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Nobody immediately responds, and I reach a hand in. There’s something cylindrical and thin wrapped in a dark black cloth, but I can’t quite see what it is.
“You’re on the opposite side of the landing to my room,” Asili eventually says, and I look up to see him clink down the large glass held between his two small hands, a milk mustache on his upper lip. “So I don’t have to hear what weird things you do at night.”
Beside him, Miss Blyesh is paying us no attention at all as she stares out the window with a blank, exhausted sort of look.
I frown at the kid as I start to absently unwrap the dark cloth in my hands. “What on earth is that supposed to mean? What kind of things do you think I’ll be doing?”
He shrugs. “You’re a weird alien and your teeth are flat and stupid. I don’t think I like you.”
“You know, you’re pretty rude for such a small boy,” I say. I unravel the cloth and tip the soft cylinder into my open palm without looking down. “How d’you know I won’t cook you up and eat you for breakfast?”
He looks suddenly shocked at the suggestion. “You won’t…” he says, but he doesn’t sound so sure. “Father told me predators have canines or sharp teeth like us to tear meat. You have teeth like prey do.”
“That,” I say, letting a wicked grin spread across my lips, “is why I have to cook you first. To soften you up.” I’m readying myself up to continue teasing him, but I look down at the object I’m now rolling casually over my palm—and then I let out a strangled, horrified scream.
What the hell?
It’s a—a freaking FINGER?
There’s an actual, severed finger in my palm with a masculine ring that has a swirling, Nazi-like stamp on it and oh my god—
On pure, panic-stricken instinct, I hurl the appendage away from me as I shout, and with a wet slap it hits Miss Blyesh flat across the cheek, splattering her with flecks of muddy green blood.
“What the hell?” I shout. “What the actual hell—”Miss Blyesh stares down at the bench-top while I bounce in panic by the door, pointing at the finger which is pointing back at me. “It’s still bleeding!”
“This,” the nanny says in a quiet, shaky voice, “is the worst household I’ve ever worked for.”
I can’t deal with this—I don’t know how to deal with this.
“And you, young Master Tzelik,” she continues, completely unconcerned with me or the finger as she rounds on Asili, who lifts his milk for another sip while staring back at her mildly.”You are by far the most horrible little one I’ve ever had the displeasure of looking after.”
Why doesn’t anybody cares about the bleeding limb?
Asili’s feet stop swinging through the air, but his face remains impassive as he stares up at his nanny.
“You are spoiled, disruptive, emotional—horrible! No matter how many psychologists the president takes you to, it doesn’t matter, you’ll always be just—HORRIBLE.”
She wipes savagely at the blood on her cheek, and in the face of her meltdown I feel my own shock simply freeze me into place.
“I can’t take this place anymore,” she all but shrieks, her face darkening with her anger. “I can’t handle this job! I quit!”
She picks up the green finger and throws it back at me, rounding her rage my way now, and I duck with a yelp as it spins through the air and smacks into the wall behind me.
“I don’t even know you,” she screeches at me, “but I hate you, too! Get out of my way!”
She rampages across the room and pushes right past me, almost knocking me out with her much taller, wider frame. And as she disappears down the hallway, I can hear her still yelling, “Horrible!”
Asili’s face is still entirely expressionless, but when he catches my eyes, his lips twist into a frown. “What are you looking at?”
I point vaguely at the floor behind me, where I know the floppy little limb now sits. He simply glares at me and wriggles slowly off the chair until his feet touch the ground.
“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” he snaps, and he wipes the milky mustache off his upper lip.
