"Tyki, play with me!" Road said, colliding with Tyki as he entered the former drawing room that the family used as a living room. Ordinarily, he would avoid it, but it had the biggest TV in the house, and Arsenal was playing Manchester United in a few minutes.

Could he tolerate Wisely, Fiddler and Sheryll long enough to make it through the game? He thought he could. He had not counted on his hyperkinetic niece wanting to go outside. "The game's on," he said, "and it's snowing out."

"It might not snow again until next winter!" she said.

"It snows every winter," Wisely said, with what he didn't say crystal-clear: Grow up!

Road ignored him. "This could be your very last chance all year to eat snowflakes."

"I don't like snowflakes," Tyki said, "and do you know what's under those snowflakes? About a foot of mud."

"I have just the thing!" she said. "Stay here."

Tyki smiled as she ran off down the hall, then looked at the television. At that point, it was mostly reporter chatter and cameras panning over crowds that huddled under layers of blankets and face paint. Not very exciting, although the game itself was bound to be.

Road came back in with her Wellies on her hands. "Boots!" she said as if she'd just discovered them.

"Well, let me see," Wisely said. "You can go outside and play with the dog who thinks she's still a puppy, or you can watch the game like a civilized person."

It left Tyki with the sense that both choices were wrong. If he went outside, he'd miss the game, but if he stayed in, he'd be endorsing Wisely's contempt for Road. Either way, he'd regret it.

Road lifted her arms as if for a hug, her boots colliding with his shoulders, forcing him to lean down to catch her. "Steady on, pet!"

"Snow, Tyki!" she said. "Bring your cigarettes," she whispered in his ear. "I won't tell."

That settled it, "All right," he said. "Let's go play in the snow."

He ran up to his room to grab his cigarettes and lighter and to change his sweater, to create an excuse to be in his room. Then he went down to put on his coat and boots. Road was waiting for him at the door, dressed for mud. "Let's go!"

A snippet of argument wound out of the living room, Wisely picking at Fiddler, which only served to reinforce Tyki's decision. He might not have any good choices, but watching the game wasn't worth having to listen to Wisely's bullshit. "I'm ready," he said.

Road grabbed his gloved hand and pulled him past the curve of the drive until she reached a footpath that led down the hill toward the wood. In a few minutes, no one would see them from the house. Tyki pulled a cigarette and his lighter from his jacket pocket. "Thanks, pet."

Road smiled. "You're welcome."

They walked in silence for a while, Tyki mulling something over in his head as he lit the cigarette. For some time now, there'd been little sign of Crowned Clown on the poker site. It wasn't just a matter of him not being on when Tyki was on, he wasn't signing in much at all.

Tyki found that it worried him. He'd been wrong, of course, about the boy's relationship with Road. He didn't know what being right would look like, but he'd been wrong, which meant he had no reason to hate the kid except for that little bit about him being in the Order. The Order needed to be crushed.

But that wasn't personal, and there was no good reason why a poker player who won at a slow but steady clip would suddenly stop playing. Even if he was ill, he could still supervise his bot. Was he in some kind of trouble? This being the Order, it wasn't beyond the realm of possibilities.

"Sorry about the game," Road said.

"That's all right," he said. "I'll have a look at the recaps later."

"We'll come in through a different door, so Wisely can't spoiler you."

He smiled. "Thanks."

"What's bothering you?" she asked.

"How do you know something's bothering me?"

"Because I know."

It was a stupid question. She always knew. "Are you still talking to that Walker boy?"

She smiled. "I like it when you just ask me things. It's easier that way."

"Obviously, it doesn't always get me an answer," he said.

"Of course not," she said, "but at least we understand each other. And this time, I will give you an answer. Yes."

"About what?"

"Dance. We have that in common, you know."

"You talk to your closest competition about dance?"

"Why not?" She said it as if it made perfect sense.

"When was the last time you talked to him?"

"Chatted," she said. "Last week."

"So what's he up to?"

"They've been working him really hard. Marian Cross is back, you know, and Allen is his student." Road's face lit up with joy. "Allen's going to be perfectly splendid in Paris! I can't wait!"

That would explain the inactivity. Still. "Be careful," Tyki said, smiling wryly at her obvious anticipation of her rival improving significantly. She never did like to do things the easy way.

"Why? It's just chats. He doesn't have my number or anything."

"He's an Order dancer, and you know what the Order's like."

"I'm going to tell you a secret about Allen," she said.

"Are you sure he wants you telling me his secrets?" Tyki asked, realizing that he didn't want to know. Whatever it was that bound Allen Walker to the Order, whatever crime he'd committed or endured, Tyki didn't want to know. It would only worry him more.

Road laughed. "He doesn't know it's a secret."

"What?"

"You know what Allen's secret is? His secret is that he loves to dance."

"What?" Tyki asked, because it sounded like nonsense.

"He dances because he wants to, not because they make him."

Suddenly it dawned on Tyki what that really meant. "Then why is he at the Order?"

"I don't know," she said, "but he is, and I'm so glad. Isn't the snow pretty?"

Tyki took a deep, deliberate drag on his cigarette, pure pleasure this time, not therapy, and exhaled into the gray sky from which thick clusters of crystals fluttered down onto his face. "Yes, it is!" he said, and he stuck his tongue out to catch a snowflake, to Road's delighted laughter.