as much
as it should: he was content. Perhaps more content than any adult she had ever known. Then he walked on,
whispering something to Cadge. The boy turned and looked back at Jazz, and though she tried she could not
give him a comforting smile.
Because I'm being watched!
As soon as Harry and Cadge disappeared through a blank doorway, Jazz scanned the tunnel around
her, probing every nook and cranny with the powerful beam of her torch, chasing shadows away to reveal
the truth of what hid be-neath.
She turned the torch off to see how much more she could see.
The tall, elegant man she had seen during her first hal-lucination stood at the end of the short tunnel.
He was look-ing just to her left, an enigmatic smile on his lips, tuxedo well fitted, and tall hat touching the
ceiling without effect. His white-gloved hands rose before him, fingers flexing as if preparing for some
infinitely intricate trick.
No voices, no crowds, no rowdy catcalls from a ghostly audience... This man was alone. He made
no sound. She could smell a vague hint of lotion, something sweeter and more pleasant than the usual
underground smell of dust and age. His expression was the fixed, tired smile of a per-forming magician, but
as his hands closed together, his eyes shifted slightly until they were staring directly into her own.
Jazz shivered, nerve endings jangling as though a breath of freezing air had wafted through the
tunnel.
The ghostly man pressed his hands together, and when he pulled them apart a chain of sparks hung
between them. It swung low and heavy, ghost fire given weight, and he seemed to be trying to
communicate something to her with his eyes.
And then he spoke.
All in the touch, the ghost said.
He brought his hands close together again, and just be-fore they met, Jazz saw the sparkles darken,
and within them a dozen small forms danced and squirmed. All in the touch.
Jazz ran. She reached the shelter quickly, went to Harry, and hugged him, comforted only a little
when he hugged her back. And an idea pounded at her, one that she could never, ever say.
How do I hide from ghosts?
Chapter Eight
the appointed hour
"Why don't we ever nick anything from the Tube? Seems like easy pickings down here, with people
waiting for the train, minding their business."
Cadge's face grew serious, his wide eyes narrowed with an expression that seemed almost an
imitation of wisdom, like a small boy mimicking his father.
"Harry hasn't given you that speech yet? Surprised at that," he said. "Can't ever nick from the station
platforms. They're our doors and windows, like. Hard enough for us to come and go without drawin' too
much attention. We start snatching bags and wallets down here and too many people will remember our
faces, be on the lookout. An easy place for the law to keep watch for us too. That's why we gotta go
topside."
"Right. Of course," Jazz said. "I should've realized. Sort of a stupid question."
Cadge shook his head sagely. "Nah. Not stupid. You've only been at this a couple of months. You've
got good 'ands and all. Scary good. Stevie said Harry's got big plans for you —"
"What plans?"
Her face flushed, and she couldn't decide if the reaction came from knowing Harry was impressed
with her or that Stevie had been talking about her. He kept to himself so of-ten, but sometimes she caught
him watching her with a kind of veiled curiosity that made her breath catch in her throat. He almost never
came over to talk to her but seemed always to be hovering nearby, as though he couldn't decide if he was
protector or predator.
"Plans," Cadge repeated, as though that was an answer. "Mr. F.'s got grand ambitions for you. For all
of us, I guess. You've inspired him, like. Says we ought to move up in the world, now we've some of us got
good enough to do more than nick a purse here and there."
Jazz wasn't sure how she felt about that. It sounded like Harry's grand ambitions —as Cadge called
them—-would mean engaging more with the upside world, and that didn't sit well.
"Anyway, what I was saying is, there ain't any stupid questions, yeah? Down here's got a whole
different set of rules from up above. And nobody trained you to think like a thief, so you got to learn."
Jazz uttered a soft laugh as they reached the bottom of the steps and strolled into the Tube station.
Over her shoul-der she carried a heavy bag she'd nicked from a tourist foolish enough to put it down while
paying for a newspaper. Inside it were two wallets she'd also filched, as well
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