Nameless: A Tale of Beauty and Madness (13 page)

T
HE IRON IN THE SKY HAD BLACKENED.
N
IGHT CAME
early in winter, and it was so close to dusk the streetlights were beginning to flicker into grudging life.

Legs on fire, feet raw, her back aching, she rounded the corner and sighed. The Hill had been a bitch—it seemed so
simple
in a car. Someone else would just press the accelerator, the engine responded with a throb, and up went all the metal and charmfiber and glass, and the people inside it too. Her right heel slipped a little bit inside her shoe—it was numb; she didn’t know why it was sliding around so loosely. Her shoe didn’t seem to be broken.

The dogs kept barking. Maybe she was the only one that could hear them, full-throated howling or pathetic whimpering. There were a lot of them, and sometimes they were nearer, sometimes further away. If she rounded the wrong corner she might
see
them, and that had made her run before she figured out running just tired her out more.

Almost there.
The gate was three blocks away, scrolled iron dripping with icicles. It had never looked so wonderful. Her schoolbag weighed a ton, and homework tonight was going to be a—

“What are you
doing
?” He appeared out of nowhere, and Cami shrieked, backpedaling despite her exhaustion. He grabbed her arm, and she found herself faced with a tall, trembling Torin Beale, who was dead pale and breathing as hard as she was. “Mithrus
Christ
, do you know what
time
it is? The whole house is—” He broke off, and for a second Cami thought he might shake her.

“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.”

T
HE 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 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?