“What is your name?” His eyes slide from a corner of the room back to her.
“Why must I have one?”
“All things have names,” she says. “Names have purpose. Names have power.” She tips her glass his way. “You know that, or else you wouldn’t have stolen mine.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, wolfish, amused. “If it is true,” he says, “that names have power, then why would I hand you mine?”
“Because I must call you something, to your face and in my head. And right now I have only curses.”