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the boxes to put them in. He opens the lid, and though I’ve seen a thousand of them, I still let out a tiny awed sound. Nestled in pink velvet, is a small mask.
    “This is Elise’s. I saved all of my extra money, every penny that didn’t go to some essential, for three years to earn enough for this. I just picked it up yesterday.” There is something both adorable and frightening about such a small mask.
    “Do you have one for Henry?”
    “I’m working on it. I decided to go ahead and buy this one so Elise can get used to wearing it. A new school semester begins in two months.”
    My stomach plummets.
    One of the children will have a mask. The other won’t.

CHAPTER
    FIVE
    I WAS THE FIRST PERSON EVER TO BREATHE through a mask. I remember Father coming out of his workshop with it.
    “Try this on.” Father held out the mask to Finn.
    Finn refused to take it. “It looks silly. If I wear that, my face will look like a china doll’s.” We were thirteen years old, and he refused to play what he considered girl games with me.
    “I used one of Araby’s dolls. It isn’t a perfect design, but it’s workable, and it keeps out the germs that cause the Weeping Sickness.”
    Finn pushed the mask away, and I grabbed it.
    The china felt brittle and unpleasant; the scent was upsetting, though I couldn’t define it. I didn’t see the horror on Father’s face, but I often imagine it.
    I didn’t know that I would be wearing a mask every day for the rest of my life. They changed the design for mass production, and I don’t have the first one anymore. Looking at it would be more than I could bear.
    What if Finn had put the mask on first? It was designed for him, after all.
    Henry takes a puzzle piece that Elise was reaching for. She tries to retrieve it, but he’s too fast. They both laugh.
    If Elise wears the mask, then she will be safer, they will both be safer. But imagining him, the little brother with no mask, makes me go cold.
    Will returns from his bedroom dressed for work, and I realize that he never got to go back to sleep. He’s walking me home—prepared to work all night at the club on just those few hours that we slept. I want to tell him that I’m sorry, or possibly thank him, but I can’t find the words.
    We escort the children downstairs to stay with their neighbor. Outside the door, he kneels and kisses both of them. There’s a lump in my throat, and I have to look away for a moment.
    “Be good,” he says.
    “We’ll be sleeping,” Elise says seriously.
    “Well, sleep successfully, then.”
    As the door swings open, both children rush to hug me. I’m surprised by the way they cling to me.
    “It’s time for us to go,” Will says.
    “Come visit us tomorrow,” Elise begs. Will leans in to disentangle her skinny arms from around my neck and gives her a little shove through the door.
    He puts on his mask, and we go outside.
    The shadows are lengthening as we begin the walk. I’m not used to seeing him in his mask, and I don’t like it.
    The building where he lives is brick, and identical to all the buildings around it—four stories tall, wood front door, and quilt-covered windows. A lonely little tree stands right outside the door.
    On this street Will and I, walking so close that our arms touch, are an anomaly. I’ve never been in the lower city on foot before.
    “Keep your purse close so no one grabs it,” Will says.
    “Is it a long way?”
    “Yes, but walking with you is much easier than carrying you.”
    If I were April, I might say something flirtatious. Even the Araby who goes to the club with sparkly lashes and a red smile painted on might come up with something clever to say. I just stare shyly at my feet, and we walk in silence.
    His neighborhood has more graffiti and broken windows than I’m accustomed to. The red scythe marks many doors. Some of them have been painted over with white, but the symbol of the contagion bleeds through.
    In several windows red banners hang,