Pandaemonium by Ben Macallan

using my own fear of his notorious family to avoid thinking about what I’d done this morning, what it meant to Jordan, what it meant to me.
    Using one boy and his dangerous parents to avoid thinking about another one, and his.
    Urgency let me get away with it, if only just. I could almost be grateful to the Corbies. An adrenalin spurt, an Aspect lock-down, that fight-or-flight tunnel vision was just what I needed...
    Tunnel vision. Hah. Sharp enough to cut myself, if I only dared to laugh.
    He tried to go one way, following the flow of people; I held still until he stopped pulling, then drew him with me in the opposite direction.
    “The signs say exit that way,” he murmured. Not a protest this time, he was catching on; but he never did like being disoriented. Off his beat, out of his depth: he was hating this. And he thought there was humiliation coming, and he was barefoot and defenceless, and he’d hate that worse, he thought.
    I thought he was probably right.
    “Yeah. We don’t want the exit. I told you, we’re just changing trains.”
    Down to the end of the platform, and here was a passage with no signs and no advertisements, just one bare flickering fluorescent light bouncing off the grimy tiling. Puddles on the cracked concrete floor, that looked and smelled suspiciously just like exactly what they were.
    “Oh, great. Now I have to wade through a toilet?”
    “Hush, and come on...” And yes, you do. Poor Jacey. He was learning fast, but he really wasn’t used to this. At least he wasn’t trying to pull back, though; he grumbled, but he didn’t resist. Most likely he still thought he was protecting me, and he hadn’t changed his mind – yet – about whether I was worth it.
    The low arched roof of the passage closed over our heads, that juddering light embraced us. We plotted a course that kept his feet more or less dry, though it meant skipping and weaving from one side to the other; then the passage turned a corner, and here was a very solid gate of iron bars, very firmly locked against us.
    “Well, then.” He was very ready to give up, even though it meant another skip around the puddles. “I don’t know where you thought you were taking us, Desi, but you can’t get there from here.”
    I just looked at him. “Got your card?”
    These two I carry are not the regular kind that you can pick up at a station or order down the phone. These you can only find online, at an address that Google doesn’t know. Registration is complex and can prove expensive, sometimes in other ways than money. But sometimes – well, sometimes you just have to see a friend to safety. Or take yourself there, suddenly and without warning.
    The lock on the gate was in a big old-fashioned cast iron case, with a keyhole hiding behind a brass escutcheon. It looked deliberately unfriendly, disinclined to open under any circumstances, key or no key.
    No key needed. I said, “One at a time now. Do what I do.”
    What I did was swipe my card down between the lock and the jamb, as if it were a credit-card reader.
    There was a brief pause, then a heavy clunk, and the gate swung marginally open. I heaved it wider and slithered through; it closed firmly in poor Jacey’s face.
    “Now you. Swipe and go.”
    He blinked at me through the bars, then obediently swiped. The gate unlocked; I pulled it open and beckoned him through. It slammed shut at his back, more violently than any spring could close it, or any human hand.
    Jacey blinked again. I wanted to muss his hair and kiss him and call him a good boy just to make his eyes snap with temper, just to call him back into himself; it was disturbing, seeing him so uncertain and out of place. Good for him, perhaps, but not so good for me just now.
    He said, “Why couldn’t we both come through together?”
    “Two people on one card? Can’t be done.” It couldn’t be done upstairs, at the regular barriers with the regular cards; it certainly couldn’t be done down here. “You