A gun fired as the stagecoach rattled to a stop. Zaria cowered automatically, shielding her head as if that would make any sort of difference. Fear sent her blood racing, her ribs tightening. It only grew more potent when she realized Aurora still stood a short distance away, unharmed and looking vaguely irritated. Zaria whirled in the direction the gunshot had sounded from, not entirely sure what she was expecting to see.
Pritchard was in the midst of lowering his weapon. His expression was disdainful as he stared down at Maisie, who was crumpled on the ground near his feet. Her mouth was slightly open, her breaths coming in gasps. She had one hand pressed to either her hip or lower torso—Zaria couldn’t tell which. Without thinking, she lurched for the other girl, only to find herself hindered by a shockingly firm grip.
Shaw.He and two other men had emerged from the stagecoach when Zaria wasn’t paying attention. He gave her a dark look, yanking her arm so that she was forced to stumble back from Maisie’s limp form.
Aurora didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. She merely raised an eyebrow at Pritchard, demanding an explanation.
“I saw her turn her gun on you,” Pritchard said, stowing his own away. It was an alchemological one, Zaria saw, but with an unfamiliar attachment on the end of the barrel. Pritchard inclined his head atMaisie, whose chin was resting against her heaving chest, blood starting to spread on the ground beside her. “I had to make a snap decision.”
Maisie let out a groan, and Zaria tried to pull away from Shaw, grunting with the effort. Even with the rain slicking her skin, it was futile. He was far too strong.
“Let me go,” she snarled, then turned her furious gaze on Aurora. The woman was a rain-blurred silhouette, her beautiful face cold and unreadable. “We need tohelp her!”
Aurora didn’t acknowledge Zaria. She studied Maisie for another moment, then shrugged. “Whatever you say, Mister Pritchard. It doesn’t make much difference. We don’t need her.” She made an arcing gesture to Shaw. “Bring Miss Mendoza inside.”
“No,” Zaria spat, struggling against the large man, but she didn’t have the strength to dig her heels in. He half dragged, half carried her in the direction of the Crystal Palace. Distantly, Zaria realized they weren’t headed to one of the entrances at all, but rather to the mechanical room near the west end. She glanced wildly around, hoping to see coppers in the vicinity—for the first time in her life, shewantedto lay eyes on one—but nobody else was around. Her teeth began to chatter from the damp cold.
“Officers are only stationed at each of the doors,” Aurora informed Zaria, still managing to sound flippant. Rather than look at her daughter, she gazed straight ahead as they walked across the wet grass. “They’re not going to help you. And if you attempt to draw their attention, Mister Shaw will make you very sorry indeed.”
Zaria had no doubt that was the truth. Besides, now that she was thinking about it, what good would summoning a copper do? By all appearances, Pritchard was a member of the Royal Commission, and he might not be the only one. Nobody in a position of authority would believe Zaria over him.
She tried to glance back the way they’d come, but it was too dark to see Maisie. The girl was going to die there, cold, in pain, and alone. Zaria’s only ally in her current situation, and she was gone. It wasn’tfair.
“Hurry up,” Aurora snapped, and Shaw quickened his pace, guiding Zaria over to the nearest steam engine. The warmth surrounding it was a relief, but the acrid scent of coal and the overwhelming noises had her cringing. No wonder Aurora wasn’t overly worried about the authorities; it would be impossible to hear anything over this racket.
Pritchard was waiting at what appeared to be a small hatch in the side of the building, right where a bit of piping passed through a pane of glass. It was about two-thirds Zaria’s height but sufficiently wide enough that an average-size person could climb through without much difficulty. As Zaria watched, Pritchard popped the small door open, then beckoned Aurora inside as he scanned their surroundings. Water dripped from the brim of his hat as he met Zaria’s gaze. His lips pulled wide in a smile.
“It’s for maintenance,” he informed her, though she hadn’t asked. “Nobody knows about it—it’s not even on the blueprint.”
“Fuck you,” Zaria said on an exhale, and Pritchard’s excitement dimmed slightly, giving way to a scowl.
“Watch how you speak to me, Miss Mendoza. Your mother values my input rather highly.”
She thought of how he’d shot Maisie without warning and spat at his feet. Her entire body felt like a lit fuse careening toward some explosive substance. She wanted to ignite. She wanted each and every one of these terrible people to go up in flames along with her.
“That’senough,” Shaw growled, using a large hand to shove Zaria’s head down and through the small entrance. Pain rippledthrough her knees as they collided with the floor, but then somehow Shaw had forced his way through behind her, yanking her up to stand again.
They were in the Crystal Palace. At night. The exhibits were a wholly different kind of overwhelming in the dark, seeming to loom in the enormous space like enigmatic figures in a nightmare. It felt wrong, being here without the accompanying clamor of a thousand other patrons.
Pritchard shut the hatch with a softclickonce he and the other two men had clambered through it. Aurora, however, was nowhere to be seen. Zaria kept her gaze straight ahead as Shaw guided her down the long corridor to the center of the building. It felt like an infinitely long time before she saw the crystal fountain up ahead, its many facets reflecting even the smallest dregs of moonlight from the open sky above. The water still cycled through as it did during the day, the sound a welcome reprieve from the heavy silence.
“Excellent.” Aurora’s voice cut through the rushing noise. Zaria couldn’t see where the woman had emerged from, but she was clutching an enormous clear vial of what could only be soulsteel. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
KANE
Were Kane being honest, he was surprised it had taken nineteen years to find himself in prison.
He was in what appeared to be a holding cell, with scarcely enough room to pace without bumping into Jules or Fletcher. There were no windows in this wing of the building, but based on the light that filtered in through the door whenever a copper came or went, Kane had to assume it was nearing dusk. That meant they were creeping up on twenty-four hours since being detained.
To his utter lack of surprise, Newgate Prison was even more miserable from the inside. Everything was cold gray stone and dank air with a scent that reminded him of the river. This wasn’t helped by the incessant drip of water echoing from somewhere down the corridor—no doubt a result of the recent downpour. Kane had been cold and damp for enough hours now that he barely felt it anymore. The discomfort had made it impossible to sleep, not that he wouldhave done so anyway. There was nowheretosleep. And besides, he was busy keeping his gaze trained on the door, waiting for Price to reappear.
“This is absurd,” muttered Jules, speaking for the first time in several hours as he emerged from what Kane could only assume had been a catatonic state. “How can they keep us here? Where is theevidencewe committed a crime?”
“Price will find evidence,” Kane said. His voice was hoarse, dispassionate. He knew Jules was stressed to the point of sickness about Zaria, and Kane might have felt similarly if he hadn’t been so good at shoving his feelings down. Worry and fear weren’t going to help anything. He always had a plan, did he not? Yet now, when it mattered most, he was coming up blank.
If he let himself think about Zaria, he wouldn’t be able to stop remembering her face in the moments before he’d left her at Mansion House. The way her lips had parted ever so slightly, as if there were something she wanted desperately to say but didn’t have the courage to. Kane should have demanded to hear what it was. He should have begged to know where her head was at. Most of all, though, he should have protected her. He’d beenright thereon the other side of the meeting room, utterly incognizant of the fact that she was in trouble.
How could he forgive himself for that?
