Nameless

by Lili St. Crow

  The cries had ceased, as if cut by a knife, the instant she closed the front door behind her.

  Chauncey slept in a small apartment over the cavernous garages; Cami’s tentative knocks hadn’t even woken his wife Evelyn.

  I need to go to Ruby’s, she’d told him. It’s an emergency.

  Chauncey hadn’t asked any questions, just rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and yawned, grabbing the limousine’s keys off the pegs. He was used to being awakened to drive someone somewhere.

  Now her stomach growled, and she lifted the brass knocker again. The garden lay under snow, the ruthlessly trimmed holly along the east boundary glowing green under a scrim of ice. The fountain, its snout lifted and its concrete jaws wide, was festooned with artistic icicles.

  The gate was wooden and the fence was low, but you got the idea it was because she liked it that way, and furthermore, that Mrs. Edalie de Varre, Ruby’s formidable grandmother, needed no wall or gate to bar and no security guards to eviscerate any Twist or jack who stepped onto her property.

  There were powers in New Haven even Family respected, and one of them rested here in Woodsdowne.

  The locks clicked, the door opened, and a pair of bleached-gray eyes under a fall of bone-white hair, braided and banded across the top of her head, peered out. Gran was in her high-collared dragon-patterned silk housedress and embroidered slippers, and she examined Cami for a few moments before stepping back.

  “Camille.” A faint smile, her parchment skin barely wrinkling. “Come in.”

  She really does have very sharp teeth, Cami thought, and stepped over the threshold. The limousine dropped into gear out on the street, and Chauncey pulled away.

  Inside, it smelled of hot griddle and blackcurrant jam, frying eggs and bacon. “I’m making breakfast,” Gran said briskly, taking Cami’s coat and stowing it in the cedar-scented closet, just like usual. She never seemed surprised or ruffled, which was probably a blessing since she had to deal with Ruby all the time. “You like them scrambled, I recall. Ruby will be down as soon as I make coffee.”

  “Th-th-thank y-y-y—”

  “Oh, don’t,” the Wolfmother of Woodsdowne said, her faint steely smile widening a trifle. “Nobody has good news this morning, my dear. I can smell as much on the wind. Come and eat.”

  It took some time. Gran didn’t make coffee until near the end of Cami’s stuttering recitation—unlike Ruby, she couldn’t lie to Gran, and she didn’t want to. There was just something about those pale eyes and the way the old woman moved, with such precise economy, that warned against any such impropriety. Spending the night at Ruby’s meant walking on eggshells, though Mrs. De Varre had never even raised her voice in Cami’s presence.

  You got the feeling you didn’t want her to. At the same time, there was a curious comfort. Gran hadn’t batted an eyelash when Ruby brought Cami home one day after school. Yes, the Vultusino girl, she’d said. You are welcome in my house, young one. Sit down, have a scone.

  Cami left out some things, certainly—the flush that went through her every time she said Tor’s name, just how bloodcrazy Nico had gone, the wooden huntsman’s blue, blue eyes, the dreams . . . and Trig’s awful stillness, lying in the shattered doorway.

  But she told about Tor and the pin and the shimmersilk, the mirror, and the smoke. Gran listened, her eyebrows coming together fractionally as she refilled Cami’s glass—milk for a growing girl, she always remarked—and snapped a charm to flip the pancakes on the griddle.

  “And so,” she finally said, switching the coffeemaker on, “you came here.”

  I couldn’t think of where else to go. I just need to sit for a little while. Just get myself together.

  And even if Nico wanted to, he couldn’t step inside Gran’s door without her blessing. Not even Papa would have. Here was the safest place Cami could think of, even if she wondered just what might follow her out to Woodsdowne.

  If some bad charming, bad magic, could reach through a mirror in the house on Haven Hill, it might be able to come here too. Cami’s midsection clenched at the thought. “I n-need h-help.” Her tongue had eased. At least Gran was invariably patient. She let you get everything out.

  “Help. Well. Hm. You did well, coming to me. Shows you have some intelligence.” Gran poked at the fresh strips of bacon sizzling in their pan. Dawn, creeping through the wide window full of terracotta pots holding green herbs, was iron-gray. More snow before long. “But . . . them. The Pale Ones. Theirs is an . . . old magic.”

  Here, in the cozy sun-yellow kitchen, warm and chewing on pancakes with blackcurrant jam, it almost seemed like she could handle all this. Maybe. “O-older than th-the R-r-reeve.” She nodded. Her scalp itched, her hair felt greasy. But her stomach had quit growling. It wasn’t like Marya’s oatcakes, but then, nothing was.

  Marya probably wouldn’t ever talk to her again.

  If Trig hadn’t been there, if Stevens hadn’t been there . . . Nico’d never Borrowed from Cami before. Ever. But still.

  The coffeemaker gurgled, and a thread of heavenly scent stitched every other fragrance together. “It may be possible to buy you passage to another town. A place to hide.” Gran tapped one finger alongside her nose. “But they have very sensitive noses, les Blancs.”

  Like dogs, you mean? “L-leave N-New Haven?” Go through the Waste, maybe? To another province, another city?

  It was another nightmare. Only this time, she couldn’t wake up.

  “Perhaps. I don’t know, Camille. And it is no guarantee.” She snapped at the pancakes again, and they obediently charmed themselves off the griddle and onto a waiting, charm-warmed yellow plate. “Les Blancs n’oublient rien, ma cherie.”

  Her accent wasn’t the same as Sister Mary Brefoil’s, but Cami had no trouble with the words.

  Les Blancs, they forget nothing. “Is . . . ” She reached blindly for her milk glass. “Is th-th-there . . . I m-m-mean, h-how m-many of th-them are th-there?”

  “They are carrion.” A slight wrinkle of Gran’s aristocratic nose. “There are as many as the suicides and the desperate will support. If a woman survives long enough in their halls, she may become a Queen herself. Like ants, or another insect. It is . . . not easy. Or pleasant. Good morning, ma petite fille.”

  Ruby halted in the kitchen doorway, yawning, her hair a tangle of bright copper curls. She blinked and stared at Cami, pulling up the strap of her blue pajama tank-top.

  She’s going to be so mad. Cami searched for another apology, her tongue tangling over itself. “R-r-r-ruby—”

  Ruby let out a whoop and leapt across the intervening space, flinging her arms around Cami. “You bitch!” she finally yelled, laughing, attempting to shake Cami and kiss her cheek at the same time. Gran made a spitting noise and rescued the dangerously toppling milk glass. “I should have suspected when I smelled bacon! Goddamn I’ve missed you!”

  It was classic Ruby. Gran sniffed. “Language at the table must be cleaner, Ruby. Let the poor girl eat. She has enough problems.”

  “Did you hear about Ellen?” Ruby could barely contain herself, plonking down in her usual cane-bottom chair at the breakfast bar. “Her dad. Train crash, out in the middle of the Waste. The Strep has custody. It’s horrific.”

  The bottom dropped fully out of Cami’s stomach. Mithrus. Oh, Ellie. She stared at her plate, sticky with blackcurrant jam and half-eaten pancakes. “Oh.”

  “Ruby!” Gran didn’t quite raise her voice, but her tone could have sliced through the walls. Every dish in the kitchen rattled. “Do not add bad news to her troubles!”

  Ruby’s jaw dropped. Her eyes narrowed, and Cami braced herself for the explosion. Gran turned back to the coffeemaker and the griddle, the straight bar of her spine somehow expressing disdain and disappointment.

  “Mithrus Christ,” Ruby breathed. “Cami, honey, what kind of trouble are you in?”

  The heat and prickling behind her eyes almost overflowed. She took a deep breath.

  Maybe, just this once, Ruby
would let her talk.

  “I f-f-found out wh-who I am.”

  Gran vanished halfway through Ruby’s breakfast, reappearing in a long black coat and a jaunty blue hat perched on her pale, rebraided hair, and left them with the dishes. “Sparkling,” she said sternly, and Ruby waved a hand. “And no, your friend will not do them all while you chatter.”

  “Mais oui, chère grandmère, mais oui.” Ruby’s accent was cheerfully atrocious, and Gran sniffed again before sailing through the kitchen without even glancing at Cami, moving through the utility room and into the garage. An engine roused with a sweet soft purr, the garage door rumbled unhappily, and she was gone.

  “Thank God for bridge club. If she had to stay home Saturdays I’d kill myself.” Ruby applied herself to the rest of her breakfast. “What did Gran say? I mean, really say?”

  “Th-there m-might be a w-way.” I’ll have to leave New Haven. She shivered. She knew there were other provinces outside the city’s borders, but it was like knowing there was a moon. She’d never expected to visit. “It’s d-dangerous.”

  “Well, if anyone can get you through the Waste or overseas and into another province, the Valhalla Bridge Club can. But what about Nico? Why doesn’t he get off his ass? Family’s got to be good for something, right? Plus, you’re Vultusino. This charm-white bitch, queen, whatever—seriously, Cami, you think you might be related?”

  Maybe I just belong to her. She shivered, staring at her coffee cup. “I d-d-don’t know. T-t-tor s-s-said—”

  “Oh, yeah. The garden boy. I’m with Nico on this one. Shame, too. He had nice shoulders.” Ruby crunched at bacon with her strong white teeth, so like her grandmother’s. You could see other similarities, their high cheekbones and long eyelashes.

  What would it be like, to look at someone and see her own face reflected? Or even just a piece of it? It nagged at her. Something familiar; if she could just sit and think she could tease it out.

  Why bother? You know what you have to do.

  But oh, she didn’t want to.

  “Seriously, though,” Ruby had her stride now. “Why doesn’t Nico just deal with this?”

  He can’t. Besides, he . . . She ran up against the memory of his teeth snapping close to her throat, his arms stiff as he held her down and away, struggling with himself and the bloodrage. The screams as Stevens locked his blood-maddened Vultusino in a safe room, until the hunting insanity wore off. But there was a simpler reason.

  She found out she could say it, after all. “I’m n-n-not F-f-f-family.” I wasn’t ever supposed to be here.

  Ruby actually stopped chewing and stared. After a full ten seconds of silence, Cami began to wonder if she had, in fact, struck her speechless. It would be the first time ever.

  She’d dreamed of such an occasion for years, but it didn’t seem quite worth it now.

  Ruby took a giant mouthful of hot coffee, winced, and swallowed. “He said that?” Very quietly, and her dark eyes narrowed.

  “N-n-no. B-b-but—”

  “But nothing. You’re his family, dammit, and if he’s not gonna step up it’s his loss. You’re my family too, Cami, and if these child-beating weirdos want you, they’re going to have to come through me.” She nodded, coppery curls falling in her face. That’s that, the motion said, now don’t be silly, Cami. I know best, I always do.

  Except this time Ruby didn’t. What if the dogs came while she was here? Or something worse? Gran’s house was seriously charmed, but so was the house on Haven Hill. The White Queen had reached through the mirror with . . . something. If she could do that, break into the Vultusino’s fortress, what else could she do?

  What could she do to Ruby? Or to anyone Cami turned to?

  I shouldn’t have come here. But where else was there to go, for God’s sake?

  Only one place. You know where.

  “Now.” Ruby crunched on a fresh piece of bacon. “Drink your milk. We’ll do the dishes and set up the guest room for you. I’ll see if I can call Ellie. I might be able to sneak her out, or talk the Strep into—”

  “No.” It burst out so hard and clear Cami didn’t have a chance to stutter. “D-d-dangerous. It’s t-t-too d-d-dangerous, R-rube.”

  “So’s her stuck in that house with the Strep, dammit. I’ve been planning a jailbreak for a while, this is as good a time as any. And she’ll have ideas. She’s all practical and shit. Drink your milk.”

  Cami just sat and stared at it. White milk in clear glass, and a sudden sweat broke out all over her. She probably smelled unwashed and desperate, too.

  Was Nico still screaming, locked up and crazed by her mere-human blood?

  Or was she mere-human? So far, nobody had told her exactly what the Biel’y were, except a cult. Maggots, Stevens had said.

  Well, wasn’t that a lovely thought.

  The man in the tan trench coat definitely wasn’t just-human, though. At least, not completely. Wood and sap and sawdust, and his blue, blue eyes.

  Huntsmen, Tor had said. Okhotniki. Gripping the arms of his chair, shaking. Giving her poisonous presents, scars all over him.

  Scars like hers.

  The boys are Okhotniki.

  Ruby kept up a running commentary. Cami just put her head down and did as she was told, washing dishes while Ruby dried and put them away. She was thinking so hard she even let Ruby bully her upstairs into the blue guest room, and the mirror at the vanity with its frame of enameled water lilies gave her a chill all the way down to her bones.

  TWENTY-NINE

  RUBY SWITCHED HER BABBAGE OFF WITH A PRACTICED flick. “Ell’s sneaking out a window, the Strep is on a charmweed bender and won’t notice until tomorrow. Now’s the best chance I have to spring her, and then we’ll fix this right up. All of it.” She shrugged into her black woolen school-coat, pulling her hair free of the collar with a quick habitual yank. “Don’t open the door to anyone.”

  Cami nodded.

  “I mean it. Don’t answer the doorbell or the phone. Just hang tight.”

  Cami nodded again, following her down the stairs. Her scalp itched. She wished she’d had time to take a bath, at least. But the idea of water dripping from the tap made her cold all over.

  “It’s iced over bad out there, so it might take some time to get her out and back here. Take a nap, paint your nails. You can wear anything in my closet.”

  You must really be worried. Cami assayed a bright smile, picked a piece of invisible lint off her friend’s shoulder.

  Ruby bit her lip. “Stop trying to look so brave.” She picked up her schoolbag, swung it once or twice to gauge its weight. Supplies, she’d said grimly, shoving various odds and ends into it. I don’t care if I have to break a window or two, I’m getting Ellie. I’ve had enough.

  “S-sorry.”

  “We’ll figure something out.” But she was pale, and she only had one gold hoop earring in. The asymmetry bugged Cami—it was Ruby’s version of a nervous breakdown. “You know where the liquor cabinet is. I’ll be back soon.”

  “I kn-kn-know. G-go on. I’ll b-b-b-be f-f-fine.” Go, so I can think. I need to figure out what to do. Coming here was fine temporarily, but . . . The inside of her head tangled, and she traitorously wished Ruby was gone already.

  Gone, and safe. The more Cami thought about it, the more she realized bringing all her trouble here wasn’t a good idea.

  “You’d better be. Look, don’t drink everything, all right? Save some for Ell. She’s gonna need it.” And with that, Ruby was gone through the utility room. The garage door opened and the Semprena slid out, its chains and grabcharms rasping against churned-up, broken ice and packed snow. Cami made it to the living room window to watch, and was just in time to catch a flash of the sleek black car disappearing around the corner at a reasonable speed.

  Never thought I’d see that. But there she goes, to rescue the fair maiden.

  Was this what it was like to be a ghost? To watch everything arrange itself neatly without you, like a puzzle without the misshapen
lump of an extra piece forced into it?

  She took a deep breath. The ghost of breakfast lingered all through the cottage. Everything in here was trim and tidy, except for the explosion of Ruby’s room. The living room was deep blue starred with gilt-silver and touches of full-moon yellow, overstuffed chairs and a tapestry of a charmer’s sun-and-moon along one wall. The hearth was wide and scrubbed clean, a burnished copper kettle set precisely on the stone shelf before it and firewood neatly stacked in a holder shaped like clasped hands.

  Sometimes, imagining where she came from, she’d pretended she was the heir of a great Sigiled charming clan, stolen by a competitor. She would daydream about her faceless birth-parents living in a cottage very much like this, searching for her tirelessly, only the evil competitor had sent her to another city across the Waste, and it would only be through some stroke of luck that they saw her and recognized her. Then there would be crying and hugging, and she would have a family of her own, and . . .

  That was a kid’s dream. Like playing banditti in the barn.

  Cami wiped at her cheeks. Stood staring at the empty fireplace. Gran, like most really strong charmers, didn’t want a lot of open flame while she was working. There was too much Potential that could just latch onto a fire and do odd things.

  She could go up into the spare bedroom and lay on the tightly made blue and white bed, maybe. Or take up Ruby’s suggestion about the liquor cabinet. Go up to Rube’s room and turn on the stereo, hope that the noise would drive away the sound of Nico screaming inside her head. Or . . .

  A chill raced down her spine, drawing every inch of skin tight. She hugged herself, and the cottage shivered too. The tapestry rippled, and from the kitchen she heard dishes clinking and rattling.

  What is that? But she knew. Instead of a daydream of a Sigiled charming clan, the nightmare of reality was slinking closer and closer. You couldn’t run from that. It would sniff you out.

  Like a dog.

  Three raps on the front door. Cami’s mouth went dry.