Chapter Six

It was a two-hour ride to the portal at the North Station, the closest exit to the Center for Tanrian Biological Research, so Twyla, Duckers, and Dr. Vanderlinden set out first thing Wisdomsday morning. Quill was eager to have their fecal sample tested, but since Twyla was craving non-dragon-related conversation, she decided that some pleasant small talk was in order.

"Where are you from, Quill?" she asked, the name bringing to mind old-timey ink bottles and ruffly collars and those tight hose men wore in Ye Olden Days. Come to think of it, the hose would flatter the well-formed legs currently on display on either side of an equimaris saddle.

Keep your mind on the work, Twyla scolded herself.

"I'm from Stenland, as you may have deduced from my accent, but I haven't visited in five years at least."

The word visited stuck like a burr in her sock. A person returned to their home. They didn't visit it. DJ hadn't been home in three years, but Eternity would always be home to him, wouldn't it? What if Hope was beginning to think of Eternity as a place to visit, rather than as the place where she belonged? What if Twyla herself had ceased to be home enough for her children?

Then again, she sometimes wished that Wade didn't feel quite so at home in her house.

"Do you ever get homesick?" she asked Quill.

"Not at all. I'm the third child, and since I didn't stand to inherit much, it was up to me to find my own way in the world."

"Doesn't your family wish you'd come home more often?"

"My sister and brother are ten and twelve years older than I am, so they were already off at boarding school by the time I came along. My father passed away some years ago, and Mama would have preferred that I had studied the law. So I'm afraid that no one rolls out the red carpet when I pay a visit."

Twyla could not imagine cutting off her children. It would be like hacking off her own arm on purpose. Quill might be a tad ridiculous in his safari gear, but the idea that his own mother didn't want to see him filled her with pity.

"Dang. That sucks, man," said Duckers.

"It is what it is."

Quill had taken off the safari jacket with its many pockets, and now a Tanrian breeze buffeted the fabric of his shirt, blowing the man's scent in Twyla's direction. He smelled of good, clean sweat and bath soap with a classier, spicier scent than the basic bar of Honekian Springs most people used around here.

"Are you both from the Federated Islands?"

"I'm from Paxico," Duckers volunteered. "A town called Brookville. Ever heard of it?"

"I've been, actually. I gave a guest lecture at Brookville College. I seem to recall eating some excellent fried chicken at the hotel restaurant."

"Yes! Best fried chicken in the Federated Islands. How about you, Twyla? Where are you from?"

"I grew up on Medora in the suburbs of Diamond Springs, but I've lived on Bushong so long that this is home now."

"How long have you been with the Tanrian Marshals?" asked Quill.

"Eight years. Frank recruited me, actually."

"Ah."

That single syllable seemed to be weighted with meaning that eluded Twyla.

"Most people are surprised when they find out I'm a marshal, especially if they're not from around here. I don't exactly fit the stereotype."

"But in a good way," said Duckers.

"And what is the stereotype?" asked Quill.

"Rugged? Flinty? A man?"

"True, you don't strike me as any of those things."

"Most people don't expect to find a frumpy middle-aged mom patrolling the western sectors, is all I'm saying."

"Frumpy is not the word I would use to describe you."

"Agreed," said Duckers.

"And for what it's worth, I don't exactly fit the stereotype either. The continental toff: privileged, self-superior, clinging for dear life to the ways of the Old Gods thousands of years after their downfall."

She bit her lip and met Duckers's eyes as they rode. He clearly agreed with her that considering the man's getup, Dr. Quill Vanderlinden might as well have worn a shiny badge that proclaimed him A Continental Toff. She decided to steer the conversation in a safer direction.

"It sounds like you've traveled a lot, Quill. Where all have you been?"

"Where haven't I been?"

"I've never even left the Federated Islands. We must seem pretty provincial to you, out here in the sticks."

"Provincial is another word I would not use to describe you."

He might not have been the handsomest man in the world, but that much self-assurance came with a heaping dose of masculine allure. Duckers must have sensed her growing attraction to the professor, because he grinned at her and fanned himself. "It's getting hot out here, isn't it?"

She cleared her throat in warning at him before saying, "Duckers, did you know that this is Quill's first time in Tanria?"

"Oh? So how do you like Tanria, Quill?" Duckers made the dracologist's given name sound positively lascivious.

"It's unsettling yet magnificent," answered Quill, but something in Twyla's face made him add, "You don't think so?"

"Tanria stops being magnificent after a while, especially when you spend most of your time arresting bird poachers, or busting farm boys sneaking in to shear silksheep, or trying to convince arrogant big-game hunters that there are no dragons in Tanria and that their shiny new rifles are not going to work inside the Mist anyway."

"Except there are dragons," Duckers pointed out.

"You know what I mean."

"And what about the drudges?" asked Quill. "You did face the undead, I assume, before they disappeared?"

"Of course. Many times."

"You have no idea," added Duckers.

"And?"

"I never got used to the drudges," said Twyla. "I didn't want to get used to them. So many people came to Tanria looking for an opportunity, a way to improve their lives, only to be killed and possessed by a lost soul. But that's one of the reasons why I've always found this job satisfying, too. I could rid bodies of those lost souls and help send their remains home to the people who loved them most. It was a service and an honor."

"Aw, that's poetic and shit, Twyla," said Duckers. Only Penrose Duckers could make that statement sound genuinely admiring.

Sheepishly, she sneaked a glance at Quill and found him studying her with hooded gray-blue eyes.

"What?" she asked, returning her gaze to the road but feeling his eyes on her all the same.

"Marshal Twyla Banneker, you are quite extraordinary," he pronounced, his plummy accent making the proclamation all the more stunning.

Twyla couldn't bring herself to accept the compliment. "Extraordinary is not the word I would use to describe me."

"We shall have to agree to disagree on that."

She wasn't sure if the sudden heat prickling her skin was due to the summer sun, a hot flash, or the palpable manliness of a dracologist in short-shorts riding beside her.

"Mm-hmm," Duckers hummed smugly.

This is the longest equimaris ride of my life, Twyla thought and continued to think until they reached the portal at the North Station and set about finding a government autoduck to take them to the Center for Tanrian Biological Research.

In the lobby of the center, Quill leaned on the front desk and smiled at the receptionist, who blinked at him, unimpressed. Twyla got the sense that Dr. Quill Vanderlinden was not the first professor in safari attire who had crossed her path.

"Can I help you?"

"Might I have a word with Dr. Sellet?"

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No."

"Dr. Sellet is the director of the institute. I'm afraid you'll need to make an appointment."

Twyla thought that this woman was not in the least bit afraid, certainly not of the unaccountably attractive continental toff leaning on her desk.

Quill winked at her. "Tell him Alcomworth has come to say hello."

She pursed her lips, but she rose and said "If you'll wait here, please?" before stepping through the door behind her desk.

"Alcomworth?" Twyla asked Quill.

"The name of my family's estate. My father was the seventh Earl of Alcomworth."

He said this the way one might say, My father was a plumber, as if earls could be found under every bush in Stenland. Each article of clothing on his body suddenly looked five times more expensive.

A balding man in a green-and-maroon striped waistcoat came striding through the door. "Alcomworth!" he cried, shaking Quill's hand. "I had no idea of your being on Bushong."

"I only arrived yesterday evening."

"Come in, come in." The head of the institute motioned for Quill to follow him into his office. When Twyla and Duckers made to follow, he asked, "And these are…?"

"How rude of me. May I present Marshals Twyla Banneker and Penrose Duckers, my escorts during my stay here."

"Ah."

Did all the Stenish use this single syllable to speak volumes? wondered Twyla.

"Come along, then. Can I offer you a brandy?" Dr. Sellet asked as soon as he'd escorted them into a light-filled, wood-paneled office.

"I must confess, this is not entirely a social visit," said Quill.

By now, Sellet was holding the cut-glass decanter of brandy as if it were a foregone conclusion. "Oh?"

"We've come across some interesting scat. Thought you might have a look at it under the microscope?"

"Wonderful!"

Twyla hadn't heard the word wonderful associated with excrement since the day four-year-old Wade finally used the potty-chair in the hall bathroom of their old house on Medora decades ago.

Sellet set down the decanter and reached for his white lab coat, which hung on a hook in his office. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

He led them through a maze of corridors, chatting the whole way.

"Didn't know you were doing research in Tanria, Alcomworth. Didn't think there were any old dragon bones moldering around these parts at all."

"It's a new line of research," Quill told him in an affably vague way.

Sellet stepped into a laboratory where five scientists at different lab tables leaped to attention as he and Quill and the marshals entered the room.

"As you were, as you were," he said cheerily. "Lawson, might we borrow your microscope for a tick?"

"Of course, sir." The young man nearly tripped in his excitement to get out of his boss's way.

Quill and Dr. Sellet chatted about old schoolfellows as the director went about setting up a glass slide with the sample they had collected in Sector W-14. He hummed as he slid the glass under a lens and positioned himself over the eyepiece. "Lots of vegetable matter, grass mostly, the marshy sort. Some cattails. A very soggy diet. No idea what the sparkly bits are, but I'd say you have an herbivore here."

"An herbivore?" Twyla exclaimed.

Duckers was equally taken aback. "You mean this thing is a vegetarian?"

"For the most part, although I do detect some insect matter. Probably tangled in the plants as they were ingested." Sellet looked up at both of them. "Were you expecting different results?"

Realizing that they might be giving away too much information, Twyla said, "Nope."

"This was collected in Tanria?"

"I'm afraid that's classified information, old boy," said Quill. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall beside the microscope. The man had perfected the art of casual leaning. "If you had to place a bet on what kind of animal created this sample, what would you guess?"

"I'd say something in the Anatidae family. A goose, perhaps? Possibly a swan? A bird who has gotten into a vial of children's craft glitter?"

Duckers burst out laughing. "Shut up! A goose?"

Dr. Sellet looked up but directed his answer to his old schoolfellow, not to Twyla or Duckers. "I was unaware of any species of waterfowl inside the Mist. If this sample did originate from Tanria, I suspect that someone secreted a goose or a swan through a portal."

"Seems an odd thing to smuggle in," said Quill.

"People do bring the oddest things into Tanria."

"True," Twyla agreed, thinking of a marshal's apprentice who'd kept sneaking his pet guinea pig into Tanria. He hadn't made it past his probationary period.

"Capital. You've been a great help, old fellow." Dr. Quill Vanderlinden, son of the seventh Earl of Alcomworth, clapped his friend on the shoulder, refused one last invitation for a glass of brandy, and made his dashing exit with Twyla and Duckers in tow.

A quick jaunt to the Zeandale branch of the Bushong Public Library produced nothing helpful on the subject of the Anatidae family, save a children's nonfiction picture book on swans titled, simply, Swans. A half hour later, they found themselves in a line of marshals and workers atop a veritable herd of equimares, waiting to get through the North Station's portal.

"This is the day that will not end," Twyla muttered.

"Tell me about it," said the marshal in front of them in line. "The portal's been acting up all week. Chief Mitchell just sent for Dr. Lee."

Adam Lee was the inventor of the portals. If he had been called in to fix the North Station's entry point, the situation must be serious.

"I wonder if we should take an autoduck to the West Station," Twyla suggested to Duckers, when the tall marshal in line behind them dismounted, handed her reins to Twyla, and strode to the front of the line as if there were no line at all.

"I say!" exclaimed Quill.

Twyla was equally put out until she got a good look at the person in question.

"Who is that?" asked Duckers.

"Rosie Fox, I think, though I've never met her." But Twyla couldn't imagine who else on the island of Bushong—or anywhere in the Federated Islands—stood over six feet tall and had a pair of red demigod eyes glaring out of a pale elven face. Even cast in the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat, those eyes were impossible to miss. Two carrot-colored plaits dangled down her back from beneath her hat, adding to her vivid appearance.

"Dang," breathed Duckers. Twyla wasn't sure if this was in response to Fox's demigod looks or her legendary reputation in the Tanrian Marshals.

"That's Fox, all right," said the chatty marshal in front of them. "Ever met her?"

"No."

"Do not party with her. You will never survive."

"Good to know," said Duckers in a way that indicated he was now extremely interested in partying with her. They'd probably wind up at a dance club with Zeddie Birdsall, all of them covered in glitter.

By now, Fox had reached the portal, where she asked the engineer, "Mind if I have a look?"

"Uh…"

Without waiting for permission, she began to fiddle with the knobs and dials on the portal's arch.

The engineer's eyes bugged. "Um, you probably shouldn't—"

Fox pounded her fist against the frame with a thwack, and the portal whirred to life, the Mist within thinning as it ought to.

"You're welcome," she told the nonplussed engineer before returning to the end of the line behind Twyla, Duckers, and Quill.

"I don't think we've met. I'm Rosie."

Duckers shook her hand. "Penrose Duckers, and this is Twyla Banneker and Dr. Quill Vanderlinden, who's doing research stuff in Tanria."

"Banneker? I've heard of you. I thought you worked with Frank Ellis."

"I do. Duckers recently lost his partner, so he's teaming up with us for now."

"No worries, Duckers. I go through partners like there's no tomorrow, and they haven't fired me yet."

Duckers beamed at her. "I can't keep a partner to save my life!"

"Twinsies! We can start our own club!"

Twyla spoke up before they could invent a secret handshake. "You're working the iuvenicite case, aren't you?"

Fox rolled her red eyes. "Ugh, it's a hot mess. We can't find any connection between the miners at the Doniphan Iuvenicite Mine and the stuff that's making its way to the black market. But there's nowhere else the iuvenicite could be coming from, unless some rando has found a vein outside of Tanria, which I doubt. The only clue we have to go on is that the miners have been hearing ‘weird booming sounds' from time to time when they're in the shafts. Great. Super helpful. And the Feds are up my ass because, apparently, the Galatian mob is involved. Plus, the mob put a hit out on my latest partner, so he quit a couple of days ago. Technically, they put a hit out on me, too, but you know, good luck with that."

By now, they'd reached the portal, and Rosie nodded at it. "You'd better go on through before it breaks again. Catch you later."

Once the trio was through the Mist, Quill asked Twyla, "What did she mean, ‘Good luck with that'? Shouldn't she be worried that the Galatian mob wants to kill her?"

"She's immortal."

He glanced back and regarded the towering, red-eyed, ginger-haired demigod. "By gods."

"So then Twyla reaches into her pack, and—I kid you not—pulls out a FireTires," Frank told Duckers over plates of hot dogs, carrot sticks, and canned pears in the barracks that evening. He hadn't eaten much yet; he was too busy stuffing strips of wilted lettuce into the baby dragon's eager mouth.

"A FireTires? Like, one of those toy autoducks?"

"Yes, sir, and that little girl went from hollering to smiling in two seconds flat."

"I used to love FireTires! Do you seriously keep toys in your Gracie Goodfist bag, Twyla?"

"I always had a couple of FireTires rolling around my purse when my kids were little, to keep them occupied if I had to bag my own groceries or if we had to wait for food at a restaurant—not that we ate out much. These days, I keep them around to entertain the grandkids. Although that particular autoduck was left over from the days my bag belonged to one of my sons."

"Vintage!" crowed Duckers.

"I'm telling you," said Frank, "Twyla's backpack is magical. I can't believe the things she's pulled out of it."

"Such as?"

"Here we go," Twyla said under her breath, pretending to be annoyed when, in fact, she loved the way Frank relished telling a good Twyla story. She worried that Quill, who sat at the far end of the table, studying the children's book on swans, might feel left out of the conversation. She almost asked him to join them before Frank launched into his tale, but he turned a page without looking up, so she thought better of it.

"So this one time—it would have been a good six or seven years ago—we arrived on the scene of a flare to find a woman in labor at the Alvarez Ambrosia Bottling Company and a whole bunch of panicked coworkers. Apparently, she thought she had another month to go, but the little one showed up early. So the two of us helped deliver the first baby ever birthed on Tanrian soil—"

"The only baby ever delivered in Tanria," Twyla added.

"And there's Marshal Banneker, pulling a diaper out of her trusty Gracie Goodfist backpack."

"You had a fucking diaper in there?" Duckers hit a couple of impressively high notes at the end of his question.

"It was one of those flat-fold diapers. I always keep one on hand, because they're great for cleaning up spills." She got up from her seat, dug around in her pack, and pulled out a diaper to demonstrate. "They come in handy."

Duckers hooted and clapped his hands. "Your bag is your superpower."

"Nope," said Frank. "Twyla's true superpower is making grown adults sob with her guilt-laden I Know You're Better Than This speech."

"They actually cry?"

"She can lay the Mom Guilt on you faster than you can say Grandfather Bones."

"Dang, Twyla, you're a badass."

"Be sure to mention that to my sons. They're unimpressed with me."

"But their mom's a Tanrian Marshal. How cool is that?"

Twyla shrugged. To say that DJ and Wade had been unimpressed when she joined up was the understatement of the year. Wade had laughed at her, as if the mere idea of his mother's becoming a Tanrian Marshal was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. But that was preferable to DJ's reaction. Her eldest had actually taken the trouble to write her a letter full of grave concern.

Mom, I love you, but what in the Salt Sea are you thinking? A woman your age, joining the Tanrian Marshals? You don't know what you're getting into. I'm in law enforcement, and I can tell you right now, you're going to get yourself killed. Please don't do this.

DJ's complete lack of faith in her had cut her to the quick, as had Wade's dismissive laughter. Frank knew all of this, and he surreptitiously rubbed her back in understanding, a gesture that lessened the dull ache of her memory. Twyla caught movement out of the corner of her eye and noticed Quill finally looking up from his book to watch Frank's hand at her back. The moment was short-lived, because the dracologist's eyes immediately darted to his book again.

"Hey, there are four of us. How about a game of Gods and Heroes?" suggested Duckers.

Frank fed the dragon another piece of lettuce. "Why not? I'm in. Twyla?"

"Sure."

"Vanderlinden, want to play Gods and Heroes?" Frank asked over the dragon's pink head.

"I'm afraid I never learned."

"We can teach you," Twyla offered.

Quill glanced at her and then at Frank. "No, thank you. I should bring myself up to speed on animals of the Anatidae family."

Twyla couldn't imagine a children's nonfiction picture book was going to be incredibly helpful, but since he didn't seem inclined to play, she let it go.

"Hello-o-o? Mail delivery?" came Hermia's uncertain call as she stepped into the barracks.

"Hey, Hermia, do you know how to play Gods and Heroes?" asked Duckers.

"Ooh, I love Gods and Heroes! But I always lose."

Twyla could almost hear the sad trombones that accompanied this statement as the hedgehog rummaged in her satchel for today's mail.

"One for you, Marshal El—oh!" Hermia spied the dragon wrapped around Frank's torso and startled so violently that the missives went sailing through the air like paper airplanes. "Oh my goodness gracious with sprinkles on top, what is that?"

"A baby dragon," said Duckers before taking another bite of his hot dog.

Quill looked up from his book. "I thought that was classified."

Duckers jerked a thumb at the hedgehog. "Privacy laws and shit. She literally can't tell anyone about this."

"Ah." He returned his attention to his illustrated swans.

Hermia clasped her hands as she smiled sweetly at the baby. "That's a neat dragon you've got there, Marshal Ellis."

"Thanks."

"I hope it doesn't eat you someday."

Frank gave Twyla his most long-suffering Hermia Look.

The nimkilim picked up a missive that had fallen to the floor, but she paused before delivering it to anyone present. Her tiny eyes gleamed as she held the letter under her darling nose and inhaled, and inhaled again, and then inhaled so deeply that she swooned and staggered.

"Everything okay?" asked Frank.

"It's for you, Marshal Duckers," said the nimkilim as she crossed the room on unsteady feet to deliver the letter. "Oh my stars and garters, it smells wonderful!"

"From Zeddie," Duckers explained to his human companions. "He sometimes sprays his letters with vanilla extract to remind me of his baking."

"Aw," cooed Twyla.

"Yeah," said Duckers, clearly embarrassed, but Twyla thought it was precious. She remembered what it was like to be young and in love.

"Bye, then," said Hermia.

Frank held up a finger. "Can I get my letter?"

"Goodness, I nearly forgot. Oh dear, where did it go?"

"It's stuck to your sleeve," said Twyla.

Hermia held up the wrong arm for investigation under the huge round lenses of her glasses.

"Other sleeve," said Twyla.

"Oh, here it is!" She ripped the envelope from her spines and handed the slightly torn letter to Frank.

"Have a good night, Hermia," said Twyla, pressing a coin into the hedgehog's tiny hand.

Hermia stuffed it into the drooping pocket of her Fair Isle cardigan. "Bye."

"Bye," three marshals and a dracologist said in chorus. Even the dragon said, Meep.

"'Kay, bye," the nimkilim said one last time before making her exit.

"And there go your hopes for Gods and Heroes, Duckers," said Frank as he opened his letter.

Twyla recognized Lu Ellis's bubbly print on the envelope. "What's Lu got to say?" she asked him.

A relieved smile spread across his face. "Lu and Annie are planning to visit next month."

"That's great."

His smile fell as he recalled one slight problem. "I have a baby dragon attached to me."

"I'm sure it'll be off by then."

"Gods, I hope so." Frank rubbed his knuckles between the knobs of the baby's future horns. "You're sweet, Mary Georgina, but I need you to detach in the next couple of weeks."

"Her name is Mary Georgina?" asked Duckers.

"Thought she needed a name."

"Aw," Twyla sighed again as Duckers said through a half-chewed bite of hot dog, "That's a mouthful."

"His mom was Mary, and his grandma was named Georgina," Twyla explained.

"Aw," said Duckers, easily converted to the merits of the name Mary Georgina. "Do we know if it's a girl, though?"

"No idea," said Frank.

"Too early to tell, but I doubt the dragon will take offense at human notions of gender," Quill put in without looking up from his book.

Someone rapped on the barracks' door, and a moment later, Chief Maguire stepped inside, carrying a waxed paper sack. "Okay, I've got snails and crickets from the pet store in Zeandale and eggs from Wilner's Green Grocer. Best I could do on short notice."

Twyla cringed an apology at Maguire as Frank fed Mary Georgina another shred of lettuce.

"What is that? Are you giving it veggies? I thought this thing ate animals."

"There's been an interesting development today in our understanding of dracological dietary needs," said Quill, gesturing to the vacant chair next to Frank. She sat on the seat in a tired droop, but by the time they were finished filling her in on everything, she had perked up significantly.

"So, to be clear, these things do not eat people?"

"It appears that they do not," Quill confirmed.

"Thank gods."

"So no evacuation of Tanria?" asked Frank.

"Not yet, at any rate. We need to figure out what to do about these dragons, though, especially this one."

"You mean Mary Georgina?" asked Duckers.

Maguire stroked the dragon's back. "We probably shouldn't be naming it or getting too attached."

Frank gave her a dubious look as she petted the pink scales.

"Oh, be quiet," she huffed at him.

Duckers went to his cot and pulled a deck of cards from his pack. "Hey, Chief, want to play Gods and Heroes since you're here?"

"You're on. I already told my wife I wouldn't make it home tonight."

"No offense, Boss, but I'm about to own you."

"Challenge accepted."

In the end, it was Twyla who owned all three of them—Frank, Duckers, and Maguire—while Quill remained glued to the book on swans and jotted notes in his journal. She kept getting the Trickster, the wild card of the Old Gods suit, and the Briar Thief, the wild card of the Heroes suit. So even though Duckers dealt her the Unknown God—the strongest card in the deck—only one time over the course of the five hands they played, she managed to win three games easily. Despite her victories, she hated playing the Briar Thief card. No matter the deck, his illustration was always gruesome, the hero who had tried to steal the Thorn of Eternal Life from the garden of the Old Gods, only to be captured by the God of Wrath and impaled on the briar, the long thorn piercing his heart.

A flatulent sound from Frank's direction jolted Twyla from her contemplation of the tragic hero. She looked at her best friend in time to see a semisolid stream of slimy glitter ooze out of Mary Georgina's backside. Utterly resigned, Frank glanced at the baby-dragon poo in his lap, then turned his woebegone eyes to Twyla.

"Still got that diaper handy?"

Maguire left the following morning to acquire a more vegetarian-friendly diet and to scrounge up some diapers for Mary Georgina, who continued to cling to Frank through Wardensday and Allgodsday. Most of the time, the dragon appeared to be sleeping with its face pressed against its foster father's warm bulk, but its periods of alertness were growing longer. Quill took advantage of the time to take measurements of the scaly baby and to observe the sounds it made—mostly variations of meeping. He had Frank feed the dragon different Tanrian plants and then studied the aftermath of each type of food in the diapers that Twyla had fashioned from a standard-issue cot cover. Because of course the diapering had fallen to Twyla.

For the most part, Twyla didn't mind. She had diapered so many babies in her life that it held no horror for her. She would never forget the time that DJ and Wade had picked up a stomach bug when they were babies. She'd dealt with unbelievable blowouts for two straight weeks, and all the baths and laundry that came along for the ride. Compared to that, sparkly dragon poo was nothing. In fact, she was fairly proud of herself for figuring out how to fold and wrap her makeshift diapers around the dragon's tail.

"Thank the Three Mothers for you," Frank murmured as she pinned yet another diaper in place late Allgodsday evening.

"You say that to all the girls who diaper your baby dragon."

"I mean it, Twy."

Exhaustion lined his face. He was still wearing the shirt he'd worn three days ago, since the baby was cinching it to his torso, and he looked far more rumpled than she'd ever seen him before. More than anything, his demeanor screamed a vulnerability he did not often show the world or even his best friend.

Frank was like a house with many rooms. The places inside him to which Twyla was allowed access were bright and interesting, but she knew there were dark closets and cobwebby cellars where he kept the difficult things locked away. He never spoke of the pain of losing Lu and Annie when Cora left him. He had stayed behind in Eternity because it was the only way he could earn enough money to support his family, even if it meant he got to see them only a few times a year.

Which was why she knew his kids' impending visit was weighing on him now. If he couldn't get Mary Georgina to dislodge, he might miss them, and who knew when or if they'd be back again? There was little Twyla could do to comfort him on that front, so she offered what she could.

"Duckers," she called over her shoulder to the young marshal brushing his teeth.

"Yeah?"

"Think you could help Frank get his shirt off tomorrow and maybe run him a bath?"

"Yeah, sure thing, Frank."

Frank narrowed his eyes at Twyla. "Is this your way of telling me I stink?"

"I would never."

Duckers spat out his toothpaste. "But you are getting mighty fragrant over there, Ellis."

"And a good night to you, too," Frank called back to him wearily.