I hid when they ran past, then
came as fast as I could. Did you see anyone else?"
"Hattie. If she's still where we left her. And Harry. They did a job on him. We should check on
him."
They knew me, she wanted to say. They recognized me, and one of them I've seen before. They
were here for me. What they did to Cadge... it's my fault.
But she couldn't say any of that, no matter how true it felt. She'd sometimes gotten the feeling that he
didn't trust her, didn't want her there. If she told him the truth, he'd never let her stay with them.
"Let's have a look," Stevie said. "But quietly. No telling if they're really gone or if there might be
others. Nowhere's safe down here now, until we've had a proper look around to make sure it's clear."
Jazz had been avoiding looking at Cadge too closely, but when Stevie turned to jump down from the
platform, she did not follow. Almost robotic, she forced herself to look.
This time her anguish did not rip into her as it had before. Her eyes did not burn with tears. Instead, a
cold fury spread through her. Slowly, she went and knelt by the ruined boy. He looked so small, and his
wrecked face was gruesome to behold. But she did not allow herself to look away. Cadge deserved that
much, at least.
"Let's go," Stevie said, though there was kindness in his urging.
She kissed the first two fingertips of her right hand, then pressed the kiss to Cadge's bloodstained
cheek. Something had shifted in her, just in those few moments. Jazz had had enough of grief and enough
of fear. Enough of running.
"Enough of hiding," she whispered to the dead boy.
She stood and turned to Stevie, holding out her hand. "Give me your jacket."
He frowned but slipped it off and handed it to her with-out question. Jazz placed Cadge's arms over
his chest, then covered his corpse with the jacket. The others might need her, and Cadge was beyond
anyone's help now. Beyond fear. Beyond the painful memories of his father's disdain.
Of them all, he was the only one who was safe.
"What are we going to do with him?" she asked, looking down from the platform at Stevie. "I won't
just leave him here."
The older boy —almost a man, really, though his dark, narrow features still had a child's
aspect—cocked his head, studying her. "You've been down here for a few months, but you haven't learned
much. We take care of our own, Jazz. You should know that."
For a moment they indulged their anger by glaring at each other. Then Jazz dropped down to the
remnants of the train tracks. So close to Stevie, she had to look up at him and felt his nearness keenly. An
awkward tension rippled be-tween them. She thought he might take her into his arms to comfort her, and as
much as her mother had taught her never to rely on anyone —especially a bloke—the thought gave her a
feeling of warmth inside.
But Stevie did not embrace her.
Wrapping her arms around herself, shivering now with the cold and damp of the tunnel, Jazz turned
and started re-tracing her steps. When she reached the metal door to the stairs that she and Cadge had
descended earlier, it hung partway open.
"Hattie was supposed to wait in there," she said.
Stevie pulled the door wide, revealing nothing but dark-ness within. He swore, but Jazz didn't waste
time staring at the emptiness of the stairwell. She picked up her pace, jog-ging around the bend toward the
entrance to Deep Level Shelter 7-K. The chemical smell of the gas the bastards used still lingered in the
air. From behind her, she heard the sound of the metal door closing tight —they'd been taught to leave as
little trace of their presence as possible—and then Stevie's footfalls as he pursued her.
When she came in sight of the door to the United Kingdom's lair, she staggered to a halt. Hattie knelt
on the ground where the thugs had beaten Harry. For the first time since Jazz had met her, the girl was
without a hat. The cute little cap she'd been wearing fashionably askew had been left behind, and Hattie
hadn't noticed.
Harry lay beside her on the ground. Jazz couldn't see his face —Hattie blocked her view—but the
man wasn't moving. Not at all.
Stevie caught up to Jazz but didn't slow. "Harry, no!" he shouted as he rushed toward the old thief.
Hattie spun around, eyes wide with fear. When she saw them, the girl shook with relief.
Then Harry moved. He reached up one hand to pat Hattie's arm, a gesture of fatherly
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