obliged to take a nibble. She chose a caramel
shortbread and it was gorgeous, obvi-ously homemade, rich, and sweet. She smiled in appreciation.
"So he was one of the guys who murdered your mum?" Stevie asked.
Jazz stopped chewing and felt instantly queasy. She lowered the cake and closed her eyes, nodding
slowly. "How did you know?"
"Pretty obvious," Stevie said. "Your reaction. You were terrified."
"He was there," she said. "The day I went home and found Mum... He was there. In my room,
watching for me."
Stevie frowned and drank more coffee. He looked around the cafe, up at the concert posters on the
walls, down at the scratched table —anywhere but at her.
"And now we're going to do his house," she said.
"We are?" He looked at her, the expression of surprise honest and open.
"Bloody right we are!"
"But... you said they were still looking for you. You were scared to come up here for the first few
weeks."
Jazz nodded. Yes, he's right. I was scared and I still am. But there's something more here,
something far beyond what I know.
"And now you want to go and do his house?"
"Harry chose the place," Jazz said. "It's got something to do with Mayor Bromwell, and he's the one
responsible for Cadge, so there's no way I'll pull out. Not now. And as Harry keeps telling me, without me it
can't be done."
Stevie smiled at that, nodded. "He's not far wrong. You're fucking good."
At Stevie's words, Jazz felt a flush of pride —and the heat of something else entirely. Without
making it too obvious, she picked up another cake and slid sideways as she started eating, leaning against
Stevie. He did not move away. She took that as a good sign.
"Are we going to tell Harry?" Stevie asked.
"No. No need for him to know." And I want to get inside, she thought. She was confused, she
couldn't find the big pic-ture, but there was something behind and beyond all this that connected things.
Don't believe in chance, her mum had always told her. Don't trust in coincidences. They do exist, but
they're best held in suspicion. Things happen for a reason, life has a pattern, and sometimes that
pattern is cruel. So watch out, and see meaning in everything.
"What if you're caught?" Stevie asked. His concern was very real, even though he managed to
maintain his cool ex-pression, and Jazz felt so grateful for that. Cadge's death had done something to all of
them; it wasn't weakness but a closer tie among the kingdom members that put more emphasis on danger.
With one of their number killed, everyone else had realized how fraught their existence really was.
"I won't be," Jazz said. "I can do this."
Stevie nodded, frowning.
"Don't tell Harry," she said. "Please. Afterward I'll tell him, talk to him. Ask him what's going on. But
if you tell him now, he'll stop what's happening, and..."
"And there's stuff you need to know," Stevie said.
Jazz nodded. Yeah, she thought. And you understand that, don't you?
"You ever think about later?" she asked.
"Later?"
"The future, I mean. I suppose it's all right for Harry. He's on in years, isn't he? But d'you really think
you'll spend your whole life underground?"
Stevie frowned at that, but then his expression softened. "We're not all hiding from killers, Jazz, but
we're all hiding from something. Not sayin' I haven't thought about it, though. I owe Harry a lot. For now
that's enough. But I don't think I'll be down there forever, no. Got to make a life, haven't I?"
As though realizing he'd said too much, his gaze sharp-ened and he studied her. "You won't say
nothing, will you?"
Jazz shook her head. "Course not."
He hesitated a moment, and she had the feeling he was weighing whether or not he could really trust
her. Then he nodded, smiling at her in a way that gave her a pleasant squirm.
They finished their coffee and cakes without saying any-thing more, and when they left, nobody
turned to watch them go. Outside, they split up, both of them heading back below-ground. Stevie left Jazz
and headed for an alternate station. He seemed reticent about letting her travel on her own, but she nodded
and smiled and said that she'd be fine. In truth she'd have preferred if he had traveled with her, but Harry
would have questions about that, because he drummed cau-tion into them all the time. And right now she
didn't want Harry suspicious.
Besides, he was still on the mend. She didn't want him to worry. The mayor's men had done a good
job on him, broken several ribs and cracked his wrist. For a day or two after the attack, he'd been coughing
up blood, though only
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