Nameless

tear her ears off.

Cami settled back into the chair. The bleeding had stopped now. She had a rash on her shoulder, where the schoolbag’s strap had been rubbing and rubbing, even through her coat and blazer and blouse. God. The watered-silk footstool with a plain white towel draped over it was just right for her battered feet, and every muscle in her body was twitching a little. The twitches ran through her like the shivers did, and there was a coldness down in her marrow where the bath and the house’s warmth didn’t reach. “D-d-d- dogs,” she echoed, softly, hoping Marya would say more.

“Hounds. They were hunting you, naughty thing.” Marya nodded. “Hear them all the time. Worse in winter, always. I told el signor, he heard them too.”

An unpleasant jolt. “P-p-papa?” He never said anything about dogs.

“Oh, yes. Yesyes.” Marya capped the antiseptic and finished wrapping Cami’s left foot. Flicked her fingers again and feycharms crackled blue-white, to stave off infection and speed healing. “Nasty dogs. Hate them. Won’t have them here. Cats. Cats are proper, yes? Not dogs.”

“The P-p-pike,” Cami breathed. Tell me about Tor. Have you noticed anything on him? If Marya was disposed to be chatty, she could probably—

“Told him too. No dogs. He reeks of them. He’s a hunter, that one, lean and angry.” Marya shrugged. She gathered up her materials, whisking the towel gently from under Cami’s feet. “Sit, eat. Little wayfaring naughtiness.”

“W-wayf-f-faring?” Tell me something else, anything!

“Said too much.” Marya clapped a hand over her mouth. She stared at Cami, the oddness on her suddenly pronounced. Sometimes she looked more human, but right now she was all fey, the tips of her ears poking up through wild white-streaked hair, her cheeks bloodless-pale. She shook her head, long jet earrings swinging, and rocked to her feet.

Good luck getting her to give anything more now. But Cami was going to try, opening her mouth and taking in a deep breath.

There was a single splintering bash on the door before it flew open. “Cami!”

It was, of course, Nico. Fangs out, eyes blazing, he hadn’t even changed out of the Hannibal uniform. His white button-down was torn though, his tie askew, and his hair stood up anyhow. Little crystals of snow had caught in it—he had probably run from the car to the front door.

“I’m ok-k-k—” I’m okay. Calm down.

“Leave,” he snapped at Marya, who bowed her head and hurried past in a wash of floating spidersilk. “Mithrus Christ, Cami. What the hell?”

Deep breath. “I w-w-w-walked—”

“Walked home. Yeah. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? This is New Haven, Cami! And you’re Vultusino!”

I wasn’t born Family. She looked down at her pajama pants—Marya had insisted on the pink silk pj’s. A flannel robe too, the belt securely knotted. As if she would freeze to death sitting in here.

Nico took another two steps into the room. His anger filled everything up, made it hard to breathe. “I’m talking to you! Mithrus Christ, Cami—”

“No!” Her own yell took her by surprise. “You’re n-not talking!” Shocked silence rang between them. She wet her lips, quickly, with a nervous flicker of her tongue. “You’re s-s-s-screaming,” she finished. The last syllable broke, and a tear trickled down her cheek.

So she did have a few left after all.

“Fuck it.” Nico rocked back on his heels. “Do you know what it’s like, driving from up-province and worrying over where you are, what’s wrong, if someone’s snatched you? And you’re walking home! You’re bleeding, too!” Of course he could smell it. “Tell me what happened.” Dangerously quiet, now. “You’d better start, Cami. Or I’m gonna . . . ”

Apparently no threat was too dire. He ran out of words, for once, and stared at her. Another tear slipped out, ran hot and shameful down her face. Was it just because the room was warm? Or was it relief that he was finally here? Irritation? The empty hole in her chest, aching to know where she came from, where she belonged?

She couldn’t tell. She searched for something to say. To make him understand. He’d understood plenty before, why not now? What was wrong with him?

Or was it wrong with her?

“I d-d-don’t know wh-who I a-a-m.” The words tripped over each other. “I w-was j-j-just f-f-found—” Just found in the snow. Like trash, picked up and carried here.

“I know who you are.” Quietly, but everything in the room rattled. Or maybe it just seemed like it did, because when Nico got quiet like this, it was just before he went over the edge and nothing would calm him down. Once, when she’d been trapped in the hallway to the bathrooms in Lou’s by a Family bravo who reeked of whiskey- calf, Nico had gotten this quiet. “I know exactly who you are, and if Papa hadn’t found you, I would have.”

You don’t know that. “Y-you c-c-c-can’t—”

“Oh yes I can. I’m the Vultusino, Cami, and I am telling you, I would have fucking found you.” His tone dropped still further, and the deep growl behind the words was enough to drain all the air from the room and leave her gasping. “Whoever did that to you, I’ll find them too, now that I’m old enough. And I’ll make them pay.”

“I—”

Instead of the stutter stopping her, it was him. She couldn’t get a word in now, for love or hexing.

He was, quite simply, too determined. “I’m finished at Hannibal. I’m staying home. I’m taking care of things now. Don’t you dare pull another stunt like this, Cami. I swear to God I’ll . . . ” He ran out of threats again, his fists clenching and unloosing, like he wished there was something caught in them.

Do what? “You’ll what? H-hurt m-m-me?” Because when you get like this, that’s what I’m afraid of, Nico. The idea was as crystalline and terrifying as the first howl she’d heard, a few blocks away from St. Juno’s, lifting on an icy wind.

That brought him up short. He actually sagged, deflating. The growl behind his words stopped. “I would never hurt you.” Whispered, as if she’d been the one shouting and raging.

“You’re g-g-going t-to.” As soon as she said it, she knew it was true—and she wished she hadn’t. “If you d- d-don’t learn to c-c-calm d-d-own.”

It was a day for guys staring at her like she’d lost her mind. Nico’s gaze burned, locked with hers for long endless seconds.

Then he turned and stamped out, slamming the door so hard she was surprised the crystal knob didn’t shatter. Cami let out a long, shaking breath and sagged into the chair. She shut her eyes. The darkness was better than the glare of the white bedroom.

But it made the sound inside her head worse. The roaring. The howl of dogs, the clicking of their nails on cold pavement, the deep huffing of their breath as their reddened tongues lolled. Dogs—and Marya said Tor reeked of them.

All the noise in the world boiled down to a single question, stark and black as the night pressing against the windows.

What is happening to me?

TWENTY

DAWN ROSE GRAY AND PINK AND GOLD, AND FOUND her stutter-stepping toward the window seat. She could hobble with the bandages on, and it made her think of the Eastron section of World History, the little inset