Chapter Fifteen

Duckers, who did not have a bomb under his bed, bitched about Zeddie the entire drive from Eternity to the West Station, which was great, since Twyla far preferred to deal with his problems than her own.

"I get it. He loves me. And I love him. And I know it freaks him out when my job gets dangerous. But dang, give me some breathing room, you know?"

Twyla, who sat beside him on the back bench of the sheriff's department's autoduck, patted his knee in sympathy. "It's a tough situation."

"And that's not all. He told me he wants us to move in together. Which isn't a terrible idea. His internship is unpaid, so he's having to live at home. Don't get me wrong. I love his family, but it can get awkward, getting busy in his bedroom when his dad is taking a nap in the parlor."

Twyla did not need the words getting busy marching across her brain with Frank only two feet away from her. So she latched on to the most salient point of the conversation, one she understood in her bones. "But you'd prefer to keep your own space to yourself."

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I would. Especially since, like I said, he's not getting paid. I'm sending money to my mom every month. One of my little sisters wants to go to college next fall. They need my help. Zeddie doesn't. Ugh, I sound like such an asshole."

"You don't sound like an asshole. You sound like an adult with adult problems."

"Adulting sucks."

"Yes, it does," Twyla and Frank said in unison. Even though Twyla had said the same thing, the fact that Frank had agreed so readily made her wonder if what he was really saying was Kissing Twyla sucks, or simply Twyla sucks.

"This is the kind of thing I'd usually talk through with Hart," Duckers continued. "But what am I supposed to tell him? Your new brother-in-law is driving me nuts? That's not awkward or anything."

"Maybe you and Zeddie need a break from each other."

"Yeah, maybe. But Zeddie already bitches that we don't spend enough time together. What's he going to say when I tell him I want my space?"

"There's only one way to find out," Twyla said as gently as possible.

Duckers groaned piteously.

"How old are you, Duckers?" Frank asked, directing his question at the windshield so that he wouldn't run the risk of looking at Twyla.

"Twenty-one."

"Twenty-one? Salt Sea, you do not have to commit your life to someone at twenty-one."

"You are awfully young, if you don't mind my putting in my two coppers," agreed the deputy who was driving them to the station.

"Go ahead," said Twyla, glaring at the back of Frank's new haircut. He knew that she had been only nineteen years old when she had married Doug, and DJ had come along hardly a year later. She was a wife and a mother twice over by the time she was Duckers's age. Last night, she had told Frank the truth about her marriage, and this barb about not committing your life to someone at twenty-one felt like it was aimed directly at her, a knife to the heart.

Maybe she should be asking the sheriff's deputy for advice. Maybe the sheriff's deputy should be advising them all.

At the West Station, Duckers and Frank bickered over equimares.

"You always get Saltlicker," Duckers whined in the stables.

"For gods' sake," muttered Twyla, worn to a nub. She stomped up to the grouchy stallion and claimed him for herself to shut the other two up.

"Dang, Twyla, is my mom away from home a little grumpy today?" Duckers asked her.

"Someone tried to assassinate me a few hours ago, and now there's a hole in my roof and smoke and water damage all over my house. Why would I be grumpy?"

Duckers cocked a thumb at Frank. "And this one's grumpy as fuck, too."

Frank grunted and took out a gelding to towel off and saddle up.

"Why don't you two burst into song or something? That should cheer you up."

"Duckers?" said Frank.

"Yeah?"

"No offense, but shut up."

Duckers frowned at the last remaining equimaris in the stable, more filly than adult. She dipped her head in the trough and blew playful bubbles, splashing Duckers's shirt in the process. "This is going to be a fun week."

The ride to Sector W-14 was anything but fun. It was silent, save for the calls of exotic Tanrian birds and the occasional grapping of graps. It was almost a relief to reach the campsite by the lake, even if Twyla was dreading facing Quill after kissing Frank.

Mary Georgina either heard them or sniffed them out before Quill was aware of their presence. She came tearing down the slope toward them, so excited to see Frank that she opened her wings and sailed through the air, straight into his chest, knocking him flat on his back.

"Hey, she flew, kind of!" said Duckers.

"It's a start," Twyla agreed.

Frank was too busy patting the dragon and reassuring her with "Yes, yes, I'm here" to comment on Mary Georgina's encouraging movement toward flight.

Quill caught up to his ward, looking more rumpled and exhausted than Twyla had ever seen him. "Thank gods, you have returned."

"Rough night?"

"You have no idea. Mary Georgina cried for three hours after Marshal Ellis departed Wisdomsday morning. Did you know dragons could cry? She made a mewling sound, and golden tears streamed out of her eyes and nostrils. She was inconsolable. I was completely unable to carry out my research under the circumstances."

Quill's griping reminded Twyla of the time she had left Doug alone with the boys before Hope was born. She'd gone home to Diamond Springs on Medora to help her parents out when her mother had broken her leg. She had cooked and cleaned for them for a week, until her mother was better able to hobble around the house on crutches. When she came home, the house was a wreck, and the first thing Doug asked her was "What's for dinner?" after which he complained about how hard it had been to "babysit" his own children for a whole week. Twyla was surprised to discover that even now, it filled her with rage, a rage Quill did not deserve but that rubbed off on him to a certain extent anyway.

"Did you get Frank's note?"

"I did. Are you quite well?"

If he had received the note, that meant he knew she had been hurt, but he'd opened with Thank gods, you have returned? It seemed at odds with Quill's otherwise thoughtful behavior up to now, but Twyla knew better than anyone how childcare could reduce a grown man to a toddler in seconds.

"I'm banged up, but I'm fine. Listen, Quill—"

"Ah, good," he said, leaning in for a kiss before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to kiss her on the job. He settled for a quick touch of her arm, a gesture that pummeled Twyla with guilt. The memory of Frank's voice punched her right in the conscience.

What are you going to tell Vanderlinden?

"Nothing!" she said aloud. "I mean, nothing happened. At the wedding. Meaning you didn't miss much."

The words spewed out of her like glittery dragon spit, minus the sparkles. Every single part of her body that Frank had touched with his hands or his mouth seemed to light up, as if Quill could see the evidence of her wrongdoing in neon yellow.

"Nothing?" repeated Duckers with offended incredulity. "Someone tried to kill you and Frank, and you call that nothing?"

"He asked about the wedding. The assassination attempt was after the wedding."

"In fact, I didn't ask about the wedding," said Quill. "What was that bit about someone trying to kill you? Did I hear that correctly?"

"Well, yes."

"Someone tried to kill you?"

"And Frank."

"I don't give a rat's arse about Ellis!" exclaimed Quill.

As if summoned, Frank loomed behind Twyla, his mere presence scorching her back. "Feeling's mutual, Vander—"

"Don't." Twyla cut him off. How differently last night would have played out if she had said Don't instead of Don't stop. Now she couldn't stop thinking about Frank's hands on her body, his mouth on hers, the hungry way he had growled Stop me against her skin.

"Don't," she said again, this time to herself, as she stood between two men, one of whom she was dating for the fun of it, and one of whom she absolutely could not be with romantically.

Except, apparently, she could.

"Salt Sea," she moaned, and she fled toward the campsite, leaving Quill and Frank and Duckers and Mary Georgina to catch up.

Quill dogged her steps like a puppy begging for scraps. "I am sorry, darl—Twyla. I didn't mean to be snappish. I was simply distressed to learn that you were in danger. Please, do tell me what happened."

And now guilt beat Twyla over the head again. But what did she owe this man anyway? Was kissing Frank cheating if she and Quill had been on only two dates, one of which was spent with her grandchildren? No, she decided, it wasn't. What had happened with Frank was Twyla's problem, but it wasn't Quill's. She turned to him and told him what he needed to know, nothing more.

"Frank and I happened upon an underground cavern and some tunnels. I literally fell into the cavern, hence the giant bruise on my backside. We sent a report about our discovery and went to the wedding, but as it turns out, there must be something important about the cavern and tunnels, because someone found out that we discovered them, and put bombs under our beds last night. We located the bombs before they detonated, so we are alive, and now we are here to find out what's so important about the tunnels. It was and is very upsetting. That is all."

"Ah."

"Yes. Ah."

By now, they had reached the camp, with its four pup tents lined up in a row. Twyla was glad to have one all to herself, because an uncomfortable realization reared up and bit her on the ass (or arse, as Quill would put it): if someone put a pistol crossbow to her temple, and she had to choose between sleeping in Quill's tent and sleeping in Frank's, she knew which she would pick.

And it would be another mistake.

Duckers caught up to her and nudged her in the ribs with his elbow. "I don't know what in Old Hell is going on with all of you, but I think your love life might be more fucked up than mine."

"Thanks, Duckers."

He gave her a friendly salute. "Misery loves company."

Maguire arrived one day later, but it was a brutally long day for Twyla. She kept trying to catch Frank alone to talk to him, but Frank avoided her so they couldn't talk about anything. In the meantime, she was avoiding Quill for reasons she couldn't pinpoint, and Quill was now growing increasingly concerned about Twyla's reticence. And all the while, Duckers informed everyone, repeatedly, "This sucks."

Twyla had never been so happy to see her boss. Now Alma Maguire sat across from her and Quill at the makeshift firepit, filling them in on what was going on outside of Tanria as Duckers sat beside the chief and Frank stood, playing jungle gym to a growing dragon.

"The FICBI is on the bomb case, which means we'll have to share information across agencies, since, presumably, the assassination attempt was linked to something going on here in Tanria."

"Any idea who wants us dead?" asked Twyla.

"No. I wish we did. I'll let you know as soon as I hear of any leads."

"So what now?" asked Duckers.

"Now we have a look at the cave and tunnels Banneker and Ellis found."

"Is that a good idea?" wondered Twyla. "There are explosives down there. And if that's where the dragons are nesting, we already suspect they defend their young, like geese."

"Except a goose only comes up to my kneecaps, while a dragon could pound me into a flat little pancake," Duckers said cheerily, as if being pounded into a flat little pancake would be a lark.

Quill stroked his beard. "Is that the theory? Do you think that the dragons are nesting in these caves?"

"It's what Frank and I went to check out," explained Twyla. "We thought the dragons might be nesting near the place where we found Herd's body rather than here by the lake."

"And you didn't think to mention that at the time?"

"It was only a hunch. We had no idea I'd be falling ass-first into a cave that day."

Quill stroked his beard more forcefully, and Twyla knew he was stewing. One more thing she would have to deal with later.

Maguire got down to business. "So, here's the plan. Banneker, Duckers, and I will check out this cave and the tunnels that go with it. Do you two feel comfortable with full-sized crossbows?"

"No," Twyla answered at the same time Duckers said, "Fuck yeah."

"It's been a long time since I used one, and I was never a good shot with them anyway, so I'm bringing my pistol crossbow and a machete with me. Ellis, you'll stay behind with Mary Georgina. No use endangering the baby."

Frank balked at the command. "I think I should go."

"And I'm ordering you to stay."

"What about me?" asked Quill.

"What about you?"

"I'd like to go."

"Negative. I'm not putting a civilian in harm's way."

"You are looking for dragon nests. I am a dracologist. And…" Here, he eyed Twyla. "I think I should accompany you and provide you with my expertise."

"The dragons haven't hurt anyone yet, Chief," said Duckers. "If he wants to go, I say let him."

"I'll allow it, but the marshals won't be held accountable should anything happen to you, Dr. Vanderlinden."

"Understood."

Now it was Frank's turn to stew as the party left him at the campsite with Mary Georgina to set out for the cave entrance.

Maguire checked the steadiness of the ladder before going in first, followed by Twyla, then Duckers, then Quill. They were better prepared than Twyla and Frank had been a couple of days ago, and with four lanterns pushing away the darkness belowground, the cavern looked far less ominous.

The chief busied herself with stacking the explosives into a neat pile off to the side.

"Is it safe to be handling that stuff?" Twyla asked her.

"Safer than one of us tripping over them while holding a lantern. I can't believe these fools thought it was a good idea to set off fireworks underground." Maguire dusted off her hands on her pants and gestured for Twyla to lead them into the tunnel to the right. "After you. Duckers, I want you behind Banneker with your crossbow. Dr. Vanderlinden, you'll come next. I'll bring up the rear."

In this order, they made their way along the tunnel until, a few minutes later, Twyla kicked something heavy and metallic with the reinforced toe of her boot. She picked it up, and Duckers looked over her shoulder so they could examine it together in the lamplight. The object was about a foot long, maybe less, a narrow piece of iron, curved at the top, with a triangular point on each side of the center.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know. A tool of some kind?"

"It's heavy," said Duckers when Twyla handed it to him.

Quill, in turn, took it from Duckers. "Of course it's heavy. It's made of iron."

"Do you know what it is?" asked Maguire.

"It's a pickaxe. You can see here where the handle should go."

"A pickaxe? You're sure?"

"Yes. I own at least ten of these myself. It's one of the most important tools dracologists use when exhuming fossils."

"Is that why this is here?" Twyla asked. "Was someone digging up dragon bones?"

"Perhaps, although I'm not sure the price they'd fetch on the black market would be worth the effort of digging them out." Quill traced a series of gouges in the wall next to him with his fingertips. "These grooves don't match the excavation patterns one would see at a dracological site."

"Let's put a pin in this and keep moving," said Alma.

As Twyla shuffled ahead, she couldn't help but recall the last time she'd been down here, with Frank. For the past couple of days, she'd been able to think about only the kiss and the fallout of that kiss, but now she remembered how distraught he'd been when he had thought she was hurt or possibly even dead, the way he'd cried, the way he'd held her so tightly against him when he'd realized she was fine. She remembered the warmth of his body, the comfort of a friendship that ran deep and true.

A friendship that could surely weather one measly kiss.

Although there was nothing measly about it.

The tunnel opened up into another cavernous space—though not as large as the cave at the entrance—with several more tunnels leading off in different directions. The extra space allowed the group to gather and confer.

"What do you think?" asked Twyla, mostly to Maguire.

"Pick one and go with it. If it branches off into more directions, we'll reassess. I don't want to be getting lost down here."

"Agreed," said Quill.

They had made it only a few feet into the new tunnel when Duckers called, "Wait a sec." He held his lantern close to the wall, its light illuminating rivers of glistening gold running in horizontal layers through the rock.

Quill leaned in for a closer look. "Whoever was messing about here before, they weren't digging up dragon bones. They were mining whatever this substance is."

"Gold?" suggested Duckers.

"No. Gold is found primarily in rivers and streams. I don't know what this is. Copper, perhaps, although the color is off."

Maguire leaned her head away from Duckers and Quill to give Twyla a self-satisfied grin. "Banneker, this sector shares a border with N-8, correct?"

Twyla pictured a map of the Tanrian sectors in her brain. "I think so."

"Where the Doniphan Iuvenicite Mine happens to be located?"

Twyla gasped. "This is linked to the case that Rosie Fox is working on! The iuvenicite-smuggling ring!"

"What is iuvenicite again?" asked Duckers.

"A mineral, a very valuable one," Maguire told him.

Twyla's eyes widened as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. "Duckers! Quill! Remember when Fox was telling us about her investigation? She said the workers at the Doniphan mine had been hearing booming sounds."

Duckers nodded slowly, catching on. "Someone has been down here trying to blow new mine shafts with fireworks."

"Because modern explosives won't work in Tanria," Quill filled in. "I highly doubt fireworks would be effective for that purpose, but they would certainly be loud enough to rouse hibernating dragons."

"The smugglers aren't stealing iuvenicite from the Doniphan mine," said Twyla. "They've found another vein right here in Sector W-14."

"And it looks like Herd was in on it," Maguire said grimly.

"That's why we found him covered in glitter," said Duckers, his own excitement ratcheting up. "He woke up a dragon or got too close to the nest. Or both."

"And it explains why someone wanted to kill me and Frank—to shut us up before we could tell anyone about the entrance to the illegal mine."

Duckers's smile fell. "Uh, Twyla?"

"What?"

"Dragon."

"Ope!" She whirled on her heel and found herself face-to-face with a giant reptile, glaring at her with gleaming green eyes. She knew, instinctively, that she had never encountered this one before, that there was something different and unfamiliar about it. Beyond the dragon, in the weak lantern light, she could barely make out a ring of rubble with three eggs sitting inside.

A nest.

"Everyone back away, very slowly," said Maguire.

It was easier said than done. In the confines of the tunnel, they trod on one another's toes as they shuffled backward in reverse order.

The dragon moved with them, maneuvering fluidly through the short tunnel.

Meeeeeeep, said the dragon, and while the call was high-pitched, there was a rasp of menace in it.

Quill broke. He shoved past Maguire and made a dash for the exit, only to bump straight into another dragon. He shrieked in terror as the second beast cried, Meeeeeep, chirp-chirp-chirp-chirp. Twyla knew what was coming, but was powerless to do anything about it. She looked to the first dragon to see that it was doing the same, and before she could attempt to get out of the way, it unleashed a blast of glittery slime from its maw, pushing her against Duckers, as the second dragon's sparkling spume squeezed Quill and Maguire against them from the opposite direction.

Someone screamed—Quill, she thought—and whoever it was choked and coughed on dragon spit, silencing them. Twyla squeezed her eyes shut, closed her mouth, and held her breath to avoid breathing in the spit or getting it in her eyes. As the golden onslaught continued, her lungs burned, and the first twinges of panic, of thinking she might die of asphyxiation, began to spasm inside her. Slime filled her ears and wormed its way up her nostrils.

And then it stopped.

She fell to her hands and knees and sucked air into her lungs, coughing on the bitter-tasting spit as she blew it out of her nose. She pulled a clean corner of her undershirt out of the waist of her pants to wipe her face, at which point she could finally open her eyes. The dragon before her was shrinking meekly into the tunnel from which it had come. It was more difficult to make out what was happening on the other end of the line. She could hear multiple dragons, one whose meeping rang of authority and another whose chirps carried a cowed tone.

"Everyone all right? Duckers?" She pounded him on the back to help him cough up the glitter in his lungs.

"Holy shit!" he sputtered.

"Quill? Chief?"

The light was dim, and Twyla realized that all but one of their lanterns had been extinguished in the sparkling onslaught. She snatched up the one that remained lit before it could succumb to the slime crawling up its sides, and she held it aloft, trying to get a better look past Duckers. The halo of light revealed Alma Maguire with her arms wrapped around Quill from behind. She jerked up and back, forcing Quill's lungs to eject dragon spit. Glittery slime burst from his mouth and splattered Duckers, who whined, "Ew!"

Quill hung from Maguire's arms, heaving and gasping. She carefully helped him get into a seated position, murmuring, "Easy now. Easy."

Twyla crawled over Duckers to help Maguire with Quill.

"Oof!" cried Duckers as Twyla's knee crunched into his shin. "Would you all stop kicking the shit out of me, please?"

"Ope, sorry."

Twyla knelt on one side of Quill while her boss knelt on the other. She touched his sparkling cheek with her equally sparkling fingers. "Quill?"

He moaned in answer.

The light grew brighter in the corridor as Maguire held up a glowing lantern.

"Where did that come from? I thought the other lamps blew out."

The chief shrugged. "My demigod gift. I can light fires with my bare hands."

"For real?" said Duckers. "How cool is that?"

Quill moaned again, slightly less piteously. Twyla was about to cosset him when Maguire spat, "Shit!"

Another dragon loomed over them in the close tunnel. With her free hand, she reached for her pistol crossbow and, finding the holster empty, tried to draw her machete. But the ceiling was too low, and slime was dripping down the handle, coating the blade and clogging up the scabbard.

"It's okay, Chief," Twyla told her, staying her hand.

"Okay, my ass."

"Please tell me that's our picnic friend, Twyla," said Duckers.

"I'm pretty sure that's our picnic friend."

"How sure?"

"Eighty-five percent."

"Fuuuuuuck."

"Ninety percent. Ninety-two."

Maguire got as far as asking "Is our picnic friend going to—" before the dragon leaned past her to snuffle Twyla's head. The chief squeezed herself against the wall. "Shit!"

"Good gods," whispered Quill, following suit.

With a shaking hand, Twyla patted the dragon on the head between her fuzzy antlers. "Hi, friend." She hoped she sounded a thousand times more confident than she felt. The dragon closed her eyes and chirped in a way that sounded happy rather than murderous, which Twyla took as a good sign.

Meep? squeaked the dragon that had attacked them from the rear.

The friendly dragon opened her eyes, glared over her folded wings, and uttered a menacing Chirp-chirp-chirp. The other dragon skulked off. Satisfied, Twyla's picnic friend returned for more pets.

Quill rested his head against the cave wall in evident relief. "I don't know why this dragon has taken a particular liking to you, darling, but I am glad of it."

Given the circumstances, Twyla decided not to harp on his calling her darling again.

"This dragon is definitely on Team Twyla," said Duckers. "You know what I think it is? Mom vibes. She's vibing on your mom-ness."

"My mom-ness?"

Duckers held up one hand. "You're a mom." He held up his other hand. "She's a mom." He brought his hands together, lacing the fingers. "Mom-ness. You're the one who protected her and her eggs that time by the Mist. I think she gets that. I think she's grateful."

"Mom-ness," Twyla mused, stroking the dragon's head with growing confidence.

"She certainly came to our rescue," observed Quill, weak but somewhat recovered. "Do you think she might allow us to vacate this tunnel?"

Twyla detected hints of barely contained panic in his voice. "Of course," she said, but she wasn't sure how to signal to the dragon that she was finished petting her. She smoothed a hand over one of the antlers. "That's enough? Thank you?"

To her amazement, the dragon retreated out of the tunnel, allowing the humans to scrabble out of the slime-filled corridor. With only two working lanterns to light their way, it was more difficult to see in the larger space, but as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, Twyla was able to make out two more dragons coming in from the direction of the main entrance. One bore babies on her back while the other did not, but they both carried masses of vegetation in their mouths. The one without babies entered the tunnel that the marshals and Quill had vacated seconds ago.

"What is going on?" asked Duckers.

"My guess is that they are feeding the dragons who are sitting on the eggs," said Quill.

Twyla's friend picked up the mass of plants she had deposited on the floor when she came to their rescue, and she carried it into one of the other tunnels, with her babies waddling behind her.

"But two of them have clutches that have already hatched," said Twyla. "Maybe they laid more eggs? Think it's safe to look around? Or should we get out of here?"

"I think it best that we leave," Quill replied at the same time Duckers said, "Let's look around."

Maguire tried to wipe off the glitter around her eyes with the inside of her shirt collar, to little effect. "I'm deferring to the professional dracologist on this one."

"But the dragons were only guarding their nests," said Twyla. "The danger has passed."

"I'm not convinced of that. We're leaving."

"But, Chief—" began Duckers.

"Out."

Reluctantly, Twyla and Duckers followed Maguire and Quill the way they'd come. The sun was setting by the time they climbed to the surface, with the sounds of baby dragons chirping in the nests below.

"Hello-o-o? Mail delivery?" came Hermia's tentative call as the last of the expedition party emerged from the cave entrance. "Goodness gracious me, you're all very shiny this evening. Are you having a party?"

"Sure," Maguire answered flatly. "What do you have for us, Hermia?"

The hedgehog looked at her blankly, then startled. "Oh, that's right. You have a letter." She reached into her satchel, pulled out an envelope, held it before her glasses, and blinked at the direction. "Ooh, I got it on the first try. Here it is."

The nimkilim delivered the mail, preening over the fact that she was doing her job with an iota of competence.

"Who's it from?" asked Twyla as Maguire tore into the envelope.

"The FICBI. This should be the lab results identifying the substance found on Herd's body."

"And on us," added Duckers, spreading out his arms and gazing down on his newly glittery appearance.

As Maguire's luminous demigod eyes scanned the message, an incredulous expression took over her face. "Well, I'll be the Warden's doormat."

"What does it say?"

The chief glanced at the hedgehog. "Duckers, tip the nimkilim."

"Why do I have to?"

"I don't have any change."

Duckers sucked his teeth, but he handed the hedgehog a copper from his pocket.

Hermia held it up, as if she were toasting them with a beer. "Okay, thanks. Bye."

"Bye," said the four humans.

"Bye, then."

"Goodbye," said Quill.

"Stop. Trust me," Twyla whispered at him.

"Bye."

With that, Hermia hiked off in her blue rubber boots, which made a squeak with each step she took.

"So what is this stuff?" asked Duckers once the nimkilim disappeared from view.

Maguire held up the lab results from the FICBI. "It's a resin."

"No kidding." Duckers wrinkled his nose at the thick golden slime dripping off his hand.

"That, when combined with sediment and geological pressure over time, turns into iuvenicite."

"By gods!" cried Quill. "These dragons are the source of iuvenicite?"

"Yep. Dragon spit, sediment, and time." Maguire frowned at the report in her hand. "I need to get a message to Chief Mitchell and Rosie Fox posthaste. They're going to want to know about this connection to their smuggling case."

"That's intra-agency. You could have sent a note with Hermia," said Twyla, trying to wrap her brain around the fact that the dragon spit coating her from head to toe could one day turn into one of the most valuable minerals in the world.

"I don't trust that hedgehog to find the nose on her own face. Best to tell Mitchell about it in person anyway. I'm riding back now. You three stay at the lake and keep your heads down until you hear from me."

With that command, Maguire mounted up and galloped southwest toward the portal at the West Station, leaving Twyla, Duckers, and Quill to make their way to the campsite. It wasn't a long ride, but Twyla spent the entirety of it longing to jump in the lake to get the glitter off.

"How much do you think we're worth right now?" asked Duckers, examining his spit-covered arms.

"I'd like to think we're priceless," said Twyla.

"All I know is that I'm scraping as much of this shit as I can into a jar before I get cleaned up. Money, money, money!" He sang the last three words in a soulful falsetto.

"I doubt it is worth more than a few coppers until millennia have turned it into iuvenicite for you. I, for one, shall be happy to bathe as soon as humanly possible," griped Quill.

"Suit yourself," Duckers told him, but Twyla planned to follow Quill's lead. The slimy resin had made its way into the various crevices of her body, and it was not pleasant.

Frank leaped to his feet when they made their way into camp, his eyes goggling as Mary Georgina approached them for a better look.

"What in the Salt Sea happened to you?"

"What do you think?" replied Duckers.

"Where's Maguire?"

"She rode to the station."

"Is everyone all right?"

"Yes," Twyla said at the same time Duckers said "Never been better" and Quill said "Define ‘all right.'"

Frank burst out laughing, a deep familiar rumble that Twyla was more than relieved to hear again. Kiss schmiss. They were going to be okay; she just knew it.

"You look like you've been having yourself a real good time, Duckers. Did y'all go clubbing?" he asked before he threw back his head and laughed even harder.