Chapter 21 Kane
KANE
KANE STARED AT THE PIANOFORTE.
It was beautiful, all sleek lines without a chipped key in sight.
Far lovelier than the one he and Fletcher had back home.
Not that it made a difference: He hadn’t touched the instrument.
It simply sat there collecting dust that he every so often swept away, a reminder of the place he’d lived before Ward.
His life, Kane was coming to realize, was separated into befores and afters.
Before was sitting on a bench beside his mother, legs not quite long enough to touch the floor, copying the deft placement of her fingers as she taught him the difference between sound and music.
It was the constant skitter of Baroque pieces in the background—his mother’s favorites when she was in a good mood—or the steady lull of a nocturne when she was feeling particularly reflective.
Before was Kane learning to replace her music with his own.
It was the way his racing fingers slowed the racing in his head, and the pride he felt whenever he added something new to his repertoire.
After was an imperfect cadence, discordant in its inconclusiveness.
After was silence.
Kane traced a finger over the keys the way he so often did at home. Do you play? Zaria had asked him the other day.
No, he’d said.
No. Don’t touch it.
Having the instrument was a comfort. Something that had always been around no matter where he was or what was happening. But Kane did not play—not anymore. He couldn’t bear the sound. Music held far too much feeling, and he didn’t want to feel anything at all.
He turned away, an unbearable restlessness creeping through him as he stooped to pick up a sheet in the corner of the room.
His hands fisted in the fabric as he unfolded it, then cast it over the pianoforte like a funeral shroud.
The material took longer to settle than he would have anticipated.
When it did, he stood there a moment, the lone living thing in a hollow space devoid of light and sound.
Ward rarely used this warehouse. He’d more or less allowed Kane to do what he wished with the place, though this was the first time in ages that he’d come here.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, loped back over to the door, and hurled it open to find Zaria staring directly at him.
“Christ,” Kane said, sidestepping her as he reached for his pipe. He surveyed her over the end of it as he drew up beside Fletcher, who was leaning against the side of the building. “Were you missing me?”
The look Zaria shot him was pure derision. It made Kane feel more tired than he already was. “What took you so long?”
“I took precisely as much time as I needed.”
The deed had gone better than anticipated, especially given that Julian Zhao hadn’t deigned to join them.
Not that Kane had expected any issues. The late widow’s home they’d stolen the pianoforte from had been empty for nearly a week.
Her eldest son had an estate in the country, Kane knew, and hadn’t yet arrived to deal with all his newly inherited belongings.
Hell, he probably wouldn’t even notice anything was missing.
Zaria exhaled through her nose. “Have I fulfilled my favor to you, then?”
Kane pretended to think about it, rocking the pipe between his middle and index fingers. “I suppose.”
“I can’t believe that was what you decided to ask for.”
“Oh, I knew what I was going to ask for the moment we made our deal,” Kane said, and it was the truth—the success of the heist relied on the instrument. “It’s always best to plan ahead.”
He saw Zaria’s shock betray her for a moment, but she clamped down on it almost immediately, refusing to meet his gaze. “Unbelievable. Can you escort me home now, then?”
Fletcher gave a slow shake of his head, amusement in the shape of his mouth. He unfolded his large frame and pushed away from the wall. “We still hoped to start going over the plan for the Exhibition’s opening.”
Zaria shifted her weight, glancing into the distance, then back again. The feeble moonlight caught her hair, gilding the strands.
“What?” Kane couldn’t help saying. “Do you have someplace else to be?”
“I assumed the planning session was canceled given the theft.” She hissed the last word, though there was no one around to hear them.
“We don’t have a lot of time to pull this off,” Fletcher pointed out.
Kane wasn’t inclined to be quite so amicable. “A deal’s a deal,” he told Zaria. “And I want to ensure this one goes smoothly. So, if you have other plans, cancel them. If you don’t have time, make it. It’s not up for negotiation.”
This time Zaria did meet his gaze, and Kane immediately wished she hadn’t. Her eyes were dark in the dim light. Dark and furious and bottomless. Looking into them was like being thrust headfirst into black waters and forgetting which way was up.
“Don’t speak to me like that,” she snarled, rounding on him.
The air seemed to thrum with the force of her anger, and perhaps it should have made Kane contrite, but…
he liked it. He felt alive even as he forgot how to breathe, and he thought that if this was what it was to drown, he would let the water fill his throat willingly.
Anger, Kane was beginning to think, was better than nothing.
Better than the horrible emptiness that clung to his insides and lashed through his bloodstream.
He liked to be near Zaria in the same way that he sometimes craved danger.
He liked the taut curve of her jaw, the harsh line of her mouth, the twin juts of her brows as she stared him down in a way that would certainly make a lesser man cower.
Hate me, Kane might have told her, had honesty been a feasible thing just then. Hate me, so that we both know what it is to feel something.
But he was not an honest man. He was not even a kind man.
“I’ll speak however I like, Miss Mendoza,” Kane said. His voice was deathly quiet, balancing on a knifepoint. “This is my operation. Right now, you work for me, or you can forget the second half of our deal. Do not test my temper.”
He had known it would rile her up—had suspected he might suddenly be fielding curses—but Kane didn’t much care. He didn’t care that Fletcher had just uttered an audible sigh or that the street abruptly felt far too small for the both of them.
“Kane—” began Fletcher’s attempt at interference, but Kane held up a hand, effectively cutting him off. He turned back to Zaria. Daring her to say what she so clearly longed to.
Something crystallized in her gaze, and she took a step closer, chin tilting up to look him in the eye. For a heartbeat, Kane wondered if she might hit him. The line of her mouth thinned further, and the edge to her voice could have cut glass when she said simply, “You’re unbearable.”
Yes, Kane thought. Yes, I suppose I am.
He was the first to look away, and it felt infuriatingly like surrender.
Zaria didn’t speak all the way back to Moore & Sons.
She walked sullenly behind them, her fury a tangible thing that prickled the back of Kane’s neck.
He ignored it. The buildings on either side of them narrowed as they passed close to the river, then away again as they weaved through the alleyways.
Shadows stretched long and ominous across the road.
Kane could feel Fletcher trying to catch his eye, probably to shoot an exasperated look his way, so Kane pretended not to notice.
The night seemed to have grown colder by the time they arrived. Zaria’s shoulders were hunched as she shoved past Fletcher, not bothering to thank him for holding the door. Kane followed behind her, lifting a brow as Fletcher’s gaze finally met his.
Relax, Fletcher mouthed, and Kane only grimaced.
“Take a seat,” he said to the room at large, bringing a candle to life and setting it in the center of the dining table.
He lit two more as Zaria slunk stiff-backed into one of the chairs, eyes never wavering from his face.
It was difficult not to stare her down as he said, “Okay. Let’s take it from our point of entry. ”
Zaria gave a single nod, and he waited a moment to see whether she would interrupt. When she didn’t say a word, Kane turned to Fletcher.
“Right,” Fletcher said. “Once again, I’ll be acting as security inside the Crystal Palace. Everything has been ironed out with Sergeant Price. Myself and his other trusted officers will be positioned closest to the Waterhouse exhibit.”
“And you’re just going to take this sergeant’s word for it?” Zaria asked. “What makes you think those other coppers won’t arrest us the moment we show up?”
It was a reasonable question, but it irked Kane nonetheless. He held up a hand, signaling that he was going to intervene. “Trust is a strong word. But if Price betrays me, it’s mutually assured destruction. So, do I trust him insofar as to help us pull this off? Yes. It’s in his best interests.”
He watched Zaria’s face as she tried and failed to come up with a way to counter that. In the end, she only said, “Fine.”
That was good enough for Kane.
“Kane?” Fletcher said. “Tell Zaria what we need from her.”
Kane could see how the word need sent Zaria’s hackles up, but she didn’t object and waited for him to speak.
“You already know I want the aleuite explosives,” he began.
“Powerful ones, since I’m going to require a good few minutes of uninterrupted time to get that lock open.
Like I said at the private viewing of the Exhibition, I also need you to create a device that’ll take out one of the glass panels since there’s no exit nearby.
I know there’s a chemical that can do that—what’s it called? Hydrate acid?”
“Hydrofluoric acid,” Zaria said dryly. “Once it’s bonded with soulsteel, you can manipulate the reaction to some extent as long as you understand the science. But remind me again why you can’t just smash the glass?”