The Space Between Read Online Free PDF

back, but no one says anything.
    “Are you still here?” he asks with a sharp, derisive smile. “There’s nothing here for you. Go on, go find something else to amuse yourselves.”
    The Eaters on the walkway scowl, but no one argues. None of them would dare question Beelzebub when he makes his wishes known, even now, when the decree is something unheard of.
    The look Obie gives him is grateful, but I can’t help thinking that Beelzebub is doing this for me and not my brother. That if it were Obie sitting on the ground with a bleeding boy, reluctant to hand him over to the Eaters, Beelzebub would shake his head and smile regretfully, or maybe lecture him on jurisdiction, remind him that once a job comes into the city, they all belong here—no exceptions. He wouldn’t, under any circumstances, send the boy home.
    Moloch looks away. “Do what you want—I’m just the errand boy—but don’t go thinking you’re his savior. Trust me, he’ll be back here again in six months. A year at the outside.”
    “Sorry,” the boy whispers and his voice is almost too soft to hear. “I’m sorry.”
    The word sounds choked and I don’t know what he’s apologizing for. His hand is slick and solid in mine, and I adjust my grip but don’t pull away.
    Obie gestures for the boy to stand up, but he doesn’t move. He stays crouched next to me, until I struggle up from the floor and help him to his feet. Obie takes him by the elbow and starts for the gates, but the boy hesitates. His fingers are tangled with mine, his grip obstinate.
    Obie tugs harder. “Daphne, let go.”
    “I’m not holding on.”
    Obie tries again to steer him back toward the row of turnstiles, but the boy just clutches me tighter.
    “Stop it,” I tell him, struggling to pull away. “You can’t stay here.”
    I have to peel his fingers off me one by one before he will loosen his grip. Even as we slide apart, the boy won’t drop his gaze. His eyes are pale as ice chips, boring into mine, and I think he can see my deepest wishes and my secrets, see all the way inside of me. I need him to stop looking.
    “Quite the trousseau,” Beelzebub says, raising his eyebrows at Obie’s suitcase, which is lying on the floor. “Packing light for someone who’s leaving for good.”
    Obie doesn’t answer. He takes me by the arm and pulls me away from the crowd, looking down into my face. His eyes are wide and hurt. Betrayed.
    “This is the most important thing in my life,” he says in a low voice. “Do you understand that? I need this. How could you just run out and tell everybody?”
    I gaze up at him, mute as he searches my face. I don’t tell him that it wasn’t everybody, that it was only Beelzebub.
    “I had to tell someone,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I’m scared you’re going to die.”
    Obie’s hand is resting on my arm and the way he looks at me is pleading. “Don’t—don’t make it harder. I know what could happen. Don’t you think I’d stay if I could?”
    And I see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth. He can’t be happy here. He needs to leave, and needing that means nothing will stop him.
    “I understand,” I say, with my hands clasped tight together. “Just please, be careful.”
    Obie nods. His eyes are the interminable silver of our mother’s, but gentle and liquid. “I love you,” he says, so softly I think I’ve misheard it.
    “You what?”
    “Love you,” he says again, louder.
    And I’ve only ever heard that word coming from the television. Not from someone’s actual mouth, not talking about me.
    With an expression so tender it makes something spasm in my throat, he leans down and kisses me on the forehead. Then he lets me go. He picks up the suitcase and rests a hand on the boy’s shoulder, turning him toward the gates, and all at once, I know that he’s leaving—really, and for good. That in another instant, my brother will be gone and I’ll still be here.
    He presses his hand against the pass panel