as he barreled through the arching entrance to the crypt, his own gun raised, blood pounding in his ears.
It took him a moment to digest the scene. Two figures stood facing away from him, revolvers out. They were both pointing, Kane saw with dismay, at Zaria. She was kneeling, positioned oddly. One of her hands clutched a gun. The other was bloody, fingers splayed atop the prone form of a woman Kane recognized as Cecile Meurdrac.
She was certainly dead. A dark stain spread out from a wound in her stomach where her rib cage flared. Her skin was papery, whiter than a sheet, though something about her willowy build and gaunt face made Kane wonder if that wasn’t only a consequence of being deceased.
He took all this in very quickly, a fraction of a second passing before he lifted his own gun and fired.
Light blazed through the air, accompanied by a scream and the telltale scent of ash. He’d hit the taller man in the back, purposely not aiming for the spine. This time, he wasn’t shooting to kill. Because the second man—Kane saw as he turned around, confirming his suspicions—was not a man at all but scarcely more than a boy. Scrawny and half a head shorter than his companion, the part of his face Kane could see suggested he wasn’t much older than thirteen. Whoever was after Zaria, they had youths doing their dirty work. Someone with gang affiliations perhaps? It wasn’t unusual for homeless juveniles to be entrenched in the criminal underworld.
Kane was not a good person, but he also wasn’t a murderer of children.
