Street Magic

you at all, eh?" Pete asked. Jack shrugged.
    "You haven't yet, luv."
    Pete checked her wristwatch. "I should go. I have my last postsurgery checkup in an hour."
    "Going to have a nice Frankenstein scar, are you?" Jack asked.
    Pete unbuttoned her slicker and pulled up her jumper to show the slightly jagged line of stitches on her stomach, like an elongated Z. Jack winced. "You stuck yourself a good one, didn't you?"
    "I had to be sure I'd make it over to you," Pete said. "I don't think a light scratch would have exactly done it."
    "I should get you a taxi," Jack said, stepping to the curb. Pete pulled him back.
    "I'll manage on the tube—I've made it a whole week without getting so dizzy I fall over."
    They paused at the entrance to the Metropolitan line. Finally Pete said, "It's all right. I know you don't like hospitals." She didn't mention that thanks to her injury-fueled journey into Jack's nightmares, she knew exactly
why
he didn't care for them.
    "Meet you at the Mayfair afterward." The Mayfair Arms was the pub around the corner from Pete's doctor's surgery. She nodded.
    "We'll have a bite of supper. Jack, there's something I need to ask you, now that things have settled…"
    Jack's eyes unfocused and he looked past her, down the stairs of the tube. "Oh, bugger all…"
    Pete was spun around and into a portly gentleman wielding a briefcase as Jack shoved past her and took the stairs into the tube two at a time. Pete blinked the rain out of her eyes. "Bloody hell. Sorry. Sorry," she apologized to the man.
    "Those louts should be arrested," the man huffed. Pete took off after Jack as quickly as her healing incision would allow. She'd been at her desk in MIT ever since she'd been released from the hospital three weeks ago, and it was driving her mad. Newell refused to tell her when she might be back on duty as an active inspector. Her only comfort was that he seemed to believe her story of following the kidnap suspects to Highgate and getting stabbed in the ensuing struggle. Ollie, bless him, had covered his end and made no mention of Jack in his reports.
    "Jack!" she shouted over the rumble of late-afternoon commuters packing the station. His blond head bobbed behind a pillar, headed for the tracks.
    Pete caught up with him just as his feet crossed the safety line and his arms reached out in a scooping motion, to pull an invisible phantom back from the spitting rails.
    The shriek of the train's horn blinded Pete to everything else, and she snatched Jack by the collar of his coat and deliberately fell backward, praying her weight would be enough to hold him.
    The train blew hot dragon's breath in her face as the brakes locked and it squealed to a stop. The sound mingled with a few screams from waiting passengers who had witnessed Jack's attempted swan dive.
    "It's fine!" Pete shouted above the echoes of the train. She dug out her warrant card and flashed it to the four corners, keeping one knee firmly planted on Jack's arm as he struggled under her. "Metropolitan Police. I have the situation under control."
    Missing a train was worse than a man almost landing on the tracks to most of the commuters around Pete, and they moved on, whispering among themselves.
    "The girl… she went right over the edge… she burned up on the rails…" Jack's eyes were mostly white, and he twitched restlessly as if in a fever dream.
    "What girl?" Pete demanded. "Jack, there was nobody going over the edge but you."
    He blinked at her, and then sagged. "Fucking hell, Pete, I'm sorry."
    Pete slumped when she realized that Jack had not, in fact, gone any madder than he already was. Her knife wound hurt a great deal from the fall. "Your sight."
    He nodded, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. They were their natural color when he took his hands away. "I saw her clear as day. Pretty little blond thing, couldn't have been more than fifteen. She went down those steps with such purpose… I
knew
what she was about, just had to be in time to stop her…"
    Pete got to her feet with some difficulty and offered Jack an arm. He took it, and kept leaning on her. "I can't do this, Pete. I maintained while we were trying to find Treadwell but I can't anymore. I'm very sorry."
    Hearing Jack speak in a defeated tone wasn't normal—it was tilt-the-sun-the-wrong-way odd, in fact. Pete looked up at him. "No, Jack."
    "You should go on to your appointment," he said. "I'm going to take care of this problem. I'll be at home if you're looking for me." He