who still wants to hunt you down. Well, except for Dane. If anyone can get through it, Dane can.” Vivian

found socks at the bottom of the bag and handed them over.

Lindsay took the socks and put them on the chair. Hiding sounded safe. He gathered up briefs, slacks

and a shirt. No sense putting on shoes without clothes. “How would he get through it?” Lindsay asked,

heading for the bathroom to dress.

“He’s got exceptional senses.” Vivian raised her voice to be heard through the bathroom door. “I’m

sure you’ve noticed that he’s not entirely human.”

“I…yes.” Lindsay fumbled with the clothes. It had been a while since he’d done this for himself. “Am

I human?” he asked, when he came out of the bathroom. He looked up from fastening the last button on his shirt, through his hair hanging in his face. “I mean…the magic?”

“You are human. But gifted. Magically gifted.” Vivian’s expression was fond. “You look quite nice in

that. I did a fair job with the sizes.”

Lindsay looked at himself and shrugged. “Thank you. It fits well.” Magically gifted. It hadn’t felt like

much of a gift, so far.

“You’re a handsome young man.” Vivian came over, reaching for his throat. Lindsay backed off,

instinctively, but then he realized she was only reaching for the shirt to adjust his collar. Vivian didn’t seem to notice, or if she had, she didn’t show it. “You don’t need to worry about going out. Dane will take care of you.”

“I’m going today? Now?” She made it sound so immediate.

“You don’t have to go today, dear.” Vivian sounded more maternal than Lindsay’s mother ever had.

“Whenever you’re feeling well. You could start by looking around the house. Just stay to this floor and the one below. There’s a little library down the hall, though what you’d want with books that were old when

Cyrus was a boy is beyond me. You’re welcome to them, though.” She brushed his hair back off his

shoulders. “Are you going to want that cut, or shall I leave you be like the rest of the men in the house?”

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29

Anah Crow and Dianne Fox

Lindsay shook his head, reaching up to tug the ends of his hair. “No. I want…” He touched the closed

collar of his shirt with his other hand. “I want to cover the marks.”

All across his collarbone and low around the back of his neck, scars like acid burns spilled pink over

his pale skin. Dozens of smaller scars starburst out from the burns, from the collar exploding against his skin. There were matching scars on his wrists, and worse, wide stripes of scarring where his wrists met his hands, where he’d torn his skin open trying to pull free.

The shirt covered all the marks, but his long hair served as another barrier, another veil between what

had happened to him and what the rest of the world could see.

“All right.” Vivian stepped back. “Why don’t I leave you to play dress-up? Anything that doesn’t fit,

put it in the hall. Are you hungry?”

Lindsay tilted his head, thinking about the question. “I… Maybe. I think so.” Deciding when to eat

was another thing he hadn’t done for himself in a long time. There were so many things he would have to

relearn.

“I’ll send Dane up with a meal. Seems he’s still the only man in this house who doesn’t forget to eat.”

Lindsay could have gotten his own food—he was dressed, after all—but he wanted to see Dane again.

Vivian was nice, and he liked her, but there was something about Dane that made Lindsay need to trust him. Having Dane bring him lunch one more time wouldn’t hurt.

Vivian gestured to the clothes she’d laid out for Lindsay. “If you’d rather other styles, let me know. I

was guessing at what you’d like.”

“This is…” Lindsay looked around at the clothes. “This is fine. Thank you.” He smiled tentatively.

“I’ll tell you if anything doesn’t work.”

“You can go shopping for yourself, once you have your magic mastered.” Vivian folded up the empty

bags and stacked them on a chair. “Then you won’t have to worry about my sense of style. Dane will come

see you in a few minutes.”

Lindsay’s smile widened. That, at least, seemed like it might be a perquisite to learning to use his

magic. Maybe not enough to make his magic seem like a gift, but being free to come and go on his own…

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Lindsay. Ask if you need anything else.” Vivian left him alone, then, closing the

door behind her.

Lindsay watched her leave, and went back into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror. Pale

gray eyes stared back at him, two smudges of faded color in all his pale, pink-white skin and pale, white-

gold hair. Other than the scars, the rest of the damage from the Institute was gone. Even his teeth were

white and perfect again.

He wasn’t sure how Vivian had managed it, but the dark blue shirt made him seem less washed-out. If

he was going to be responsible for buying his own clothes, someday, maybe he should ask her about it.

30

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Tatterdemalion

After he learned how to use his magic.

Every day since Vivian had brought him the clothes, Lindsay had gotten up and showered and

dressed. It felt good, like a piece of normality. He was still tired all the time, and cold, but he at least had enough energy to get himself clean and dressed in the mornings.

Some days, as Vivian had suggested, he even crept beyond the threshold of his room. The first time he

had dared to do it, his knees were weak as he stood in the hall and realized that he could, if he wanted, go anywhere. He had found the library, which only got bigger the deeper in he wandered, until he was afraid he would lose the way back out. Reading was difficult even if Lindsay knew the language of the books he

chose, because his head still hurt so often. Most days, he ended up in a chair by the window, watching the

clouds navigate the sky.

Today, he put on dark wool slacks and a blue dress shirt buttoned all the way up to the collar, and the

clouds were shaped like fantastic things: dragons, minotaurs, gryphons. Everything in Cyrus’s house had a

touch of magic, it seemed, even the windows—everything Lindsay saw through them had a mysterious

beauty to it, down to the gray street and dirty snow.

The silence in Cyrus’s house wasn’t like the silence of Lindsay’s childhood home. That silence had

been oppressive, like every noise Lindsay made was an imposition. In Cyrus’s house, silence had a sense of

waiting, like the house was holding its breath. Sometimes, the house would sigh, and the air would tug at

Lindsay’s hair so he knew that the house knew he was there.

Lindsay felt welcome in the house in a way he had never felt welcome anywhere else in the world.

When he left the room, his footfalls were muffled by the carpet runners that lined the halls, and the aging loveseats and chaises in the sitting room Lindsay found next to his room still had enough spring and

stuffing to be comfortable. Yet, everything was slightly worn, so Lindsay felt as though he could touch

without offending. His fingers brushed a worn place on the arm of the big chair in his room and crept down

to the grooves carved by Dane’s claws. When Lindsay had first found the wear and realized that those

marks had been worn while Dane sat in this chair watching over him, the feeling had been indescribably

wonderful.

The door swung open as Dane came in, Lindsay’s lunch on the tray in one big hand. He didn’t seem

to change much from one day to the next, always lost behind the heavy fall of hair and the dense beard, his body obscured by loose clothing. For all that he was huge, he was very quiet, even in his big boots. He