Mind the Gap

"Christ!" Harry said.

She turned and reached out a beckoning hand. "Come on," she whispered. "We've got to go out the back. It's got to be them."

Harry stared at the door. "I'm not sure about that."

He set his glass down on the table and went to the door. Jazz wanted to shout at him, ask him what the hell he was doing, but making noise didn't seem like the smartest idea. She took a step toward the rear exit. Even if they came through, she could still make it out as long as she reached that back door and locked it from the other side.

She held her breath.

A knock came on the door, slow and methodical. Jazz flinched. She hadn't heard footsteps or voices, just that one shot and now the knocking. Harry stared at the door a sec-ond, but then he turned the handle and swung it wide open.

A figure stood framed in the doorway. For a moment all she could make out were the eyes, and they were familiar enough to make her shiver. The magician, she thought. But then she saw that he had no hat, and the clothes were differ-ent. This was no Victorian ghost but a flesh-and-blood man, and when he took a step into the light she blinked in sur-prise. How could she have mistaken Terence for a ghost?

Stevie Sharpe followed behind him, pressing a gun against Terence's back. Stevie's lower lip had been split and blood trickled down his chin. He wiped it away with his free hand, keeping the gun on Terence. "Fuck's sake, Stevie!"

But he didn't even glance at her, his face grim and sullen.

"Hello, Jazz," Terence said, smiling at her. "I'm sorry to say it, but I suspect your breakfast has gotten cold."

"But you've got. the gear!" she blurted.

He raised an eyebrow, shrugged. "Hmm."

Harry crossed his arms and stared at Terence for a mo-ment before glancing past him.

"Well done, Stevie. Smart lad."

Stevie spit blood onto the floor. "Hattie's guitar'll have to wait. Thought I'd keep an eye on the tunnel, see if any rats came down after the cheese."

Jazz stared at the small pistol in his hand. "Where the hell did you get a gun?"

His smile was bitter. "You don't know everything, you know? We were doing just fine before you came along. Would've been better off if you'd stayed gone."

His tone belied the words. Her staying out all night had stung him. Stevie was angry, which stunned her. All the time she had fancied him, she'd never been sure how he felt. But none of that mattered now. If they'd ever been on a path that could have led to some shared future, Jazz had left that path, and there could be no going back.

"Hello, Harry," Terence said.

"Terry. Nice of you to pay us a visit. We were just rumi-nating on the little web that seems to have entangled us all. Apparently you didn't think enough of her to tell her the whole story."

Despite his struggle with Stevie and the gun pressed against his back, Terence still managed a roguish smile. But Jazz had seen the look before and knew it was a mask.

"I meant to continue the conversation over breakfast, but I found myself eating alone."

His gaze penetrated deeply. She did not want to trust him, did not even want to think well of him. But at the same time, the idea that she had hurt him troubled her in ways that Stevie's feelings of betrayal never would.

"It wasn't by choice," Jazz said. "I really did just go for a walk to clear my head. But a copper spotted me. He got hold of me but didn't try to arrest me. He got on his mobile, said something about the mayor giving him a reward if he brought me in. If I hadn't gotten away..."

She let the words trail off, hating that she was making excuses.

Terence and Harry exchanged a dark look.

"Stevie, the time for bullets has passed," Harry said.

Reluctantly, Stevie made the pistol disappear inside his jacket. Terence gave him a nod, as though the boy had just done him a courtesy.

"Jazz," Terence said, "did your mother ever say anything at all about the apparatus or about the battery? Anything at all? It's vital that you try to remember."

Harry snorted. "Honestly, do you think they'd have left the woman alive all those years if they thought she knew anything?"

"I don't know what to think," Terence said, his eyes never leaving Jazz. "They must have decided she did know, after all, or else they wouldn't have killed her. And if they want to get their hands on Jasmine this badly, there's only one reason I can think of —they think she knows where the battery is."

Harry tilted his head to one side as though in thought. "Perhaps."

"You bastard," Jazz whispered, staring at Terence.

He flinched, narrowing his eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You knew who I was all along. I must have 'issues' with the Blackwood Club, that's what you said.

But you knew what my bloody issues were."

Terence opened his hands in surrender. "I just wanted it to come out in its own time. I was afraid you'd think I was involved with them somehow."

"Aren't you?"

Harry and Terence both started arguing with her at once. Jazz waved them silent.

"Oh, shut up. You are involved. I know you didn't have anything to do with killing her, but you're connected to all of this down to the roots, the both of you." She glared at Harry. "You still want to tell me this is all coincidence? All fucking destiny?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm afraid it is. Unless there's some-thing you're not telling us."

Jazz quieted at that. There were things she hadn't told them. Harry knew she saw and heard the ghosts of old London —hell, he saw them as well—and Terence had hinted that he suspected as much. But she hadn't shared with them the vividness of her visions of the ghosts or men-tioned the way the magician's wraith had seemed to notice her in a way the other specters were incapable of doing. She hadn't told them about the impulse she felt from time to time to descend even deeper underground, to go through certain doors.

They had kept their secrets from her well, these two old disenchanted friends. Through one part spite, one part cau-tion, and one part sheer stubbornness, she determined to keep what secrets she had left from them.

Terence looked at her strangely, but Jazz ignored him.

"Now what?" she asked.

"I've asked Jazz to help me steal the battery," Terence told Harry.

Stevie moved around to the table, eyeing him with great suspicion. He took Harry's glass and poured himself a shot of scotch, knocked it back, and grimaced as it went down. Then he crossed his arms.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You know where it is?" he asked, but it was clear he didn't believe it.

"Not precisely. I've got all of the other pieces, save the battery. I've been inside the homes of every member of the Blackwood Club. To say they're displeased would be under-stating it quite a bit. I'd planned to come and see you once I had all the pieces of the apparatus. Jasmine moved my plans up by a day or so."

He smiled softly at her. Jazz smiled back, unable to help herself.

Stevie gave a derisive sniff.

"I need your help, Harry," Terence said. Harry glanced at Jazz. Something about the way he looked at her made her skin crawl, as though he was evaluat-ing her somehow.

"That's all in the past for me. You know that." "Why?" Jazz asked.

All three of them looked at her in surprise.

She shrugged. "Your sister's dead, Harry. There's noth-ing to stop you helping Terence now."

Harry shook his head in obvious disappointment. "Your memory is short, Jazz girl. Have you forgotten our Cadge so quickly? These people murdered him. I won't risk the lives of the others."

"Shouldn't that be up to them?" Jazz said.

Throwing up his hands, Harry crossed over to the table and sat down. "It doesn't matter, anyway," he said, poking a cold bit of sausage with a fork. "I looked before, remember? Nowhere left to search. And the Blackwood pricks never had the battery to begin with."

"Maybe not back then," Terence said, all humor leaving him. "Last couple of years, they've been after me harder than ever. I've had to give up on two houses in the past twelve months because they almost found me, they were moving the few bits of the apparatus I hadn't already lifted more and more often... and the only reason I can think of is that they were close to finding the battery and afraid I was too."

Jazz frowned. "You don't know that. You don't know a damn thing. They could have been watching you all along or just been content that if they couldn't find it, neither could you. Jumping to conclusions would be stupid."

Terence gave her a sharp look. Jazz did not flinch.

"Let's say they did find it," Harry said. "It could've been moved a hundred times. A thousand."

Terence dismissed them both with a gesture. "I haven't found it, so they must have."

"All right, spit it out!" Jazz said. "Where is it?"

"You said you'd been in all of their houses," Stevie Sharpe said, suddenly taking an interest.

"I haven't been in the mayor's house."

They all stared at Terence.

"The bloody mayor's house!" Stevie snapped.

"He's not even a member of the club," Harry said.

"True enough," Terence replied. "But he's their man, isn't he? Does their bidding, yeah?"

"That's what you want my help with?" Harry asked.

Terence glanced at Jazz. "I couldn't do it by myself. Once I saw young Jasmine's talents, I knew it could be done with her assistance. But it'll take more than that. I'll need people outside, a distraction. And it wouldn't hurt any if you could take a walk past the house and tell me if you can sense anything."

Jazz frowned. "What do you mean, sense anything?"

Terence arched an eyebrow. "Harry didn't tell you about his little sixth sense? It's why he was so helpful to me, back before he became a tunnel rat. He may not touch magic any-more, but he's got a sense for it. He can practically smell it."

"Bullshit," Stevie said, snickering at the absurdity of it all.

But Jazz was watching Harry, and he didn't laugh at all. Didn't even smile. After a moment, Stevie's smile went away as well.

"And if it isn't there?" Harry asked.

Terence shrugged. "Then I'm no worse off than I am today."

Long seconds passed until, finally, Harry lifted his gaze. He studied Jazz, glanced at Stevie, and turned at last to Terence.

"All right. We'll give you a hand. The mayor sent a crew down here to drive us out, make some nice headlines about fighting crime, cleaning up London. They killed one of my boys. I owe the fucker. So there's a bargain here. You'll go in. You'll take Jazz, but you're taking young Stevie as well. He's the best I've got, and I suspect you'll need him. And while he's there, he's going to do a bit of damage and nick as many baubles as he can lay hands on. Mayor Bromwell's got to pay for Cadge."

Terence narrowed his eyes. "This isn't about revenge, Harry."

Harry smiled. "Isn't it? You can talk all you want about the way the world ought to be, how we've got to put magic behind us to find the glory of the new age, or whatever bol-locks you're spouting now. And maybe there's something to all of that. But once upon a time, back at the start, it was about the bastards murdering your dad. We all have debts to collect, Terry."

Terence glanced at Jazz. "You in?"

She nodded. "Doesn't mean I'm not still angry with you."

"Fair enough," he said.

He walked to the table and put out his hand. Harry stood and took it, and the two thieves shook, sealing the bargain.

Chapter Seventeen

served cold

Jazz hated feeling excluded. She knew it was for the best — the copper would have contacted the mayor's men, and a new description of her would be circulating across London even now—but with one of the most audacious thefts in London's history in the offing, the last place she wanted to be was in the dusty, grubby confines of the Palace.

Terence had gone back up to collect some equipment from one of his houses. He didn't tell them which one and neglected to mention how many houses he owned, but Jazz guessed it must be several all across the capital. A man of mystery such as Terence could not exist in one place alone.

Harry and Stevie had gone up with him. Stevie was going to a long-term parking place he knew to purloin a car for the nick, while Harry would take a stroll past the mayor's manor to see whether his weird sixth sense tingled. He'd given Jazz a strange look as he left —part suspicion, part complicity—and she wondered how much of what she had seen in the Underground played across his internal vision as well.

Tell that magician I said hello, she wanted to say. Whatever he is to Terence, tell him I see him, I know him. But she said nothing of the sort. Such talk would feel so intimate and se-cretive, and Harry held icy anger for her in his manner. She honestly thought things would never be the same again be-tween them. And the more she thought about that, the more she honestly did not care.

There was more to life than the Underground. Terence had shown her that. Though he was a man out for re-venge —and however he tried to prettify his motives, that was the basis of his aims—he was at least pursuing it in style.

"Just promise not to leave me out of this," she had said as the three men left the Palace.

"Lovey," Harry had replied, "you're a bigger part of this than any of us."

She'd smiled and wished them safe journeys when they left; then she had the Palace to herself for an hour or more. She wandered around the place, searching the rooms with a new eye, but there was little down here she had not seen be-fore. One room held a small door at floor level, a fresh scrape across the concrete floor showing where it had been levered open recently. She guessed this was where Harry and Stevie were hiding the box of money. Lot of good it would do them stuck down here.

You're a bigger part of this than any of us, he had said. That troubled her and she didn't know why.

Be anonymous, her mother had told her. Don't be seen. Part of the crowd is as faceless as the crowd itself.