“At least he’s not around to fuck you up now.” Dorian wanted her to look at him again, but he didn’t want to admit it. Now that he was paying closer attention to her, maybe there was something in Zoe’s face, a kind of wounded defensiveness, that reminded him of the mermaids’ faces. “But that isn’t what I was wondering, actually.” How could he say this? The urge to know pulsed in him, painfully strong. She must have felt something, some hint of the transformation, but for some reason she hadn’t given in to it. Why?

“Yeah? What is it, then? You want to know if I liked it? You think I’m one of those masochists who gets off on that stuff?”

She was being deliberately bitchy. Trying to provoke him. Dorian’s shoulders heaved a little as if Zoe’s words were something gummy and awful sticking to his body. “Zoe, cut it out.” It was odd to hear how weary his voice sounded.

“What?” In spite of the pissy tone she was looking at him again, and there was a sharp flash of frightened expectation in her eyes. He couldn’t help thinking that she was hoping he would say something important and afraid at the same time to let herself really hope for anything. For half a minute they just stared at each other.

“When your stepdad did that . . .” Dorian tried, then paused. “This might sound crazy.” Zoe’s eyes were rounder than ever, waiting. He tried to remember exactly how Luce had described it. “When he hurt you, like when it was the absolute worst, did you ever feel . . . like this cold feeling? Almost like your body was turning into water and you could just flow away? Get out and forget everything?”

Zoe was quiet for several seconds, but the hard front she kept up was completely gone. She looked as soft as dough, hungry and wondering. Dorian half imagined that he could see a cloud of dark sparkling hinting at itself in the air around her head. “How can you know about that?” she asked at last. Quietly, almost ashamed-sounding. Her eyes flicked over his body, obviously wondering if he was also hiding scars. “Was it . . . Like, were you . . .”

“Not that way.” Dorian shook his head. “I’ll tell you some shit sometime, but I never . . . I just heard about how it feels.” He hesitated. “From my girlfriend.”

Zoe hardened again, but the toughness had something pitiful in it. “Steve said you pretend you still have some girlfriend back in Chicago. You thought that was such a great idea, right, telling him so he’d tell me?” Her head was tipped back now, her gaze narrowed. “I know it’s bullshit, okay?”

“It’s not—”