Nameless

QUIET, DARK, AND MUFFLED BY THE SNOW, THE HOUSE on Haven Hill crouched.

She carried her shoes down the stairs, holding her breath whenever one thought of squeaking under her weight. Slowly, softly, a mouse in a dark hole, she kept glancing in every direction, nervously halting whenever a breath of sound brushed her ears.

Nico was out, with some of the Cinghiale boys. Clubbing, or who knew? Family business, and Trig was gone too. They’d left that afternoon, and the house was just like when Papa was gone—absent its breathing, beating heart. The Vultusino was missing, and even the walls knew it.

If Papa had been alive, she never would have dared to do this.

The front door grimaced at her, so she turned aside and crept across the foyer. Trig gone with Nico, Stevens already in bed; Marya was in the kitchen humming, and would be for a long while. The servants were bedded down; precious few of them wanted to trudge home through a New Haven winter. It was best just to stay on the Hill. And security wouldn’t do another circuit until dawn—or unless the protections on the walls woke.

The side door was locked, but it recognized Cami and opened with no fuss. The charms were uneasy, but she was allowed.

At least, this once. If she got caught, things might change.

Did Ruby feel like this when she snuck out? Did Ellie feel the risk breathing on her back, tingling in her fingers, her heart beating so hard she thought she might faint? Or was it just Cami the coward who cringed at every sound?

The cold ran down her body like oil. The leggings were good, the skirt was okay, and her coat was warm— but she was looking at being half-frozen already. She pulled the door shut, heard it click, and heard the charmbolt slide back into place.

Well, I’m outside.

Down the steps, around the corner, the snow wasn’t too bad. Expeller charms kept it mostly whisked away, and the wind drifted it against the north side of the house. She crept to the corner and peered out at the driveway.

“Don’t just stand there.” Tor’s breath touched her ear. She jumped, almost letting out a shriek, and saw the white gleam of his teeth as he grinned. “Sorry.”

She balled up her fist and socked him a good one on the shoulder, as if he was Nico. He stopped short, still grinning. Her clenched fist tingled.

That was probably not a good idea.

“Really, I’m sorry.” He even sounded contrite. “Got carried away.”

With what, dammit? Her heart finally settled, pounding high and hard in her wrists and throat. At least with her pulse going like this she wasn’t cold. “F-fine. Where are w-we g-g-going?”

He was an ink-drawing, from the smudge of his hair to the paleness of his hands. “Someplace I’m sure we won’t be overheard.”

“O-o-over—”

“There’s ears everywhere, princess. Let’s go.”

It wasn’t easy to get off the grounds without using the gate, but Tor climbed a tree near the periphery, put his hand down and braced her as she scrambled up. The protections scented Cami and vibrated a little, but subsided, and she finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

He dropped down on the other side, caught and steadied her as she tried not to fall into a snowdrift. His hands were warm against her waist, even through her coat, and a different heat went through her, along with a curious comfort.

Why did he feel so familiar?

He let go of her, slowly, and they trudged along the wall until they reached a small enclosure, saved from the worst of the snowfall by a huge cedar tree. Under its low-hanging branches, in the fragrant chilly dark, stood a motorcycle.

It was sleek and shining, slung low to the ground, and its front wheel was covered with a shield shaped like a silver horse’s head. Its wheels were alive with silver grabcharms, hissing slightly as they touched the cold air.

“You like?” Tor’s grin was proprietary and uneasy all at once. “He was a junked-out hulk. I dragged him halfway across town, remade him from the inside out.”

“Wow.” Cami touched the horse’s head, her gloved finger scratching behind an ear. As if it was real. Charmlight ran in the silvery metal, and she snatched her hand back. Tor, right behind her, was so close his breath was a cloud over her shoulder.

“He likes you.”

“H-how c-can you t-t-tell?”

A shrug she felt in her own shoulders. “I rebuilt him, I can tell. You know how to ride?”

She had to shake her head. Motorcycles weren’t safe. Nico would have a fit if he knew—but she pushed the thought away. He was out, doing God knew what. It was Cami’s Personal Choice to be here, and if he didn’t like it, well, he could just . . .

Bravery only went so far. It would be much, much better if he just didn’t find out about this. It was private, she decided.

Tor’s fingers, awkward, touched her elbow. “It’s easy. I did the charming myself, all through him, he’s pretty safe. You’ll have to lean with me, and you’ll have to be close. Still want to? You can get back into the house if you —”

“N-no.” She stepped back, blundering into him, and the contact sent a shock through her, even through layers of clothing. “I’m n-not going b-b-back.” I’ve come too far. I have to know.

And for once, she was a necessary part of an expedition. She wanted to know, she had sought him out, and she had snuck out of the house on her own. This whole thing wouldn’t be happening without her, and that was a frightening—but kind of pleasant— change.

“Okay.” He pushed past her, swung a leg over the cycle’s padded seat, and leaned it, popping the kickstand free. Another quick motion, and the purr of an engine rasped under the snowy quiet. “Climb up, princess.”

I wish you wouldn’t call me that. It was probably useless to ask any questions, so she didn’t. She clambered carefully up, sliding her arms around his waist. At least she knew that much.

“Closer,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ve got to hold on tight.”

His jacket smelled of leather, but without the bay rum and Nico’s fiery pepper-temper it wasn’t a quite-safe aroma. The cold lay over them both, an almost physical weight. The purr of the engine ratcheted, and the cycle jerked forward. The snow was churned about, broken and dangerous; he half-walked the purring thing toward the road. The grabcharms flung themselves out in sticky lightning-snake tentacles, digging into the frozen surface and tossing up tiny bits of it.

The wind rose, tugging at her braided hair, wringing tears out of her eyes. She wondered how he could see to steer, and laid her head on his shoulder. He tensed, but then relaxed as the motorcycle reached the bottom of a shallow hill, whinnied, and hopped up onto the road as neat as you please.

Cami caught the trick of it—you did have to lean close. Pretty indecently close.

Ruby would love this. The thought made her grin, and she hugged Tor fiercely as the icy, dangerous road slid away underneath them. He gunned it, leaning forward as the grabcharms spat, and the chrome horse leapt to obey.

TWENTY-FOUR

HER CHEEKS STILL STUNG FROM THE COLD OUTSIDE, and she tried to look like she walked into a smoke- dimmed, charm-and-neon lit, bass-thumping inferno every day of the week. The club was on the edge of Simmerside, and Tor was known here—at least, the jack bouncer nodded him and Cami past. Thick with muscle, mirrored shades over eyes that glowed through the polarized lenses, the shaven-headed jack presided over a line of other jacks and Twists, inadequately dressed against the cold, none of them daring to step much out of line under