Tatterdemalion

Dane set the tray on the desk. “Time to learn to fend for yourself.” He straightened and looked

Lindsay over. “You’re well enough.”

To fend for himself. To learn to use his magic, Dane meant. Lindsay didn’t know that he wanted to

learn to use it. If he left it alone, wouldn’t everyone leave him alone in turn?

“What good will it do me to learn to use the magic?” he asked, and ducked his head, afraid he’d make

Dane angry with him. “I mean, shouldn’t I just leave it alone? With all the trouble it’s been…”

“Can’t not be what you are. They already know what you are.” Dane crossed his arms over his chest

and shook his hair back so he could glare at Lindsay properly. “Embarrassment to your father, liability to

the government, and experiment that got loose. Can’t stop being a mage any more than you can stop being

Carrington’s son. Eat your lunch. Long day ahead.”

Lindsay flinched, stomach churning. The reminder of what he was to his family hurt. It hadn’t taken being a mage to cause that, though. He’d never felt like he was what they’d wanted in a son. Being a mage

had only been the last straw. He shuffled over to the desk and sat to pick at his food.

“Didn’t say they were right, any of them,” Dane added, as he turned away. “They’re not. But that

won’t stop them from looking for you, no matter what you do. Come find me when you’re done.”

Come find him. Lindsay could do that. He took a slow, calming breath and tried to get through his

meal.

Downstairs, the house was comfortingly domestic. The main stairs led to a spacious foyer that opened

up to a dining room to one side and a sitting room to the other, and a hallway ran to the back of the house.

Lindsay had ventured down once before, in the night, but the sound of voices on the back stairs had sent

him fleeing to his room rather than exercise his rusty social skills. To his relief, there was no one in sight but Dane, sprawled in a big chair in front of the sitting room fire, reading a leather-bound book that seemed small in his hand.

Lindsay hovered in the archway a moment, then stepped inside. “…Dane?” His voice broke, and he

tried again. “Dane?” Better.

“Ready to go?” Dane looked ready. On further inspection, when he closed his book and put it aside,

he’d finally shaved off the beard and he’d pulled back his hair. Exposed, he looked inhuman, rough-hewn

and unfinished. He got to his feet and prodded the logs in the fire with the poker, settling them down.

Lindsay looked at himself. Pants, shirt, shoes. He was carrying his coat. “Yes.” No. He wasn’t ready

to go anywhere.

“No sense wasting time.” Dane closed the doors on the fireplace and got up. When he turned, he

stopped and frowned until Lindsay was about to start panicking, and then he nodded as though he’d come

to some conclusion. “Do you know New York?”

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Tatterdemalion

“Yeah.” Lindsay looked himself over again, trying to figure out what Dane had been frowning about.

What had he done wrong? “My parents have a house in Greenwich. I grew up there. Sort of.” He checked

Dane’s expression cautiously. No frown now. “When I wasn’t away at school.”

“Then you know how to get us to Washington Square Park.” Dane stepped around Lindsay on his way

to pull a long, black coat from the hall closet. He tugged it on and gestured toward the front door. “Go on.”

“You want me to…” Lindsay stared up at Dane, then glanced at the door. He hadn’t been out of the

house since Dane had brought him here from the Institute. At the Institute, of course, he hadn’t been able to go out at all. Thinking back on his childhood, he’d never been allowed to make his own way before. He

swallowed hard. “All right.” He could do this—if he could figure out where they were starting from. He

headed for the door, pulling on his coat and pulling up the hood.

Outside, the world was shades of gray. They were standing on the front step of a tall, narrow house

across the street from a small park. The skyline was visible above the trees. Dane stopped behind Lindsay,

pulling the door shut. “Train stops a few blocks south,” he said quietly. “To the right.”

“Thank you.” Lindsay shoved his hands into his pockets, finding his gloves. He pulled them out and

tugged them on as he walked, keeping his head ducked down so that, between his long hair and the hood,

his face was hidden from view.

Dane followed him like a shadow, silently. He let Lindsay lead the way to the stop. Even when he

pulled out the pass cards for them, he made no comment, just tapped Lindsay on the sleeve with his before

they took the stairs down.

Lindsay clutched the card in his hand, feeling the edges dig into his skin through the leather gloves.

At the bottom of the stairs, he had to push his hood back to see, looking around to get his bearings. A map on the wall told him which train he needed—C train, south, to Brooklyn, off at West 4th.

He headed for the correct bay of turnstiles, swiping his card and pushing through. The crowd crushed

in all around him, everyone moving in the same direction. His breath came short, panicked, but he kept

moving, walking over to stand behind the broad swath of yellow that marked the edge of the cement aisle

where the train would stop. He held himself taut, trying not to shake with fear.

Lindsay almost threw himself aside when an arm slid around his shoulders before he realized it was

Dane. Dane said nothing as he pulled Lindsay to his side. When someone bumped him again, Lindsay

tensed and tucked himself up against Dane. He could feel Dane rumble, deep and threatening, almost too

low to hear. Dane didn’t scold or criticize Lindsay, and the threat must have worked, because Lindsay

suddenly had some breathing room even as Dane shifted to let him huddle closer. After a moment, a big

hand ran over Lindsay’s hair, touching gently and soothing.

Lindsay couldn’t quite keep himself from leaning into the petting. It felt good, helped him to calm

down enough that he could breathe more evenly. Dane’s face could have been interpreted as stern or dire,

when he took a moment to glance down, but the look in his eyes was nothing of the sort.

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Anah Crow and Dia