“I don’t remember that rule.” I rubbed my shoulder. Sarah doesn’t hit hard, but she has an unerring gift for hitting squarely atop any preexisting bruises you might happen to have. “I’m pretty sure I’d need a better cell plan if that was actually a rule, because I’d be making a lot of phone calls. Besides, your note said you were going to class. I didn’t want to interrupt you in the middle of algebra.”

“Probability theory,” corrected Sarah sharply, “and next time you’d damn well better interrupt me, or I’m telling.”

“Who are you going to tell? Alex knew where I was going. Mom and Dad would’ve known, except they’re off chasing basilisks, which is arguably even dumber than going into the sewers where the servitors are. I mean, all the servitors will do is bite me and maybe haul me back to the dragon for mutation. The basilisk will turn me into a piece of lousy garden statuary.”

“I am oddly less reassured than I believe you intended me to be.”

“And I find myself in the somewhat uncomfortable position of agreeing with a nonhuman,” Dominic said, frowning. “Mutation does not strike me as being a desirable or laughable consequence.”

“Oh! That reminds me.” I dug the jar of gold dust out of my pocket and held it up, giving it a little shake to make the powder swirl like the world’s most expensive snow globe. “The dragon princesses said that eating gold will keep us from being mutated.”

“… why does this statement not seem even slightly unreasonable or insane?” asked Dominic. “Something has gone terribly wrong with the world.”

Sarah patted him reassuringly on the arm. “Welcome to life with Verity. Just wait. Soon she’ll have you thinking that three-inch heels are suitable for combat situations.”

“Unlikely,” said Dominic.

“But funny,” I added. “Besides, you have the legs to pull it off. Not many men do. Anyway, Dominic, I know you’re planning to go down there again, and Sarah, I’m hitting the point of ‘better safe than sorry.’ So who wants a gold smoothie?”

“Can I have mine with ketchup?” asked Sarah.

Twenty-one

“Most of the time, there isn’t time to adjust to whatever’s going on before you have to deal with it. Life in our world is very sink or swim, and that’s for the best. If you can’t survive in the deep end, you should get out before you drown.”

–Alice Healy

Drinking the world’s most expensive milkshakes, the kitchen of a semilegal sublet in Greenwich Village, soon to be late for work

THE PERFECT RECIPE FOR GOLD MILKSHAKES turns out to be two tablespoons of gold dust to two scoops of vanilla ice cream, a cup of vanilla soy milk, and either a sizable quantity of Hershey’s Syrup (if you’re a reasonably normal human being) or a quarter-cup of leftover chunky Prego with mushrooms (if you’re a cuckoo). Sarah was kind enough to let me make the human-style milkshakes first, since past experience has taught us that preparing one of her milkshakes leaves the blender looking like the site of a particularly nasty massacre. This time was no different. I could probably have achieved a very similar effect by blending a human hand, provided it was wearing a watch or a wedding ring, or maybe just a lot of glitter.

Dominic watched me pour Sarah’s milkshake, clearly unsure as to whether he should be fascinated or utterly appalled. He settled for a combination of the two, demanding, “Why did you put spaghetti sauce into your cousin’s drink?”

“Because I like it that way,” said Sarah, taking the glass. “You have your chemical stimulants and I have mine, monkey.”

“Monkey?” echoed Dominic, now sounding more puzzled than anything else.

“Not actually a mammal,” said Sarah. She sipped her tomato-based milkshake before adding, “We’re pretty sure cuckoos evolved from some sort of really big bug.”

“Thanksgiving dinner with my family is awesome,” I deadpanned. “Now drink your gold before somebody comes along and mutates you into a twisted parody of humanity.” The milkshake tasted basically normal, if I was willing to ignore the gritty residue it left at the back of my throat. I’m willing to ignore a lot in the interest of avoiding mutation.

Dominic sipped his own shake, grimaced, and took a larger swallow. “Are you sure this will protect us?”

“Nope. But the dragon princesses said it would, and I don’t have a good reason to think they’re lying. Besides, they gave me the gold. Getting them to part with gold is sort of like getting Sarah to part with her laptop—it only happens under extreme duress, and it’s something they’d really prefer to avoid if at all possible.”

“I’m not that addicted to the Internet,” said Sarah frostily.

“Sure you are. It’s like telepathy you don’t have to feel bad for using. Also you don’t have to worry about stumbling over any sexual fetishes unless you’re checking somebody’s browser history, and I figure once was enough to teach you that lesson.”

Dominic choked on his milkshake.

“I hate you.” Sarah sipped her shake, expression mild.

“I know.” I finished my own milkshake, putting the cup in the sink before I began digging in the junk drawer for plastic baggies. “I’m going to give you each a scoop of gold dust for later. I’d say wait about six hours and then swallow it. Mix it with something if you need to, but make sure it stays in your system.”

“Are we even sure this stuff is going to work for me?” Sarah held up her glass. “It’s tasty and all. I just don’t want to take it away from the two of you if you’re going to actually need it.”

“Better safe than sorry.” I started tipping gold dust into baggies, trying to distribute it in roughly equal portions. “We don’t know that it’ll work for you—we don’t even know if dragon blood can mutate you the way it does humans, given your biology—but I’d rather not take the risk. The last thing we need is a snake cult with a cuckoo-lizard-hybrid doing its bidding. The servitors are problematic enough without adding telepathy.”

“I’m afraid I would have to kill you at that point,” said Dominic. He sounded apologetic, which was a bit of a surprise. I would’ve expected him to be happy about an excuse to kill a cryptid, even if the cryptid in question was a member of my family.