Chapter 19 Zaria #2
They simply stood there for a moment, warring dark gazes locked, breaths coming fast. Zaria didn’t know how to respond. There didn’t seem to be anything left to say. The world felt like it was collapsing around her, and she wished the ground would yawn open to swallow her up.
“I’d better go meet Kane and Fletcher,” Zaria said finally, her voice toneless. Dead. “You don’t have to come. We both know you don’t want to anyway.”
Jules only kept staring at her, his face unreadable. How had everything changed so fast? How had a few unspoken words fractured their friendship with such swift efficiency?
“Yeah,” he said eventually. He sounded as empty as Zaria felt. “Yeah, I don’t want to. I’ll see you later.”
And then he was gone, the door slamming hollowly behind him.
A short while later, Zaria sat on the front stoop of the pawnshop, solanum lamp flickering beside her. Regret was a sickness in the pit of her belly. True to his word, Jules didn’t join her.
Kane Durante was the last person she wanted to see just now.
His presence confused her emotions, and she was already emotional enough.
Once this next week was over, she wanted to erase all thoughts of him, to wipe the slate clean.
For tonight, though, she only had to be civil and maintain his trust.
Someone in the area had started a fire—the air was acrid with the stench of burning rubbish, and a group of rowdy youths were mafficking at the end of the block.
Zaria couldn’t imagine what they could possibly be whooping about, and she found herself growing more irritable as the minutes pressed on, mustering a grim smile only when Lottie and her son passed by.
As dusk’s fading glow gave way to night, the unmistakable shapes of Kane and Fletcher rounded the corner. Zaria recognized them even in her periphery. Fletcher was taller than anyone else she knew, and Kane was… well, she swore she could sense his presence and hated herself for that fact.
She stood up as they neared. Fletcher was sporting a black frock coat and gray trousers while Kane wore a pair of suspenders over a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked exactly like a boy who might try to rob you.
Zaria could scarcely bear to look at him.
She had never deluded herself into thinking she was a particularly good person; after all, she supplied London’s most dangerous citizens with magical weapons and devices.
But she was beginning to realize that she wasn’t bad in the way Kane was bad.
At least she had a conscience, husk of a thing that it was.
“You look terrible,” Kane said by way of greeting.
“Thanks.” The single word was clipped.
Fletcher tsked. “You’re not supposed to say things like that to a lady.”
Zaria said nothing, though the prospect of being considered a lady was absurd. She returned Fletcher’s nod of acknowledgment, trying to ignore the tiny resurgence of guilt that followed. Trying to ignore the possibility that, if she had things her way, he might just die in six days’ time.
“Where’s your shadow?” Kane asked her, scanning the street.
“Excuse me?”
“That scowly creature you always seem to have around. Julian.”
Zaria frowned even as she was aware of the irony. “I suspect you’re thinking of your shadow. And if I recall correctly, his name is Fletcher.”
“Hey,” Fletcher objected.
They both ignored him.
“Jules,” Zaria said through the restriction in her throat, “is busy tonight.”
This evidently irked Kane, who shot a terrifying look at a dirty young man slinking by. He waited until the man was out of earshot before saying, “My plan takes him into account.”
“I never said he was going to be a part of this.”
“You didn’t have to. Aren’t you two a package deal?”
Zaria bit down hard on her bottom lip as Jules’s words came back to her. We’re supposed to be a team. “He’s busy, okay?”
Kane raised his brows, and Fletcher studied her with a too-discerning gaze, as if he could see the truth right there in her face.
“Fine,” Kane said. “We’ll do it without Master Zhao, then. Leave the lamp—I don’t want to be spotted. Let’s get going.”
“Going where? I thought we were meant to be discussing the plan for”—Zaria lowered her voice, glancing around to ensure they were indeed alone—“you know what.”
Kane removed his hat, smoothing back his hair. “If you’ll recall, you owe me a favor. I’m cashing it in.”
Incredulity lanced through Zaria. She knew what he was referring to, of course, but the fact that he had the gall to ask… “I would have thought this favor became void the moment Cecile bled out on the floor of the crypt.”
“I don’t think so,” Kane said. “There were no terms to our agreement apart from my request, to which you so kindly acquiesced.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Zaria snapped.
“Like what?”
“Like you think you’re so pompous and clever.”
Fletcher shifted his weight, visibly impatient.
If Kane noticed, he didn’t acknowledge his friend.
“I am clever. It’s not my fault you made a deal you’d later regret.
Now, I’d have preferred a fourth set of hands, but I suppose the three of us will have to do.
” Kane gave his hat a twirl, then set it atop his head once more. “Shall we?”
“We shall not,” Zaria said. “Taking part in one of your schemes is already more than enough.”
“Ah, now, don’t be like that. Helping me tonight is going to help you in the long run. You want those jewels, don’t you?” Kane’s expression was knowing. “Last I checked, the pawnshop was looking fairly drafty. And you did make a promise.”
Zaria could scarcely believe her ears. The absolute gall of Kane Durante to try to cash in a favor as though nothing had happened. As though Zaria hadn’t left the church that night with Cecile’s blood on her hands.
“Fine,” she said, forgetting about the necklace.
Forgetting she needed Kane to trust her.
“Fine. You can cash in your favor. I can play nice, if that’s what you want.
But if you think I won’t hate every moment of it, you’re sadly mistaken.
” She set her teeth. “I know you had something to do with Cecile’s death even if you won’t admit it. I hope it haunts you.”
Kane came to stand before her so they were face-to-face. His eyes looked green today, Zaria saw, then resented that she’d noticed. The heat of him was tangible as he leaned down, pausing with his lips inches from her ear. She stiffened.
“I can assure you,” he murmured on an exhale, “it won’t.”
Vile. He was vile. For a moment, Zaria couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to communicate her fury.
She wanted to say something that would hurt Kane Durante.
Wanted to fling words to puncture that unruffled demeanor of his.
But she couldn’t think of anything, and in any case, Fletcher quickly stepped between them.
“As much as I’d enjoy watching you two argue all night, I believe we have a plan to execute.” He cleared his throat with an air of pointed impatience. “Kane?”
Kane nodded and relaxed as if nothing had happened. “Of course. We’re headed to the Piccadilly area,” he said in response to Zaria’s unspoken question. “Just follow me.”
And so Zaria did, trailing behind the two of them as they skirted the edge of the slum, the air growing thick with the familiar reek of decay.
Chest-high brick walls separated the buildings, ropes functioning as clotheslines strung up between them.
Down one of the corners, a man who was clearly intoxicated dunked his head into a barrel of dirty water, only to be screamed at by a woman doing her washing.
Kane and Fletcher moved with dutiful briskness, Fletcher’s stride just the slightest bit longer.
Once again, Zaria considered what Kane had told her—how he was stealing the necklace in order to try to keep Fletcher alive.
She wondered if Fletcher had any inkling of that truth.
Wondered if, when he found out, he might grow to resent his friend.
It would be well deserved, she thought as she glared at Kane’s back. As if he felt the weight of her gaze, he glanced over his shoulder, hazel eyes guarded.
“You’d best keep up,” he barked, then turned around.
Bastard, she thought, pulling the collar of her jacket closer to her skin.
About twenty minutes later, Kane and Fletcher came to a halt.
They stood before a mansion-like building, surrounded by more greenery than was common in the inner city.
Nearly a dozen windows faced the road, the stonework arranged so as to embellish each one, and a balcony stretched above Zaria’s head.
The house took up nearly half the block: a ridiculous, extravagant display of wealth.
A cast-iron fence surrounded it on every side, but no gate sealed it off from the rest of the street.
At night, it was more evident than ever how different the slum was from wealthy areas like this; Piccadilly was quiet, almost unnervingly so.
Though people like Zaria couldn’t afford to pay much attention to etiquette, she was aware that this—walking around at such an hour with two young men—was decidedly improper.
“Who lives here?” she demanded, fearing the worst. Could this be Ward’s place?
“Nobody,” Kane said. “At least not right now.”
Fletcher had disappeared from his side, Zaria realized. A moment later he appeared again, dragging what looked to be two wooden pallets on wheels. She frowned. “What are those for?”
Kane ignored her, stalking up to the front door. He bent over the lock, his body shielding Zaria’s view of whatever he was doing, but she was able to guess. Sure enough, a moment later there was an audible click. Kane gave the door a shove, and it swung open.
“Nice,” Fletcher said, beginning to drag the wooden pallets up the front steps. The wheels clunked dully on each subsequent stair.
Zaria watched in blatant confusion. “Would one of you mind telling me what, exactly, we’re doing here?”
Kane stared at her from the doorway, eyes half-lidded. One side of his mouth tilted up, and there was more amusement in that look than Zaria would have liked.
“Haven’t you guessed?” he said. “We’re committing a crime, Miss Mendoza.”