She’d slept well, which was confounding given the altogether-too-Kanescent of the room. It made it impossible to forget where she was. Emerging in the morning had felt strangely embarrassing, though there was no reason for it. At first, Kane and Fletcher had been nowhere to be seen—which wasn’t surprising given it was midmorning when she finally awoke—but the moment Zaria tried to slink out of the house, she found herself face-to-face with a moody, freshly bathed Kane.
“And just where do you think you’re going?”
She paused, lingering on the threshold, and blinked. The door was already open. In front of her stood Kane in a partial state of undress, which was to say he wore only trousers and a thin linen shirt he’d neglected to button fully. The arrow tattoo at his throatshifted when he tilted his head. Zaria forced her gaze to meet his, tearing it away from the triangle of his exposed sternum. “Home.”
“No, you’re not.”
Her brows shot up. “Are you going to stop me?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize I was a prisoner here.”
Kane drew a hand over his chin. He looked like he hadn’t slept, and there was an uneasiness about him, as though his thoughts were elsewhere. “You’re not. But I have something to show you.”
“I need to get back to the pawnshop.” After a decent night’s sleep, her frustration with Jules was dissipating.
“I told you I’d get a message there, and I did,” Kane said dismissively. “Trust me. You’ll like this.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“Humor me.”
Zaria glanced past him into the street. The air was humid today, threatening rain, and the stench of the river carried over on the breeze. She bit down on the inside of her cheek as fury and curiosity warred within her.
“Fine,” she conceded. “But if I’m not impressed, you’re escorting me home.”
“Deal.”
Kane led her around the side of the factory to what appeared to be some kind of shed. The exterior was nondescript gray stone, the slanted roof visibly cracked in a few places. Zaria narrowed her eyes. “Is this where you’re planning to kill me? Did you send Fletcher away so there wouldn’t be any witnesses?”
One side of his face slipped up in a reluctant grin. “Fletcher’s at work. And besides, he’d cover for me.”
“Work?”
“He’s a copper now, in case you forgot.”
“Ah.” Zaria gathered her loose hair into a knot, trying to lessen the heat. “I take it last night turned up nothing of interest.”
Kane shrugged jerkily. “I’m afraid not.”
She frowned in suspicion, intent on asking after his discomfort, but the next moment, he had shouldered the shed door open. All other thoughts fled. “What’s this?”
He moved aside to grant her entry. “Cecile worked out of here for a while, back when she was in Ward’s employ. I don’t think it’s been used since, but I tried to get everything you might need.”
Zaria didn’t quite know what to say as she looked around. In the middle of the space was a waist-high worktable covered with an organized assortment of alchemology supplies. On the wall farthest from the door were cabinets, some of them hanging off their hinges, but they had been stocked with vials and various tools. Zaria walked over to the table, dragging a finger across its surface until she found a jar of silvery powder. “This is soulsteel.”
“It is.” Kane sounded pleased with himself.
It was the most soulsteel Zaria had ever seen in her life. She turned away from it, her throat tightening. “This must have cost a fortune.”
“This is what it’s like to work for the kingpin.” Kane shut the shop door, coming around to stand on the other side of the table. There were no windows, and he struck a match, using it to light a candle. It flared brilliantly to life, an orange glow climbing the column of his neck. He looked rather monstrous lit from beneath. “Can you get started today?”
“I’m already working on the aleuite explosives,” she reminded him. “They’re back at the pawnshop.”
“I can have everything brought here.”
She wanted to argue, but she had to admit that this place was… perfect. An alchemologist’s dream. “All right then.”
