Chapter 8 Kane
KANE
KANE HADN’T ALWAYS BEEN SOMEONE TO FEAR.
When Ward had first taken him in, he’d been swiftly alienated from the rest of the crew.
Unlike them, Kane hadn’t had to win Ward’s trust—it was simply given to him.
He looked like Ward’s deceased son, the older men whispered behind his back.
That was the only reason Ward liked him.
Everyone knew antagonizing Kane was dangerous, as it risked Ward’s wrath, so the younger boys took to bothering him at night.
They were upper-class youths, with fathers who collected rent from the families on Ward’s behalf. They thought themselves untouchable.
Or at least they did, until the night someone attacked Kane in the dark.
Upon seeing Kane’s bruised face the next day, Ward called a meeting and demanded the culprit come forward. When no one did, he whipped out his dark market gun and fired a streak of blazing magic through every window in the room.
“I’ll ask once more,” he’d bellowed, “and if I don’t get an answer, I start aiming for heads.”
When Bobby Martin took a shaky step forward, Ward shot him.
“You are always my priority,” he’d told Kane later that day. “They are my men, but you are my heart. They know that. And a man is always more dangerous once he learns how to aim for the heart.”
But if Kane had learned one thing about Ward’s crew, it was that they’d never respect a boy who didn’t fight his own battles. They were like wolves, constantly battling for their place next to the alpha.
So the next time someone took it upon themselves to try to dispose of Kane, he didn’t wait for Ward to pull the trigger.
Once he’d finished retching, he’d expected Ward to be angry. You weren’t supposed to kill your allies. To Kane’s surprise, though, Ward seemed almost delighted. His mouth tilted up in a cold smile, and his eyes took on that eerie gleam with which Kane had become so familiar.
On that day, the rest of the crew learned two very important things: One, that Ward would allow Kane to kill whomever he wished. And two, that Kane would do it.
He hadn’t retched since. Instead, he’d hollowed himself out, little by little, until all that remained were wry grins and bottomless self-hatred.
“I’ve refined the plan,” Kane told Fletcher the next morning.
He’d scarcely slept a wink for the second night in a row, though this time pain wasn’t the culprit. Blessedly, Ward’s punishment had long since worn off. No—he’d spent the rest of the evening in the sitting room reflecting on his conversation with Mendoza.
Zaria, his brain supplied. That was her given name.
It suited her, somehow, in the way it rolled swiftly off the tongue.
Kane could still feel the press of the gun against his chest, the heat of her dark gaze on his face.
Had he made a mistake, seeking out her help?
She was clearly hesitant to trust him. But she was the kind of girl who wanted—Kane could taste it simply by being in her presence.
And who could blame her? She lived in the slum with a pawnbroker and his son.
Her father had left her nothing save a reputation that, by the sounds of it, had quickly deteriorated.
And her work—Kane had taken a good look at it when she’d led him into her workshop. Though he knew little about the process of alchemology, he could discern when the product was well-made. Zaria Mendoza’s inventions were created with meticulous care. No wonder she was in such high demand.
“Are you drinking?” Fletcher said, stifling a yawn. “It’s barely past dawn.”
Kane drained the last of his whiskey. He’d long since forgotten about it, and it was unpleasantly warm. “I went to see Ward the day before yesterday.”
“Ah. I wondered why you seemed off.” Fletcher snatched the glass from Kane’s hand and took it over to the table, where he sank into one of the hard-backed chairs. “You didn’t tell him, did you? That we were too late to get the necklace?”
“He already knew.”
Fletcher’s face turned masklike. His hesitation was tangible as he asked, “Was he very angry?”
“Yes,” Kane said. “Yes, Ward was angry.” The words sounded dull even as they threatened to choke him.
“Are you okay?”
Rarely. “Of course.”
Fletcher dragged a hand over his chin. “You can tell me, you know. If he hurt you again.”
Kane’s face heated as his friend trailed off. More than once he remembered arriving home with blood on his shoes or bruises on his face. Ward preferred to hurt Kane by making him hurt others. But on the few occasions he’d lashed out himself, seemingly unable to control his rage, it had been…
Well. Kane’s memories were fogged by shock and time.
“I’m not hurt,” he said shortly. “Merely added to the collection.”
Fletcher knew what he meant without Kane’s having to roll up his sleeve. “That’s not right.”
“Almost makes you wanna leave this hell, doesn’t it?” Say yes. Please, God, say yes.
But Fletcher shook his head. “Stop dreaming about escaping when you know we never will. You’ll only torment yourself.”
You can escape, though, Kane thought. Soon.
He would make sure of it. Somehow this job, this place, hadn’t yet broken Fletcher’s spirit, and Kane was determined it never would.
After they delivered the necklace to Ward, Fletcher would be free to go, and Kane could suffer in peace.
Could spend his days bloodying those who owed Ward money and pushing families with small children out of their homes.
Perhaps when there was no one left to whom he could confess his guilt, he would cease feeling it at all.
It was something he hoped for. But it was also something he feared.
“Tell me what you came up with,” Fletcher said when Kane remained quiet. “I assume Ward’s demands haven’t changed. The Crystal Palace is huge, and once it opens, it’ll be difficult to steal from. There’ll be far too many witnesses, not to mention security measures.”
“I’m aware.” Kane grunted, wishing for his glass back even as his head pounded. “But I’ve found someone to help.”
“Who?”
“Do you remember the alchemologist Saville commissioned the revolver from? Zaria Mendoza?”
Fletcher’s brows came together. He crossed his ankles beneath the table, causing the hems of his trousers to rise up slightly. “I mean, obviously I never met her myself, but I remember. Everyone knows about her. You think she could help us?”
Kane rose, crossing the room to reach for the whiskey on the opposite counter. Fletcher beat him there, grabbing the liquor and tossing him a dismayed look.
“Again, it’s dawn. Answer the question.”
Kane sighed dramatically. He pulled his fingers through the dark mess of his hair. “I went to visit her last night.”
“And how did that go?”
Kane briefly recounted the evening, noting that Zaria had been on his mind since Ward refused to be of any help the day before.
He described the things she could make and what he’d seen in the cramped quarters of her workshop last night.
“She’s clever. Really clever. And if we’re going to pull this off, we’ll need magic. ”
Fletcher tugged at the lapel of his jacket but didn’t argue. “I never said she wasn’t clever. I saw that revolver.”
“You should’ve seen her demonstration. Trigger smooth as butter and a firing speed you wouldn’t believe. No kickback whatsoever.”
“Can she be trusted, though?”
“Anyone can be trusted if you’re making the best offer.”
“And what was yours?”
Kane huffed a short laugh. “I said that if she helped us get to the necklace, I’d give her the rest of the Waterhouse display. Told her it would go for thousands of pounds.”
Fletcher’s eyes widened, mouth thinning perceptibly.
“God above, Kane. Do you know how much harder that’s going to make things?
The theft of a necklace might not draw attention right away, but stealing the entire exhibit?
And just how do you figure we’ll be able to get out of the Crystal Palace without getting caught? ”
“Relax.”
“Relax? Kane, you’re an apt thief, but you’re not a god.”
“I never claimed to be,” Kane said, a resigned sort of calm settling in his bones. “I have no intention of stealing the Waterhouse jewels. I’m not mad.”
Fletcher shook his head, lips parted as understanding took hold. “You’re going to double-cross her.”
“It’s perfect, don’t you see? I promised her something I can’t possibly deliver until the task is already complete. That way there’s no backing out. We get the necklace, we escape, and she’s none the wiser until it’s far too late.”
“So it’s a con.”
“Of course it’s a con.” Kane would do what he could to keep Zaria happy while she worked with them, and then he’d cut her loose. What other option did he have? Ward had made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate further delays. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly turning moral.”
Fletcher’s mild gaze tracked Kane’s progress as he paced the length of the room. “Never. But if you ask me, a girl who deals on the dark market isn’t the kind of girl who will be easy to trick.”
“She may deal on the market, but she’s just a regular girl,” Kane insisted. “We’ve tricked far more dangerous people than her.”
There was a long pause before Fletcher said, “All right. If you think it’ll work. If you really think she can help.”
“I know she can.”
His reply came out harsher than he’d meant it to. Light slanted across the table, dulled by the grit-stained window, and the moment that followed was too quiet until Fletcher made a sound in the back of his throat. “Don’t, Kane.”
“Don’t what?”
“Make that face. It’s your self-hatred face.”
Kane wondered how his friend could tell the difference between that and his regular expression. “It is not.”
“This isn’t about Mendoza, is it? What’s the problem?”
No, it wasn’t about Zaria. She didn’t matter; she was merely another moving part for Kane to contend with.