Kane had believed him.
The meeting place delineated in the letter lay just outside Seven Dials. This didn’t shock Kane, but he still didn’t like it. Vaughan had established a presence in Seven Dials, and Kane hadn’t learned enough about the reclusive man to know where he might have allies.
It was just after dusk when he, Zaria, and Fletcher reached the neighboring slum. Night was already clambering eagerly across the sloped roofs of nearby buildings. The narrow cobblestone streets were awash in various shades of gray, and a damp haze had settled over everything, partially obscuring the faces of those who scurried past. Seven Dials wasn’t dissimilar from Devil’s Acre, but Kane watched every stranger closely and held himself stiffly, always braced to reach for a weapon.
“Okay,” he said once their trio had navigated a particularly busy part of the slum, narrowing his eyes at a group of young boys pulling a cart, “I know someplace we can go until it’s time to meet Vaughan’s people.”
“You do?” Fletcher lifted a brow.
“Yes.” Kane had known there was a reason the location seemed familiar—he’d passed directly by it only a couple of weeks ago. “As long as Zaria doesn’t mind going there.”
Zaria scrutinized him. She wore a faded blue dress buttoned all the way up to the throat, bits of lace congregating at the neckline. She clutched a shawl around her shoulders, and her hair was pulled into a knot that had started to unravel, tendrils shivering around her face in the breeze. “What do you mean? Why would it depend on me?”
Kane gave a tight smile. “It’s where Cecile used to live.”
He regretted being so cavalier at once; Zaria reacted as though he’d hit her, reeling back before swallowing hard. In that moment, she looked like a young girl, her face wiped clean of everything but shock and uncertainty. Fletcher shot Kane a sidelong glance that might have been assessing his sanity.
“I thought you might want to go there,” Kane was quick to add. He’d intended it as a kind gesture—now, though, he feared some reevaluation might have been warranted. “It’s conveniently located, and you said there was more you’d wanted to learn from Cecile, so I thought we could take a look around. Also, I know you… uh, miss her.” God, but he was a fool.
“How did you…?” Zaria began, then snorted. “Of course. That’s how you were able to deliver my request to meet with her. How could I have forgotten you knew where she lived?”
“We can go elsewhere,” Kane said.
Zaria shook her head. “I mean, Cecile said she wasn’t practicing alchemology anymore, but if all her old notes and books are still there…” For the first time since they’d agreed to work together again, Kane saw a flicker of a rarely betrayed emotion cross Zaria’s face—one that looked remarkably close to hope. “If Cecile knew the necklace was a fake, which I’m starting to suspect was the case, then maybe she knew who the Curator is.”
“Then let’s go there,” Fletcher said, and Zaria nodded.
Kane felt his shoulders loosen. He knew Zaria blamed him for Cecile’s death, at least in part. He’d been the one to summon the woman to the church where she was killed, and the men responsible had only been there because ofhim. Because he’d neglected to notice that Ward was the one trying to murder Zaria all along. Had Cecile not stepped in front of her, Zaria would have been the one dead on the crypt floor. It was a fact Kane tried very hard not to dwell on.
Cecile’s apartment lay between Seven Dials and Regent’s Park. It was only a couple blocks removed from Oxford Street, a busy thoroughfare that bisected London from east to west. Zaria was solemn as they approached the front entrance, Kane noticed, and after a moment of steeling himself, he joined her at the bottom of the stairs while Fletcher went to contend with the door. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing,” Zaria said, but the tension in her jaw could have bent a metal rod. Kane could tell she was withdrawing. Trying not to feel whatever it was that threatened to overwhelm her. When the hell had he come to know her so well?
“Zaria—”
She made to brush past him before he could finish, but Kane reached out and caught her wrist. He was propelled by some unidentifiable need to… what? Show her he’d not only noticed her strange behavior but that he cared about the reason behind it?Didhe care?
“Stopmanhandlingme.” Zaria spoke through her teeth. Her dark gaze was flinty.
Kane released her. She was right—he had the unfortunate habit of using his hands when words ought to have sufficed. It was like some part of him couldn’t bear to let her walk away.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, “but there’s no use lying. Your mood changes aren’t as subtle as you think.”
“I don’t see how my mood concerns you.”
“Fine, then. Forget I asked.”
Fletcher cleared his throat. “Not to interrupt, but it looks like we won’t need to pick a lock after all.” He gave the door to Cecile’s apartment a shove, and it swung inward a few inches, slightly off its alignment. Odd, in this area, that Cecile wouldn’t have bothered to get that fixed before her death. The room beyond was an inscrutable black. “Are you two coming?”
“Yes,” Kane said, but no sooner had he stepped away than did Zaria speak, the words seeming to slip out against her will.
“I just… I can’t believe she was here the whole time. Hardly more than a neighborhood away, and yet she never tried to contact me.”
Fletcher ventured a glance at Kane, who didn’t know what to say any more than his friend did. He turned back to Zaria, trying to soften his expression. It felt like wrangling his features into some unfamiliar configuration.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sure Cecile thought about contacting you all the time. She was probably just trying to keep you safe from Ward.”
The words were halting and indistinct, but Zaria seemed to appreciate them. She blinked. “I suppose. It just feels like such a waste.”
