Nameless

Marya’s glance was sharp, her mouth pulled tight. Her face was not so round now, the fey in her shining through sharp and glittering, a diamond under lace. The tips of her ears twitched. “Nothing. Not for little sidhe. Eat, eat. I make them special for you.”

Fine. Another sigh, this one internal, and Cami stared at the small, delicate plate. Golden, buttery, and exquisite, the croissants were almost too pretty to eat. And she wasn’t hungry, anyway.

Still, she dutifully nibbled one. Between sips of scalding-hot cocoa, she watched Marya flutter through the kitchen, touching the copper-bottom pots, fussing with the fire, the stove bubbling as usual and the heavenly aroma of fresh bread just beginning to fill the entire kitchen. It looked like beef stew for dinner, thick and heavy and seasoned with feycress. That was Trig’s favorite, and since Nico was gone it was just Trig and Stephens and Cami at the too-big, highly polished rosewood dining table, unless there was Business.

Which there had been every night this week.

Which meant tonight she would probably be eating here in the kitchen, at the breakfast bar.

I like that better anyway. Any Business was kind of . . . troubling. There hadn’t been any more disappearances the last few days—at least, not in the news. From what Cami could gather, the Seven had taken over from the police, even though they were only six in the city now. And Stevens had pleasantly asked if Miss Cami wouldn’t prefer Chauncey to bring her home from school?

She’d just shaken her head, her braid bumping her back, and said very carefully, N-no, R-ruby will d-dr-drive m-me. And that was that, though Stevens looked . . . dissatisfied.

As dissatisfied as a man with a thin frozen face could look, that is. A consigliere without a Family Head to inhabit him, since Nico wasn’t officially back from Hannibal.

When Nico did come back, would he have any time for her either? He’d be busy doing Family things. Things he would probably discuss with Stevens and Trig and the Family bravos and the other Seven . . . but most definitely not with Cami. She’d hear more on the news, if Ruby ever turned the radio on in her Semprena again, instead of playing Tommy Triton’s debut tape over and over again.

Cami sighed, her skin prickling all over like it had been all damn day. Maybe it was her blazer. She was warm enough to take her coat off now, and was just in the middle of struggling out of itchy Juno wool when the swinging door from the servant’s hallway opened and Tor stamped through, icy crystals caught in his messy hair and his arms full of firewood. “Hey, Miz Marya. Figured it was time.”

“Pike!” Marya stopped fidgeting and fussing, beaming through the careful examination and placing of each chunk of firewood in the big beaten-copper holder on the hearth. She dusted her hands together afterward while her shawl-fringes waved lazily and her black skirt fluttered on an invisible draft of Potential. “Cellar. Will you go into the cellar? Old Marya’s knees are not good.”

“Absolutely. Just give me the list.” He stole a look at Cami as Marya bustled to the shining tomato-red refrigerator, its gloss alive with preservation-charms and yellowing pictures held with magnets and stickcharms.

She sat up straighter, pulling the blazer’s shoulders back up defensively and shaking her head a little so the pin’s colorless beads shivered. His answering smile was shy and warm, and Cami found herself grinning, ducking her head and staring into her cup.

Marya plucked a sheet of paper covered with spider-scratches from under a stickcharm. “Wait. Wait while Marya thinks and writes, yes?”

“Take your time.” Tor straightened, brushing wood debris from his leather jacket. His nose and cheeks were bright red, and the melting ice in his hair made him into a faunlet. Except he didn’t have fangs, or claws. “Hello, princess.”

Oddly enough, she didn’t mind the name now. “H-Hello.” She peeked up from the cup’s depths. “W-want s- some hot c-c-cocoa?”

A shrug, the snow-darkened leather creaking. He looked miserably cold. “Maybe in a bit. How was school?”

She shrugged, then raised her eyebrows. He caught the question—not as quickly as Nico would have, but still. He was paying attention.

At least someone was.

He laid a work-roughened hand carefully on the countertop, moss clinging between his fingers. “Some kid got knifed in the bathroom, and one of the girls in my Chem class is pregnant. The History teacher had to shout over a bunch of jack-yobs to tell us about the Battle of the Marne and the first wave of the Reeve. Just another day.” But his expression robbed the words of any anger. “I was glad to get out.”

I’ll bet. Was that what happened in public schools? She’d heard stories, but never anything like this. She searched for something to say. “Y-you l-look n-n-n-nice.” Oh, Mithrus. Can’t even talk, and when I do, I say something useless. His jeans were soaked to the knee from snowmelt, and he was covered in wood guck. But it was the only thing she could think of that didn’t seem likely to get her in trouble.

His smile turned lopsided, but his black eyes were warm. “So do you.”

Everything inside Cami loosened a fraction, then a fraction more. The feeling was so new and unexpected she actually grinned, forgetting to duck her head to hide her expression.

Marya’s forehead was creased as she turned away from the sink, the paper in her hand covered with yet more scribbles. “List! Pike, tall and dark, down into the cellar with you. Big brughnie- shouldered boy, to lift for poor old Marya.”

“Yes ma’am.” But he was still looking at Cami. He seemed about to say something else, but just then Trig slid in from the other hall, his step light and ghost-quiet, his baggy sportcoat red and green today and deep smudges under his tired eyes.

Every night a different something, Twist or strange or other, pressed against the borders of the Vultusino house. A hard winter, indeed. As soon as dark fell the security teams were working harder than they ever had.

As if everything in New Haven could tell the Vultusino were without a Head. Some of the younger cousins were showing up at the house at odd hours, too, the boys eyeing Cami and the girls trying to be friendly. Stevens dealt with them, but she just wished Nico would come home.

When he did, what would happen? The Vultusina’s ring was safely locked up; occasions and parties were fine, but she wasn’t going to wear it to school.

The loosening inside her clenched up again. Tor disappeared on the other side of the kitchen, and Marya immediately began fussing at Trig about whatever she couldn’t find. Cami sipped at her cocoa, hoping the bright red on her cheeks wasn’t too visible. Trig barely glanced at her, just nodded at Marya’s nervousness and set about soothing the feywoman, and ten minutes later, neither of them noticed when Cami escaped, carrying her bag and her coat, the croissant and sugary milk curdling in her stomach. All the way up the stairs to the warm white bedroom, she thought of that funny lopsided smile, and the tinkling of the beads from the pin was ice chiming against glass.

So do you, he’d said.

Did he really think so?

SEVENTEEN

TWO DAYS LATER, CAMI WAS STILL THINKING ABOUT that funny smile of his. A present, from someone who didn’t have a whole lot. Someone who couldn’t really afford a bunch of presents. Someone she didn’t owe something to.

It was a new thing. Unfortunately, she wasn’t left to brood in peace.

“You don’t look so good,” Ruby whispered, reaching over to touch Cami’s forehead.

Cami ducked away, her braid swinging. “I f-feel fine.” The stutter wasn’t so bad today. The bone pin, slid through her braid, was oddly heavy, and everything seemed too colorful to be real.

She hadn’t seen Tor since. There had been another alarm in the middle of the night, Trig and his security team arriving to find that charms laced through the ancient stone walls had forced something back,