Your mom, he sometimes said, when he’d had some Jim Beam and could be coaxed to talk about

the past. She didn’t stand for no funny business.

“I came to visit. Such a charming little house.” Tinkling laughter, and the rustle of silk skirts.

“You’re not welcome here.” Mommy’s voice was sharp and angry, a warning all its own. “I left the

Schola Prima, the entire Order, to you. What more do you want?”

The pretense of laughter left the other woman’s voice. It dropped away like the mask it was, and

when she spoke again her words crawled with nastiness and hurt.“Where is he?”

My mother’s tone turned cold and businesslike. “What, my husband? He’s human, what is he to

you? You even come near him, and I’ll—”

“Human? A human husband? You’re kidding. Even you wouldn’t sink so low.”

A charged, crackling silence. I could tell just from the sound that Mom was furious. She was never

angry; Dad called her sweet-tempered. He said he’d eat his goddamn hat if she ever said a mean

word about anyone.

This was new and strange. I didn’t like it. I closed my eyes and turned over, burrowed into my pillow. It was warm and safe up here in my bed, even if the wind fingered the sides of the house with a

hungry whispering sound.

“Oh.” Sudden comprehension. I heard my mother move, a drawer opening. “He’s left, then. He always said he would.”

“You know where he is.” Sharp and accusing. “You know. He’d run to you.”

“He’s not here.”

“Maybe I should look around and make sure.”

The drawer closed with a bang. There was a heavy metallic click. “Anna.” The tone of warning was

new, too. It prickled through me just like the buzzing static did. Child-me moved restlessly again,

kicking at my covers. “Get. Out. Of. My. House. Or I will kill you.”

“You’re not a good hostess.” But was that fear in the other woman’s tone? Camouflaged, but still

quivering and raw. Of course, if Mommy talked to me like that I’d cry. I was glad she never had.

“Swear to me he’s not here!”

“I’m not swearing a single goddamn thing to you. Get out of my house. Or I will shoot you and the

Order will need a new head bitch.”

“If you see him . . .” But the woman stopped, her whine trailing off. I didn’t like her voice. It hurt

me. My head was full of bad images, mud and blood and sharp teeth, and the only thing that kept

me from whimpering was a sudden thickening in the air around me. I was so tired, and if I made a

noise, Mommy might come upstairs and talk to me in that cold, angry voice.

And I didn’t want that. I would never want that.