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a fishbowl full of whiskey.”
    “Seems like you’ve been giving it some thought,” I snapped.
    “You’re not the only one with enemies.”
    While we bantered, my traitorous hands crept up to what was left of my curls. My talons caught on the tangled ends, and my breath hitched. People could see my ears . It was the worst disaster since the last blood famine.
    She snickered and patted the bag. “Going to get a good price for it, you know. Bloody idiots will think it’s a unicorn tail with magical properties, make it into good-luck watch fobs. You should be proud.”
    “Magical properties? You’ve obviously never met a unicorn.”
    “Haven’t met a sea monster or hellbear, either.”
    Now it was my turn to grin and flash my pointed teeth. “Then you haven’t been to Freesia.”
    “Save the fairy tales for the kiddies, princess.” But I had seen her tough façade falter, just for a moment. I was guessing she’d never been out of London and was scared of travel. She had reason to be, if she thought she was coming with us to Freesia. And now I had a little something to hold over her. Excellent.
    “They’re not fairy tales, ragamuffin.”
    “Well, we’re still in London, and we’re running late. So let’s go.”
    I took my time tightening my corset and lacing my old boots back on. Four years ago, they had been as soft as a baby’s cheek, perfectly tanned bludelk leather dyed to a deep gold. Now they were cracked with age and disuse, the laces hard and bent. As for my dress, there was nothing I could do about it, and I didn’t want her filthy little paws on my person anyway. I snatched the hat back and draped it over my head, hiding my face under the sagging brim.
    “You look like a drunk grandmother,” Keen said with a laugh. “Just stagger about a bit and burp every now and then. They’ll just assume you’re blitzed on bludwine.”
    “On what?”
    “Nothing. Let’s go. Don’t speak to anyone. Try to hunch over a bit like there ain’t a red-hot poker up your bum. Don’t say anything about heads on platters.” She yanked a faded plaid blanket from Casper’s bed and tossed it over my shoulders. It smelled like him, good and bad at the same time. “And keep this around your shoulders and neck. Hide your hands. They ain’t so nice to Bluddies where we’re going.”
    I arranged the pathetic little scrap of fabric the way I’d seen our old Pinky cook wear her shawl while making bloodcakes or mixing the potion for my baths. I hunched over, letting my head slump forward and bending my knees. It went against everything in my blud, pretending to be something less than I was. But I’d heard wild rumors of the Pinkies of Sangland, who held sway over the Bludmen in a blasphemous sort of power struggle that went against nature itself. I wasn’t ready to be drained again or hit in the face with a moldy bit of vegetable.
    Without a word, she led me out the door and down the rickety stairs. I was pleased to discover that I could walk, but I was still exhausted. It was like the dreamy ache of falling asleep beside the fire after a daylong hunt, but without the pleasant floaty feeling of a belly full of fresh blood.
    We passed several open doors, one showing the empty music hall where I’d first found Casper and woken in the darkness. A jumble of crates, valises, and flotsam sat in the corner, and I thought I spotted the flap of leather from my own suitcase.
    “Wait,” I whispered, and Keen grunted. Before she could stop me, I darted over to the suitcase and scrabbled inside, feeling for some remnant of my old life, some clue to the last four years. The lights were low, since there were no windows, and even with my excellent night vision, I couldn’t see much. I had nearly given up when my talon caught in the fabric lining, tearing it. I felt around between the ragged silk and the leather until something cool scraped my fingertips.
    I pulled out my prize and sighed. I wasn’t sure whether it was