He could hear things she couldn’t, being Family.
The door swept closed, Trig saying something to whoever was out in the hall. Was the whole house awake? How loud had she screamed? Did Papa hear it, down in the Red Room? Was he now lying propped on pillows and staring, with the Kiss burning in his familiar-strange face? You could see he and Nico were related, closer even than the similarity between every Family member.
Except Cami. She didn’t look like anyone.
“Book,” Nico said, patiently. His pajama pants were worn at the knees, battered blue-striped ones she’d bought for him two Mithrusmases ago. The tang of cologne—or Papa’s aftershave—mixed with the healthy heat-haze of Nico, but overlaying it was a scrim of cigarette smoke and a copper breath. Either he’d Borrowed, or he’d been downing something with calf. “Don’t worry, Cami. We’ve got all night.”
I have school tomorrow. So she struggled with her breathing, and the gasps evened out. Her pulse continued to pound, but Nico relaxed a just a little. “B-b-b—” She coughed, swallowed, tried again. “B-book.”
The red was fading from his pupils. His shoulders lowered a bit as his canines shrank, tiny crackling sounds as the bones shifted lost under her shivering. “Good girl. Candle. Take your time.”
“C-c-candle.” Sweat cooled on her back, and her pajamas were all rucked around. The tank top was soaked through, and her sheets were probably gummy. “C-candle.”
“Marya.”
“M-mar-y-y-ya.” Her teeth threatened to chatter. She realized she still had her hands up, as if to ward off a blow, and dropped them. Nico relaxed even more, his knee wringing a creak from the springs. She blinked several times, and the white room stopped twitching as if it would shatter around her.
“Ruby.”
Oh, Mithrus. “Y-you h-h-hate—”
His laugh was sharp and short, freighted with the copperiness of calf. “We don’t like each other. You can still say her name. Come on, babygirl. Play the game.”
“R-ruby.” Her tongue was beginning to unknot itself.
“Ellen.”
“Ell-l-l-lie.”
“Good. Now take a deep breath.”
She beat him to it. “Nico.” Once more, the charm worked.
Another laugh, this one more genuine. “Good. Move over.”
The covers were a mess. And the cloth sticking to her skin was clammy, like the touch of cold fingers. Cami shook, stripping her sodden tank top off while he was punching the pillows into submission. When he settled with a sigh onto his back and she slid close enough to put her head on his shoulder, he stiffened.
“Whoa.” But his arm didn’t pause, he hugged her close, and she realized they weren’t kids anymore just as her entire body turned into one of Marya’s crackling fires.
“S-sor-r-r—” Oh, damn it.
“It’s okay. Shush.” He relaxed all at once. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, jeez. Marya used to put us in the tub together.”
Well, yeah. But that was years ago. “Th-they kn-know y-you’re u-u-u-up h-here.” The stutter got worse when she tried to whisper, now. Stupid thing, her tongue in revolt.
“What, you think I’m bad for your reputation?” But there wasn’t any bite to the words. He sounded, of all things, amused. “Better get used to it.”
“N-Nico.” She tried to put all the aggravation she could into it, and poked him in the ribs. His skin was rougher than hers, and the heat of him was cleaner than nightmare-sweat. When she moved, her chest bumped against his side, and he swallowed hard, very quickly.
“Do me a favor and settle down, okay? I’m being a gentleman.”
Oh really? The scalding flush subsided, bit by bit. When she let out a long shaky sigh, every muscle suddenly deciding to unstring itself, he murmured quietly.
“You remember this one?” Very careful, very soft, as if by asking gently he could bring the dream out into the light.
Nothing but whiteness, choking softness, and the cold. This one’s heart. She shook her head, carefully, trying not to move anything else.
“Someday you will,” he said, into the darkness. “And I’ll fix it. I promise.”
“Y-you d-don’t have t-to.” If I could remember, I might not want to tell you. Because you’d do something, maybe something the Family couldn’t cover up, and Papa would get mad. I should distract you. “Wh-what w-was M-Marya saying? Th-th-them.”
“Nothing.” Slightly irritated now. “Family stuff. It’s being taken care of.”
She said nothing. Her chest hurt, but she didn’t dare move. The rock in her throat was dry, but getting up to get a glass of water suddenly seemed like a bad idea, since she’d tossed her tank top over the side.
Nico’s arm tensed. He squeezed her, very carefully. The crackling tension and strength under his skin suddenly made sense—it wasn’t just whiskey and calf he’d been at.
He’d Borrowed. Family business. The ache under her ribs was a sharp spike.
“It’s nothing you should worry about,” he said, finally. “There’s some . . . problems. In town. And Papa’s close to transition. So some things creep out of the cracks and think that the Seven are distracted.”
“Th-the k-kids? The m-missing ones?”
“Like I said, nothing for you to worry about. Think about your party instead.”
Oh, yeah, that makes it tons better. “R-ruby has a d-dress for me.”
“Can’t wait. And no, I won’t tell you what I got you. You’re gonna have to wait and see.”
Cami turned her head a little. Her lips met the hollow between his shoulder and chest, muscle and skin fever-hot against her cheek. His hand had slid down, cupping the curve of her hip through her own flannel pajama bottoms. He had gone so still she wondered if he’d transitioned right there, and she almost winced. Just another reminder of what would eventually happen to him. Papa’s dead mortal wife hadn’t been Family; but once you had some of the blood, you were part of the chain. Did Nico ever wonder why Papa had given Camille that name? Did it bother him?
I wish I knew my born name. “I w-w-wish I b-belonged,” she whispered against his shoulder.
“You do,” he whispered back. “With me. Now go to sleep, before I get the urge to do something I shouldn’t.”
Would that make it better? Do you really want to? She held herself stiff and silent, afraid of moving, until the rhythm of his breathing lengthened and his head tipped back. Huddled against him, Cami stared over his chest at the curtains over her window moving slightly, maybe in a breeze from the heat register in the floor, and tried not to think about apples until sleep finally found her.
ELEVEN
OCTOVUS BLEW IN WITH SOAKING STORMS FULL OF Waste-lightning, but the week of Cami’s birthday was only cloudy and cold. The house throbbed and whispered, the manicured grounds were starred with charmed lanterns, bright dots of golden light, gleaming now that dusk was falling and the party was about to start.
“Oh, wow.” Ruby touched one of the shoulder straps, pushing it up a quarter-inch. She also brushed at a stray strand of Cami’s hair, her quick fingers tucking it behind a bobby pin and magically making the mess artful instead of silly. “Almost perfect. Where are the pearls?”
“Here.” Ellie blinked, biting at her lip a little. The single strand of irregular, pinkish pearls, red silk thread knotted between each one, nestled against Cami’s collarbone; Ellie fastened the clasp. “Yeah. Wow is right.”