“I want to,” he said firmly. “We’re positive the necklace is the source?”
She nodded.
“Well then. Someone’s going to have to help you run from Kane when you steal that necklace out from under his nose.” Jules appeared to relish the thought, a small grin ghosting his lips.
Zaria returned it, but his words made her think. Would Kane be desperate enough to get the necklace that he would be willing to kill her for it? Willing to kill Jules if he got in the way?
She already knew the answer. Nothing would stop Kane from doing whatever it took if he thought Fletcher’s life was on the line. He’d already made that exceedingly clear. Wouldshebe willing to killhim, though, if it came down to it? If it was her life or Kane’s?
She didn’t know. And that was both very stupid and very dangerous.
“It’s going to be tricky,” she warned Jules. “Ward threatened Fletcher’s life if Kane doesn’t bring him the necklace. Kane won’t let it go easily.”
Jules grimaced. “We’ll just have to outsmart him, then.”
Zaria spent the next two days in a blur of creation. And this time, she brought Jules with her.
She returned to Cecile’s old workshop as promised, first completing the aleuite explosives, then the nonlethal ammunition Kane had requested. The latter was tricky: Primateria existed only in a certain form, and attempting to dilute its effects rather than exacerbate them was relatively foreign terrain to Zaria. Next, she worked on the atomizing adhesive, which would disintegrate the window.
Jules was by her side for much of it, and although she still refused to teach him to create primateria, she did show him how she created the inventions themselves. Soon he was handing her the tools and pieces she needed, and was even mixing chemicals with careful precision. He was more of a watch-and-learn type of person, which was a relief, because verbal explanations weren’t Zaria’s strong suit. It was slow work, mainly because he forced Zaria to pause whenever illness seemed to be creeping up on her, but in the end, it cut back on time spent dry heaving in the corner of the room.
Kane never showed up personally, and she didn’t stop to think about why that might be. She was too busy being relieved. The last thing she needed was him distracting her from the tasks at hand.
On the last day before the Exhibition, Zaria came to the workshop alone. Jules had been needed at the pawnshop, and she’d told him she wanted to add the finishing touches to her inventions. In reality, she still had one last bit of primateria to create: the one that would finally make her parautoptic key work.
She hoped. She’d made several attempts so far, and none left her with enough confidence that she felt prepared to pass the key on to Kane. The problem, naturally, was that she had no way to test it. She was relying on a combination of guessing and gut instinct, but there was no way to be certain the thing would work when the time came.
Zaria took an unsteady breath, staring at the materials on the table in front of her. The past few days had left her worse off thanshe cared for Jules to know. She scarcely ate, and when she did, her body rejected it. Sleep was a hard-won thing, but once she found it, it was a struggle to rise again. More than once she’d emerged from the fog of creation forgetting where she was. Every so often, she would press a hand to the center of her chest, anticipating—and fearing—that she might feel the very moment when her heart decided to quit altogether.
And yet here she was, lighting a candle one last time. Blood already beaded on her arm, the pain of the cut lost in the agony that radiated through the rest of her body. Zaria let it drip into the flame. Her heart stuttered, off-kilter in a way that was becoming disturbingly familiar. Sweat beaded on her brow. She added the soulsteel with shaking hands and bit down on her tongue so hard that she tasted iron and salt.
Then she let go.
With all the practice she’d had this week, it should have been getting easier. And it was—at least in the beginning. She pictured her intentions with ease. The rush came shortly after, but the light that usually accompanied it was dimmer. Perhaps it was only Zaria’s imagination, but darkness seemed to be growing, expanding inside of her. She clung to the fleeting high as she searched wildly for the hook, for the thing that would yank her back to the surface, but her mindscape was as dark and blank as a dreamless sleep.
She was drowning.
Even with her eyes closed, dizziness managed to take hold. It was the kind of dizziness that sent down lurching up and up lurching down, and there was only that horrible blankness as it spun and spun and spun around her.
Then there was nothing.
ZARIA
THERE WAS HEAT AGAINST HER FACE.
Zaria squinted, then opened her eyes little by little as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. Cold ground. Paneled walls. She was lying on the floor of the workshop, head tilted to the side as she waited for it to stop spinning.
The warmth on her face disappeared, replaced by a lightly stinging tap. Zaria scowled, turning her head, and looked right into the bone-white face of Kane Durante.
“Are youslappingme awake?”
At least he had the grace to look abashed. “That wasn’t a slap. I mean—I didn’t know what else to do.”
Though he’d quickly rearranged his expression, Zaria hadn’t missed the flash of real, unmitigated concern there. She studied him more closely. He wore a white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, his hair slick as always. His face was a mess, though: Vicious bruisingshadowed one cheek, and the skin around his left eyebrow had split. His upper lip was slightly swollen, and the shadows beneath his eyes seemed to have multiplied since she had seen him last. He looked as exhausted as she felt.
Nausea hit her like a gut punch, and she reeled away, retching. Kane recoiled, but nothing came up.
Stupid. Embarrassing. Zaria wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Can I help you with something?”
