Chapter 40 Zaria
ZARIA
Why did you do that?” Kane demanded the moment they were alone. His expression was pained. “Why would you give Price the necklace?”
Zaria cut him a sidelong glance. The rain had finally ceased, but the sandy path leading away from Hyde Park was a mess of puddles and muck. “What was it you told the inspector before we left? Something about not underestimating…?”
She let the question trail off as comprehension lit Kane’s face. “You gave him the forgery.”
Unable to help her grin, Zaria fished the primateria source from the pocket of her skirts. It dangled between them, the carmot red as blood in the moonlight, before she shoved it away once more.
“How—?”
“I saw it the night we spoke on the balcony.” She grimaced, unsure how Kane would respond. Of course, spoke was hardly the word, and her cheeks heated as she continued. “The bottom drawer of your desk was open just enough for it to catch my attention. I grabbed it then.”
“Do I even want to know why?” he asked, arching a brow.
“I was going to use it to bargain with Price, in case we couldn’t find the Curator in time.”
For a beat, only the sound of their wet footsteps was audible. Then Kane laughed—really laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “You idiot. That’s what I had planned to do with it.”
“Oh,” Zaria said, a bit sheepish. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to regret the decision. Not if it meant she got to see Kane’s amusement as a result. He was unbearably handsome when he laughed, those sharp-hewn features softening into something more boyish, less guarded.
“You think Waterhouse and his exhibitors won’t notice it’s a fake?”
She shrugged. “I guess it depends on how closely they look. No one noticed the first time, did they? I only returned exactly what we stole.”
Kane shook his head, bemused. “Fair enough. I suppose time will tell.”
The rest of the walk to Moore & Sons was silent, neither of them appearing to know how to put all that had happened into words.
It seemed impossible that only yesterday they had been making their way to Mansion House, still clueless as to who the Curator might be.
Yesterday Zaria had been a daughter in search of her mother, that tiny light in her stoked by foolish hope.
She didn’t know what she was now. A murderer, she supposed. A thief. An alchemologist. A girl who would never truly know the love of a family, and who would have to learn to be okay with that.
It was strange, Zaria thought as they navigated Devil’s Acre: In those moments when she’d thought her mother might actually stand a chance of destroying the slums, she’d felt…
horrified. Sick to her stomach. Why, after so many years of wanting nothing more than to be free of this place, had she felt such an overwhelming urge to protect it?
“Zaria,” Kane said as they approached the converted factory, pulling her from her thoughts. “Before we go in there… Thank you. I mean, you didn’t have to do that.”
She stopped, turning to look at him. The wind smelled vaguely of the nearby river, ruffling his dark hair, and his eyes were serious in the moonlight.
He looked serious far too often lately, and she found herself contemplating how she might make him smile again.
“I assume you’re referring to the part where I saved you. ”
“Yes. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t.”
“You know,” Zaria said, “I’ve spent day after day telling myself that very thing—that I don’t need to save you.
That I can’t save you, and it’s not my job to try.
But this was one instance where I knew that wasn’t true.
This time, I could. And I wanted to.” She tilted her chin up, trapping his gaze.
“Fletcher told me you won’t let people care about you because you don’t think you deserve it.
You don’t believe you’re allowed to be happy. ”
“Fletcher has a big mouth,” Kane grumbled, his own drawing down at the corners. “God help him.”
“I think he’s right.”
Kane exhaled a long breath. When he spoke, the words were soft but rough-edged. “Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. I know you’re going to leave London, and I promised Jules I’d let you go. I promised I’d make it easy.”
“Kane—” she began, trying to find the words to say what she needed to, but then the door to Moore & Sons was flung open.
“Oh.” Fletcher lowered his gun, relief overtaking his face.
He wore only an undershirt, and his sandy hair looked as though he’d been incessantly running his fingers through it.
“Thank God. Holy shit.” He lunged across the threshold and pulled Kane into a hug tight enough to make him wince.
Zaria fought to keep from laughing. Whether Kane thought he was worthy of care or not, he always had Fletcher’s relentless devotion.
Fletcher pulled back. “Next time, don’t hover outside the door in the dead of night like thieves. I thought I was going to have to shoot someone.”
“That was clear,” Kane said, adjusting his coat and looking pointedly at the gun.
Zaria grimaced. “Sorry.”
Fletcher waved her apology away. “I’m just glad you’re both okay. Get the hell in here. What happened with Price? Was that woman really the Curator and Zaria’s mother? I thought—”
What he thought, however, Zaria didn’t hear. The moment she walked inside, Jules barreled into her, squeezing her so tightly she forgot to listen to anything but the beat of her own heart in her ears. The familiar feel of her friend seemed to make her muscles loosen for the first time in hours.
“You made it,” he was saying. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was? I had to trust Kane with saving your life.” He gave her a little shake. “Kane.”
Zaria laughed softly as Jules released her.
“Well, he came through. But then I saved him, so I suppose it all evens out.” As she spoke, she happened to glance over her friend’s shoulder into the sitting room, and frowned.
Kane and Fletcher were already hovering by one of the chairs, and curled up on it was—“Maisie? Why is she here?” Relief pulsed through her at the sight of the girl, tempered by bewilderment.
“Oh!” Jules was suddenly animated, though he lowered his voice. “Apparently she’s Fletcher’s sister. They were both in London all along, and neither of them had any idea the other was still alive. Mad, isn’t it?”
It was mad. Now that she studied Maisie more closely, however, Zaria could see Fletcher in the shape of her features.
She gave her head a shake, trying to absorb that information as she watched Kane say something to the girl, perching on the bench by the pianoforte.
Maisie laughed, evidently charmed, and Zaria repressed the urge to roll her eyes as another thought occurred to her.
“Oh my God,” she said, straightening. “ó Coileáin.”
Jules stared blankly at her. “What?”
“That’s Maisie’s last name. That’s Collins in Irish, isn’t it?”
“I’ve genuinely no idea,” he admitted. “I suppose that would make sense, though, wouldn’t it?”
“She’s going to be okay, then?”
Jules nodded. A lock of black hair fell across his vision, and he brushed it away with impatient fingers. “It’s going to take a while, but yes. I think she’ll have good care.”
It was strange, trying to reconcile the scowling girl who’d worked for Vaughan with the one currently smiling across the room. Still, Maisie had shown the type of person she was when it mattered, and part of Zaria was elated at the prospect of befriending another female alchemologist.
Or at least she was, until she realized she wouldn’t get the chance. She and Jules wouldn’t be around long enough for that.
Fletcher, catching Zaria’s eye, tried to beckon her farther inside. She gave a tight smile, holding up a finger, before turning back to Jules. “Listen—I got my father’s primateria source.” As quickly as she could, she summarized what Aurora’s plan had been, watching her friend’s eyes grow wider.
“So the coppers got her,” he said, “and you got the necklace. Price is off Kane’s back, at least for now. That’s good, right?”
“Yes.” Zaria sounded hesitant even to her own ears. “It’s good. It’s just that—”
“You don’t want to leave London yet.”
She stared at Jules in disbelief. “How did you know that?”
His smile was small, playfully condescending. “Come on, Zaria. I know you better than anyone else. You’re easy to read. Anyway, I’m fine with waiting a little longer.” He fidgeted with his collar. “Also, uh, Kane offered me a job.”
“A job?” Zaria repeated the word as though it were absurd. She didn’t quite understand what he was getting at. “What do you mean?”
“Well, obviously the pawnshop is gone, and since I know quite a bit about alchemology now…” Jules shrugged.
“He said the kingpin could use an appraiser of sorts. Someone who knows the value not only of dark market items but of the materials, too. I expect that way he’ll be able to deal with contentious matters more fairly. ”
“You want to work with Kane?”
He shrugged again, this time a bit defensively.
“It’s within my skill set, and… well, what would I do if we moved elsewhere?
Get a job in a factory? I know you’ve always hated living in Devil’s Acre, but I also know that you care about it.
The people there. And now you’ve found even more people to care about.
” Jules inclined his chin in the direction of the sitting room.
“It’s okay to change your mind, you know. ”
“But leaving is what we’ve always wanted,” said Zaria helplessly. “I shouldn’t change my mind. We had this dream together.”
“No.” He gave a firm shake of his head. “That’s never what our dream was. Not really. After all, we never had anywhere specific we wanted to go.”
“I don’t—”
“Zaria, the dream wasn’t about escaping London. It wasn’t even about escaping Devil’s Acre. It’s always been about escaping the helplessness. The sense that our fates were already decided for us. Mine was a lifetime spent running a pawnshop I never wanted to inherit, and yours was—well—”
“Dying?” Zaria finished sardonically.
“I suppose.” Jules made a face. “Do you see what I mean, though? We were never looking for a place. We were always just looking for control. Happiness. Accomplishment.” He knocked his shoulder against hers. “If you want to spend a little longer trying to find that here, then I’m in.”
Zaria blinked rapidly, trying to keep her emotions in check. Because Jules was right, wasn’t he? That was all they’d ever wanted—the sense that they were in control of their own lives. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“But you wanted to go someplace you could see the sun. Someplace with a yellow front door.”
He gave a single surprised chuckle. “I can’t believe you remember that. It was never about the damned door, Zaria. Do you remember what else I said? That you see it from a distance and know you’re home. You’re my home, Zaria. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”
“So I’m the door?” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“I always forget how bad you are with metaphors.” Jules rolled his eyes good-naturedly, then sobered. “Are you going to keep the primateria source?”
That very question had been lurking in the back of Zaria’s mind since leaving the Crystal Palace. Having that kind of power was obviously a burden, as Itzal’s actions proved. On the other hand, however, it was her father’s. Didn’t he owe her that much?
“Yes,” she decided. “Yes, I’m keeping it. I’m going to finish every last commission my father left me, then maybe take on more of my own. Or I might just experiment.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I’ll see what else I can learn about alchemology and its limitations, now that I don’t have quite so many.”
Jules bobbed his head slowly. “You’ll be careful with it?”
Zaria slipped her still-damp coat and boots off. “Please, Jules,” she said. “When am I not careful?”
“Surely that can’t be a serious question,” he muttered, catching up to her easily as she ventured farther into the house.
Kane glanced up at their approach, one side of his mouth lifting, and Zaria’s pulse quickened in response. Before she went to join him, however, she knocked her shoulder against her friend’s. “Jules?”
“Yes, Zaria?”
“You’re my home, too.”