storybook!”
“No,” Keltan insisted. “They’re real. And I know how to find them.”
“How would—”
“I’m not telling you anything else.” He moved away from her. “Get out of here. Go.”
“Love to,” Mara said fervently. “But how, exactly?”
His voice came from even farther away. “You might try the door.” A click, and for the first time, light entered the cellar: faint, flickering, but bright as a torch to her eyes after so long in the dark. “I can get you back on the street. After that, you’re on your own.”
“I can find my way home,” Mara said. She scrambled to her feet, stray bits of coal clattering to the floor.
But Keltan still blocked her way, a black silhouette in the doorway. Something in his hand glinted as he pointed it at her. He hadn’t been bluffing about the knife. “Don’t tell anyone you met me. I’m warning you—”
“I won’t tell,” Mara said. “Who would believe me? I don’t even know your real name.”
She squinted at him, but with the light behind him, she still couldn’t see his features. He was a good head taller than she was and his hair stuck out in all directions, shining blond in the illumination behind him.
“You’d better not,” he said. He pointed the knife at her. “And don’t think you can send anyone back here to find me. I won’t be staying. I’ve got other hiding places.”
“I already said I won’t tell anyone,” Mara snapped. “For one thing, I’d have to admit I was out after curfew!”
Keltan turned abruptly. “This way.”
The light came from a barely alight gas lamp at the end of a short corridor and the bottom of a flight of stairs. Keltan led her up the steps to a landing. The stairs turned and continued up, but he stopped there, by a bolted wooden door. He put a finger to his lips. She could see his face a little better now. Thin and freckled, it was punctuated by a sharp nose. He wore a short black jacket over a nondescript white shirt above equally ordinary trousers and plain brown boots. Coal dust smudged his face.
She looked down at herself. Her tunic, arms, legs, and feet were every bit as black.
How am I going to hide all
this
from Mother?
she thought in a bit of a panic, then pushed the thought away. She’d worry about her mother once she’d gotten past the Night Watchers.
Keltan eased the bolt back and opened the door a crack. He peered out. “All clear.” He pulled the door further ajar. “Go,” he said. “Get home.” He paused, looking at her, his gaze traveling from her face down the length of her skinny body to her dirty bare legs and feet and back up again. She felt herself blushing and wished she’d worn a longer tunic. “You’re older than I thought,” he said, looking into her face once more. She found herself wondering what color his eyes were; she couldn’t tell in the dim light. “Your Masking must be soon.”
“Pretty soon,” Mara said.
“Think about what I’ve said,” Keltan said. “You won’t be the same person after you’re Masked. You could run, too. The unMasked Army would—”
“The only place I’m running is home,” Mara said. “Good-bye.” She slipped out into the street, looked up and down its length to make sure it was deserted, then turned and said, impulsively, “Good luck.” Then she darted away.
She had no more encounters with Night Watchers, and now that she was paying attention, quickly found her way back to familiar streets. Soon she was clambering up through the tree onto the wall behind her house; a moment after that she was on the roof and letting herself down onto her bed. She lifted the skylight window back into place, then stepped quietly down onto the floorboards to avoid any thump, stripped off her soot-stained clothes, and stuffed them under her bed to dispose of later. Then she washed herself as best she could with the cold water from her basin, pulled on a clean nightgown, and climbed beneath the covers. Her stuffed cat Stoofy,
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