Zaria blinked. Was he attempting to relate to her? If so, he’d lost her at the mention ofstaff. He’d grown up rich with a mother whohadn’t wanted to leave him. Their situations were not remotely alike. “Why does Vaughan know about my mother at all? What does she matter to him?”
Pritchard’s smile thinned further, now more hesitant than wry. “Isn’t it obvious, Miss Mendoza? She’s in his employ.”
“What?”It hadn’t been obvious to Zaria. The possibility had never even crossed her mind. The version of her mother that existed in her imagination was a woman of status. Someone’s well-to-do wife who’d decided to pretend her relationship with a dark market alchemologist had never happened. The idea that she might be working for a kingpin, that she might be involved with criminals, sent Zaria’s worldview careening off its axis. When she had recollected herself she asked, “What does my mother do for Vaughan? Is she here, then, in Seven Dials?”
“She does whatever is required of her,” Pritchard replied shortly.
“What does thatmean?” Zaria pressed, her frustration warring with a desperate need for more information. She didn’t miss that he’d ignored the second question. Surely if her mother had been nearby all along, Zaria would have known somehow.
Unless she didn’t want you to know, a snide voice in the back of her mind pointed out.
Pritchard shook his head, sitting up straight and adjusting his lapels. When he spoke, his voice retained its brisk quality. “It’s not my place to say any more. I’m simply here to outline the terms of the deal. You bring Vaughan the ledger, he tells you where to find your mother. You refuse, you learn nothing. And, of course, you’ll find yourself in prison.”
Zaria stiffened, exhaling through her nose. “That’s not much of a choice at all.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t.”
“How can I be sure you’re not lying? For all I know, my mother could be long dead.”
“You can’t,” Pritchard said. “But consider this: Vaughan has no reason to offer you anything in return. Knowing what he knows, threats should have more than sufficed, but he believes in offering incentives.” Pritchard’s tone suggested he didn’t necessarily share that belief. “If I wasn’t telling the truth, why would I mention your mother at all?”
That was a valid point, Zaria conceded. “So Vaughan thinks he can win me over with this, does he?”
“Threats proved not to be enough last time. You still attempted to leave London, did you not? Vaughan can tell you’re not easily cowed, Miss Mendoza. You’re driven bydesiremore than you are fear. So he’s presenting you with something he believes you desire.” Pritchard paused. “That, and he wants to be the type of kingpin who builds relationships. Who develops allies. If you can help each other, isn’t that the best way to do business?”
Zaria didn’t particularly care what Vaughan wanted. What shedidcare about was information. It almost didn’t matter if Vaughan was lying about her mother—now that the possibility had been raised, Zaria needed to learn the truth. She was trapped, and Pritchard knew it.
“I’ll do what I can,” she said. Though she made her voice firm, she felt little confidence. All she wanted at this point was to be free of Pritchard’s smug face. “But I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to get anywhere near Kane.”
Pritchard stood. It was as good a dismissal as any. “See to it that you try. Let’s say we meet here again in, oh, a week’s time? You know what’s at stake.” A falsely polite clearing of this throat. “I do hope the rest of your evening is pleasant, Miss Mendoza.”
Without giving her time to answer, he donned his coat in a flourish and swept over to the exit.
Zaria was so preoccupied, she barely registered the walk back to Mirko’s—an inadvisable way of crossing the city late at night when you were a young woman. Pritchard had given her much to think about, but one part of the conversation rang more clearly in her mind than the rest.
It is normal for a child to yearn for their family. I cannot imagine you are any different.
Zaria had been conditioned not to need anyone. She’d long ago decided that neither of her parents deserved forgiveness. But though she resented it, Pritchard was right: Shedidyearn. Shewasdriven by desire. If the only way to find her mother was to force her way back into Kane’s life, then Zaria would do it. Not because she possessed any childish ideals about family but because she had questions eighteen years in the making. They’d lain dormant for longer than she could recall, but Pritchard’s words had brought them all bubbling to the surface, and now they refused to be pushed back down.
The last thing Zaria wanted was to be trapped in a power struggle between two murderous kingpins—and Jules would certainly try to talk her out of it—but what other choice was there? Revelations about her mother aside, it was the best chance she had of keeping them both safe.
Her chest seemed to tighten as she rounded the corner onto Mirko’s street, drawing up to his now-familiar house. She could tell even before entering it that something was wrong.
For one, light was visible through the window, though by noweveryone ought to have been asleep. George and Mirko rose with the dawn and were adamant that all candles be extinguished by ten o’clock. If the older men and Juleswerestill awake at this hour, Zaria ought to have been able to hear them as she approached the door, but only silence met her ears. Maybe it was her imagination, but she could almost feel tension emanating from within.
Her heart hammered frantically in the back of her throat. The most likely explanation was that something had happened to George, and she desperately hoped that wasn’t the case. If his father’s illness had worsened, the stress on Jules would be immense, especially after everything that had happened tonight.
Steeling herself with a deep breath, Zaria heaved the door open.
At first, she was merely confused. George and Mirko sat at the small table in silence, a candle burning down to a nub between them. Neither reacted to her arrival; George was staring at the wall as if seeing something else entirely, while Mirko looked on with a helpless expression. It was the latter who acknowledged Zaria first.
“You’re back late. It’s dangerous for a young woman to be out alone at such an hour.” Being a man of few words, it was one of the longest sentences Mirko had ever spoken to her. She might have taken his words as a general statement, but there was an air of genuine fear around the man.
“You’reuplate,” Zaria returned, eyes narrowed. Foreboding continued its cold path down her back. “Where’s Jules?”
Mirko ventured a sidelong glance at George, evidently not wanting to answer. The sensation of foreboding morphed into nausea.
“Where is he, Mirko?”
