Excerpt from The Frangipani Hotel by Violet Kupersmith, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

When the silk wasn't around her neck she wore it in her hair or had it folded up and tucked secretly in between her breasts. When she lay in bed at night, she would fall asleep twisting it between her fingers while Old Vu snored beside her and had nightmares about his dead wife. She had to be touching it at all times.

The twins had begun keeping their distance from their stepmother, but they still needed to eat. They would alternate between which one had to sneak into the yellow house to scavenge for leftovers and raid the money jar. One muggy summer afternoon, while they were perched in their usual tree and their stomachs began to growl, it was Nhi's turn.

It was so oppressively hot that any sane person should have been napping; Nhi was certain she would not be seen. But just to be safe, when she left Vi in the tree and set off for home she went by the forest instead of by the road. This route concealed her from whatever eyes might have been watching, but it also forced her to walk through the bamboo grove.

Nhi entered the green thicket. Though she was so thin she could weave through the bamboo stalks without disturbing them, above her the long, tapered leaves began to move. It didn't occur to Nhi that it couldn't have been the wind, for there was none that day—the air was heavy and damp and still. The noise of the thousands of leaves brushing against one another was maddeningly loud, and because of it, Nhi did not hear the sound of Xuan singing inside the house. It was the usual tune, but this time the words were slightly different:

"Chim, chim, I will feed you. Chim, I will feed you, and you will be mine."

Nhi didn't notice it until she had already climbed into the house through the window of her mother's bedroom. A photograph of Old Vu and Xuan's wedding was hanging on the wall, conveniently covering an old bloodstain. The twins were not in it. When Nhi heard the singing she cocked her head to listen, but the noise of the bamboo leaves was still muffling everything, subtle but relentless, like the sound of waves, and she could not make out the words. Curious but suspicious, she dropped to all fours and moved silently toward the kitchen.

The words were still unclear but now Nhi could hear pots and pans being moved around. As she crept into the room she saw that Xuan was preparing something by the gas stove and crooning her strange melody—the words lost in the clanging of cookware—with her back to the doorway. The jar of money was in the corner, and Nhi would have to act fast if she didn't want her stepmother to catch her. She was considering her next move when Xuan suddenly stopped singing. Outside, the leaves of the bamboo went limp and quiet once more. Without turning around, Xuan spoke sternly. "Nhi, stop behaving like an animal and stand up."

Nhi was so startled that she obeyed her stepmother instantly. "That's better," said Xuan, still keeping her back to the girl. She lit the stove and the flame leapt to life. After a few seconds the kitchen was filled with the scent of oil warming. Nhi knew she should just bolt out the door or the window, for she was frightened, but she was also angry—seething at herself for submitting to an order, and even more furious with her stepmother for giving it. She chose not to run because she wanted to punish the woman.

Xuan, meanwhile, had dropped something into the hot oil and it was beginning to sizzle. Nhi wasn't sure what was cooking, but her stomach growled. She made a fist and ground it into her abdomen to make it stop.

Xuan had heard, though, and she giggled over by the stove. Giggling did not suit her; it was an unnatural sound. "Sit down, child," she said. "It will be done soon."

Nhi took a seat at the table without protest; her attention was now focused on the red silk looped around her stepmother's neck. It was tied in a simple overhand knot, and Xuan had thrown the ends of it over her shoulders to keep them out of the way. Nhi coolly considered walking over and shoving Xuan's face into the pot of hot oil, imagined the sound her skin would make as it fried, how the red silk would dangle into the gas flame below the pot and ignite. Then she rejected the idea—she didn't want to burn herself. Xuan had finished cooking and was now removing little morsels from the oil and putting them onto a dish. Nhi eyed the ends of the red scarf again. The silk looked strong, as if it could be pulled very tightly and not break, she thought with a sly smile.

Excerpted from The Frangipani Hotel by Violet Kupersmith. Copyright © 2014 by Violet Kupersmith. Excerpted by permission of Spiegel & Grau. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.