“What?” he asked, sobering considerably. “Jo, what is it?”
“We’re going to look for him in the catacombs.” I powered the lift to take us back down to the kitchen. The only way to get farther underground was by a dark stairwell I’d always avoided when I worked in the storeroom. It had emanated a damp chill and, occasionally, a sound like howling that I attributed to the airflow.
“Catacombs?” Ezra asked uneasily. “Why would the House of Industry have an underground cemetery?”
“It’s not a cemetery.” I sounded impatient. Almost defensive. Even though I knew there was nothing defensible about what was happening below the surface. “Generators are kept in the catacombs. The cool air is good for them. They discharge so much radiance that they run hot.”
Was that even true? Or was it easier to keep them out of sight so that none of us had to think about the children who grew up in the dark, never seeing what their radiance did for others?
“So it’s actually a prison. And Julian is down there?” Ezra caught my trembling free hand, and I wrenched it away, too agonized to be touched.
“That was stupid what you did,” I snapped at him, knowing I was misdirecting my anger, but unable to stop myself. “Animatingin the House of Industry? What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I might die today, and that I wanted a few plants to live longer than I will,” he said with infuriating sincerity.
The lift jerked to a halt at the kitchen. I collected myself, my breath whistling. “Gertrude thinks Julian is down there. She was my—she’s my friend. She’d have no reason to lie to me.”
When the door opened, a servant flinched back, dropping her basket of produce and screaming.
“Oh no,” I said hurriedly, reaching for her. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
She tripped over the basket and fell hard. “R-resistors,” she gasped hoarsely, as if fear had closed her throat.
Before I could stop him, Ezra swung behind her and put his arm around her neck.
“What are you doing?” I asked, trying not to shout, trying not to draw more attention. “Ezra!”
“I’m making her sleep,” Ezra said grimly, holding on as the young woman thrashed in his arms, her boots drumming against the stone. In a few more seconds, her eyes fluttered shut, and she stopped struggling. He pulled her basket over and used it to cushion her head as she cameto rest on the ground. His hands were shaking. “She’ll be fine. But I would prefer not to do that again.”
“Follow me,” I said, darting down to the storeroom. Somone had likely heard the servant’s scream, and we were running out of time. I weaved around stacks of milk crates and sacks of potatoes, breaking into a run that Ezra easily kept up with.
At the opening to the stairs that led deeper underground, I pressed my hand against the stone wall and took a fortifying breath.
“Come on,” Ezra said in a grim tone, heading down the steep spiral staircase first. Radiance lamps affixed to the walls gave off a dim glow, like this terrible place wasn’t worth the effort of lighting properly.
I should have taken the lead, but for a moment, I felt safe behind him, as if I could tuck my face against his back if something frightening approached us. Like a scared child, I wanted to close my eyes and make all this go away. Only yesterday, we’d shared a bed with Julian, at peace in a way I suspected none of us had felt in a long time.
Peace felt like a fantasy now.
Hearing the scuffle of footsteps, I ducked under Ezra’s arm and whispered to him to stay where he was. The brief illusion was over. Down here, far from any living plants, I had a strong advantage. I wasn’t going to let him get hurt.
I hurried around the next winding curl of stairs, away from Ezra. A Transistor in a bright red scarf was making his way toward me. He looked to be in his thirties, with a complexion like Julian’s and straight black hair that fell past his shoulders.
“No students are allowed down here,” the Transistor said mildly. He had warm, kind eyes.
He clearly didn’t see me as an intruder or a threat. It took me aback for a moment, and I struggled to sound forceful in turn. “I have to enter the catacombs. I’ll fight my way in if I must.”
“Fightme?” he asked, sounding confused. “Aren’t you an apprentice Conductor?”
Fine. Let him underestimate me.
“But I want to see what’s down there!” I said like a petulant second year on a dare. Lunging as if to dart past him, I pretended to trip over my own feet. He grabbed me, muttering that I needed to be more careful. For a moment, we were frozen like that, his arms around me and my hand on his chest to brace myself.
I had to incapacitate him. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pushed radiance into his chest viciously. His eyes widened and he clutched my wrist. Smoke rose from his charred shirt. “You’re a Conductor,” he insisted, his voice garbled and wrong. He crashed to his knees, pulling me down with him.
“Sorry,” I said, squirming out of his hold and watching him roll down the stairs until he got jammed between the narrow walls. “Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry.”
His mouth opened and closed silently. I saw blood on his teeth and tried not to heave. We were looking right at each other when his eyes dulled and his face became a specter of death.
