At the same time, I needed the help. If Shelby was qualified—which she was—then having her on my side was the best thing I could hope for. I opened the front door. Shelby smiled at me, and held up her Tim Horton’s bag.

“I stopped for donuts,” she said.

I blinked. “There is a God.” I stepped to the side to let her in, and closed the door behind her. “Okay, look. I need you not to freak out. Can we agree on that? That you’re not going to freak out?”

Shelby’s smile faded. “Why would I be freaking out? Has someone else been turned to stone?”

“Not quite. Can I have the donuts?”

“Um, sure?” Shelby handed me the bag.

I took her hand. “Just trust me, okay?” On this confidence-building note, I turned and pulled her with me into the kitchen.

As soon as we stepped inside, the mice began cheering again. It was sort of a reflex with them. “HAIL! HAIL THE RETURN OF THE GOD OF SCALES AND SILENCE!”

“I have returned with company, and with donuts,” I informed them, after waiting for the cheers to die down. “I request a bargain.”

“What bargain?” squeaked one of the mice, its identity obscured by the throng.

“I will give you this bag of donuts,” I held up the Tim Horton’s bag, “the contents of which are a mystery even to me, if you will take it upstairs and stay there until such time as I give you leave or the evening meal arrives, whichever comes first.”

There was a long pause while the mice consulted among themselves. I caught the words “holy,” “mystery,” and “towels.” I didn’t ask. The Aeslin mice were better at making decisions when no one tried to help them do it. Finally, the muttering stopped, and one of the mice stepped forward. “Your Bargain is Accepted,” said the mouse.

“Thank you,” I replied, and placed the bag on the counter. The colony surged forward like a single creature, enveloping the promised treats, lifting the whole thing over their heads, and finally marching out of the kitchen with their prize. There was some singing involved. The whole process took less than a minute.

Grandma took another donut hole from the surviving assortment. “Oh, well,” she said.

Dee and Shelby exchanged a stunned look, briefly united by the sudden understanding that everyone else in the house was seriously weird. Shelby recovered first, asking, “What in the fuck was all that about?”

“The mice have to be bribed if we want them to leave us alone once they’ve gotten interested in something,” I said sheepishly. I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Aeslin mice?”

“Those can’t be Aeslin mice,” Shelby said. “They’re extinct.”

“Wait,” said Dee. “Why isn’t she freaking out?”

“They’re not extinct,” I said. “They just don’t get out much.”

“She’s supposed to be freaking out,” continued Dee.

“That’s remarkable,” said Shelby. “Do you think I could talk to them later, see if they know of any colonies in Australia?”

“I don’t see why not,” I said.

“Can we focus on the important thing here, like why isn’t she freaking out?!” Shelby and I turned. Dee was standing, her palms flat on the table, her eyes wide and a little wild behind her tinted glasses. A faint hiss escaped her wig.

I sighed. “I think we should bring everybody up to speed, don’t you?”

Explaining the situation took about half an hour. It would have been faster, but everyone had a different understanding of what was going on, and piecing it all together took more work than I had expected. We ate our way through the donuts I’d picked up from Tim Horton’s. Everyone drank too much coffee, mine and Shelby’s mixed with milk and sugar, Grandma’s mixed with ketchup and pepper, and Dee’s spiked with rattlesnake venom. Since we hadn’t yet reached the “Dee isn’t human” bombshell, her coffee was prepared when Shelby wasn’t looking.

But the bombshell was coming. I was trying to be respectful of Dee’s rights as a sapient individual and not go around blabbing her inhuman nature to anyone who looked like they might be open to a team up. (Discretion isn’t just my watchword: it’s a good way to keep myself from being punched by my friends.) At the same time, I needed help if I wanted to deal with this situation, and the only help I had readily at hand was Shelby. Dee would have to trust her eventually.

Shelby herself was quite forthcoming about her history with the Thirty-Six Society and reasons for coming to this country, now that she knew it was okay for her to talk about that sort of thing in front of Dee. She took a mouthful of coffee and beamed at my assistant across the table. “It’s nice to know that there are so many cryptozoologists in the area,” she said. “Although I have to ask—why Ohio? I’m here because there used to be prides of manticore around here, and I know Alex is here to try and convince basilisks to get it on, but what brings you to the middle of the continent?”

“I grew up in this area,” said Dee vaguely.

“And your husband, is he a cryptozoologist, too?” Shelby continued. “I’ve seen that charming photo in your office. Did you meet through work?”

“Oh, no,” Dee said slowly. “Frank’s a doctor. We didn’t meet until he . . . that is . . . he was the best husband my parents could find, and normally I would have been sent to join him, but he didn’t like the overcrowding where he grew up, and we needed a doctor, so he came out here.”

“Arranged marriage?” Shelby blinked. “I didn’t know that was an American tradition.”

“Not . . . quite.” Dee worried her lip between her teeth, glancing at me. I nodded encouragingly. She looked back to Shelby. “There’s something I should show you. Will you please promise me that you’ll stay in your seat, and not make any sudden or hostile moves?”

“Unless you make sudden or hostile moves toward me, sure,” said Shelby.

“All right,” said Dee, and reached up, and removed her wig. Freed of their confinement, the snakes growing from her scalp uncoiled, stretched, and settled into a loose halo around her head, their tongues scenting the air. The rest of us turned toward Shelby to see what she would do.