note: I just wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who has been reviewing so far. It's true; you guys are the best. Also, and you won't understand this part until later, but, Stress - I swear I'm not creepily obsessed with you... I just thought it was funny. Right. Onward!

eight: promises II.

"I wish I could say I could help you, Danya," Madame Proulx spoke, dragging me back from my thoughts. "I don't know if I can." She stopped and closed her eyes to think. I was honestly afraid she might fall asleep. "Ah," she said finally, "I know." She opened her eyes. "Yes, I can help. But I will need something from you."

I was mildly worried, and remembered my earlier warning to Dutchy. Everyone wants something, I thought. Nothing is free.

"Anything," said Dutchy.

I sighed.

The old woman chuckled at Dutchy's answer and my subsequent reaction. "Now, now," she said, "it's nothing big. In fact, I would call it more of a small favor than any sort of payment." She smiled warmly, and sincerely, and I was convinced.

"What do you need?" asked Dutchy.

"Well, I'm afraid it's not a simple answer," she said. "It requires a bit of an explanation. I hope you two are comfortable.

"You see, I need you to take one of my charges along with you. He won't get in the way, this I can promise, and he also won't be with you for long. His age and ability place him beyond my care, and I need you to help him safely reach his next destination. I suppose you could call it a delivery of sorts. Actually, I would do it myself, but I am not comfortable leaving this building. I have much to look after… much that ties me here."

"And in return?" I asked quickly, before Dutchy could blindly agree.

"In return, I will set the two of you loose in my library. Buried somewhere – I can only guess as to exactly where – is a list of ingredients for this Cure you seek." She paused. "My boy could even help you find one or two of the items on your way, you know."

It wasn't a bad deal, providing we could find the list in a reasonable amount of time. I looked to Dutchy; he just shrugged, fine with it. Me, I needed more convincing. Maybe Swifty knew this broad, but I'd never even heard of her, and it's not like I had one hundred percent trust in Swifty, either.

"What exactly do you do here?" I asked cautiously. There was no way she ran an orphanage for lost children out of the kindness of her heart – besides, any kid in the Dark was definitely lost, usually lost beyond salvation. She smiled.

"Do you want to know the what or the why?" she asked, and I wondered if I always broadcast my thoughts so plainly. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything less," she murmured. "Alright. The truth is, I stumbled into this business quite ignorantly many years ago. A boy from the street found his way into my home and begged me to let him stay, offering to clean and cook and such in return for the shelter. For whatever reason, I agreed, and we lived like this, quite independent of each other, for several months. All of this changed one day when I was eating lunch. I saw him from the corner of my eye, but when I turned to tell him something, he was gone. I trust my eyes, if nothing else, and I knew what I had seen. But I didn't do anything just then, I didn't want to scare him, so I just finished my lunch and forced myself to be patient.

"That night, I cornered him in the kitchen and demanded to know just what he was doing. I was both curious and jealous as he admitted that he could disappear at will. I didn't know why, or how, but he could do it, and he showed me – he could, for short periods of time, become invisible. I was shocked. There are strange things and stranger people here, to be sure, but I had never heard of such a talent. Of course, I'd only been on this side for about a year, and I had much to learn.

"And learn I did. Anthony, of this part of the story I'm sure you are well aware. You see, all girls and boys – no, that is – all children like you, streetrats, orphans, runaways, and the like – have a little Dark in them. That is what attracts them to this side in the first place, likes moths to a flame, though most are not aware of their actions – some don't even know they're in a different city. But they are, and when they are, this Dark, this… element… it becomes something else entirely. Something special." Here her smile became wicked. "Something I can manipulate. Of course," she continued, "when the children reach a certain age, the abilities fade and are eventually forgotten. But until then, they are my eyes and ears, my messengers, my little warriors. Yes, they earn their keep."

She sat back and regarded us with that fixed smile. "You boys, you try to act older than you are, but you're not too old yet. Right, Anthony?"

"Guess not," I said. She was right – this part of the story I knew well. Kids. They were everywhere in the Dark, Madame Proulx wasn't the only person smart enough to take advantage of them. Warlords loved us because of our naivety and expendability. We made valuable runners, smugglers, and even assassins. In a way, we used them – the adults – just as they used us. But for people like me, and like the rest of my friends, our time was running out. We were only useful for so long. I thought of Skittery and Blink, who had both notoriety and a steady income from the Dark, and were only all too aware of that fact.

"How 'come you didn't tell me, Race?" Dutchy asked, both curious and a little hurt. I shrugged.

"Not much to tell," I said. I looked at Madame Proulx and explained, "I have a good sense of direction – really good. I know where to go. I don't get lost – nothing more." I certainly wasn't as impressive as disappearing boy.

"You would be a good mentor," she mused.

"Can we meet the boy before we make our decision?" I asked, ignoring her observation.

"Of course, of course," she chuckled, but Dutchy still looked troubled. "I'll just be a moment." She left by way of the door behind me.

"Am I too old, Race?" Dutchy asked with a frown. "Am I too old to… to have anything?"

"Nah," I said, though I honestly had no idea. "You've only been over here for like a day. Who's to say you can't just up and disappear, too? We'll find out, probably when you least expect it. See, it's…" I struggled to find a way to explain the phenomenon. I thought I had been the exception to the rule, too, until everyone started commenting on my knack for getting around. I was surprised to learn that it wasn't normal, that not everyone could get where they wanted to go no matter what.

"It's so much a part of you," I said finally, "that you don't necessarily notice it as anything special until something happens that's to big to ignore." I shrugged again, so helplessly that we both laughed a little, and I think he took some confidence from my words. It's possible that I did too; my insides felt warm from the coffee, and for the first time, I began to believe that we would be okay, Dutch and I.

Now Madame Proulx returned and in tow she had a scrawny black boy, probably just eleven or twelve years old. His hair was cut close to his head and he carried a weathered gray cap in his hands. He wore a clean, gray shirt and pressed black pants, finished off with some giant black boots. He looked up at us and just grinned, but stayed close by the Madame's side. Dutchy and I stood to meet them.

"Danya, Anthony, this is Lucas. Lucas, these boys will be helping you on your way." I chose to ignore her certainty.

"Kids call me Boots," the boy said, and winked at me. He seemed alright, normal enough, at least at this point. Truth was, I had no idea what we would do if we didn't take her up on her offer, anyway.

I knew Dutchy was already sold on the idea, so I didn't bother to confer with him. I just nodded slowly, my eyes still matched with Boots', and said, "Okay, it sounds good." He met my gaze unflinchingly.

"Lucas is very excited," Madame Proulx said kindly. "Lucas, why don't you go pack your things." He scampered off, but Dutch and I remained standing. She caught the hint and moved to the door on the right, where the boy with the coffee had emerged.

"Through here," she said, her hand on the knob. "Henry will be on the other side, he'll show you. I'll send Lucas in to meet with you when he's ready. When you're finished, he will also show you the way out. And he knows where he is headed, he has a name."

"Thank you," Dutchy and I said at the same time. I bowed my head and she opened the door and just watched us leave, saying nothing more.

Henry was a lanky boy, about fifteen, with white blond hair and an air of superiority about him. He didn't ask who we were or why we were there, I don't think he cared at all, he just beckoned for us to follow and made his way rather quickly through a maze of corridors. We climbed two sets of stairs and made countless turns, and even with my heightened sense of direction, I wasn't sure if I could find my way out. The place must have had hundreds of rooms, and I was a little surprised when we finally came to a stop.

For some reason, I had been expecting something bigger, something grander, like huge double doors and cathedral ceilings or something. The reality couldn't have been more opposite. We were at the dead end of a long, dimly lit hallway – I hadn't seen any windows to speak of the entire way – and in front of us there was a short stair down to a moldy looking door that was just barely visible in the gloom. I winced; I was not looking forward to this. Henry unhooked an unlit lantern from the wall and handed it to Dutchy with a smirk. As he turned to go, I asked, randomly, "Hey. Do you like it here?"

He looked back at us, gave a short bark of a laugh, and disappeared through a side door.

"Well, that's encouraging," I muttered to Dutchy. He dug a match out of his pocket to light the lantern, and the sight of the flame reminded me of how much I wanted a smoke. I grunted and decided to sacrifice a cigar, figuring I could chew on it to distract me while we searched. Besides, it's not like Sofia would be complaining.

Dutchy bravely went down first, shouldered the door open, and entered. I bit the tip off my cigar and hurried after him before the lantern's circle of light was too far from view.

"Grimories?" I asked, blowing the dust from a cover of an enormous, leather bound tome.

"Nah… ha, how 'bout, Famous Journeys and Their Disastrous Ends," he mentioned by way of an answer, then dropped the volume to a floor carpeted in scrolls and fragments of yellowed paper.

"Charming," I said, rubbing my eyes with my fists. We'd been in the moldy "library" for almost an hour and I wasn't sure how much more tedious searching I could take. Dutchy took a seat on a stack of books and rested his head against the cold brick wall with a sigh. From the back of the room we could hear a steady dripping sound, which was both irritating and a little unnerving. What if the list we needed was already ruined?

I picked up the lantern we'd set placed between us and held it up to a wide bookcase running the length of the room. I read the titles softly to myself as I went, as if hearing the syllables out loud would trigger something inside me that my eyes could not. Meanwhile, Dutchy leafed idly through the thick pages of Histories of Wars.

"Portaverunt Deas… Portals of 1852… A Maldiçao de Diabo… Christ, I can't even read half of these…" I paused. Set back from the other books was a slim volume, dark, with nothing written on its bind. Curious, I slid it out and set the lantern on the floor, careful not to spill anything on the brittle (and highly flammable) mass of papers.

The words on the cover had formerly been in red type, but had been rubbed out so only their indentations remained. I brushed my fingers over the depressions and squinted at the title. It read, Curses and the Cursed. The edges of the pages were also black, and glinted in the low light like a mockery of gold or silver leaf. I was about to open it when I heard a commotion at the door. A shadow of a figure joined us with a loud snort. I held up the lantern and confirmed my suspicions – it was Boots. He blinked a few times in the light and wrinkled his nose.

"Whew! How long you boys been down here? Any luck yet?"

Dutchy ignored him, but I had to answer his ever present smile.

"Maybe," I said, and put the light down on one of the bookshelves. It was now right at eye level, and I held the black book close to the steady flame. Boots waded through the mess to join me, a disgusted, but still amused, look on his face. I opened the cover and began to search. The book's pages were thin to the point that you could almost see through them, therefore the volume contained much more information than it had originally appeared to hold. Titles of various ailments, most of which I had never even heard of, were written in red at the top of each page, so I began to flip through with my thumb until I spotted what I was looking for. Fever.

"What'd you find?" Dutchy asked from his seat a few yards away.

"Not what we're looking for," I answered, snapped the book closed, and tossed it to him. "But hold onto it, anyway."

Boots had gone to the other end of the bookcase and was making his way toward me.

"What about you, d'ya know what you're looking for, kid?" I asked, scanning the shelf in front of me in an effort to find where I had left off.

"Yup," he said. He went up on his toes, then shook his head and dropped down, working quickly. In the back of my mind, I wondered how he could see well enough to be contributing, but I didn't dwell on it. Damn kids and their young eyes.

This thought was so absurd – after all, I was only five or six years older than Boots – that I laughed out loud, and both my companions stopped to stare.

"Don't worry about me, fellas," I said, grinning in the dark, "I'm just – oh, hello." I'd found my place and almost laughed again, this time with disbelief. The book I pulled out was small and compact, as if to be carried in a bag or pocket. Its cover was red leather, smooth and impossibly clean. The lettering on the front was in gold and simply read, Remedies. I knew this book. And I knew it would have what we needed. Dutchy and Boots appeared on either side of me and both looked over my shoulder as I opened to a table of contents.

I ran my finger down the list until I saw that simple five-letter word, then flipped to the corresponding page. I was a little surprised to see that it didn't look so complicated at all; only three pages were dedicated to Fever: some sort of preface, an encouragingly short list of materials, and what I assumed to be instructions for putting everything together.

This time it was Dutchy who laughed, joyfully, and clapped me on the back.

"All right!" Boots said with a grin. "Now, let's go!"

I had to agree. I suddenly couldn't stand to be in that dungeon of a room a second longer, so I ripped out the last two pages and gave them to Dutchy.

"Here," I said, "put these in that other book I gave you."

"Shouldn't we just take the whole thing?" he asked, bewildered.

"No, the black one is thinner. It'll be easier to hide. For some reason, I don't think we want to be caught taking more than we agreed to."

He nodded and obliged, and we followed Boots out and back up the stairs. I was relieved, and let it show on my face. Boots turned out the lantern and replaced it on its hook, then led the way outside via a completely different route than before.

Despite my sudden high, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, and I was glad when we finally stepped out onto the cobblestones again, even if it was beginning to get dark. Dutchy had remembered at least some of my warnings from before, and looked quickly to me.

"Um, now what?" he asked, and I felt myself coming back down to earth.

"Well… now we find a place to hole up in for the night," I said. "Come on."

We walked off down the street, but Boots remained frozen to a spot just outside the orphanage, looking up at its dizzying height.

"Boots!" I called, walking backwards and watching him. "Boots, hurry up!"

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, met my eyes, flashed another huge grin, and ran to catch up. I laughed and cuffed his head affectionately, and even Dutchy snickered a little.

Yeah, we were gonna be alright.