Page 27

“Ah, sì. This’ll do. I’m Paolo, and this is my lovely wife, Maria.” This time he lifts his hands and signs while he speaks.

Cielo nods, trying to mimic those words, but from the way his lips are moving I know he is not getting it right.

My mom’s lips are curled up in a laugh as Dante turns around and subtly spells what Cielo called them. ‘Meeereeea. Peeeepoooo. Frennnnds.’

I glance over at the monster, and he must see the smile in my eyes because his shoulders soften and he grins back.

‘Amore,’ my mom signs at me. It’s a home sign since I never did learn any sort of Italian sign language, but we both know what it means. ‘I need you to get some things from the car. Your brother can help you.’

Cielo sees this and steps forward, placing a finger on his chest. ‘Me. I help.’

My mom hesitates a moment, but then her gaze flickers over to my brother, and it’s obvious right then what’s wrong. Dante’s in pain again and hiding it. He does this a lot. He pushes through it, pushes it aside, and then it rears its ugly head and keeps him in bed for hours.

‘Of course, I bet you can carry all of it at the same time. Yes, you go with Luca,’ my mom replies.

Dante looks frustrated, but he gives Cielo a nod, and I turn to make my way down to the bright red van parked on the street. Opening the sliding door, I immediately see large amounts of food stacked in aluminum containers.

Considering the Vyastil are much stronger than me, he can probably carry all of this in one go. ‘You can carry?’ I ask, gesturing to the food.

He eagerly holds out his arms. I set each warm container in them until they are tucked under his chin. I grab the white cake box and close the van door, leading Cielo back to the apartment. It’s still busy, but everyone gives us space as we make our way into the kitchen, and I set the cake down before helping Cielo unburden his arms.

I feel the weight of his stare as I pull open one of the foil tops, and I glance over my shoulder to see his wide, curious eyes staring down.

‘Italian food,’ I say, making a cross sign across my forehead. Then I fingerspell it so he understands what I mean.

He mimics me.

I point to everyone in the room and explain, ‘Italian family. This is our food.’

Cielo looks confused, and I find myself wondering if the Vyastil have cultures like this. Are there other races besides whatever Hepyn is? Are there class divides beyond just the wealthy who live in the Foundry, and the ones who escaped Erethar to make lives for themselves here?

‘You understand?’ I ask.

He doesn’t get the chance to answer me. My mom comes into the kitchen, then pulls me down so she can kiss my cheeks before she turns her attention to Cielo.

‘You Deaf? Like Luca?’

Cielo shakes his head. ‘Not speak English well.’

She lifts a brow but nods, then taps her chin in thought before her gaze darts down to his feet, then back up to his eyes. ‘I may be overstepping, but I noticed you don’t have any shoes.’

He glances down at his bare, clawed feet and blinks.

‘You don’t wear very many clothes either,’ she adds, and oh my god. ‘Vyastil always naked.’

My mom. I swear to god, she has no filter on the best days. ‘Mom, stop. It’s normal for them,’ I try, but she ignores me.

‘I have my knitting needles in my bag and some yarn. Would you like some socks? I always have to have something to do with my hands when I’m around this many people.’

Cielo looks confused, staring back down at his feet again, then at me.

I point down at my socked feet and wriggle my toes, then sign, ‘Socks,’ for him again. It makes sense he doesn’t understand it. I’m not sure there’s anyone on earth who has the skill to make shoes for the Vyastil. And I’m not sure the Vyastil would ever need them.

I expect him to say something along those lines, but instead he opens his mouth and speaks as he signs, “Yes. Pleeeeas.”

She grins and winks at Cielo, making his ears flutter. I wonder for a moment if Eissa would wear socks. If it would make him both pleased and embarrassed the way Cielo seems to be right now. Would he like it if I touched his feet? Or maybe his fluttering ears? Or his lips, or…

I shove that thought away.