“I never said he was going to be a part of this.”
“You didn’t have to. Aren’t you two a package deal?”
Zaria bit down hard on her bottom lip as Jules’s words came back to her.We’re supposed to be a team.“He’s busy, okay?”
Kane raised his brows, and Fletcher studied her with a too-discerning gaze, as if he could see the truth right there in her face.
“Fine,” Kane said. “We’ll do it without Master Zhao, then. Leave the lamp—I don’t want to be spotted. Let’s get going.”
“Going where? I thought we were meant to be discussing the plan for”—Zaria lowered her voice, glancing around to ensure they were indeed alone—“you know what.”
Kane removed his hat, smoothing back his hair. “If you’ll recall, you owe me a favor. I’m cashing it in.”
Incredulity lanced through Zaria. She knew what he was referring to, of course, but the fact that he had the gall to ask… “I would have thought thisfavorbecame void the moment Cecile bled out on the floor of the crypt.”
“I don’t think so,” Kane said. “There were no terms to our agreement apart from my request, to which you so kindly acquiesced.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Zaria snapped.
“Like what?”
“Like you think you’re so pompous and clever.”
Fletcher shifted his weight, visibly impatient. If Kane noticed, he didn’t acknowledge his friend. “Iamclever. It’s not my fault you made a deal you’d later regret. Now, I’d have preferred a fourth set of hands, but I suppose the three of us will have to do.” Kane gave his hat a twirl, then set it atop his head once more. “Shall we?”
“We shallnot,” Zaria said. “Taking part in one of your schemes is already more than enough.”
“Ah, now, don’t be like that. Helping me tonight is going to help you in the long run. You want those jewels, don’t you?” Kane’s expression was knowing. “Last I checked, the pawnshop was looking fairly drafty. And you did make a promise.”
Zaria could scarcely believe her ears. The absolutegallof Kane Durante to try to cash in a favor as though nothing had happened. As though Zaria hadn’t left the church that night with Cecile’s blood on her hands.
“Fine,” she said, forgetting about the necklace. Forgetting she needed Kane to trust her. “Fine.You can cash in your favor. I can play nice, if that’s what you want. But if you think I won’t hate every moment of it, you’re sadly mistaken.” She set her teeth. “Iknowyou had something to do with Cecile’s death even if you won’t admit it. I hope it haunts you.”
Kane came to stand before her so they were face-to-face. His eyes looked green today, Zaria saw, then resented that she’d noticed. The heat of him was tangible as he leaned down, pausing with his lips inches from her ear. She stiffened.
“I can assure you,” he murmured on an exhale, “it won’t.”
Vile. He wasvile. For a moment, Zaria couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to communicate her fury. She wanted to say something that would hurt Kane Durante. Wanted to fling words to puncture that unruffled demeanor of his. But she couldn’t think of anything, and in any case, Fletcher quickly stepped between them.
“As much as I’d enjoy watching you two argue all night, I believe we have a plan to execute.” He cleared his throat with an air of pointed impatience. “Kane?”
Kane nodded and relaxed as if nothing had happened. “Ofcourse. We’re headed to the Piccadilly area,” he said in response to Zaria’s unspoken question. “Just follow me.”
And so Zaria did, trailing behind the two of them as they skirted the edge of the slum, the air growing thick with the familiar reek of decay. Chest-high brick walls separated the buildings, ropes functioning as clotheslines strung up between them. Down one of the corners, a man who was clearly intoxicated dunked his head into a barrel of dirty water, only to be screamed at by a woman doing her washing.
Kane and Fletcher moved with dutiful briskness, Fletcher’s stride just the slightest bit longer. Once again, Zaria considered what Kane had told her—how he was stealing the necklace in order to try to keep Fletcher alive. She wondered if Fletcher had any inkling of that truth. Wondered if, when he found out, he might grow to resent his friend.
It would be well deserved, she thought as she glared at Kane’s back. As if he felt the weight of her gaze, he glanced over his shoulder, hazel eyes guarded.
“You’d best keep up,” he barked, then turned around.
Bastard, she thought, pulling the collar of her jacket closer to her skin.
About twenty minutes later, Kane and Fletcher came to a halt. They stood before a mansion-like building, surrounded by more greenery than was common in the inner city. Nearly a dozen windows faced the road, the stonework arranged so as to embellish each one, and a balcony stretched above Zaria’s head. The house took up nearly half the block: a ridiculous, extravagant display of wealth. A cast-iron fence surrounded it on every side, but no gate sealed it off from the rest of the street.
At night, it was more evident than ever how different the slumwas from wealthy areas like this; Piccadilly was quiet, almost unnervingly so. Though people like Zaria couldn’t afford to pay much attention to etiquette, she was aware that this—walking around at such an hour with two young men—was decidedly improper.
“Who lives here?” she demanded, fearing the worst. Could this be Ward’s place?
