I am a man, I think now, sitting at my father’s table. I am a Pitch.

Simon has his hand on my thigh. Squeezing. Grounding.

I take a bite of turkey. (Contract, contract, pull back.)

I swallow.

My fangs stay hidden. I don’t have to cover my mouth.

I cut another bite.

“Could you pass me the salt?” Simon asks.

I’m chewing.

Simon lifts his hand to my arm. “Babe? The salt?”

“Of course,” I say, reaching for it. I swallow. It’s fine.

I glance up at my father. His food is untouched, and he’s openly staring at me. His eyes are shining.

At the other end of the table, Daphne is weeping.

“This is excellent,” I say. “You’ve outdone yourself, Mum.”

Mordelia is gawking at me. The twins are watching their mother cry. Only Swithin and Simon are eating. (They have very similar table manners.)

“Basilton,” Daphne says, through tears. “You didn’t get any potatoes.” She holds out the platter. Simon takes another serving before he passes them to me.

“Here’s the stuffing, Baz,” Mordelia says, sending down the dish.

All the plates are coming at me from every direction.

Simon starts laughing. I laugh with him. I have food in my mouth. It’s uncouth.

Then my father stands up.

He walks out of the room.

I turn to my stepmother. She’s confused, too.

But then he’s back—he’s got a bottle of champagne. He pops it open with one hand and pours it into my empty water glass. He pours for Simon next. Then for Daphne and a little for Mordelia. And for himself.

“Merry Christmas!” my father says, holding his glass in the air. His eyes are still shining. There’s champagne drenching his cuff.

We all hold our glasses up. “Merry Christmas!”

SIMON

I think I got drunk with Baz’s dad at dinner.

Not too drunk—because I ate half a turkey and three servings of Christmas pudding.

But his dad kept popping open champagne bottles. And his stepmum kept offering us more food. I thought she was going to feed Baz his pudding herself with an aeroplane spoon.

I’ve never seen him eat so much.

At one point, when his dad was fetching more champagne, I leaned over and whispered, “They know you’re still a vampire, right?”

Baz pushed me back. I was sliding off my chair. “Darling,” he said, “you’re drunk.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t say no to your dad. He scares me.”

“He scares everyone,” Mordelia said.

I suppose they were all just happy to see Baz eating. They haven’t shared a meal with him since he was twelve or thirteen or whenever it was that his fangs came in.