Mind the Gap by Christopher Golden Page A

time, Jazz’s thoughts were clouded with revenge.
    They celebrated that evening with hot dogs cooked over an open fire, while Harry Fowler relayed a tale of his time as a gentleman. Exaggerated and ridiculous—travels in Africa, hunting tigers in India, and carrying out expeditions to find the Yeti in the Himalayas—but the kids were all entertained, and Jazz found herself caught up in the banter and enjoyment.
    But that night she dreamed of her mother, as an idea rather than a real person. In her dream, Harry sat her down one day and broke a terrible truth.
Jazz girl, pet, you’ve been down here with us forever,
he said.
You were born down here and you’ll die down here. The upside is just where we go to hunt tigers.
    She woke up with a start and cried in the dark, vowing to never let the memory of her mother fade away.
             
    Three days after her first nick, Jazz went back up with Cadge, Stevie, and Hattie.
    “Money’s all good and nice, pets,” Harry said, “but our United Kingdom needs plenty more besides. There’s stuff money can’t buy, but luckily it’s not just pockets our hands can worm their way into.” Everyone listened, but he was speaking to only Jazz.
    They caught the Tube to Covent Garden and parted company before the station exit. Stevie and Hattie went their separate ways, and Jazz watched Stevie disappear quickly into the crowds. For someone so striking, he hid well. She wanted to say good-bye, wish him luck, touch his hand, and try to catch a smile from him. But during the entire Tube journey, he had sat opposite her and stared over her head through the dark window. Never once had his eyes flickered down to meet her own. And in his feigned disinterest, she wondered whether there was something to find.
    Time will tell.
Her mother had said that, using it as a full stop after telling her stories about the Uncles, and other people, and what the future might hold for her.
Time will tell.
And it certainly had.
    Cadge went with Jazz, and the two of them browsed shop windows, chatted, and laughed, keeping one eye on the time. There was a place to be and a time to be there, and everything was leading up to that.
    Cadge seemed even more ebullient than ever. Once or twice he touched Jazz’s hand, blushing and looking away as he laughed at something she said. He carried an outwardly cheeky confidence, all bluster and defiance, but it was obvious that there was a deeper side to him that was both vulnerable and delicate. In the beginning, his attentions had made her feel awkward, but now she was flattered. Still, she did her best to temper her response. She liked Cadge—he had a good heart, and she believed he could be a very good friend—but there was an age difference that she could not shake from her mind. She was still all but innocent of the opposite sex, but she knew enough to realize that Cadge was just a boy. So while he touched her hand and exuded an image of togetherness, she thought of them more as brother and sister.
    Jazz did not like facing out into the street. She felt exposed. There were eyes upon her, and she expected an Uncle to emerge from the crowd at any moment and bury a knife in her gut. They’d go for Cadge too, of course, and drag him into some shop doorway, and the last thing she’d see would be the Uncle’s face pressed up close to hers, the last thing she’d smell would be his garlic breath, and he’d pant in excitement as her blood pulsed over his hand.
    Her murder would be quick and quiet, a brief disturbance in a street filled with everyone minding their own business. London was like that. So many people pressed so closely together, and the more people there were, the more alone she felt. Nobody seemed to pay attention to anyone out here. If the street was virtually deserted, passersby would nod a brief hello, maybe give a smile, and if there was only her and someone else, they’d pause for a chat. But in crowds like this, everyone kept to themselves. The