Nameless

“Be careful.” The difference was sharp and hurtful now, but without the usual edge of flippancy. “Be very careful what you say, ghoul.”

That’s it. She was so pleased she moved, turning over and pulling the covers up. He sounds like Papa. Won’t he be surprised to know that.

But she wouldn’t tell him. Not yet. He was still too angry.

They were silent until she had settled.

“She is far too young, and there are none of the signs. Still, she may have been . . . marked.” Stevens, ponderously slow and so dry. If Papa was angry, or speaking quickly, Stevens would space his words further apart, stringing them between pauses to force Papa to slow down. She could have told him that wouldn’t work with Nico.

“Just what the hell are you saying?” Now he was more like himself. Angry—and she wasn’t sure when that anger had become a comfort. If he was sharp and furious, at least she knew what to expect.

“I am saying caution is called for, if we are not to lose what we have.”

She could almost see Stevens clamming up, pursing his thin lips. The air was heavy, oddly dead, but it still tasted wonderful. A ghost of bay rum, a familiar comfort, and the softness all around her.

“Biel’y.” Nico all but spat. “They can have anything else in the goddamn city, but not her.”

No answer from Stevens. Had he nodded in agreement? Cami buried her face in a pillow. Why don’t you just go away so I can sleep? I need it. I don’t feel good.

Not good at all. Clear-headed, certainly. Like a broom had swept through her jumbled thoughts, pushing them out and away, smoothing her like Marya would smooth a sheet of phyllo dough.

I dropped the knife. She’ll be furious.

No, Cami did not feel good. She felt like she’d just run a race, one too fast and too long for her. Her legs were still going and the rest of her hadn’t caught up.

Nico finally spoke up, decisive. “My calendar should be clear today. Did you call St. Juno’s?”

“I did. Sir, the Stregare wish for your—”

“They can wait.” Impatient, now. “Get out. She’s waking up.”

I’m already awake, thanks. It was no good. Cami stretched. It wasn’t her bed. It felt all wrong. Too soft, and the covers were too heavy.

A door closed, softly. “He’s gone. You can open your eyes now.”

It was the Red Room, still holding the silence of Papa’s transition. Nico was in the chair by the bed. Cami pushed herself up on her elbows. Someone must have carried me here. Marya probably found me in the kitchen.

The silence was immense, and there was a new thing in it. A breathlessness, like the static just before a Waste-born lightning storm. His anger had never felt so . . . unsteady before. As if it might be directed at her, instead of just dangerous on its own.

But that was ridiculous. If he was here, she was safe.

“I’m not gonna ask what you were doing.” Nico leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His eyes were dark, no colored sparks in the pupils, and narrowed. “I’m not even gonna ask if you’re okay, because you’re obviously not. I should take you to the hospital, except I know you don’t like needles and poking. Trig says you didn’t give yourself a concussion, so I suppose that’s all right.” He paused. “I am, however, gonna ask you about him.”

About who? She stretched, pulled the covers up. Her pajamas were all rucked around. “Who?” The word came out whole, surprising her.

Nico’s gaze was dead-level, but there were no pinpricks of red in his pupils. “The boy.”

What boy? “W-what?”

“The garden boy. Beale, right? The Joringel scholarship boy.”

Oh. Tor. How do you know he came from there? But of course, he would. She gathered herself. How could she even begin explaining?

Nico kept going, though. “Because I really don’t mind you hanging out with the help, babygirl, but you should know what he’s probably thinking.”

She pushed her hair back, strings of darkness clinging to her fingers. Why here? It’s on the other side of the house from the kitchen. And what do you think Tor’s thinking? It’s not like you’ve asked. I know you better than that. “What w-w-would he b-be—”

“You’re a sweet girl, Cami, and you could be a lot of help to a kid from near the core. You’re la Vultusina, all right? People are going to see that. They’re going to want things.”

They always have. You don’t know, you’re always away. Doing important things. Family things. “N-nico.” She sounded annoyed even to herself. And I’m not la Vultusina yet. “He’s m-m-my f-f-friend.”

“You may be his friend. But I don’t think he’s yours.” Nico leaned forward. There were shadows under his mossy eyes, and his fangs were out, just delicately touching his lower lip. “It doesn’t matter. Just be careful. Wouldn’t want any accidents.” His smile widened, and it was the grimace he used when he wanted to scare someone. An animal showing all its teeth, white and sharp and perfect.

The unsteadiness was all through her instead of just underneath her feet. She couldn’t even figure out what to call it, when it was vibrating in her own bones. Her back straightened. The covers fell away. The room was utterly still, and it had even begun to smell a little neglected. You could tell nobody had breathed in here for a while. “L-l-leave h-him alone.”

“If he behaves himself, I’ll be his new best friend. I’ll take him out with the boys and give him a taste of real nightside.” The grin didn’t go away. “If he steps out of line, though, Cami, there’s gonna be trouble. I guarantee it.”

“Why a-a-are you b-b-being l-like this?” He doesn’t even matter, he’s just a friend! He’s just . . .

What, exactly, was Tor? Every time she talked to him, she ended up confused. And there were the dogs.

What about the dogs, Cami? Marya said . . .

To hell with it. She pushed the covers aside further, sliding her legs out of bed. The bandages were still crisply charmed; their whiteness dyed by the Red Room’s gloom.

“Like what?” Nico didn’t move. If she wanted to stand up, she would have to push past him. “You tell me exactly what I’m being like.”

Like . . . this. I don’t even know how to say it. “L-like m-mean.” Like you think you can order me around too, or something. Or like you don’t even see me, you just see . . . what?

He didn’t flinch, but his stillness became its own creature, hunching between them like a titon hunched over a pile of cow bones. “I don’t want to be mean to you.”

Then why are you being nasty? Everything was knotting up again, the inside of her head getting all jumbled. So she just shrugged, and pushed her feet out further. Her toes brushed his leg; she scooted for the edge.

He didn’t move.

“Cami.” His fingers touched her knee. They were hot through the silk of her pajama pants, and the hurtful strength in his grip was restrained.

Still, it was there. He was Family.

And she wasn’t. She was something else, from somewhere else. Cami halted, staring at the nightstand. The bone comb wasn’t there, but the candles in the two heavy iron holders were flaming steadily. The room was trying to be the same, but it couldn’t.

Papa was gone.

Nico exhaled softly. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.” The grin was gone. The words were serious, very quiet, and suddenly everything inside the Red Room suffocated her. “Ever.”

Except you, right? You won’t be able to stop yourself one of these days. And you’ll be sorry