Nameless: A Tale of Beauty and Madness Read Online Free PDF Page B

know. It’s okay.”
    It’s not okay, the way you look is not okay.
“He l-l-loves—”
    “I’m
disappointing.
We’ve had this conversation. The ghoul’s waiting, you’d better go on in.”
    Stevens can’t be a ghoul. He’s not even dead.
She got the string of words together inside her head, let them out. “P-papa wants you t-to have a ch-childhood.” Why couldn’t he
understand
?
    “I don’t know if you noticed, babygirl, but I’m not a kid.” He sighed, heavily, and some of the tension left him. “You go in. Have Marya take a look at that hand, too. I’ll see you later.”
    “Nico—”
    He cut her off. “Go
in
, Cami. I’ll deal with Papa. It was my fault anyway.”
    Oh, for Chrissake.
But there was no arguing with him when he was like this, so she shrugged, leaned over, and gave him a peck on the cheek—at least he looked happy with that—before she popped the lock and the car door.
    Stevens looked a bit green—of course he would be worried, it was dusk. The sun was actually touching the horizon, and of course Nico would feel it. He probably had judged their arrival time within seconds. Just to get close to that edge.
    Stevens would feel it too, Papa’s attention becoming heavier as the sun sank.
    Her schoolbag slipped, and she hitched it higher on her shoulder. Nico carefully waited until she was clear before he gunned the engine and peeled toward the garages.
    Cami sighed.
    The steps were wide and low enough that they gave her little trouble, and this close you could see the surface of the front door shimmering a little, like the haze above hot pavement. “Hi, S-s-stevens.” She dredged up a smile—one she hoped wasn’t as tired as she felt.
    “Good evening, Miss Camille.” The sticklike consigliere bent at the waist, and his seamed face under its skullcap of oiled hair held no glimmer of expression.
    Nico was just being nasty. Stevens wasn’t like a ghoul; he was just . . . closed off. He was a blank door to everyone. Except probably Papa, who called Stevens the perfect well. You could drop secrets in and hear the ripple, but then they vanished.
    I never want to find out.
“Nico p-picked me up f-from sch-school,” she offered tentatively, as he turned and preceded her to the massive doors. “W-we g-g-got—”
    “Mr. Vultusino requested your presence.” Stevens touched the door, running his spidery fingers over it. The house’s defensive haze shimmered, and the
chuk
ing sounds of locks and bolts sliding free fell out toward the circular driveway. “Mr. Nico was instructed to bring you directly home.”
    Oh, no.
Cami stifled a sigh.
Why does he have to do this?
She dug for some kind of excuse to offer, but Stevens didn’t pause, simply bowed again and indicated the door. Hitching her schoolbag up higher, she trudged in to face the music.
     
    She was still no closer to figuring out how to smooth the waters as she climbed the carpeted stairs—these gave her no trouble either, their edges weren’t so sharp—to the red hall. Trigger was at Papa’s door, of course, and he tipped her a lazy salute. Against the rich crimson of the carpet and the heavy velvet of the muffling drapes, his baggy chinos and blue and red plaid jacket were just shabby enough to be familiar and comforting. “How was school, Miss Cami?”
    Pretty boring. We did icecharms in Potentials class and some of the beakers shattered, that was about it.
It would have been nice to talk, but her tongue was a knot of anxiety by now. She shrugged, ducking her head and spreading her hands. Then she mimed inquisitiveness—pointing at the door, raising her eyebrows.
    “Nico’s in for it,” Trigger said shortly, and stepped aside. “He was supposed to bring you straight home. Sir wanted to see you.”
    Well, I’m here now.
Another shrug, this one with a helpless motion.
    “I know.” Trig patted her shoulder, awkwardly. “God only knows what Nic was thinking. If he
was
thinking. Go on, sweetie. He’s tired