Wait till I tell Ma, she thought. Then Paulie. Followed moments later by: Damn, first I have to figure out what I can tell them. Then: Hey, at least I can talk to Roland…

She looked at her phone. YOU HAVE VOICE MAIL, it said, so she dialed her mailbox.

“Miriam?” His voice was distant and scratchy and her heart skipped a beat. “I hope you get this message. Listen, I come across on a courier run every two days, between ten and four. I think your uncle may suspect something, he’s put Matthias on me as an escort. Last night he sent news that you’d arrived at the capital. How are you enjoying life there? Oh, by the way, don’t trust anyone called Hjorth; they’ve got a lot to lose. And watch out for Prince Egon: He’s been known to not take no for an answer. Call me when you get a chance.”

Her vision had misted at the sound of his voice. Damn, I didn’t plan this. The taxi drifted in stop-and-go traffic, the driver thumping the steering column in tune with the radio.

At the station Miriam’s first act was to hunt down an ATM and try her card. It worked. She pulled out five hundred dollars in crisp green notes and stuffed them in her pocket. That shouldn’t tell them much beyond where I was, she decided. Then she hit the ticket desk for a return ticket to Boston on the next Accela service. It took a wad, but once she found the train and settled into the seat, she was pleased with herself for spending it. It would take only three hours, meaning she’d have maybe four hours in Boston before she’d have to go back again.

Miriam settled back in her seat, notebook computer opened in front of her and phone beside it. Do I have to go back there? she asked herself morosely. She’d just spent a week on the other side—and that week had been enough to last her a lifetime. She felt the stiff edges of the platinum credit card digging into her conscience. It was blood money, and their damn blood-is-thicker-than-water creed would drag her back—every time. It didn’t drag my birth-mother back, she thought. It killed her instead. Which was even worse, and likelier than not what would happen to her if she ran now—because if she ran, they’d know she was untrustworthy. She wouldn’t get another chance. Darker possibilities occurred to her. Even if they didn’t want to kill her and reduce their precious gene pool, they could immobilize her permanently by blinding her. She doubted it was a common tactic—even given the Clan’s ruthlessness, it would rapidly provoke fear and loathing, a catalyst for conflict—but they might use it as a special measure if they suspected treason, and the possibility filled her with horror.