Nameless

“Whoa.” But his arm didn’t pause, he hugged her close, and she realized they weren’t kids anymore just as her entire body turned into one of Marya’s crackling fires.

“S-sor-r-r—” Oh, damn it.

“It’s okay. Shush.” He relaxed all at once. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, jeez. Marya used to put us in the tub together.”

Well, yeah. But that was years ago. “Th-they kn-know y-you’re u-u-u-up h-here.” The stutter got worse when she tried to whisper, now. Stupid thing, her tongue in revolt.

“What, you think I’m bad for your reputation?” But there wasn’t any bite to the words. He sounded, of all things, amused. “Better get used to it.”

“N-Nico.” She tried to put all the aggravation she could into it, and poked him in the ribs. His skin was rougher than hers, and the heat of him was cleaner than nightmare-sweat. When she moved, her chest bumped against his side, and he swallowed hard, very quickly.

“Do me a favor and settle down, okay? I’m being a gentleman.”

Oh really? The scalding flush subsided, bit by bit. When she let out a long shaky sigh, every muscle suddenly deciding to unstring itself, he murmured quietly.

“You remember this one?” Very careful, very soft, as if by asking gently he could bring the dream out into the light.

Nothing but whiteness, choking softness, and the cold. This one’s heart. She shook her head, carefully, trying not to move anything else.

“Someday you will,” he said, into the darkness. “And I’ll fix it. I promise.”

“Y-you d-don’t have t-to.” If I could remember, I might not want to tell you. Because you’d do something, maybe something the Family couldn’t cover up, and Papa would get mad. I should distract you. “Wh-what w-was M-Marya saying? Th-th-them.”

“Nothing.” Slightly irritated now. “Family stuff. It’s being taken care of.”

She said nothing. Her chest hurt, but she didn’t dare move. The rock in her throat was dry, but getting up to get a glass of water suddenly seemed like a bad idea, since she’d tossed her tank top over the side.

Nico’s arm tensed. He squeezed her, very carefully. The crackling tension and strength under his skin suddenly made sense—it wasn’t just whiskey and calf he’d been at.

He’d Borrowed. Family business. The ache under her ribs was a sharp spike.

“It’s nothing you should worry about,” he said, finally. “There’s some . . . problems. In town. And Papa’s close to transition. So some things creep out of the cracks and think that the Seven are distracted.”

“Th-the k-kids? The m-missing ones?”

“Like I said, nothing for you to worry about. Think about your party instead.”

Oh, yeah, that makes it tons better. “R-ruby has a d-dress for me.”

“Can’t wait. And no, I won’t tell you what I got you. You’re gonna have to wait and see.”

Cami turned her head a little. Her lips met the hollow between his shoulder and chest, muscle and skin fever-hot against her cheek. His hand had slid down, cupping the curve of her hip through her own flannel pajama bottoms. He had gone so still she wondered if he’d transitioned right there, and she almost winced. Just another reminder of what would eventually happen to him. Papa’s dead mortal wife hadn’t been Family; but once you had some of the blood, you were part of the chain. Did Nico ever wonder why Papa had given Camille that name? Did it bother him?

I wish I knew my born name. “I w-w-wish I b-belonged,” she whispered against his shoulder.

“You do,” he whispered back. “With me. Now go to sleep, before I get the urge to do something I shouldn’t.”

Would that make it better? Do you really want to? She held herself stiff and silent, afraid of moving, until the rhythm of his breathing lengthened and his head tipped back. Huddled against him, Cami stared over his chest at the curtains over her window moving slightly, maybe in a breeze from the heat register in the floor, and tried not to think about apples until sleep finally found her.

ELEVEN

OCTOVUS BLEW IN WITH SOAKING STORMS FULL OF Waste-lightning, but the week of Cami’s birthday was only cloudy and cold. The house throbbed and whispered, the manicured grounds were starred with charmed lanterns, bright dots of golden light, gleaming now that dusk was falling and the party was about to start.

“Oh, wow.” Ruby touched one of the shoulder straps, pushing it up a quarter-inch. She also brushed at a stray strand of Cami’s hair, her quick fingers tucking it behind a bobby pin and magically making the mess artful instead of silly. “Almost perfect. Where are the pearls?”

“Here.” Ellie blinked, biting at her lip a little. The single strand of irregular, pinkish pearls, red silk thread knotted between each one, nestled against Cami’s collarbone; Ellie fastened the clasp. “Yeah. Wow is right.”

Cami shut her eyes. Next would come the mirror. “H-how b-b-bad is it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ruby actually bounced on her toes, a movement Cami could feel. “You’re gorgeous. Let me get my heels. Ellie, make her look.”

“She has to get her own shoes on, too.” Ellie patted Cami’s silk-clad shoulder. “Cami, sweets, it’s not bad at all. You’re gonna knock ’em dead. Cheer up, it’s your birthday.”

Not really. But they didn’t know that.

“J-j-just a-n-n-nother F-f-f-family p-party.” Things were getting more tangled by the minute. Oh, God, I probably look ridiculous in this thing. Why did I let Ruby talk me into it?

It was traditional for the daughter of a Seven to wear red on her sixteenth. Not just any red, either, but heartsblood, the red so dark it could only come from the last wringing of that deep organ. The straps would have worried Cami, but they were wide enough—and Ruby had come up with a pair of long white opera gloves to cover most of the scars. The others wouldn’t show much unless she blushed, so all Cami had to do was stay away from anything embarrassing.

This is so not going to work.

“Cami, honey.” Ellie patted her bare shoulder again. “You’re going to have to see to step into your shoes.”

The V waistline of the dress had looked okay while it was on the hanger, and the skirt skimmed her hips and flared enough that she could walk without tripping herself. Ruby had also found a pair of pumps in exactly the right shade; Cami didn’t have a clue just how.

Doesn’t matter, Ruby had said, cheerfully. If it exists, I find it. I’m a hunter, baby. Rawr!

Ellie and Ruby had fussed over her hair, torturing it with flatirons and pins with holding charms, and Ruby had painted the makeup on with a steady hand. Don’t make me look Twisted! Cami had wailed, only it took her three times as long to say it.

The reply was classic Rube: Relax, bitch. I wouldn’t Twist you up.

“I c-c-can’t. They’ll all b-b-b-be l-l-l-looking.”

Ellie’s fingers were warm and gentle. “If it makes you feel better, they’ll be looking at Ruby looking slutty more than either of us. You’re not showing enough skin to be a Magdalen, even.”

“I do not look slutty,” Ruby piped up. “You’re just overly modest. Or, to put it another way, boring.”

“I am comfortable with my boringness, thank you.” Ellie snorted. “Come on, Cami. One foot in front of the other.”

Sometimes she wished she’d met Ellie before Ruby. When Ruby arrived in third grade at the Hallows School, one of her first acts at recess was decking one of the girls teasing Cami about her stutter. Cami had simply put her head down and shrank into herself, but Ruby, afire with indignation, took on all comers. It’s not FAIR, she would yell, before leaping on someone in a flurry of fists and feet. From that moment, they’d been friends—and Ellie had come along later, in middle school at Havenvale. Private schools in New Haven