Nameless

“I d-decided to w-walk home.” Her heart thudded, and her head felt clearer than it had all day. “The p-pin. T-t-t-tor, I’m suh-suh-sorry. The p-pin b-b-broke.”

“The pin.” He addressed the air over her head. “She’s worried about the pin. They called the Vultusino. Whole house is like an anthill. Miz Marya’s roaming around looking for you, checking the study every five minutes and wringing her hands. The security guys are . . . ” He made a quick movement with his head, tilting it.

She heard it too. Dogs barking, hysterical yaps and yowling. She didn’t know if any of the neighbors had security hounds. It wasn’t out of the question, they were popular even if they could be charmed.

But she had never noticed them before.

“D-d-dogs,” she whispered. “A-all afternoon.”

He stared at her like she’d just grown another head. “All afternoon?”

She nodded. Wiped at her nose with a mitten, not caring if it was gross. She was cold, and tired, and apparently they had noticed she hadn’t come back.

Well, you kind of thought they would. Was that the point?

Tor let go of her arm, as if it was Twisted, or red-hot metal. “You . . . ”

Telling him about Ruby and Ellie was out of the question. But at least she could tell him how she’d scraped together enough guts to do this. “I’m s-s-sorry. I w-wanted to s-s-see what it w-w-was l-like to w-walk home.” Even her teeth were numb. “L-like you.” She pointed at his chest, hoping he would understand. We’re more alike than you think. “S-scars,” she managed. “Th-th-they hurt. I-i-i- ins-side.”

“You . . . ” He kept looking at her like she’d Twisted, or something. He finally shook his head, his leather jacket creaking. Snow caked his jeans all the way up to his knees, and there was a scratch on his cheek.

Maybe from thorns.

Cami swayed. “I h-have t-to g-g-g-go.”

That snapped him back into himself. “I’ll say you do. Come on.”

NINETEEN

THE SECURITY TEAMS MARKED THEM AS SOON AS THEY were through the gate, but it was Trig who appeared at the bottom of the front steps, lanky and older than ever, deep lines graven on his lean face. His sportscoat was the baggy yellow, orange, and brown one with shiny patches at the elbows he wore sometimes to shoot skeet, and his knife-sharp cheekbones were blushed with cold.

He didn’t say a word until they were inside. “You found her.” Flatly, brushing snow from his shoulders. His hiking boots were clotted with mud and snow, and he took in Cami with one passionless, sweeping glance. “Thank Mithrus. Miss Camille, honey, what the hell happened?”

I don’t know. She shrugged, miserably. The foyer was warm, and her fingers and toes were tingling with pain. Her socks were probably ruined. I couldn’t explain it even if I tried.

“Mr. Nico’s on his way home. You . . . ” Trig visibly groped for Tor’s name. The butt of a Stryker showed briefly under his coat as he ran a hand back through his thinning hair. “Beale, right? You found her?”

Oh, no. If they’d called Nico from Hannibal, they must’ve thought something bad was happening to her.

Maybe even a kidnapping.

She should have thought of that. Miserably, Cami sighed. He was going to be unmanageable when he got here.

“Down the street, sir.” Tor’s sullen politeness was at once normal and terribly embarrassing. “My shift was over, I was walking home. Since the road’s cleared.”

A relieved smile, and the tall man clapped the garden boy on the shoulder, gingerly. “Well, head to the kitchen. Marya will be overjoyed. Get something to eat, huh?” With that, Trig seemed to forget Tor’s existence, and he offered Cami his arm. She took it, grateful for the support.

The high narrow foyer was all at once terribly alien and familiar as well. The parquet floor was alive with crackling charm, and the whole house was seething. Little whispers ran between the walls, and the sense of hidden motion and hurrying swamped her.

Tor didn’t take himself off to the kitchen just yet, though. He paused, his fingers on her elbow, digging in through the black cashmere and the navy Juno wool underneath. Not brutally, just to get her attention. “You gonna be okay?”

Braced between them, she tried not to sag with relief. “Y-yes.” Now that I’m here. “T-t-tor. Th-thank y-y-you.”

“Anytime.” He let go, took a step back, two, staring at her face. “I mean it. Anytime.”

Thankfully, her flush could just be a reaction to the sudden warmth. Her fingers were cramping, her toes felt wet. Trig had gone very still next to her, but she didn’t care. “T-t-tomorrow. After sk-k-k-school. Okay?”

“You got it.” He made a curious little movement with his right hand, stopped himself, and turned on his heel. This time he didn’t vanish, he just took the hall that would lead him back to the kitchen.

“Well.” Trig sounded thoughtful. He stared after Tor for a long moment or two, and his face was set. “You walked? From St. Juno’s?”

Cami nodded. Now she was shivering, great waves of shudders gripping her. Her skirt and shoes were dripping with melted snow, and her hair was a heavy frozen weight. “I w-w-w-wanted t-t-to —” Her tongue just would not work. Even if it did, how could she explain to Trig? It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d understand. “S-sorry,” she finished, lamely. “I’m s-s-s-s—”

The old man took an experimental step, bracing her as she hobbled. “No need. Just glad you’re safe. Let’s get you upstairs.”

Her socks were ruined. The blisters had broken and bled, and the blood had greased the inside of her shoes. That was why they were so slippery. Marya, her white-streaked dandelion hair standing up and writhing, black shawl-fringes moving on an angry breeze, made little spitting sounds as she bandaged Cami’s feet. “Walking. All the way from school. What were you thinking? Silly, naughty little thing.” The cameo at her throat shivered uneasily, its carved surface changing.

“S-sorry.” Cami sucked in a breath as the antiseptic stung. For all her scolding, Marya’s hands were exquisitely gentle.

“So worried!” Marya’s long fingers flicked, and the gauze crackled with charm. “Late little girl, and your redheaded friend came. She told the long one you had disappeared. The Gaunt was beside himself. Whole house upside down. Looking and looking for our naughty little sidhe.” Wrapped with deft quick movements, Cami’s feet began to resemble mummies. “The long one” was Trig, and “the Gaunt” was Stevens. Most fey were bad with names. Cami could look forward to being “naughty little thing” for a while now.

“Going wandering, hmm? Wayfaring blood in our naughty girl. Terrible worry, little mayfly.” Marya sighed.

“W-w-wayfaring b-blood?” Does she know where I came from? Cami had never asked.

There had never been a need.

“Oh yes, it’s all over you. She smells like a wanderer, our little thing.” Marya glanced up. “Eat, eat!”

The tray on the small table at Cami’s elbow held a small mountain of buttered toast, hot chocolate steaming in a charmed bone-china cup, and strawberries like bloodclots in a thin crystal dish. The white bedroom held its breath, purple-gray dusk gathering at the window, touched with orange citylight as the snow began again.

“Wandering. With dogs, too.” Marya sniffed. She’d insisted on Cami taking a bath, even though the hot water stung so bad she could have cried, if there had been any tears left. Now, warm and dry, clean and bandaged, crunching on toast and sipping hot chocolate, the afternoon seemed like a bad dream. Her Babbage glinted on the stripped-pine desk, waiting for her to switch it on and enter chat. Ruby was just going to