No. But I think there’s a pretty good chance that he’ll drug your drink and you’ll wake up on a Greyhound bus bound for somewhere in the Midwest. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.

On a scale of one to ten . . .

If he’s not playing straight, he’s got shields I can’t break past without a lot of effort. For right now, I’m assuming he’s telling us the truth.

The subject of our furtive mental discussion was looking at us with weary annoyance. “I can tell when you’re discussing me telepathically, you know,” he said. “Despite my never having sought to develop this particular skill, I’ve learned to recognize the signs.”

“We’re educational,” I said blithely. “Sarah’s afraid you’re going to drug me and dump me on a bus to get me out of town.”

“I’ll admit, the thought did cross my—” Dominic stopped and scowled. “I do not appreciate the violation of my privacy.”

“You invited me in,” Sarah countered. “I can’t help what I see while I’m in there. I wasn’t snooping, but the image of getting Verity the hell out of Dodge was pretty prominent in your thoughts.”

“And I’m not in the mood to play the fainting flower and get shipped off,” I said. “We all clear on that point?”

Dominic sighed. “Sadly, yes.”

“Good. Sarah, can you please get to the dragons tonight? Let them know the Covenant is coming, and we don’t know anything more than that, but that they have my word that we’ll do everything we possibly can to keep William safe.” Female dragons are the ultimate pragmatists. William’s wives would be perfectly happy to die if that was what it took for him to survive the purge. I guess that’s one of the perks that comes with being the last known male of your species.

“Just let me email Artie and I’ll head right down.”

“That works. As soon as you’re done at the Nest, I want you to head for the airport and catch the next plane home.” Sarah wouldn’t need a ticket. That was one more bonus of being a cuckoo. She could waltz past security without showing ID, and the airline would mysteriously find her an unclaimed First Class seat.

“No,” said Sarah calmly.

I blinked. “No? What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no. The Covenant isn’t going to find me. You need me, Verity. I’m the ultimate spy. Dominic was thinking it, even though he was trying not to, because he didn’t want to upset you. You need me to stay here and help. I’ll do it, because if I let you get killed, your mother’s going to be so mad.” Sarah looked at me calmly. “You can argue if you want, but I’ll just change hotels and not tell you where I am.”

“I hate you sometimes,” I said.

“I know.”

I sighed. “But also I love you. I do appreciate this, Sarah.”

Sarah smiled. “I know that, too.”

“Dominic and I are going back to the Freakshow. I need to tell the staff we’re about to have issues and make sure everyone knows what to do when the Covenant comes to town.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” I echoed, and moved to hug her before heading toward the door. “Don’t be a hero, Sarah.”

She laughed at that. “I’m the last person in the world you need to worry about there. I’ll call if I hear anything.”

The convenient thing about having a telepath in the family: she never runs out of batteries, and she doesn’t depend on the cell towers for service. “Gotcha. Good luck down there.”

“Miss Zellaby,” said Dominic, with a small nod. Then he turned, and followed me to the door, out to the hall, and into the elevator.

“That went surprisingly well,” I said.

“Yes,” he agreed blandly. “Now let’s go figure out what can go surprisingly poorly.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, as the elevator doors closed. “I’m sure we can find something.”

Six

“We aren’t exiles from the Covenant of St. George. We’re natives in our own country, and when that country is endangered, it’s our duty to dig in our heels and fight. If we aren’t willing to save ourselves, how can we expect anyone else to save us?”

—Alice Healy

The Freakshow, a highly specialized nightclub somewhere in Manhattan

“SO THIS IS WHAT the street-level entrance looks like these days,” I said, as Dominic and I approached the front door of the Freakshow.

It was painted to look like the mouth of a tent, with old-fashioned “carnival posters” pasted to the wall all around the ticket booth. I recognized myself in the middle of a cancan lineup, one painted leg eternally cocked at a come-hither angle that I hoped never to have to explain to my father. Sometimes I think the dangers of my mundane career outweigh the dangers of the career that’s more likely to get me actually killed. Vivisection hurts, but it can’t hold a candle to parental disapproval.

Dominic followed my gaze to the poster in question, quirking an eyebrow before he said, “Surely this can’t be the first time you’ve approached from the ground.”

“I hate taxis, subways freak me right the hell out, I don’t have a car, and no one who isn’t a bike messenger, certifiable, or both tries to ride a bike in Manhattan.” I shrugged. “I stick to the rooftops. It’s worked out pretty well for me so far.”

“You mean you haven’t reduced yourself to a street pancake due to a misjudged leap.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it? It’s worked out pretty well so far.” I flashed my ID at the girl in the ticket booth, another dragon I didn’t recognize. She looked up from filing her nails only long enough to confirm that I didn’t need to pay admission—and that, by extension, Dominic didn’t either—before rolling her eyes in disgust and pointing toward the door.

“One day you will have to tell me where you acquired this aversion to walking on solid ground,” said Dominic.

“Try having a baby sister whose idea of a good time involves pit traps and land mines,” I advised. The bouncer on duty opened the club door for us, and I smiled at him as we walked on through. “It’s amazing how fast that sort of thing will make you think it’s time for a return to the trees.”