it seemed mad to think
anyone could keep such a contraption from crashing.
"You see something," Cadge said.
Jazz had almost forgotten him. She blinked and turned to focus on his face. "What?"
"I saw your eyes. You see them, don't you? The things I'm hearing. You see somethin'. More than
just glimpses, like you said before."
For a moment she did not breathe. Never trust anyone, that had been her mother's advice. Her rule.
But her mother had never had to create a brand-new life in a brand-new world, and her mother had never
met Cadge.
"Sometimes," she said.
Cadge gazed at her with open admiration. "Wish I could see them. Did you smell it too? The fruit?"
Jazz nodded. "Made me hungry."
"I've only got apples and some pears in the bag. We'll go to the market later this week, get ourselves
something juicy —oranges or kiwis."
"A pineapple," Jazz said.
Cadge laughed. "You nick a pineapple, where d'you sup-pose you'll hide it while you're slipping off,
eh? Bit prickly, I'd think."
Jazz gave him an arch look but said nothing. They shared a quiet laugh and then started along the
tunnel again. Around them, the ghosts of London were fading, and Jazz was saddened by their departure.
She shifted the big bag from one shoulder to the other.
"Let's have that, then," Cadge said, gesturing toward the bag. "I'll carry it for a bit."
"I've got it, thanks."
He blinked and looked away, and she realized she'd been too sharp with him. Jazz had bristled at the
suggestion that she might not be strong enough to do her part, but Cadge had just been making a clumsy
attempt at chivalry.
"You've got enough to carry," she added.
Cadge brightened a little. "Yeah. We'll both be glad to set these down. Mr. F.'s gonna love this torch
too."
"We should've nicked some batteries for it," Jazz said.
"Nah. We've got loads, all sizes."
They fell silent then, trudging onward. Cadge led her up onto a platform that had been abandoned for
decades, its walls covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, floor scuffed with years of boot and shoe
marks left behind by the United Kingdom and perhaps other subterranean travelers. They eschewed the
chained gate blocking the way up and instead followed a corridor that led to yet another train track.
Jazz had been astonished when, after just a couple of weeks, she had come to know her way around
the labyrinth of abandoned stations, tunnels, and bomb shelters beneath the city.
Across the tracks was a smaller platform, part of the same long-closed station. A rusted metal door
set into the far wall of the platform drew her attention. It had a heavy handle that had been left in a raised
position, the door open just a few inches for forgotten ages.
As Jazz and Cadge dropped down to the tracks, she could not stop staring at that door.
Cadge stopped to glance back at her. "Jazz?"
It felt as though someone had set a hook in her chest and was drawing her in. She took a step and
then paused, fight-ing the urge. Whatever called to her from behind that rusted metal door, it frightened her
in a way the ghosts of old London no longer could.
"What's through there?" she asked without looking at Cadge.
"Through where?"
She pointed to the door.
"Dunno. Stairs, I guess. Some kind of emergency exit. Could just be storage. Or toilets. Never know
what you're gonna find behind a door down here."
Cadge walked back to Jazz and took her hand. That inti-mate contact allowed her to drag her gaze
from the rusty door. She smiled at him halfheartedly, gave his fingers a squeeze, and then pulled her hand
away. The boy was sweet, but he was just a boy. If she'd let her hand linger in his, he might get ideas.
"Want to go over there? Have a look?" he asked.
Jazz blinked. The temptation to say yes nearly over-whelmed her.
"No. No, let's go," she said.
Cadge waited for her this time. When she started walk-ing again, he turned off his torch and stored it
in his duffel bag. Drains and grates high above them let daylight filter down, along with the sounds of the
cars, trucks, and buses growling by above. Somewhere close, a train roared through the Underground. Dust
sifted down from the ceiling and a breeze blew along the tunnel. This track might be closed, but others
nearby remained in regular use.
A hundred yards farther on, they arrived at the door that led into a staircase down to the sublevel.
The circular stairs were quiet as a tomb, the rock closing in on all sides. Jazz shuddered, feeling a
claustrophobia unusual for her.
"What's that?" Cadge said.
Jazz listened, thinking at first that perhaps