Chapter 7 Zaria #2
Zaria scowled, lighting a candle in the corner of the room.
As it flared to life, she tried to imagine her workshop from Kane’s perspective.
It was crammed full of an odd assortment of pipes, valves, brackets, and tools.
Half-finished projects lined the shelves, along with chemicals in welded-shut containers.
Glass bottles large and small held a number of different powders and liquids.
She caught Kane eyeing them curiously and indicated that he should step away from a particularly sparkly one.
“Get to the point,” Zaria said, shivering as orange light licked up the side of Kane’s face to settle in the hollow of his cheek. “Jules will worry.”
His lips quirked in a way she supposed he thought was charming. “I take it that’s your unpleasant companion upstairs?”
“He’s not unpleasant.”
“Agree to disagree.” Kane extended a hand before Zaria could continue arguing. “Kane Durante, if we’re finally doing proper introductions. I work for Alexander Ward.”
Zaria felt the blood drain from her face. It took her a moment to find her voice, and when she did, the words came out strangled. “Alexander Ward? The Ward?”
“That’s the one.”
She knit her brow. “Wait. I thought you worked for Saville.”
“That was a short-term arrangement. Part of a job.”
Zaria had seen members of Ward’s crew before, and Kane didn’t quite fit the bill.
The men who always came to collect dues were middle-aged and broad shouldered, seeming to share one brain between them.
Kane, though, was different. He was young and lithe, for one, but also distinctly calculating.
He seemed accustomed to getting what he wanted and moved as if nothing ever cowed him.
“Prove it,” she said.
“Prove what, exactly?”
“That you work for Ward.”
Kane’s answering expression was withering as he reached up and yanked the collar of his jacket aside.
Without knowing why, Zaria flinched. For a heartbeat, she had the wild impression her reaction had hurt him; his face tightened perceptibly.
But perhaps it was only her imagination, for the tension was gone the next moment, as she saw what was inked on the pale skin of his neck.
“You’re marked by him,” Zaria said, a needless observation.
“Well spotted.”
The kingpin’s mark was a crude thing, stark against the striations of blue-tinged veins.
It was too harsh when compared to the delicate hollow of his throat, the angled juts of his cheekbones.
Kane Durante was a proper criminal. He was no different than the men Ward had sent to threaten and intimidate George.
Zaria was abruptly possessed by the desire to hit him.
She forced herself to take a breath, another question occurring to her. “Was it Ward who commissioned the magic revolver?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Those who made dark market purchases rarely used their real names, and though Zaria had no love for the kingpin—hated him even—she couldn’t deny the idea of Ward’s owning one of her creations was a thrill. “Why are you here, then?”
Kane scrutinized her workshop, taking in her unfinished commissions and the organized chaos around them.
When he finally answered, it was without meeting her eyes.
“A very good question. You see, I’ve been attempting to get my hands on something important.
An artifact that’s going to be displayed in the Great Exhibition.
Conning the owner of a shipping company—that’s who commissioned you—was supposed to ensure we could steal it before it went on display. Alas, it didn’t quite work out.”
“We?”
“My friend and I,” Kane clarified, finally turning to face her.
He adjusted the collar of his jacket as he did so, covering both the mark and the pale skin of his throat.
“Not Larkin. Someone else. Given the security detail and sheer number of people who will be attending the Exhibition, it’s going to be very, very difficult for us to steal this item without landing in prison. That’s where you come in.”
Zaria hardened her expression even as unease tightened her throat. “I don’t follow.”
“I come with a proposition. You see, an alchemologist could be very useful to me.”
There was a beat of silence as she chewed that over. “Do you have the money for a commission?”
“I’m not looking for a single commission.”
“Then what do you want?”
Kane caught his tongue between his teeth, considering her through a half-lidded gaze.
“I won’t be able to do this alone. And I think you and your clever little magic would be very helpful indeed.
” He held up a hand, stopping her protest before she could voice it.
“I’ve seen your work. It’s better than anything else available through the dark market at present.
You may not realize it, but you’ve built yourself quite the reputation.
Everyone wants your inventions, and yet you’re notorious for not delivering on commissions. ”
That sent an unpleasant jolt through her. Sweat began to bead at the back of her neck. “I—I’ve a reputation?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
Zaria blew out a breath, trying to process this. Here she’d thought herself of little import to the kingpin. “And now you’re asking me to help you steal from the Exhibition?”
“I suppose you could put it that way.”
“That’s mad.”
“Is it?”
“I’m not a thief! I’m… an inventor.” Perhaps it wasn’t exactly the right word, but it fit better than most.
Kane gave an impatient flick of his hand. “You wouldn’t have to do the actual stealing. But you can make magic, and I’ve seen what your creations are capable of.”
“Alchemology is about manipulating function, as I expect you well know. It’s about changing an existing mechanical process, an existing chemical reaction. It’s not as simple as you make it sound. The limitations are endless.”
“Right. But the limitations depend on the alchemologist, and you have fewer than most if my information is correct.”
“Why don’t you ask…” Zaria fought to recall the name of the alchemologist who lived just outside Devil’s Acre. “étienne?”
“He specializes in security devices, which is essentially the opposite of what I’m going for. Besides, he’s, like, ninety years old.”
The man was nowhere near that, but Zaria didn’t think it prudent to argue. She frowned. “So you want me to… what? Create items to help you do the job?”
“In a sense.” Kane’s voice turned impatient, and it caught her off guard.
She kept very still, watching as a muscle ticked in his jaw.
He had a wild, frantic energy about him she hadn’t noticed at first. “I would prefer if you worked with me as I assess the situation, and we can go from there. To start, are you familiar with those exploding devices that fill the room with thick smoke? The kind that’s impossible to see through? ”
“Aleuite explosives,” Zaria snapped, then gave her head a baffled shake. “You’re asking me to help you commit a crime by working for free?”
“Of course not,” Kane scoffed. “Nobody does anything for free. Not here.”
“Then what are you offering?”
His eyes glittered as he shook his head. “I don’t make offers. I let people tell me their price.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“I’m not sure that’s relevant.”
Zaria thrust a finger at the door, vaguely indicating the direction of the pawnshop. “Ward is threatening to kick us out of the building. His men—your colleagues—make our lives a living hell. Why would you possibly think I’d want to work for you?”
“With me,” Kane corrected her. “Hate Ward all you like. Lord knows it’s warranted. But don’t let the company I keep prevent you from getting what you want.”
She paused, uncertain. What could Kane possibly have that she wanted?
She didn’t know him, and anyone who worked for the kingpin could hardly be trustworthy.
But she saw the fine fabric of his jacket, considered the slick sheen of his boots.
Somehow, by whatever unsavory means, he had money.
His connection to Ward also afforded about as much protection as one could hope for in Devil’s Acre.
What if this was the opportunity Zaria had been waiting for?
“Come now,” Kane said, arching a brow. The expression was cocky on him. “Don’t tell me you’re unsure. You’re a dark market vendor. And yet you live”—he waved a dismissive hand—“here. Do I take it your business venture isn’t exactly going well?”
She felt her face heat. “What’s it to you?”
“My point is, if it’s money you want, I’m good for it.”
“I’m sure you are. You have the hard-earned quid of everyone who lives in this part of the slum, don’t you?”
“I have little to do with the collection of dues.”
“But you have something to do with it.”
Kane inclined his chin, mouth a cruel line. “And you’re too morally pure to deal with someone like me, is that it? The terror of Devil’s Acre. Empty on the inside.” Sarcasm was heavy in his voice. “Perhaps I am all those things. But it doesn’t quite dissuade you, does it?”
Zaria shook her head as if that might clear her spinning thoughts. “How much can you give me?”
“Tell you what—you help me get to the necklace, and I’ll take whatever else is in the display with it. The exhibit was sent by an Irish jeweler named George Waterhouse, and I guarantee every piece will fetch more in resale than you’ve seen in your entire life.”
Damn it all, but he made it so tempting.
Though Zaria tried not to look, his words painted a picture of hope.
She could settle her debts to George and make sure he had enough to pay Ward.
They wouldn’t lose the pawnshop, and Jules would escape the kingpin’s grasping claws.
They could finally leave London. They could buy a house in the country, and she would paint the door yellow herself.
But there was one more, rather important, element.
“How can you be sure we won’t get caught?”
Kane bared his teeth—grinned?—as he tilted his head toward the ceiling.
He took a step forward, then another, until the barrel of the revolver was pressed firmly against his chest. She had the urge to move away, but didn’t, gritting her teeth at the heat of his body so close to hers.
It was utterly inappropriate, the proximity at which they were standing.
To her horror, it sent her pulse leaping, and she tilted her chin up.
The candle on her worktable flickered, tendrils of fire reflecting in the depths of Kane’s eyes.
“I joined Ward’s crew when I was ten years old,” he said softly, running a finger over the curve of his neck. The tattoo there. “He taught me everything I know. I don’t get caught.”
Zaria’s nerves sparked to life at the note of danger in his words.
It shouldn’t have been enough to convince her—really, it shouldn’t have—but she couldn’t help being convinced nonetheless.
He was clever, this boy. He knew what she wanted, and had reeled her in so seamlessly that even being aware of it didn’t make a difference.
“Okay, Kane Durante,” she said, moving the gun away from his chest so as to offer her hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”