The Dark and Hollow Places - Carrie Ryan [22]
Frustration makes my shoulders tense and my head throb. I stop at the edge of the platform, staring out into the dark that eats the light from the fire behind me. It’s colder away from the flames, the last trace of warmth leaching quickly from my clothes as the chill attacks my skin through seams and holes. I pull my coat tighter around me. It’s easier to talk when I don’t have to see Catcher’s face. When I don’t have to keep him from seeing the uncertainty in mine.
I don’t like others knowing my business, especially strangers—I like to be the one who controls what people get to know about me and when.
My stomach growls. “We should go,” I tell him. “Start figuring out a way to find my sister.” It’s well known the underground tunnels aren’t safe. When the Unconsecrated don’t sense a living human nearby they collapse, almost like an insect going dormant, waiting for food and the ability to infect. Everyone knows there are pockets of plague rats down here waiting for someone to stumble upon them.
For as long as I’ve lived in the City I’ve heard the rumors of tunnels so deep that the dead lie asleep, waiting for the barest scent of living flesh to wake them and cause a surge to the surface.
Every few years there’s a fresh outbreak in the Dark City, half the time rumored to have started in the Neverlands and the other half begun underground. I’m not one to test the theories. It might not be too safe up on the streets but at least there’s light and air—not walls curling around you like a coffin.
“These the same stairs we came down?” I ask, moving toward them. Catcher nods but doesn’t follow. I turn; he can only see my profile of clean smooth skin. I think about him on the bridge with Abigail—the way she saved his life.
“Do I look like her?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them. My fingers clench around the ragged hem of my coat. I can’t resist knowing. “Like my sister,” I add, as if he didn’t understand.
Catcher approaches me, each step a distinct echo in the dim chamber. The firelight jumps over his skin, shadows flickering around his eyes. He stops just out of reach. For a moment he stands there and breathes as the muscles along my neck tighten.
I blush. What do I care if I look like her or not? “Never mind,” I mumble, turning back to the darkness and the stairs.
“Yes and no,” he says.
“Let me guess,” I snort, spinning toward him. I raise one finger and press it to the smooth side of my face. “Yes.” I raise my eyebrows as I move my finger over to the scars. “And no.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, inching in closer.
I back away. There’s still too much I don’t know in order for me to trust him. To allow him this near.
“You’re just different people,” he says, trying to explain. “Different personalities. It’s reflected in what you look like.”
“Whatever,” I say, waving my hand in the air as I start up the stairs. It was a stupid question for me to ask.
His footfalls follow me in the darkness and I feel calmer and more in control now that I’m invisible. Our breaths fall into a rhythm with each step, our hands gliding up the rusty railing bolted into the wall. Soon the movement chases away the chill of the tunnels, a clammy sweat trickling down my back.
“I think it’s time you told me what’s going on,” I say as we near the top.
He hesitates, breaking stride. “What do you want to know?”
I stop and he stumbles against me, his hands sliding along my arms to steady himself. His touch is warm, almost to the point of hot. He jerks back and mumbles an apology. I ignore it.
There’s so little light that I can barely even see his outline. He’s become nothing more than the sound of his breathing, the rustle of his clothes and slide of each footstep. It feels almost intimate, being so aware of the noises he makes, and I become uncomfortable.
I pull farther away from him, the heat radiating