How are you? he asks, so close that his breath reaches the nape of my neck.
Ill feel better once theyve caught the person responsible, I admit. My father came home last night with an extra bolt for our door. Every time I look at it, I see that girls face.
A lot of people in my building are installing locks, too. He frowns. Theyll find whoevers behind this. Internment is only so big. There arent many places to hide.
Thats what has me so afraid. Ive always liked the smallness of Internment, always liked lying in bed at night and hearing the trains rush by, always on time. But now its starting to feel smaller, as though every day since Daphne Leanders murder has crumbled the edges a bit more, and the city is closing in on me.
Even the seats in the theater feel smaller and closer together, the dim lights getting dimmer.
Are you okay? Pen says. Your cheeks are bright red.
Basil touches my forehead. Do you feel sick? His touch is supposed to comfort me, but all I want is to get away from him, to get away from this air that everyone else is breathing.
I need to use the water room, I say.
Ill go with you, Pen says.
No, I say, too quickly. No, you might miss the opening. Ill be fast, I promise.
I can see that shes wary, but she doesnt try to stop me as I shuffle down the aisle.
With all of the shows about to start, the lobby is empty aside from the ticket vendors, who pay no mind as I stumble toward the water rooms. But when I push the door open, I find that Im not alone.
Though shes not in uniform, I recognize the little girl from last night. Shes kneeling on the edge of the sink, tacking a piece of paper over the mirror. But she stops when she sees me, stumbles to her feet, and backs against the wall.
I didnt mean to scare you, I say.
Theres a piece of paper over each of the mirrors. A quick glance and I can see that theyre select passages from Daphne Leanders essay. All of them are handwritten. Typewriters are a rare luxury afforded to those who write for a living; a past king once considered making them a household item, but decided against it. He said that if words could be easily printed and erased, we would lose our appreciation for what we wrote.
Id like to ask her about the pages, but she runs past me and pushes her way through the door.
Wait! I run after her.
Shes quick, but so am I, and I catch up to her on the sidewalk outside the theater, where she has come to a stop. She doesnt seem out of breath, and Im trying to figure out why she stopped, but then I follow her gaze to the building at the end of the block, engulfed in flames.
She looks at me, and her eyes are full of so much pain that it astounds me. Theyre the same as the murdered girls eyes, and yet different somehow.
Its only going to get worse, she says.
Thats the jumpers code, if Lexs similar outlook is any indication.
A patrolman is running from the theater, shouting for us to get back inside. She doesnt move, though, and I grab her arm and pull her along. She doesnt resist, but she watches the flames over her shoulder. It was one of Internments oldest buildings, back when they were still made of wood as opposed to stone. Over the centuries it has been everything from a prison, back when those still existed, to a recycling plant. In my lifetime it has been only a flower shop. Alice has taken me there dozens of times.
Its only a few paces back to the theater, but before weve reached the doors, the sky has changed. Ash is heavy on the air and its as though something has covered the sun. Even the patrolman has stopped to watch. Sirens begin as distant warnings, but soon theyre screaming as the emergency vehicles rush toward the flames.
The girls arm is still in my grip and she lets me bring her inside, but then she twists away, presses her hands to the glass doors and watches.
The lobby is crowded now, everyone rushing to windows, calling out the names of their friends. Are you here with anyone? I ask.
She shakes her head. Im not supposed to be here. Im supposed to be practicing my music.
Come on, then, I say. You can come with me. Im going to find my friends and make sure theyre okay.
I dont know you, she says.
Morgan Stockhour, I say. There, now you do.
The room has gotten very loud around us. A woman screams.
The girl looks up at me, hesitating. Some pink glitter has clumped in her eyelashes.
Im Amy, she says.
Morgan! Somewhere in the melee, Pen raises her gloved arm. She twists away from Thomas, fighting him and shouldering her way to me. She crashes into me, squeezing me so hard that my feet almost come away from the floor. Whats happening? They stopped the play, and
She sees the smoke through the glass doors for the first time. Her mouth is open and breathless. She pales.
The flower shop caught fire, I say, though the words dont do justice to what I just saw. I should be panicking like everyone around me. I should be frightened. But I feel the same as I did after watching the broadcast, like none of it is real.
Your parents will be worried, I tell Amy.
They wont notice Im gone. She seems like the type who can slip in and out of a place unnoticed, which is likely how she snuck into this theater without formal attire.
Basil wraps his arm around my waist from behind. Thomas does the same to Pen, and for once she seems grateful that hes there to hold her. Amy stands between us, and we all watch the clouds and the sun get swallowed whole.
It feels like hours before the flames are extinguished. Patrolmen fill the lobby, escorting us from the building to the shuttle in droves. Pen lets Thomas hold on to her, and Basil hasnt taken his arm from me since we were reunited. Amy walks a pace ahead of me, tugging at the ring on the chain around her neck.
Where do you live? Basil asks her as the five of us cram onto a shuttle bench meant to hold four.
Section three, she says.
Im in two, he says. But its a short walk back for me. Ill see you home.
You dont have to, she says. Im old enough to take care of myself.
Yes, right, okay, were all old enough, Pen snaps. But in case you havent noticed, Internment has kind of gone into a complete state of lunacy.
I know that, Amy says, and looks sharply out the window, where the smoke has turned the city into an old image.
Are you frightened? Thomas asks Pen.
Shes looking at her lap, but he tilts her chin and she meets his eyes.
I wont ever let anything happen to you, you know.
She nods, leans her forehead against his.
For all their arguing, they have kissed. It first happened several months ago. He kept dropping hints and she decided to just be done with it. It wasnt terrible, she told me. It wasnt great but it wasnt terrible. I had a hard time believing itshes always evading himbut Im starting to see that theres a reason they were betrothed. Theres always a reason.
Basil grips my hand as the shuttle comes to a stop. Its going to be chaotic. Dont let go of me even if people rush between us, he says. With my free hand, I grab on to Pen and we rise to our feet.
An instant too late, I remember that Amy is behind me. In that instant, she dodges under Pens and my interlocked hands and disappears into the crowd.
Amy!
Let her go, Pen says. Where did you find such a strange child, anyway? Shes trying to act nonchalant but the fear is still in her eyes.
Im scanning the crowd for Amy; with the patrolmen steering us all right onto the waiting train, theres nowhere for her to go, and I still want to ask her about the essay.
But its taking all my efforts to hold on to Basil and Pen; Ive never seen Internment in such a panic, and other worries start to invade my mind. My father is patrolling today; that means he must be out in this mess. And Alice will be out running errands; she frequents the flower shop, has a side job designing event bouquets.
And what started the fire to begin with?
Amy said it was only going to get worse. I see this panic all around me, while news of Daphne Leanders murder is still fresh, and I cannot fathom what worse should look like.
By the time we make it to our seats on the train, Pen isnt the only one with tears in her eyes. Other passengers have the same frightened expression.
Even Basil is looking worriedly at the city through the window. A patrolman is standing at the head of the car, instructing us not to check in on family and friends, to step off the train at our appropriate sections and go straight home. The train will stop for an extra two minutes on each platform to ensure everyone has a chance to exit the overcrowded cars in time.
Something is happening, Basil says, isnt it?
Im sure it was only an accident, Thomas says. That building was so old that it has never been properly outfitted with electricity. Most of the rooms were lit by flame lanterns. One of them probably tipped over.
Do you think so? Pen says.
Im almost certain.
None of us believes it, but we dont have the nerve to say so.
Your mascara is running, Pen says. Here. She rubs her gloved thumb under my eyelid.
Thanks, I say, though from the black smear on her glove I suspect shes made it worse.
When the train stops in our section, Basil squeezes my hand. Im sorry I cant walk you in, he says.
Ill be fine; my building is right there, I tell him, wishing desperately that I wasnt about to leave him behind. Stay safe.
I dont know what it isthe noise or the distant smell of the ashes or the fearbut I get the thought that Id like to kiss him. I lean forward and press my lips against his forehead, pleasantly surprised by the softness and the warmth of his skin.
I dont get a chance to see his reaction; Thomas is pulling Pen, and Pen is pulling me.
We can still smell the fire, though it happened several sections away and has since been extinguished. The blue of the sky is still up there, if a bit obscured, and I might have started to feel relief if only there werent a patrolman forcing me down the steps.
Thomas lives in the same section that Pen and I do, but his building is a block over, and at the fork in the pathway, he leans in for a kiss and Pen backs away. Lets not capitalize on a tragedy, she says. Ill see you on Monday, provided the academy is still standing.