“No,” she said, turning to face him. His black hair was overly long, falling into his wide eyes as they met hers.
“What do you mean,no?”
“Jules, it’s because of me that the pawnshop is gone. Your home. Your father’s livelihood. Ward and Kane were only there because ofme. So don’t give me your sympathy—I don’t deserve it.” Zaria busied herself with latching the trunk, guilt a gnawing, relentless thing at her core. “Okay. Let’s go before your father and Mirko get back.”
Mirko Petrov was a longtime friend of George’s, and although the Bulgarian widower’s home was no larger than the rest in Devil’s Acre, he’d agreed to let them all stay for the time being. George and Mirko had been sharing the tiny bedroom, while Zaria and Jules bunked on the floor in the main living area. The single dingy window had become difficult to see through, suggesting dusk had fallen,which meant the two older men were due to return home at any moment. Zaria checked the door in her periphery as she lifted a hand to the pendant at the hollow of her throat. As always, it was warm to the touch.
Jules tracked the movement. “Still nothing?”
Zaria shook her head. No matter what she did, the primateria source resolutely remained a necklace. “I’m starting to wonder if we had it wrong.”
“I thought you said you could sense its magic.”
“I can. It’s definitely an alchemological item, but what if it’s not the source after all? What if Ward and Cecile were mistaken?”
Jules rested his cheek against the floor, an ill-advised choice, given the state of it. When he spoke again, the words were muffled. “Consider where you got it from, Zaria.Kaneput that necklace in your pocket. Don’t you think it’s more likely he took the real one and gave you a fake?”
It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed Zaria’s mind. “I guess it’s possible. I just can’t imagine why he would have commissioned a replica before he knew I was planning to double-cross him. And if he had it all along, why not leave it at the Exhibition in place of the real one?”
“Because it’s Kane, and he wants to cause problems?” Jules suggested. “Look, it doesn’t matter. We’re getting out of London, which means your unfinished commissions won’t be a problem anymore. You can be done with alchemology.”
It seemed a foreign concept. Alchemology was the only thing Zaria had ever excelled at. It was the only thing she had everenjoyedlearning, even as each creation drained her strength. Having a primateria source would have allowed her to keep doing what she was good at without channeling so much of her energy into the process.It would have ensured she didn’t lose her life the way her father had. Because there was an oddly addictive aspect to creating magical items—one she was loath to give up.
“Or maybe I’ll figure out how to use the source,” she said. “Maybe I just need to keep trying. Maybe it takes practice.”
Jules wrinkled his nose. “I don’t understand why your father never explained this to you.”
“You know full well he didn’t include me in his research on primateria sources.” Zaria dragged a frustrated hand along her brow, pushing back the strands of hair that had come loose from their knot. “I don’t think he wanted me to know about them at all.”
The past few days had been an endless cycle of the same talking points. No matter how many times they posed the same hypotheticals, Zaria couldn’t make the primateria source do a single thing. It was miserable enough staying in someone else’s home with limited alchemology supplies, and the one item shedidhave refused to function. She was, of course, grateful to be here—had Mirko not given them temporary lodging, they might be crouched in one of the slums’ grimy streets alongside a bunch of guttersnipes.
She kicked herself every day for not stealing more of the pieces from the Waterhouse exhibit. At the time, she’d been so focused on the necklace—and getting the hell out of the Crystal Palace—that she hadn’t dared snatch anything else. In hindsight, she ought to have realized the so-called replacement jewels Kane and Fletcher had stolen alongside the pianoforte were nowhere to be seen. Ought to have known Kane never intended to hold up his side of their deal. Trusting him had been a mistake from the beginning.
She knew the fire was technically Kane’s fault—not hers—but she couldn’t ignore the fact that she’d provoked him. His face was emblazoned in her mind. The way he’d looked in the moments beforethe smoke swallowed him up, eyes cold and emotionless. As if everything that made himKanehad leaked out of the wound she’d created when she’d plunged the knife into his back.
He deserved it, though. He’d dug his own grave with increasing vigor, and now he would be forced to lie in it.
“Zaria?” Jules’s voice filtered through her reverie.
She blinked twice, refocusing. “Sorry. What?”
He was on his feet now, undeterred by her apparent disinterest, accustomed as he was to her frequent daydreaming. “I said we should probably get going.”
“Right. Yes. Are you okay?”
Jules nodded. He looked as resigned as he had the day Zaria first relayed that conversation in the stagecoach. Unlike her, Jules still had family to consider. He would be leaving his father without so much as an explanation. “I’m okay. It’s not like I didn’t know this day was coming.”
It was true. Jules had always dreamed of leaving London, while George wouldn’t hear of his son doing anything other than living over the pawnshop. But the shop was gone, and staying would make Zaria and Jules no better than sitting ducks. Vaughan’s threats were one thing, but Kane would also want his revenge.
Zaria tried to keep her tone light, even as her stomach twisted into knots. “It’s safer for him this way. George, I mean.”
“I know.” Jules squared his shoulders. “It’s just… hard to leave when I feel so conflicted. All I want is for him to be okay, but I’m still angry at him for the deal he made.”
“I get it,” Zaria said softly. She’d known about Ward’s desire to recruit Jules and had kept it a secret in hopes that George would come clean to his son. Jules’s father owed the kingpin more money than he could ever have hoped to pay back, and if Kane hadn’t shotWard, Zaria cringed to think about what might have happened. Jules had been furious when she finally revealed the truth, and although the argument with his father had since been dropped, George still stood by his decision not to tell Jules that his freedom—and, potentially, his life—had been in jeopardy. “I should have just told you about the plan right away.”
“No. You were right that it should have come from my father.” Jules directed a good-natured swat at Zaria’s arm, and she leaned away just in time. “He’s the one who made the deal.”
She pressed her lips together in a bleak imitation of a smile before following her friend out into the impending night. The stench of smoke and filth enveloped them at once, familiar enough that Zaria scarcely noticed it. She took care to shut the door tightly behind her, well aware that nothing would stop someone from breaking into Mirko’s house if they were determined enough. As a deliveryman, Mirko was often out with one of his recognizable wooden carts—George was helping him with his rounds at present—but he was respected enough in Devil’s Acre that few would dare trifle with him.
