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An Uncle had pulled the trigger Terence darted aside but not quickly enough The bullet caught hiun hand, sighted along the barrel, and shot the an to fire, but Terence was already ed toward him Terence shot hi

But he had nowhere to hide

Josephine Blackwood raised her hands and the shadows began to coalesce around her fingers She chanted soic, but whatever of it remained in the world, she had tapped it

Jazz opened her uished cries fro around the circuh the chamber The Hour of Screams had arrived once more, but differently this time Steam cried from the valves of the apparatus Jazz howled her frustration and fury

The ghosts of old London joined her in a chorus, and then the cha in a rush of apparitions

A phantoh the apparatus, and Jazz was its screa their hats into the air, woers, hundreds and then thousands e the fall of Berlin Parades marched by

Killers stalked victih-hewnthe filthy Thames Bobbies walked their beats Children played in parks and gardens Tires screeched and horses whinnied as accidents took the lives of innocents The wealthy walked past street beggars with nary a glance Little girls sold flowers Dancers perfore An old woman pulled her shawl around her and wept for a love lost, a life unfulfilled And hosts of old London filled the cha them into a hurricane of memory and e for rest For solace

She arched her back, pressing down on the levers of the apparatus with all of her strength Her eyes ide as the first of the ghosts rushed into her They began to push into her throat, sliding in through her nose and eyes and ears and, with a chilling rush, sifting through the pores of her skin They filled her entirely, and as they did, the stories and secrets played no longer before her eyes but across the stage of her ic, sweet and wistful and heartbreaking and horrifying, becaic passed into her

With a thunderclap, it ended The apparatus gave a hiss like a final gasp and the gears began to slow

The screaret in the heart of the city Jazz inhaled deeply, and the air down in that vast subterranean world smelled clean The world had moved on She under-stood now The world had ht of its ghosts like iron chains

But she had felt its sigh of relief And now the city was free to seek its future

Jazz freed herself froears bent and rusted How the thing had ever worked, she could not iine She slid out between the pipes and ju of firelight, Terence Whitcomb and the round Slowly, groaning, an to rise Two ered toward her, a weary smile on his face, yet there also seemed to be an air of sadness around him He had dedi-cated his life to this moment, and now that it had arrived, ould he do?

Josephine Blackwood and the Uncles seemed shriveled and diminished The woman raised her hands,the air as she tried to cast some kind of spell The realization shattered her Jazz saw it fill her eyes, watched as her body went slack She was just a sad old woman now All of the power she'd lusted after, like youth, was a lost drearasp

As Jazz looked on, they all see in despair, they turned away and began to shamble back the way they had come

All save for Josephine

She crouched and picked up a fallen pistol

"Josie, no!" Terence shouted, scanning the ground for his own gun

The crone pointed the gun at Jazz and fired As Josephine pulled the trigger, Jazz felt her gorge rise as though she ure --a gray shiitator's wand He waved it even as the bullet passed through hiun in Josephine Blackwood's hand had becoround and began to weep quietly

Terence stared at Jazz and then at the ghost of the ician reached toward hih Terence's cheek and reaching behind his ear to produce a silver coin Then he bowed deeply, stepped back-ward into Jazz, and vanished within her

The stories and secrets of old London had not disap-peared or been destroyed; they had found a new home

Jazz reached for Terence and pulled him close He winced at the pain from the wound in his shoulder She drew his face down to hers and brushed her lips against his in a gentle kiss, then kissed hih her

"Jaslance, and then turned from him When she walked past Josephine Blackwood, the old woman didn't even look up Terence called after her once, but Jazz did not falter She had de-scended so far into the underneath that the journey upould take tiet started

London awaited

On a Tuesday in the last week of October, Jazz sat on a loall in Regent's Park, away froarden and the uitar stru on a nearby footpath, instrument case open but for the enerosity

A sather around her, an odd coterie that included a tidy young professional, a couple of aging ho as exposed as the park required

The thief's eyes were skittish, but Jazz often found that she loved them best of all

Tuesday Jazz had discovered that she liked knohat day it was That had taken so used to once she had returned topside and beco Itan Indian summer, and the sun felt warm on her arms, now turned a rich bronze from many such days Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and she wore a spaghetti-strap tank top, cutoff shorts, and a cute pair of sandals she'd retrieved froh, robbing her own house be-fore the bank finally sold it off hadn't been difficult

A few others approached cautiously, seeing her there on the wall A the toward her with his usual arro-gance When he reached the srass in front of the wall, his entire dereen hair must have seemed out of place elsewhere in the park, but not here No one was out of place here

"Mornin', Jas across his back and now he brought it down, unzipped it, and produced a bottle of water "Here's for you," he said, handing it over, "and I've got a bunch more Give 'em to whoever"

Jazz touched his hand "Thanks, Aaron You're a good one"