about what they’re going to say next. Not a lot of them actually listen, and never to me. Adults figure I don’t have anything real to say, boys are too busy with their own stuff, other girls are lightyears away at the mall or the classroom or something. None of them gets what it’s like to break a

hex or clean out a nest of roach spirits.

Or to have every person or thing you ever thought was stable and real taken away, one at a time.

While vampires snarl and try to kill you.

I searched for something to say. “Do I smell weird?” I opened one eye a slice, peeked at him.

His eyebrows were all the way up, his cold eyes open for a moment instead of walled off. “What?”

“I, um. Some of the wulfen, they tell me I . . . smell. And you, well.” You smell like a Christmas

candle, but in a good way. Only, if it comes from blood I’m not sure I like it so much.

“You’re very curious and perceptive, moja księżniczko.” He coughed slightly. I know that sound;

it’s an adult getting ready to talk about Birds and Bees. “You do smell very nice. Spice, and salt. It’s

very pleasant. It means, well, when a svetocha reaches blooming age, which is different than physical maturity—”

If he started talking in euphemisms I was going to scream. “That’s good. What about you? None of

the other boys smell like you do.”

“I should be proud of that.” But his face had closed up again, the faint businesslike mockery back in

place.

“If you’re not going to answer what I’m really asking, Christophe, just say so.” Now I regretted

bringing the whole thing up. I balled up the washcloth and sighed, levering myself creakily to my

feet. Washed out and emptied, everything inside me was shut down. It was a different kind of

numbness, and one I liked. Even the thought of Dad didn’t hurt so much. Like pinching your leg

when it’s fallen asleep. “What time is it?”

“Three o’clock. Dru—”

“I want to see Ash. Then I want to look for Graves.”

“You should rest. Tonight might be difficult.”

My chin lifted. It was the “stubborn mule” look Gran chided me for so often. “I’m not the one on

trial.”

He nodded as if he’d expected that. “True. But you could be a little kinder to me, little bird.”

I’m supposed to be nice to you? Then I felt guilty. He’d saved my life, more than once. I wouldn’t

even be standing there in a white bedroom full of directionless light—because the sun was hiding

behind clouds, and the skylights were full of blind glow—if it wasn’t for him. The locket on my