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The intimidating man crouches down, and the door swings shut behind him. As if I could have gotten past him and escaped. He looks at me intently, then down at the plate of food. My stomach picks that moment to growl. Perfect.

Julian cocks his head and says, “You didn’t eat.”

Crazy fucker. That’s why he’s here? Who would eat in a situation like this? My stomach is in knots. I just shake my head.

“Why?” he asks, pushing the plate closer. “You’re hungry. Eat.”

It’s an order, not a request. He’s being weirdly intense about it, like he has stakes in whether I eat or not.

Oh, fuck. “Did you poison it?” I ask, horrified.

He snorts. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have to do it so sneakily, Andi. There’s barely anyone to miss you. I could just have Gaspard break your neck. He wants to, anyway.”

Gaspard wants to kill me? “Why?” I ask, my voice breathy, barely there. “What have I done?”

“Eat, and we’ll talk,” he orders again.

I amend my previous thought. Psycho fucker is more accurate. But I want to know what’s going on, and this looks like the only way to move the conversation forward. So I tentatively pick up the plate and take a bite. Gross. It’s a ham sandwich, but the bread is soggy from the cold air and condiments. I left it too long. This is definitely not going to agree with my stomach. But I chew the bite, bile rising to the back of my throat, and then forcefully swallow everything down. I almost open my mouth to show him that I swallowed, but I rethink the cheeky action. Instead, I stare at him stonily and wait for him to continue.

“More," he orders with the air of someone who is invested. I take another small bite, choke it down, then another. When the sandwich is about halfway finished, I’m already feeling full, my stomach uneasy, but he keeps staring at me, so I keep eating.

Finally, he asks, “Did you know?”

“Know what?” I ask back, finishing the sandwich. There are some chips on the plate, along with some carrots. I really don’t want to eat the greasy chips, so I start on the carrots. I’m sure he won’t like it if I don't clear my plate.

“That you are Other.”

I look up at him in alarm. He’s joking. He’s got to be. It’s a bad joke at a terrible time, but it’s got to be a joke.

“I’m human,” I tell him, confused. “I’ve always been human.”

“No, ma souris. Or should I call you ma serpente? You have, apparently, never been human.”

My blood runs cold, and my stomach flips. Oh, crap, I’m going to puke. I take some deep, calming breaths, breathing through the nausea. When I feel a little better, I ask, “What are you saying? Of course, I’m human. What else could I be?”

“A siren.”

I choke out a little, slightly hysterical, laugh. “A siren? Like a mermaid?”

He tsks his tongue and says, “No, ma serpente, not a mermaid. Though the word is, confusingly, the same in French, they are actually entirely different species. You are a siren, like from Greek myth. The Odyssey. The winged women who live on cliffs and lure sailors to their deaths for sport with their songs. That kind of siren.”

Crazy. This fucker is absolutely, totally, certifiably crazy. “I don’t have wings!” I exclaim, stating the obvious. I don’t know what else to say. Everything he’s said is totally nuts.

His eyes flick to my back, like he hasn't noticed it before. “No, you don’t. And I detected no glamour on you when I fed the first time. At any rate, my feeding would have nullified it if it were there. No matter. They are likely your true form, which is hidden.”

“Hidden?” I ask incredulously, “How? When? I’ve never had wings. I think the foster system would have noticed if I had wings as a baby!”

He shrugs. “Many true forms need the right circumstances to show. Maybe you’ve never met those circumstances. You could also be lying about your past. Never actually been in the foster system. I haven't looked into it. I should have, but I didn’t. I wonder why?” Julian looks at me piercingly on the last question.

“Are you saying that I somehow forced you not to do a background check on me?” I demand, still incredulous. “Search away! I don’t care, I have nothing to hide! Certainly not being Other. Not that there’s anything wrong with being Other, but I’m not!”

Julian stares at me, looking like he’s trying to see into my soul. Finally, he says, “Hmm . . . strange. You truly seem not to know. You don’t seem to be lying.”

“I’m not!”

He ignores my outburst and continues, “It’s possible that you did not know, if you were orphaned, abandoned, and raised by human foster care, I suppose that is possible. But it doesn’t solve my problem.”

“What is the problem?” I ask, apprehensively. “How do you even know for sure that I am Other?”