Static flew like snow. It cleared enough for me to see Christophe, his hand around my mother’s

wrist as she pulled away from him. She twisted for the thumb to break his grip; he caught her shoulder with his other hand. She tore away again, her hair flying and a pair of dainty fangs visible as her

mouth opened, yelling something.

She slapped him. The sound was a rifle crack, buzzing and blurring at the edges. They faced each

other, my mother’s chest heaving and her eyes full of tears as if he’d hit her.

Christophe smiled. It was a wide bright sunny grin, as if he’d just been kissed. A handprint showed

on his pale cheek, vividly flushed. “Do that again,” he said quietly. “Go ahead, Beth. I’ll let you.”

Her lips moved, but I didn’t hear what she said. Because the static was worse, pouring down like a

river of white feathers, and the buzzing had become a roar rattling through me, the pins and needles

now knives and swords. The line holding me taut at the scene snapped, and I—

—fell with a thump as Ash howled and scrabbled at the door. He was making a noise like stones

grinding together, the growl rising and falling as his narrow ribs flickered. He backed up, claws

clicking, and flung himself at the door again.

I sat up, clipped a bruise on my shoulder on the shelf-bed. Rubbed at it. “Augh. Ow.” Blinked furiously.

Ash whirled. The growl spiraled up, and I froze.

He stared at me, his eyes orange lamps. Then he paced back two steps deliberately, crowding the

corner behind the door. He lifted one paw.

My mouth was dry, my eyes sandy, and I suddenly wanted to pee like nobody’s business. I hadn’t

thought of that when I’d had this bright idea, and peeing in the metal toilet in the corner just was so

not going to happen.

Plus I hate sleeping in my clothes. It always pinches everywhere when you wake up.

Ash’s arm jabbed forward, and he pointed his claws at me. Then, very slowly, he pointed at the

door. Still growling, his lip lifting and the gleam of ivory teeth under his nose.

I half-choked, grabbed the shelf-bed, and levered myself to my feet. I’d stiffened up but good. My

internal clock was whacked up, but I thought it was before dawn.

Ash pointed at me, at the door. Under the growl, an inquisitive, pleading sound went up at the end.

It was beyond me how he could make two sounds at once.

“Shut up!” I said sharply.

He did.

We stared at each other. He hunched down, his head cocked, and I tasted rotten, waxen oranges.

They poured over my tongue, tickled the back of my throat, and I knew something bad was happening.