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anything from before. He crawled into the travel-bedsponge he’d used so long. With a small, demanding mew, Drina clawed at the top of the cover. Grunting, he lifted it up for her. She slid her cold, damp nose against his cheek and cuddled up near him.
    â€œWhy aren’t you on your pillow?” he asked groggily.
    You are warmer. You are a hard pillow, but you will do.
    She might do as a Fam, too. But his last thought was of the brilliant Mitchella Clover. She would definitely do as a lover. He’d be sure to convince her of that, whatever it took. Even restoring the Residence wasn’t as important as getting her in his bed. Why, he didn’t know, and supposed the idea should concern him. But he was expert at banishing the demons of the past.
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That night Mitchella slept deep and dreamt of a lover. Even in the dream she told herself she did not know his face and form, but his hands were calloused, and he smelled of sage. His voice was rich, deep, and said things that excited her as his fingers explored her body. She panted and moaned and yearned with the deepest hunger to have him enter her, cover her.
    A scream ripped her from sleep, and she rolled off the bed and grabbed a robe in one motion. Antenn. Another nightmare. Sometimes he spoke of them, sometimes not. Mitchella sensed that in all the time she’d been his guardian there were bad experiences he’d hidden from her.
    When she reached the door of his room, he was sitting bolt upright and shaking, but gave her a wan smile. Pinky crouched at the bottom of the bed, lashing his tail, as if he could find the dream and pounce on it.
    Mitchella sat on his bed, ran her fingers through the tousled boy-brown hair. She sighed. “You had nightmares about the gang again. Those holos of T’Blackthorn Residence probably set them off.” Risking rebuff, she leaned in and gave him a squeeze. To her surprise, he buried his head in her shoulder.
    â€œDo you want to talk about the dreams?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI’ll give up the job.” It was a pang, not having the once-in-a-lifetime experience, knowing to the tips of her fingers that she could handle the project and she would never lack work again. But nothing was worth hearing the child’s screams in the night.
    Now he pulled away, grabbed a softleaf from his night table, and blew his nose. “No. T’Blackthorn Residence is big, and it’s a real mess. This could make us a mountain of gilt.”
    If the boy was thinking of money, he was back in the real world, and all right. She tilted her head. “True.”
    â€œWe could buy our own house. Better, we could build our own house.”
    Her heart clutched. Through T’Ash’s Testing Stones it had been determined that Antenn had a Flair for architecture. Just a moment before she’d been thinking of him as a child, now he was considering the future like a boy growing into a man.
    She was sure some of the experiences he’d had as a young child following the Downwind Triad gang had been incomprehensible to him at the time, but as he matured, he understood them better and grew even more adult because of that.
    â€œBesides”—his hazel eyes met hers steadily—“you’ve always said we should face our fears and problems. You’ve faced that you’re sterile.”
    Hearing it said aloud and baldly still hurt, and as she thought of her dreams she knew that though her mind and heart had accepted the idea, her body still wanted to make babies. And she’d been dreaming of Straif Blackthorn for goodness sake! But still she managed a crooked smile for Antenn. “It’s something I deal with on a daily basis.”
    â€œBut you do so.” His chin jutted. “I can face my fears, too. Since you’ll be working at T’Blackthorn’s, I’ll have to go there now and then, like with some of your other jobs, right?”
    â€œYes.”
    He turned and