Epilogue Kane
EPILOGUE
KANE
ONE MONTH LATER
The sunset was visible through the window of the office that had once belonged to Alexander Ward.
Kane stood in the center of the room, clutching a tiny skull from the curiosities cabinet he was nearly finished packing up.
The room was empty enough that it could have been anyone’s.
It was, Kane thought, disconcertingly nondescript.
He could almost forget the image of Ward sitting behind the desk—the surface of which was now swept clean—his long fingers clasped and his fox-like eyes boring into Kane’s very core.
Sometimes, when the world was too quiet, Kane found it difficult to process everything that had changed. In those moments, he didn’t feel like a leader. He felt like the boy who had watched his parents die in front of him, icy horror in his bones and a scream lodged in his throat.
“Kane.”
He turned, already knowing who he would see. The tension lifted from his shoulders. “Zaria.”
She was framed by the doorway, her hair unbound, her gaze shrewd. It was funny—the way she, too, seemed to see right through him. When it came to her, however, Kane found he didn’t mind so much.
Zaria scanned the empty office, her attention finally settling on the skull he still clutched in stiff fingers. Comprehension drew her brows together. “You miss him.”
“No.” Kane’s reply was unconvincing, even to his own ears. He clenched his teeth, turning away from the desk to fully face her. “Maybe sometimes. Not because I loved him, but because there were so many things he should’ve answered for.”
Ward’s death had been quick. Easy. The violent culmination of Kane’s unhinged fury.
It bothered him, though, that the former kingpin’s last sight had been…
that. In those moments, Kane had been precisely the creature Ward molded him into.
He would never be able to show his adoptive father that he could be better.
That he could do better, despite everything the world had dealt him.
The worst version of Kane was immortalized in Ward’s final seconds.
Zaria leaned against the doorframe, tilting her head thoughtfully to the side. “I would say he’d be proud of you, but I think we both know that’s not true.”
“I wouldn’t want him to be,” Kane said fiercely.
He toed one of several nearby crates—the contents of the office were the last items they needed to move to the warehouse still in Ward’s name.
Then, finally, they could be gone from this place and see it returned to its rightful owner.
It would take time to convert more of the abandoned factories by Moore & Sons, but in the meantime, anyone who didn’t have a place to stay could use the barracks.
Or not. It wasn’t Kane’s problem anymore.
Zaria sidled farther into the room, coming to stand before him.
She took his wrist in warm hands and gently pried the tiny skull from his fingers.
Without tearing her eyes from his, she placed it in the nearest crate.
“Jules said he had a good time, you know, when the two of you went to call upon that gentleman in Seven Dials.”
Kane arched a brow. With the so-called Mister Vaughan’s disappearance, he’d been visiting the neighboring slum more often, sometimes with his stoic adviser in tow. “Jules did not say that.”
“Well,” Zaria amended, “he said it wasn’t as terrible as he’d expected.”
That sounded more realistic. “You can tell Jules I didn’t think it was terrible, either. And that I’ve gotten us matching outfits for the next time.”
“You can tell him that yourself. Make sure I’m there to watch.”
Kane couldn’t help it—he grinned. Before he could respond, however, a knock from the front door carried up the stairwell. He and Zaria exchanged a look. They were expecting Fletcher, but he wouldn’t have bothered knocking.
“You go on,” Zaria said. “I’ll finish up here.”
“Thanks.” Kane gave her arm a light squeeze, taking the not-so-subtle reprieve she was offering. She merely shooed him away as the knock came again.
Unhurried, Kane descended the stairs to the manor’s entrance and wrenched the door open. He was anticipating a crew member who’d forgotten something, perhaps, and reeled back when he was met with an unfamiliar face. “What do you want?”
The man before him was obviously wealthy, wearing a tailored black coat and giving off an air of impatience.
His presence was unexpected but not wholly surprising.
The range of clientele had become far wider as of late: One good thing about the Exhibition, Kane supposed, was that it had helped popularize rail travel.
Short trips were more affordable and commonplace but also led to Kane dealing with people about whom he had no prior knowledge.
That, and the unexplained arrival—and subsequent disappearance—of four strange devices at the Crystal Palace had the rumor mill circulating.
Although both Aurora Vaughan and Evan Pritchard had been captured in association with the crimes, police kept the details quiet.
Still, many people arrived at the conclusion that magic had indeed been involved, which had led to a sharp increase in demand for curiosities by rich collectors.
Who didn’t want a so-called magical item to display for their friends and colleagues?
The man peered past Kane into the manor, a slight frown between his bushy dark brows. “I was told this is the place to meet with the dark market kingpin.” His voice had the slight lilt of a northern toff.
“It used to be” was Kane’s unhelpful reply. “Not anymore.”
The man’s gaze sharpened behind his spectacles. “Are you the kingpin?”
“Only of Devil’s Acre.” And not in the way he’d once been.
Kane was still working on some of the crew members, but they had expanded their focus to assisting people in the slum who were just trying to make ends meet.
His crew still collected dues from businesses in the area, of course, but Kane made sure it was worth their money by keeping the coppers the hell away.
Most importantly, the dark market was more lucrative than ever before. His coffers were evidence of that.
“I was under the impression that the kingpin of Devil’s Acre and the dark market kingpin were one and the same,” the man said.
Kane stuck his fingers in his coat pockets, rocked back on his heels, and winked. “They used to be.”
“Listen,” the man snapped in a tone suggesting he was accustomed to giving orders. “I’ve come a rather long way, and I have a rather important request to make.”
“How much can you pay?”
“Enough.”
As Kane considered that, he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him.
He turned to see Zaria set down the crate she’d been carrying.
She straightened, digesting the sight of Kane and the unfamiliar man on the threshold.
A ray of sunlight from the open door caught the gold filigree of her necklace as she said, “Who’s this? ”
Kane’s grin widened. “He’s demanding to see the kingpin of the dark market.”
Zaria drew up beside him, her fingertips brushing the back of his arm before she extended her own to the stranger. Her smile was coy. “At your service.”