The sky over Kingston looks like someone stuck a giant syringe into it and sucked out all the color.

Kitty doesn’t step down onto the platform right away. She hangs back and lets other passengers disembark ahead of her. You stand there looking up at her, afraid you’re losing her again. Then you see the fear in her eyes. No, not fear: caution. That’s all. Intense caution. And so instead of pleading with her to hoof it, you saunter down the platform, cool as all get out, checking the crowd for the kind of person to be cautious of. You’re not sure what to look for. Then you realize that your job is simple: look for someone who is looking for someone. Nobody seems to be. And when you turn back, she has finally disembarked and is walking toward you. The platform is nearly empty.

“Everything’s cool,” you say.

She laughs and grabs hold of your arm. “Thank goodness,” she says in a movie voice. “Our secret formula is safe!” She’s making fun of you, but you like her holding on to you so tight, her breast pressed against your arm. Then she drops it. It was all just part of the charade.

You have to go down a set of stairs to an underground passageway that leads to the terminal on the other side of the tracks.

She stops halfway down the staircase, squats to peer along the tunnel, and you realize that no one with any brains would have waited for her on the platform, anyway. They’d be down here or in the main terminal. She’d thought of that. She’s warier than you are. Remember that, Blink. And faster.

The way seems clear, but you keep your eyes peeled. You will help her escape if you have to. You imagine throwing yourself in the path of some druggie, taking his feet out from under him while she runs away.

The thing is, people do look at her — maybe it’s the clothes: the yellow socks, purple tights, red and blue kilt, and crazy blue jacket. How can they not look? You can hardly stop looking at her yourself.

She gives the terminal a good once-over, twice-over — then relaxes. “I’m going to phone Alyson,” you say. But she shakes her head and makes you sit down.

“Tell me more,” she says.

“Like what?”

She puts her face in her hands to cover a huge yawn. She’s not bored, just exhausted.

“Okay,” she says. “Start with how exactly you’re going to make this million dollars you’re talking about.”

It sounds juvenile to hear her throw this back at you. “Well, that was just —”

“Bullshit, I realize that,” she says, cutting you off a little irritably. “I just want to hear how you expect to make anything out of this.”

This is good, you think: put your gut feeling into words. Forget the picture of the pretty blonde on the lawn for a minute and concentrate.

“The only way to find out for sure Niven is up to something is to check out this idea of Alyson’s.”

“And her idea again?”

“That he’s hiding out at some lodge.”

“And she can’t go up there herself because . . . ?”

“I’m not sure. Except it seems like she’s being watched pretty closely. And, like, with her dad kidnapped and all, she can’t just slip away.”

Kitty nods. “And how do you turn this information into money if it is true?”

“Well,” you say slowly. “If he’s up to something and we know about it, then we could, like, maybe make a bundle, right?”

“Blackmail?”

“Yeah.”

“Who? Alyson?”

“Well, no. She tells her dad we know or whatever.”

“Or whatever . . .”

“Or we take it to somebody,” you say. “The newspapers would pay for information like this, wouldn’t they?”

“Would they?”

“How should I know?” You shrug again. “But we could find out.”

“We?”

You blush — can’t help yourself. “I mean me. I could find out.”

“You’re cute when you blush,” she says, with this mocking smile.

“Shut up,” you say, punching her arm. “Anyway, the only way we — I mean, I — can find out if there’s money in it is to have the information to sell.”

She’s looking down at the floor. You’re not sure if she’s thinking or drifting off.

“Why would I want to get wrapped up in this?” she says really quietly.

“Because you owe me,” you say.

She snorts and looks away, but she doesn’t go away. She rests her elbows on her knees and stares across the station.

“Listen,” you say, leaning on your own knees, so that your face is near hers and you don’t have to talk very loudly. “This could be a trap. I know that. But as long as I’m calling the shots, I figure I can avoid getting caught.”

She looks sideways at you. She reaches up and pushes the hair out of your eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“We see anything suspicious — anything that looks bad — and we bail. We’re outta there. It’ll be even easier with two of us.”

“Go on,” she says.

“If Alyson is telling the truth and we check out this lodge or whatever it is, and we’re really careful about how we do it, then we see where we stand. What have we got to lose?”

She smiles again, a faraway smile. It’s as if you’ve finally said the only thing that makes any sense.

“We,” you say. “That’s the best thing, see? Alyson doesn’t know I’ve got someone watching my back.”

“Yes,” she says. She’s not looking at you. It’s as if she’s saying yes to a voice in her head. “I guess that’s why I’m here.”

“I can, like, cut you in on whatever we make,” you say, because you don’t want to lose her now. “You’re broke, right? If there’s no money in it, I’ll give you some of what I’ve got left. You’re going to need something, or you might get stuck in Kingston, like, forever.”

You both turn to look out the front windows of the train station, where you see nothing but waving yellow swamp grass and trees along a low hill beside a road.

“Yeah, well,” she says.

“Will you do it?”

He stares at Kitty.

“Will you do it?” he says.

She sighs, hangs her head. “I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t want to get sucked into this.”

“You already are,” he says.

She likes the pleading in his voice. She recognizes it. It’s her pleading with Spence to let her do something with him, go with him somewhere. She sits up, looks around. She can almost feel him here. She wants to call his name. Spence? Spence, are you here? If he is, it’s the first time. So why now? Easy: because of this fool boy who needs her.

“What’ve we got to lose?” he says again.

And this is the cleverest thing Blink has said so far, although there’s no way he would understand why. Suddenly in Kitty’s rattled and overtired brain, she sees that he has provided her with the one inescapable truth. She is already a part of this thing. She did it herself. She stole this boy’s money and then felt so bad about it she followed him here. She tumbled headlong into this.

So this is now part of the journey. Escaping Merlin was not a complete escape, just a stage. There are some insects that go through a whole bunch of stages before they finally reach their final shape. Something else she learned from Spence. That’s what is happening to her. She has left behind the ugly slug of a larva-type thing she had become, and now she’s some kind of other creature. She’s not in the muck anymore but in this murky water. The sky is yet to come. It’s as close to rational as she can get.

“I owe you fifty-nine bucks and change,” she says, “not a jail term for aiding and abetting.”

He grins at her. He can tell from the tone of her voice that she’s not really turning him down.

“Half and half,” he says, the big businessman all of a sudden, dividing up his millions. “Not counting the money you owe me.”

She punches his arm. It’s as close to a “yes” as he’s going to get.

You phone Alyson from the train station.

“You’re early,” she says.

“Just smart,” you say.

“I’ll come for you,” she says.

Funny, your father used to say that, didn’t he, Blink? He’d phone out of the blue and say, “I’ll come for you.” And you’d wait and wait and wait.

“Blink, are you there?”

You want to say okay, but you’re holding the receiver so Kitty can listen in, and she’s shaking her head.

“No,” you say, as coolly as you can. “Where’s someplace we could meet downtown? Is there a downtown?”

She chuckles. “There’s a coffee place on Princess called the Sleepless Goat.”

“The what?” you say.

“I didn’t name the place,” she says. “That’s what it’s called.”

“Okay. Is that far from here?”

“Let me pick you up,” she says.

“Just answer the question. Is it like an hour away or what?”

She makes an irritated sound; she’s not used to being bossed around.

“It’s probably under ten bucks by cab from the bus station,” she says, “if that’s what you mean.”

“What about the train station?”

She pauses for a moment as she takes in the implication of what you’re saying.

“You’re right,” she says. “You are smart.”

You beam at Kitty, who makes like she’s going to shove her finger down her throat.

“The cab fare is about the same,” says Alyson. “I could meet you in half an hour. Say, midday?”

Kitty is shaking her head, mouthing something at you, holding her hand to her head like a phone.

“Uh, no. I’ll call you back,” you say to Alyson. Kitty nods. “We can figure out when we’re going to meet then.”

“Stop playing games with me, Brent.” She says your name as if it’s something she noticed on the bottom of her shoe.

“Forget it,” you say. “See you around.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” she shouts. “This is serious. That’s all I’m saying. I have to know that you understand that.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” she says. “But you don’t seem to get that this isn’t funny. Not for me.”

“Getting arrested wouldn’t be so funny, either.”

“I told you. There’s no way I can let anyone know that I’m even talking to you.”

“That’s right,” you say, cool as spare change from a businessman’s hand. “That’s what you told me.”

She sounds like she’s going to start up again. Then she backs off. “Okay,” she says reluctantly. “We’ll do this your way.”

“Excellent.”