Nameless

She did. The wind was up, trees making an ocean noise, branches creaking, and the house’s corners whistling to themselves. How many nights had they spent like this?

She used to scream when the nightmares came. Now, not so much—but it was easier when he was there, warm and close and safe. Nobody had ever caught him—Papa had once or twice given her a penetrating look at the breakfast table, asking how she had slept, and Cami had blushed without knowing why.

I don’t like it, Nico had said the first time he’d appeared in the darkness, whispering fiercely. Tell me what it is. I’ll hurt it. I’ll kill it for you.

As if she could. The words wouldn’t come. The dreams faded as soon as she jolted into waking. There was only the feel of the soft, large hands, and the directionless voice in the darkness.

You are nobody. You are nothing.

She shivered, and Nico rubbed his chin against her head. It scratched a little. In prep school he’d liked the stubbled look until she complained that it was scratchy and made him look dirty. The next day he’d shaved, and grumbled when he nicked himself. As if it didn’t heal immediately.

“Winter’s coming.” He let out a sigh. “Go to sleep.”

The heat all through her was different now. She’d noticed it before, her hands shaking a little and her heart in her throat, a pleasant excitement like when he drove too fast. A curious safety, but the nervousness in her itching all over, and she couldn’t figure out why. “How b-bad d-d-does it h-hurt?”

He made a slight movement, as if tossing away the question. “Not bad.” But his voice broke, and he lay stiff and unbending while the tears trickled down his temples and vanished into their hair—his and hers, mingled together on the white pillow. When they were done he relaxed, slowly, bit by bit. Cami fell asleep after his breathing evened out, and as usual, he kept the bad dreams away.

And, as usual, when she woke up in the morning there was only the dent on the pillow next to hers, and a deep tingling on her cheek, as if he had kissed it before ghosting out her door.

SIX

THE POOL, A LAZY BLUE EYE, THREW BACK uncharacteristically fierce autumn sunlight with a vengeance. Cami drew her knees up under the umbrella’s shade; Ruby, applying crimson lacquer to her nails, made a clicking sound with her tongue. “It’s just sunshine, it’s not going to kill you.”

“CANNONBALL!” Thorne yelled, barreling past them, a lean brown streak with a shock of wheat-gold hair and orange trunks. Hunter was right after him, dark-haired and sleek in bright yellow. They hit the water with a shattering double splash, and Ruby made a little eww sound and leaned back.

“J-just water.” Cami settled back in the chair, adjusting her sunglasses a little. “N-not g-gonna—”

Ruby pointed with the nail brush. “You just watch yourself, missy.”

Cami pursed her lips and made a raspberry, and shared laughter rose.

You didn’t get leftover summer like this in New Haven very often, but when you did it was to be seized with both hands. Which explained why Marya had been chattered into providing notes for the three girls; Thorne and Hunter—Woodsdowne cousins, and warring for Ruby’s attention, like always—were on their own for track-covering. But Marya had long ago become adept at counterfeiting parental scrawls on St. Juno-charmed paper, and Papa turned a blind eye as long as Cami didn’t skip more than once a month.

I was young once too, Papa had said long ago, patting Cami on the head. Be reasonable, eh, bambina?

He never let Nico skip, though. The Vultusino-in-waiting couldn’t afford to.

Ellie emerged from the changing room in a bright blue bikini that hugged her lovingly. The bruises on her arms were fading and yellowgreen, and the one on her thigh wasn’t bad.

Ruby whistled. “Look at that. Fits you like a chaaaarm!” She giggled as Thorne heaved himself up out of the pool, shaking his head, bright droplets splashing. He went right back in with another gigantic splash, graceful as an otter.

“I am not even gonna ask why you have a bikini in my size,” Ellie said darkly, settling on the lounge chair next to Cami’s shade.

Because I know what the Strep does to all your clothes, and then she tells your dad you did it. And you get it from both sides, so this is just easier, right? “G-good.” Cami snagged the cocoanut-oil sunscreen. She passed it over, pulling her hand back quickly.

“White girl thinks she’ll explode if she catches a ray or two.” Ruby’s eyeroll was so pronounced you could hear its mutter in the mountains.

“She just wants to avoid skin cancer.” Ellie began the process of slathering on sunscreen. “As do we all. What time is it?”

Red sighed again. “Not even eleven, worrywart. Chill. The Strep won’t find out.”

“She knows things,” Ellie muttered darkly. Of course, the Strep was a charmer strong enough to have a Sigil of her own—the two high-heeled shoes, a symbol of her work and talent. She was the best couturier in New Haven, and her work was sent overWaste, too. No doubt Ellie’s dad, reeling from the loss of his first wife, had thought the Strep quite a catch.

Even Ellie had been cautiously happy to have a mom again. Until the Strep showed her true colors, that was. It was a wonder the woman hadn’t Twisted yet, she was so full of spiteful rage directed right at Ellie.

Rube snorted. “What, like how to be the biggest bitch in Haven County? Gran could eat her for lunch.”

Ruby’s Gran lived in a tiny cottage in the Woodsdowne area, full of the smell of baking good things, the scorch of an active charmer at work, and pretty small for a woman who controlled a good chunk of the import traffic through the Waste or the port. The de Varres were an old clan, almost as old as the Family and allied to the Seven in New Haven.

In some other provinces, though, Ruby and Nico wouldn’t just snarl at each other. There might have been actual blood. But here in New Haven, a treaty held, and Gran’s house was the closest to absolute safety you could find outside a Family home.

At least, if she liked you.

Ellie’s laugh was laced with hard bright bitterness. “I wish she would. But that would poison your dear sweet Grannie.”

“Good luck.” Ruby critically examined her pinkie, drew another stripe of polish down it. “Hel- lo. What’s that?”

Cami glanced up. Across the pool, something moved in the greenery. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears for a moment, and she hugged her knees even tighter. “N-new g-garden b-b-boy.” The head groundskeeper had just hired four more since some of the old ones were off to college; Trig and the security team had cleared the applicants and Marya had given her approval. They were like all the rest—silent plain-normal humans, young men without any Twist to them, low Potential and low prospects too, probably from the fringes of New Haven’s crumbling inner core where the minotaurs walked, the dead-eyed hapsters hawked their drugs and gave the Family a percentage, and the gunfire echoed. Working for the Families was one way to get out and away from the coreblight—and Papa Vultusino gave college scholarships in return for loyalty and discretion.

Some of the other Seven weren’t so kind. But the boys from the fringes kept coming. They didn’t have many other chances.

This particular garden boy was tall and lanky, with messy coal-black hair. He kept it shaken down over his eyes, and something about him made Cami uneasy. If she said anything, he’d be sent back to the core; once, there had been an under-groundskeeper who had told her she was such a pretty girl while he tried to touch her scarred left arm. She’d flinched just as Nico came around the corner to call her for lunch.

That had been awful.

“Nice shoulders.” Ruby capped the polish, deftly. “Cami, dearie, I could get accustomed to this summer stuff.”