"I just refuse to let her keep me from the streets. We were finally getting somewhere."

Bram nodded, his brows lowering. "Give me the weekend, Nora. I'll call the others, and I'll stay here with you."

"No," I said, my own disappointment audible-but I knew any other response would be too selfish for words. "If I have to be here, you should head out."

Bram was quiet for a second before confessing, "I'm thinking of going after Coalhouse." I crossed my arms, waiting for him to continue. "It's not even a matter of him doing anything he shouldn't-it's a matter of him getting himself killed. The Changed are obviously a bad crowd."

"We don't even know if he's with them, though." I wasn't attempting to sway him, only relating the truth. "Maybe he's just hiding out somewhere, brooding."

"He's getting worse." Bram noticed I was still holding my valise, and took it from me. "He's getting more impulsive. He's fresher than me, his brain's less rotted, so that's scary."

"Maybe he thinks he's making the right choice."

"I know. I was thinking that yesterday." Still, Bram sounded unconvinced.

Tense as I was, unhappy as I was, my first instinct was to comfort him. Pushing my nose into his waistcoat, I shut my eyes. "I'm sorry for being argumentative."

"I like you argumentative." Bram lowered his arms and held me by the head and the waist, my valise on his wrist. "I even kind of like it when you argue with the others, sometimes. Just don't tell them that."

"Huh?"

"If you can argue with us, get angry at us-it means you don't see us dropping dead anytime soon. You treat people you think you're going to lose like fine china." Bram released me. "Let me put your stuff in your dad's office and tell him what's going on. Just that we've gotten some weird text messages. I won't tell him who we think they came from."

Humbled by his first statement, I let him go. "No. I'll come with you. But honestly, we still have no idea what's going on. What if that Braca fellow is right? I just don't see why it has to be Mink that makes me hide."

"Then tell yourself you're hiding because of Allister," Bram replied.

"Oh, that's low." I fell in behind him, glaring up at the back of his head. "If you weren't so ... you ... I'd have to kill you for that one. That is freaking low."

Deciding to come clean, I unloaded everything except the names Mink and Allister. I told him about Hagens, the Changed, the masks. Papa took the news badly, so I found myself engaging in the old "disobey, then be sweetness and light for a few days" trick. He insisted I stay at least overnight, and the gurney was set up in a large supply closet off the main lab-not in his office with Patient One, thankfully. For the first time in my life I was grateful to be shunted to the side.

Despite my protests, Bram stuck around for part of the evening. I ended up puttering about with him on the Christine, dressed in a white coat, watching as he, with Evola as his teacher, patched up wounds and administered zombie meds. Still, I found my attention wandering, even when Bram took a moment to smile encouragingly at me or Evola cracked a joke. Everything that was happening to us was so confusing.

I didn't watch the clock. I was holing up on an ironclad based on a bunch of stupid bird costumes and an Aethernet threat, so bedtime be d.a.m.ned. But when I finally grew tired enough to lie down, still fully dressed, Bram made a show of taking me back to the supply closet and tucking me in. Truth be told, I rather liked it when he fussed over me. It felt good to depend on someone else, just the littlest bit. Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't allow me perfect freedom to go along with it.

He then shut off the closet light and took a seat in the doorway, pulling his digidiary out of his pocket and opening it, the screen illuminating his face. He let it rest on his knee momentarily as he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, revealing the scores of wicked-looking scars covering his muscular arms. "Sleep tight. Don't let any other men bite."

"Har de har har," I murmured, even as my fingers slipped beneath the sleeve of my dress, lingering on my scar.

No. I never would.

Even though I was being kept in the same boat with a literal prisoner, even though the door to the main lab was left wide open and Salvez and my father were constantly going in and out, I actually slept soundly. When I awoke on Friday morning, Bram was gone. He'd left a note telling me he was headed back to the house and then to the streets.

With nothing else to do, I finally turned to my phone. Pam had sent me another barrage of texts. From the sounds of things, Renfield had fed her family something about my paranoid father wanting to keep me close at hand. She didn't mention Mink. I responded, and Pam told me she'd come over when she got the chance. When she did arrive, I was flicking through the television channels again, watching them on Papa's giant pull-down screen.

"This city's turning into a prison. The poor're stuck here. If they ever bomb the city, set it on fire, we'll go along with the dead. This is a plot by the aristocrats! I'd like to see numbers-how many aristocrats got bit?"

"I'm telling you, they took phones at the riot two weeks ago! Some men in suits took mine! I thought the government was going to disclose everything?"

"If you're undead, don't trust breathers. That's all I'm saying."

"Nora?"

Looking up, I found Pamela in her double-breasted gray raincoat, her tired face haunted by shadows. I stood up, giving her the chair. "How'd you get here?"

"I came with Dr. Chase. She had some work to do." She bit her lip. "Mr. Merriweather told us that Dr. Dearly demanded you spend the night here? What is that all about?"

"It's ... a long story." I knew owed her the truth, and so I spilled, trying to remain as unemotional as possible. I even told her about Mink and Allister. Pam tensed as she listened, but for the most part she remained collected.

"Are you telling me you came here of your own free will, then?"

"Of course." Pam gave me her usual "liar" look, and I gave in. "Bram brought me."

"If it actually keeps you safe, then for once I'm glad you're doing what he wants."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know." Pamela sat, and untied the ribbon holding her best hat on. "You honestly think they're pranking you?"

"That's what it feels like." I shrugged. "Did Papa get to the house?"

"I don't think your father's been back, no, or done what he said he would. My dad still didn't mention anything about leaving this morning."

Deciding that I'd have plenty of time to mull over her Bram comment later, I perched on my father's desk. "Okay. I'll figure out a way for us to talk to Lopez."

"Don't." Pam tightened her hold on her hat ribbons. "Wait until this fresh new h.e.l.l has pa.s.sed first."

Confused, I said, "But Pamma, your family ..."

"Oh, Mr. Griswold, Miss Sweet, and Mr. Todd came in early this morning. I think they were out on the streets looking around last night."

That thought didn't cheer me up. At least they'd gone together.

With that, Pam and I lapsed into a semicomfortable silence, the screen absorbing our attention. It wasn't until NVIC went to commercial that Pam looked down the room and said, "I don't mean to be rude, but ... don't you find hanging out in here a little creepy? If you have to stay here, couldn't we go walk about the ship?"

Glancing around her, I saw that Patient One was watching us. The two guards were staring straight ahead at nothing, about the only thing they could do. They didn't want to look at the ugly zombie, and they couldn't look at us without being accused of a variety of uncouth ideas. For them, I said, "No, I don't find it creepy. The guards are very respectful. Of me and the patient."

"I meant him."

"Patient One? Of course I do, but-honestly? I'm starting to think he likes having people besides the guards in here. I've been awake since six, and in and out of here all morning. Every time I leave, he stands up to watch me go. Like a puppy."

"Charming." Pam looked at him again. "Does he ever say anything?"

"He talked once before. He hasn't said anything since."

"What did he say?"

I shrugged. "'The Devil keeps tigers.'"

"Tigers?" Pamma frowned. "Weird."

"Tell me about it. I'm starting to think it doesn't mean anything. Poor man's brain is likely half mush. He hasn't had medical care till now."

"I wonder where he saw tigers." Pamma lifted her head. "I mean, they're extinct in the wild, all over the remaining world."

"I don't think he saw a real tiger," I told her patiently. "He probably saw a painting or something. A statue. A hologram. A hallucination. Anything."

"Yes, because the only place you can find a real tiger anymore is Allister's nature preserve." The name twisted her voice, even as she returned her attention to the screen. "They always talk about the hunting parties that go there in the society pages."

She went silent, and my skin went very, very cold. It hit me in that instant that Mink had never said the name Michael. She'd said Allister. And there was more than one Allister in the world.

It was a throwaway comment, and I did my best not to let on. Knowing now just how much everything that happened earlier had traumatized Pam, I didn't want to burden her. But the gears in my head started turning, to the point that I barely heard a word she said afterward. I think she was a bit miffed, but I couldn't help it. It was a long shot, improbable, impossible. What on earth could either Allister have to do with Patient One?

Still, I had to get Patient One to talk.

Pam left soon afterward. I offered to go with her, to go after Lopez, but she ordered me to stay put. Willingly, for once, I obeyed. All day long I waited for a chance, a momentary lull in the guards. It never came, as they appeared for their a.s.signments like clockwork, the previous set never departing before their relief arrived. I didn't want them listening in.

At suppertime, just after Bram texted me to let me know he was going to head out with the group from the pub to fish for the masked men again, just as I was about to go feeble with frustration, one of the Allisters actually reached out to me through the ether.

Miss Dearly. If you have recovered, I'd like to invite you out to dinner. Perhaps we can continue our conversation like adults. Alone.

Jesus.

I needed air. I saw myself out of Papa's office, the main lab, and up to the deck of the Erika. Salty sea air blew through my curls, tickled my scalp as I made my way to the bow of the ship and leaned over the dark water. In the distance the lights of New London glowed brightly.

Staring at the message on the screen of my phone, I knew what I had to do.

When and where?

Michael responded almost instantly.

Kintzing's, 8:00 p.m. tomorrow. My driver will pick you up.

No. I'll meet you there.

Very well. But if anyone comes with you this time, the arrangement is off.

Closing my phone and my eyes, I turned to face the clammy breeze. I knew I was doing something stupid, but I also knew I had no choice.

I'd ignored Bram's entreaties to be careful. I'd ignored my best friend's pleas to be careful. I'd ignored my father's orders to be careful. No way was I going to brush all of them off and listen to Vespertine Mink. To a computer.

I had to find out the truth for myself.

28.

PAMELA.

Nora hadn't asked me how I planned to get home, and I hadn't told her. She'd seemed preoccupied, and for once it worked to my advantage.

Because I didn't want her going after Lopez. I'd already decided to do that myself.

A series of trolleys and omnibuses got me across town, their on-board advertising screens flashing information coded to the publicly accessible information in my ID chip. I pretended to be enthralled by the displays, drawn in by the promises of computer science correspondence courses and ointments formulated to deliver shinier hair. I prayed that no one would talk to me, that no one would single me out as a young lady, unchaperoned. My thoughts seemed scattered, anxious and uncatchable; my foot never stopped moving, tapping nervously under my skirt.

Yet it wasn't until I reached my destination, standing in a puddle on a gusty, obviously moneyed street, that I began to second-guess myself. Renter though he was, the address on Lopez's card was in an upscale part of town. A number of grand inner-city mansions marched down the road where the last bus left me, separated from one another by tall iron fences, their ornate gates locked and monitored by cameras. The carriages that rolled past were luxury models, crafted with gorgeous flourishes along their doors and headlamps.

Despite the fact that I'd never stood on this particular street before in my life, I knew this world. The things I saw made sense; the things I saw had meaning. When I was at school I was allowed to observe this world without ever truly taking part in it. I knew I shouldn't be there now.

Tearing my eyes away from a rich young lady's ostentatious pink electric carriage, I forced myself to press on. I wasn't undertaking this mad exercise for myself.

It wasn't difficult to find the address on the card, which turned out to be a well-landscaped building complex called the Steel Center-a New Victorian architectural maze of blond rock and marble, all of it beautiful, none of it holographic. Somewhat intimidated, I found myself instinctively donning my very best schoolgirl smile as I made my way to the gla.s.s doors. The smile froze on my face as a snappily attired doorman appeared to open the door for me, tipping his hat. "Miss."

But when I entered the lobby, I gave up my pretense, my jaw dropping. The first two stories of the building were open, an arcade of leaping iron arches and gla.s.s plates that exposed the rooms on the second floor, revealing them to be offices staffed by red-faced men and Gibson-skirted secretaries. The first floor was made up of rows of glittering shops, selling everything from fans to gloves to cigars to heavy household appliances, all of it high end. The exposed iron and stone columns supporting everything were decorated with gold-plated sculptures of captains of industry, chased by metallic vines twined with chains of electric lights.

I admired it all for a moment, contemplating just how quickly I ought to run away.

"May I help you?" I whirled around to find a mild-looking gentleman awaiting my response, his pomaded hair buffed to a fine sheen. He was dressed in a black suit, and held a flat screen in his hands.

"Um ..." I offered him Lopez's pocket-softened calling card. "I've come to call on someone."

"Of course." The concierge, or whatever he was, took the card and looked at it. "Would you happen to have a card of your own I might send to the resident in question?"

"No," I had to admit. I had a few very plain ones, but I wasn't used to carrying them with me. I hadn't thought to rescue them from the house.

"I see. Whom may I say is calling, then?" If the fellow was suspicious or judgmental, he never showed it. I got the feeling his expression never altered, not even should someone cause him bodily harm.

"Miss Pamela Roe. He's a friend of the family."

The man wrote my name down on the screen with a silver stylus kept on his watch chain, tapped a few b.u.t.tons, and then waited. A small chime sounded perhaps twenty seconds later, and he returned the card to me. "Lord Lopez will come down to meet you, miss. If you'll wait right here." And with that he was gone.

I wondered what had just happened. As I stood there, a group of laughing ladies pa.s.sed by, dressed in some of the most beautiful gowns I'd ever beheld, their fans whishing and their heavy hats bobbing dangerously on their fine little heads.

It was a few minutes before Lord Lopez joined me. When he did show up, it was via a large elevator bank directly to my right. Although he was dressed all in black, he still cut a fashionable figure, the materials used to make his clothing and accessories almost as rich and detailed as the garments themselves. In his hand, he carried a golden walking stick.

Suddenly I got it. As I stood there, staring dumbly at him, I got it. Lopez wasn't a neighbor offering to help us out. He was so far out of my family's social league that the light from his league should take a million years to reach us. No wonder my parents were reluctant to accept his offer. They'd known what Marblanco was; they'd known about Lopez's family. He wasn't just a lord-he was practically a prince. We were paupers.

But I couldn't go back now.

"Miss Roe?" He moved quickly to my side and bowed. When he opened his mouth it became clear it was fear, not politeness, that made him stand so ramrod straight this time. "Has something else happened?"

"No! Yes. I mean ..." I released a breath. "I need to speak to you. It's about my family. But it's not an emergency."