106

“And where does Anastasia fit in that story?” I asked. My voice didn’t tremble. Women don’t speak in trembling voices in rooms like this. They choose syllables that shoot like bullets.

Andros didn’t look at me when he answered.

“Uh-huh. Your mother is the whistle you blow when you want the dogs to run.”

Elky got much closer to him before the echo faded from the wood floor, not touching him—no, not yet—but close enough that Andros’ breath shared space it had not been invited to. The brothers’ shadows climbed the paneling and reached for the lion’s teeth.

“Say that again, freak,” Elky said, so softly the fire leaned in to eavesdrop.

Andros looked up into his brother’s face as if it was a wall he meant to repaint.

“Her mum is a whistle I blow every time I want your rabbit to hop into my traps,” he said.

The sound the room made wasn’t the fire cracking. It was the past waking up.

“You asked for it,” Elky said. He folded his hands behind his back. Elky was like that. He kept his violence u