“This is a really nice place,” Livy remarked as she devoured more of the General Tso’s Honey Chicken. “A lot of times these rental vacation homes are . . .”

“Tacky,” Vic filled in for her.

“The pictures they have online never look the same as what you actually get. And sometimes they smell weird.”

“Rita’s smart. She keeps updating the homes she rents out so that they don’t just look like you’re renting out Grandma’s house while she’s in a nursing home.”

“So you’ve been coming out here for a while.”

“Since I was a kid. My parents brought me and my sister here at least once a year. They also took us to an all-bear town in Siberia every other year, and Moscow every Christmas to see the relatives.”

“Seems like you spent more time with bears than tigers growing up.”

“I did. My mother’s family pretty much cut her off when she married, then bred with a bear. They wouldn’t have been so hard on her if she’d had a couple of cubs with a tiger first, and then got married. The Cat Nation, in general, is pretty tolerant of that, but step outside that breeding plan of theirs, and you get the big family shunning.” He grabbed another egg roll. “What about your parents?”

“What about them?”

“I’m sorry. Was that out of line? Asking about your dad?”

“No,” she replied easily. “I just don’t understand the question.”

“Well, your dad’s white and your mom’s Chinese so . . .”

“Race, religion, politics . . . none of those mean a thing to honey badgers.” Using chopsticks, she popped another piece of chicken in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and added, “Unless they’re in the mood to start a fight.”

“Pardon?”

“Badgers love starting fights, and we’ll use anything available to us to do it. Bigotry of any kind is fair game, whether we believe in the philosophy or not. Religion, no matter what you were raised as or believed in, is also a great fight starter. And then there’s politics, which is the best for when you really just want to see people beating the shit out of each other for a ridiculous reason. Badgers will go from one extreme opinion to another, whether they believe in it or not, as long as it gets that ugly fight rolling.”

“I always thought of foxes as the troublemakers.”

Livy snorted. “Foxes are lightweights. Cute little con artists and gold diggers. But honey badgers . . . we’ve been changing history since before a Roman honey badger told Julius Caesar that he doubted Pompey would have a problem with him crossing the Rubicon. And, of course, everyone knows about Rasputin—although he was kind of tall for one of us. But I think his mother was full-human.”

Vic had been about to put the last bit of egg roll in his mouth but he stopped and staredat Livy.

“And the rumor still holds that the Hundred Years’ War was started by badgers,” she went on. “And who can forget that the Borgias were all honey badgers?” Livy nodded. “Yep. My kind can start a knife fight at a sit-in peace rally using nothing more than overly expressive eyebrows. I’d call it a curse if we didn’t really, really enjoy starting shit for shit’s sake.”

“Even you?”

“Are you kidding? My parents sent me to private schools from preschool through high school for one simple reason. Private schools are a veritable shit-starting paradise. and they wanted me trained to be the best. But I met Toni when I was fourteen and she got me to focus on my photography instead of starting fights in the teachers’ lounge. She convinced me to make it the most important thing in my life. Once I did that, I stopped caring about making everyone else miserable. I don’t think my parents ever forgave Toni for that, either.”

“Why would they want you trained in shit starting?”

“If you don’t desensitize yourself to fucking with people’s lives, it’s impossible to rob them. It’s impossible to break into their homes and take things that are invaluable to them if you don’t enjoy tormenting rich people just a little bit. And the Kowalskis and Yangs do not steal from the poor. So it’s private school for all of us.”

“They don’t steal from the poor? Because stealing from the rich gives them a sense of higher moral ground??”

“That and they just don’t like rich people.”

“And sending you to private school had nothing to do with getting you a better education?”

“As far as my parents were concerned, I was getting my education from them. I knew the basics and multiple dialects of four languages by the time I was nine. But all the kids in the family went to private school because that’s where the wealthy are. The people we’re trained to size up from the first ‘hello.’ In fact, when I met Toni’s mother, she was carrying around her Stradivarius violin while she was trying to rein in her kids. And my first thought was, ‘I could get at least fourteen million for that on the open market.’ ” Livy shook her head. “It’s a beautiful instrument. My parents could never believe I didn’t bring it home with me.”

Finished eating, Vic folded his arms and rested his chin on them. “Why didn’t you?” Vic asked her. “Why didn’t you bring that violin home to your parents?”

Livy took a sip of her wine and replied, “Because I liked the Jean-Louis Parkers. A lot. They treated me like family from the very beginning. Still do. It never occurred to Jackie and Paul not to attend my father’s funeral. Even though they knew there would be fighting and snakes and supermodel mistresses.”