“The Normal Air Force?” his dad asks.

I turn to him. “Is there a magickal Air Force?”

“Why would you want to be a pilot,” Mordelia asks, “when you have wings?”

“Mordelia,” her mother says.

“It’s not a secret that he has wings!”

“It’s impolite to speak about any body part that isn’t visible.”

“A pilot?” Baz’s father says.

“It’s just something I’ve thought about,” I mumble.

“He’d be very good at it,” Baz asserts.

I spin my head back to Baz, and I hope my face says, What the actual fuck?

He hands me the platter of turkey without looking at me.

I take it. I give myself some turkey. “First, forklifts,” I say. “Then maybe aeroplanes.”

Baz is sitting very stiff and tall, and staring down at his plate rather than making eye contact with anyone.

That’s when I notice that he hasn’t given himself any food—or hardly any. He’s taken the smallest possible serving of everything that’s gone by. He didn’t take any turkey.

I frown at him and put two slices on his plate.

His father was about to hand Baz the gravy boat. He freezes. They’ve all gone still. Baz might not even be breathing.

“I’ll take that,” I say, reaching over Baz. I pour gravy over his turkey, then mine. Then I help Sophie (or maybe Petra) with hers, then hand it on to Daphne.

I put one of my extra Yorkshire puddings on Baz’s plate. Then I lay my hand on his thigh.

He can do this. I know he can do this.

BAZ

I take a deep breath.

The turkey smells heavenly. Vera must have helped Daphne with dinner; that’s Vera’s onion gravy.

I’m not thirsty. We left London early so I could stop in the woods at the edge of my family’s land. I drank an entire deer. I let Simon watch.

I’m still so full of blood that the people around me just barely tug at my fangs. My throat doesn’t ache. My sinuses don’t burn.

But my fangs don’t differentiate between my hungers. They want to drop now. They want to help.

I glance over at Simon—I should throttle him.

He looks in my eyes. He nods.

Then he looks down at his own plate and takes a bite. “This turkey is delicious, Mrs. Grimm.”

He squeezes my leg.

He’s the only one not watching me.

I take a deep breath.

I breathe.

I pick up my fork. Sophie has leaned over her plate to stare at me. Her hair is dragging in her gravy.

I pick up my knife.

“Really delicious,” Simon says.

I cut a piece of turkey.

I breathe.

I feel my fangs twitch.