Diversion Books

“Safer,” I said. I guess he thought we should be trotting down the sidewalk, when God knows what was waiting in the doorways. Sometimes Steve was really dumb.

I kept thinking I saw something moving, out of the corner of my eye, but every time I turned around, it was just a shadow laying black against a doorway or an alley. I started through the alleys, looking for shortcuts.

“I thought we were sticking to the streets,” Steve whispered. I didn’t know why he was whispering, but it wasn’t a bad idea.

“I’m in a hurry.”

“Well, if you’re scared, I guess I should be terrified.”

“I ain’t scared. Bein’ in a hurry don’t mean you’re scared. I don’t like creepy empty places. That ain’t bein’ scared.”

Steve mumbled something that sounded like “Same thing,” but I didn’t want to stop and argue with him.

“Hey, slow it down, willya?” he called.

I slowed down all right. I stopped. Two live shadows stepped out of the dark ones to block the alley. One was white. One was black. The black had something in his hand that looked like a tire tool. Actually, it was a relief to see them. I was almost glad to see anybody.

Steve said, “Oh, God, we’re dead,” in a singsong voice. He was absolutely frozen. I wasn’t counting on any help from him. I just stood there, gauging the distances, the numbers, the weapons, like the Motorcycle Boy had taught me to, a long time ago, when there were gangs.

“You got any bread?” said the white guy. Like he wasn’t going to kill us if we had. I knew if we handed them a million dollars they’d still bash us. Sometimes guys just go out to kill people.

“Progressive country, integrated mugging,” Steve muttered. He surprised me by showing he did have some guts, after all. But he still couldn’t move.

I thought about a lot of things: Patty—she’d really be sorry now—and Coach Ryan, bragging that he knew me when. I pictured my father at my funeral saying, “What a strange way to die.” And my mother, living in a tree house with an artist—she wouldn’t even know. I thought about how everybody at Benny’s would think it was cool, that I went down fighting just like some of the old gang members had. The last guy who was killed in the gang fights was a Packer. He had been fifteen. Fifteen had seemed really old then. Now it didn’t seem too old, since I wasn’t going to see fifteen myself.

Since Steve had said something, I had to say something, even though I couldn’t think of anything besides “Bug off.”

Now h

He had strange eyes—they made me think of a two-way mirror. Like you could feel somebody on the other side watching you, but the only reflection you saw was your own.

You really have to be careful what you say, because screenshots — screenshots are the worst thing.”

Ali flashed a huge smile at Pascal. “Oh, yes,” she said with confidence. “Handray will come back. Allah will only let him

single one.

“You marry Matthew?” he said with a choked laugh. “By God, Ali, if we weren’t in a public place I’d shake you till your

ts, the family assumed they’d slept together.”

“Ah,” Andre said. “Practical.”

“Of c

nice to see the warmth back in his eyes. “Oh, Nicholas, I have missed

out a great long anguished cry, then pushed her aside and bega

He had not moved, and when she touched his face, it was not to discover that he was hot with fever, as she had expected, but to find that he was still cold, far colder than he should have been. She rolled him onto his back and pressed her ear to his chest, trying very hard not to panic. His heart beat slowly, but in an even rhythm, and his chest continued to rise and fall. She knew there was something terribly wrong. She sensed it in every fiber of her being, had sensed it from the night before.

“Binkley,” she called from the bedroom door. “Binkley, come quickly!”

Binkley appeared only moments later. “What is it, madam? Has something happened?” He spoke evenly, but he was more shaken than she’d ever seen him.

“No,” she said, trying to be calm. “That’s just it. Nothing has happened. Nothing at all. I think you had better come and see.”

Binkley entered the room and went over to the bed, looking down at Nicholas. He picked up his hand and let it drop. Then he gingerly opened Nicholas’ eyelid and gazed at his eye. It did not move, not did it see.

Binkley stepped away and carefully folded his fingertips together. “It is curious,” he said.

“Curious?” Georgia said, wanting to scream. “Binkley, it is unlike anything I have ever seen! He should be recovering from exhaustion by now—or at least have a fever in reaction to the exposure. But instead he is still cold. I cannot understand this. He did not strike his head that you know of? I have found no evidence of it, but sometimes there is none.”

“No, I saw no indication that Mr. Daventry might have had a blow to the head. He was shocked, yes, but that is not surprising after he had pushed himself beyond his limits. Perhaps he only needs rest, a very long sleep.”

“I agree, but this is not a natural sleep. Oh, Binkley, I cannot bear that Nicholas might have saved all those lives only to give up his own. I really can’t.” She pushed her hand into her forehead hard, willing herself to stay strong. “He must get better. He must. I could not bear it if anything happened to him.”

“I am pleased to hear it, madam,” Binkley said.

Georgia’s eyes shot to his in dismay. “Binkley! How could you ever think otherwise?”

“It is not what I think that matters. It is what Mr. Daventry

“Are you sure you don’t want me coming with you, Major?”