Amy walked with her head down, only her eyes visible above her scarf, which she’d pulled up to protect her ears. The positioning of the scarf was helped by the fact that Dot was curled up against her neck, upper body at one side, thighs against the other, and the little goblin had the scarf pulled around her like a blanket, adjusting every time the cold seeped in. The walk hadn’t been long, but Dot was already asleep in the warmth, snoring softly. The little goblin put out its tongue to lick unconsciously at Amy’s neck, and sensations of its being, physical makeup, and overall health leaped into her awareness.

The fact Dot was sleeping meant she had stopped gabbling. The goblin’s voice was comforting in how there was an omnipresent voice, less comforting if Amy focused too much on the words. Was it more concerning that if the words were said by a human, they’d sound monstrous, or that the words were said by a monster but sounded so human?

Amy touched her scarf, touching Dot’s head through it. Dot curled up tighter against Amy in unconscious response.

Mark walked beside her, but he was off in his own world. Tired, disheartened.

Because I’ve surrounded myself with villains, too. He can’t come to terms with that.

Marquis was talking about weapons and danger with Chris. They’d never gotten along in the Birdcage, and they didn’t get along now, but they could cooperate. It wasn’t just that they were villainous, but that they were villainous with that insane edge around them.

Marquis wore a coat in Shin’s style, and Amy had to admit he wore it well. She only knew what she knew about fashion because Victoria had rubbed off on her, but she had the sense her father had picked the coat well. Long, bone white, and decorated at the seams. He carried a cane though he didn’t need it, and wore no hat.

Chris, for his part, had transitioned to something between a shaggy junkyard dog and a chimpanzee, seven feet tall at the shoulder. Long-limbed, long-faced, vaguely humanoid, muscle visible beneath the shaggy fur, with no clothes but for a sash around the lower body and that collar around his neck, with syringes poised to plunge home. He loped more than he walked.

“I like Gosling,” Marquis said. “Elegant little murderer.”

“I’ll be your elegant little murderer,” Hunter said, eager, skipping forward with snow flying.

“You could be if we wanted that, but I think it’s best for you to stay near Amelia. I’m negotiating for my personal team, if we reach the point where we need to defend ourselves.”

Chris rumbled while he padded through the snow with shaggy, furred claws. “It’s not negotiating if nobody wants what you’re picking.”

“Gosling?” Marquis sounded surprised. “That’s a vehement reaction.”

“She’s weak.”