note: Congrats to Falco Conlon for finishing "In New York" (go read it!)! Ah... I don't think I really have much else to say, except that I reeaallyy want to finish this, and hopefully it will be done well before summer. Thanks to all that continue to read and review! I do love you. Very, very much.

twenty-one: brooklyn.

It was somewhere along the lines of late afternoon when we hit ground on the Other side. For a few seconds I was disoriented, it was so cloudy and cold and gloomy, that for a moment, I wasn't sure that we'd crossed over at all. But then Dutchy landed just about on top of me and rolled away, cradling his head. I rubbed at my eyes and stood, tired and miserable.

We were on a deserted side street, behind a cluster of ominous looking buildings. I brushed myself off and looked around, trying to gather my wits together. I didn't know where we were. The thing about Black's Drop was that it didn't necessarily throw you in the same place every time you used it, which was part of the reason that no one thought it was worth controlling. Dutchy and I were lucky to have hit at the same spot. It wasn't like one of us would have ended up on the opposite end of the city, but the difference of even a block or two could have set us back an hour.

Dutchy stood silently at my shoulder. I doubted that either of us were planning on doing much speaking. It was not going to be a fun trip. I made to walk around the group of buildings, figuring that a main street would be on the other side, hopefully with a sign or a landmark I'd recognize. We would be in Manhattan, that much I knew. No one went through the doors that led to Brooklyn. Actually, I doubted that any of them even worked anymore. Even stuck on this side, Spot was dangerous. No one was willing to provoke him, and he didn't like to have his privacy invaded. Our plan was to come out on this side of the bridge and work our way over to his, staying out in the open. There would be no sneaking around. We needed his help, and to get that we would need his trust. I knew that we couldn't afford to hide anything.

Dutch followed me like a silent shadow, for once not asking any questions. To be honest, his glum quiet was starting to unnerve me. I felt the same way, though. I had no words. I didn't trust my voice.

Instead, I did my best to turn my attention elsewhere. I noticed a familiar pub across the main street, its sign visible in the short glimpses I could catch between the figures hurrying up and down the street. I squinted up at the sky. It would rain soon. Figured.

I immediately started in what I knew to be the general direction of the bridge, Dutch lagging a few steps behind me. He was staring all around us, taken by the mix of people, the shops, the colors, the scattered smiles. He was finally home, but he couldn't enjoy it. I couldn't appreciate it either, so I settled for just ignoring it completely. I thought that if I pretended that nothing had changed, it wouldn't affect me… and it didn't – at least not right then.

I turned to Dutchy. "Enough lollygagging," I said, almost surprised at how cold and empty my voice sounded. It hadn't been intentional. I couldn't even think of a good threat to follow up with, so I just reminded him, "We just… we don't want to run into anyone."

This made him speed up, because I'm sure he agreed. Seeing our friends would lead to questions, which would lead to explanations, which meant lying. If it was someone that was in on the whole thing, the lies would be in the form of our progress. It would be an outline of what had happened, with plenty of things censored – Swifty, Sofia, Boots, the Pact… the heart of the story, really. If it was someone like Jack, who was already confused and more than a little wary of some of us, then the explanation would be no explanation at all, but a pile of excuses. I considered myself a good storyteller and an even better liar, but I had no idea what I would say if confronted, and I wasn't willing to waste any energy thinking of possible outs. Really, it would just be easier to avoid any of that altogether.

So we hurried. I wanted to get to Brooklyn and see Spot before it got dark, and hopefully before it started to rain. After my reminder, Dutchy looked like he just wanted to get off the streets entirely. He kept glancing around and behind his back, as if someone from the Lodging House would be creeping up behind him, or following us at a distance. I knew that if we did indeed run into anyone, it would be a complete – and unfortunate – coincidence.

We made it to the bridge and I felt a momentary relief. In the Dark, my direction was like a sixth sense, something I relied on without realizing. It wasn't like I needed a map to get around our side of New York, and for the most part I could get to the bridge from any part of the city. But it was still different, paying attention to storefronts and street signs, double checking my turns and occasionally having to back track. When I was in the Dark, I just knew where to go. It took being back home to become conscious of how I used that as a crutch.

As we worked our way across the bridge, I felt a sense of dread begin to grow in my stomach. This was the easy part. We were here, sure. But now we had to find Spot. We had to first convince him to have an audience with us… and then we had to convince him to help us. And that was all assuming that he could help us. If not? It was all a wash, and we'd have to return to the Dark with a dead end and the blood of two missing friends still on our hands.

That last thought chilled me to the bone. I had been trying to keep my mind off of Sofia, and especially Boots, but it just worked its way back around to the subject no matter what. The logical part of my brain kept attempting to tell me that none of it was my fault – I'd been asleep when Sofia left, and promises are meant to be kept – but the rest of me was positively aching. I felt the guilt like a constant weight on my shoulders. I could have done better. I could have saved them both. I could have stopped Sofia, I could have broken a meaningless promise. I could have…

But I didn't. And now it was too late, and the only thing to do was pick up the pieces and run as many steps forward as it took to make things right again. Trouble was, I had a sinking feeling that not everything could be made right. We could find Sofia, or she could find us. But Boots…

We were across the border before I even realized we'd left the bridge. We walked right in, and at our age, dressed like we were and walking like we did, it was immediately understood that we weren't coming over for a stroll. We were Manhattan boys. We were newsies. We weren't looking for trouble, but we sure were looking for something. I knew a lot of boys in Brooklyn, but I didn't know either of the two that appeared, one moving in front and other behind, and signaled for us to come with them. The first was there to lead the way. The second lingered to make sure we didn't change our minds at the last minute. I paid them no heed, except to alter my course to match the feet of the boy ahead of me. Dutchy was twitching, still paranoid about seeing the others, even though we were in Brooklyn and it was fast getting dark, almost too dark for our faces to be recognizable.

We didn't have far to walk. The two Brooklynites led us down to the docks near the bridge. I wasn't nervous, but I was wary – the area was deserted, and I knew that a lot of bad stuff tended to happen on and around the river. I kept my cool and at least attempted to appear confident. Dutch and I stood side by side with our backs to the water. One of the boys had left as soon as we got there, and the other watched us intently. The intensity of his stare made me realize that he was probably pretty new – and pretty nervous. I was careful not to make any sudden movements, in case he was some jumpy sonuvabitch eager to prove himself. Luckily, Dutchy just followed my lead.

It wasn't long before the other boy returned, with a familiar figure in tow. I had to hold back a sigh of relief. I hadn't enjoyed the thought of being stuck in some random place in Brooklyn for hours. We needed to get to Spot… fast.

"Dibs," I said, nodding in the tall boy's direction. He grinned back, but I couldn't answer his smile.

"Racetrack!" he exclaimed, stepping forward to give my hand a hard shake. "Didn't expect to see you here. Kind of late, innit?" Normally, hearing his British lilt while in a tight spot would be like music to my ears, but it failed to lift my spirits. Dutchy was clearly confused.

"Dibs, this is Dutchy, he lives in Manhattan, too. Listen, we need to see Spot. Now."

He raised his eyebrows a little. The other two watched him carefully. "Sorry, Race," he said, "but I dunno if I can do that."

I didn't falter. "It's important," I said, looking him straight in the eye and hoping he somehow recognized the graveness of the situation. "We don't have the time to explain."

But Dibs just shrugged sadly. He did seem genuinely sorry, but that didn't help us any. "I understand, kid, but… it's just not a good time. He ain't seein anyone lately. Hell, I don't even know where the rascal is."

That last part was a lie, but I let it go. Time for the last resort. I unlatched the locket from my neck and held it up so it dangled from my fingers. Dibs took a step closer, intrigued, and unable to see what it was with the absence of moonlight. I let it rest in his palm, and he looked at it, looked at me, and said, "Oh."

The other two crowded closer in an effort to catch a glimpse, but I snatched the locket away and enclosed it tight in my fist.

"Okay, come on," Dibs said with troubled eyes. "Just follow me." He didn't pay any attention to the other boys, and they lagged a few paces behind, probably both puzzled and a little insulted at having been robbed of their job.

We worked our way through the maze of docks, crates, rope, and trash until I was thoroughly lost – Dibs had probably done that on purpose. The other boys had long since left to find something else to do by the time we arrived at Spot's headquarters. This consisted of various stacks of crates and a dilapidated shack with a roof surely just a gust of wind away from caving in. It wasn't all that impressive; in fact, Dutchy was probably disappointed.

Spot had a small fire going in front of the shack and was sitting near it on a box of some sort, leaning in close so he could use its light to read something in his hands.

"This is where I leave you," Dibs murmured from my side. "Good luck." He disappeared, melting into the shadows that surrounded us, but we weren't alone. I knew that several pairs of eyes would be stationed around the area. Spot wasn't paranoid, but he was cautious. And he was smart.

I stepped forward and into the circle of light. He knew I was there, but he didn't yet look up. Only when he had finished whatever he was working on did he bother to acknowledge me.

"This better be good, Higgins." His tone was dry, but far from amused. He looked up, then, but I saw only tired eyes and fatigue. His manner was guarded, though, as always, and I knew that each of his words could be a thinly veiled threat. He did not mess around.

"Spot," I said with a nod, unsure of how to approach everything. He let his papers fall into the fire and looked to me expectantly, ignoring the ashes that started to blow around him.

"I know you didn't just come to say hello," he added. That fact may have been obvious, but I think that it was also a reminder – he may be on this side, but he still knew everything that went on in the Dark. Idly, I wondered if that meant I had to explain anything at all, but his eyes held a sort of guarded curiosity, so I began by clearing my throat.

"We need your help," I said lamely.

"Of course," he said impassively, "so out with it, what's wrong?"

"I…" I hesitated, biting my words back. After all, we were surrounded, and just because Spot trusted these kids didn't mean that I had to. I'd already lectured Dutchy on the importance of keeping your information to yourself.

Spot shook his head a little, most likely reading my thoughts, and probably a little irritated by them. He rolled his eyes and stood, lanky and taller than I remembered. "Well, it's good to see you anyway," he said, basically giving up on the conversation and dismissing us. Dibs was right, he really didn't seem to have the time. He came forward to clasp my hand. The hand I reached out had been holding the locket, and he frowned as we shook and I pressed it against his palm. I pulled my hand away and he drew his back like it had been burned. He didn't even look at the object, just glared at me in such a way that I actually took a step backwards, and bumped into Dutchy.

"What happened to her?" he asked tersely, eyes blazing. I looked at him pointedly and he said, "No, forget it, don't answer that. Go in there," he pointed toward the shack and I grimaced but went through the door with Dutchy close behind. I heard Spot bark out orders outside, probably clearing the area, and then he, too, entered.

"Sit, sit down," he said, and we grabbed some dusty chairs while he paced anxiously.

As soon as he'd decided that we had had enough time to get settled, he whirled around and appeared close in front of me.

"Sorry," I said wearily, "but you don't get any of that without hearing the whole story first."

"You might want to sit down," Dutchy added weakly. Spot ignored him. But he did take a step back, and continued to watch me closely as he found a cigarette and lit it with steady hands.

"It started back about… it started when we woke up to find Specs sick… real sick," I began. "Specs, he lives at the Lodging House, he-"

"I know," Spot interrupted.

"Okay… Specs had Fever, for whatever reason, and so we-"

"I know, I know this," Spot said impatiently, his voice not rising but still becoming somehow sharper. "You had your Pact, you went to the Dark, Sofia's shop was burned down. But she's not dead, so where is she?"

"We don't know," I said, trying my hardest not to become frustrated. "Please, just let me explain." He gave me permission again with a short wave of his hand. "You're right, Sofia isn't dead. We didn't know it when we first arrived, but… that's that. She was hiding and staying with Swifty when she could. We went to Swifty because… well, we had nowhere else to go.

"We got a hold of a list of ingredients that we had to find so we could make the Cure for Specs. Sofia offered to help. She said she would mix everything together once we found it all. So we started gathering things up piece by piece. I mean, we only even started a few days ago… a few days Dark time, I don't know about here.

"Things… well, see, things got complicated. You know Kid Blink? He was caught trying to go through a watched door. They… I guess they tortured him –"

"Who?"

"Roque… they… and he said some things. Kid Blink, I mean. Just words, but enough, right? So this happens and then Sofia disappears. She goes out to find something, and she never comes back. Swifty went all over the place looking for her, but… and it's only after that happens that we get the news about Kid Blink, okay? We didn't know, so… so it was too late.

"We had been planning on coming here anyway, so Dutch and I left with this kid…" here I trailed off. I couldn't talk about it. But even if I could bring myself to tell the story about Boots, I knew that Spot wouldn't give a damn. Already he was only half listening, trying to work everything out from what little information I'd been able to give him.

" Anyways, we came here looking for you, and… here we are."

Spot stopped his pacing and looked at me through narrowed eyes. "You came here to tell me about Sofia?"

"Well, no, remember we-"

"You said you'd decided to come here before Sofia disappeared, Racetrack. So either get your story straight, or tell me why you're really in Brooklyn."

I sighed. I'd been trying to get to that, but I didn't have the will to argue right then. "We only have one ingredient missing," I explained.

"Oh, yeah? Let me guess, a stone from the Brooklyn Bridge?" he said with biting sarcasm. He wasn't smiling. His cigarette smoldered in his hand.

"Not quite," I said. "It's… it's an 'effect' from the caster of the spell… the curse. Something related to them – something physical, or something important, like, well, a locket."

He only continued to stare at me, a little incredulously. "I got no bad blood with Specs, Race," he said.

"I know," I said. I had to be careful with this next part. "But for whatever reason, Br – ah, you know, the guy who threw you out? He does."

"He sent the Fever?"

"He sent the Fever."

Now Spot came as close as he would to sitting; he crouched down and took a long drag from his cigarette, staring off into space before turning his gaze back on me.

"And you think I have some sort of… effect… from this… from him."

"Well… yeah," I said with a shrug. "Or, I mean, we thought that you could at least help. That you could point us in the right direction." But I had thought that he would have something. And he knew that.

"You're asking a lot, you know," he said, almost casually.

"I know," I replied. Dutchy watched our exchange with rapt attention. He was far too intimidated to add anything of his own to the conversation.

"Maybe you don't really realize this," Spot continued, "but you're asking a lot."

I didn't feel the need to repeat myself, so instead I asked, "Are you coming back?" At first glance it may have seemed like a change of subject, but it was quite the opposite.

"Of course," Spot said plainly. And it was the way in which he answered my question that said it all. Spot was coming back to the Dark, and he didn't care who knew it. That meant he had to have something up his sleeve, some ace that he hadn't yet played. He was confident and casual because he was positive he would come out on top. I sat back a little, thinking this through, and he stood and flicked his spent cigarette to the ground.

"Dutchy," he said, looking to my companion for the first time, "you stay here." He turned his eyes on me and I was struck, as most people are, by their intensity.

"Race, you're coming with me."