“As to why we didn’t help them . . . they didn’t ask,” Brenna continued. We’d reached a sturdy door, set into a metal frame. She produced a set of keys from her purse and began undoing the locks. “Honestly, we didn’t even know anyone was looking to buy the land the theater’s on now until it was already done. We have little contact with the wholly subterranean communities. They’re mammals. Mammals are messy and unpleasant to deal with on a day-to-day basis. Present company excepted, of course.”

“No one’s sure whether I’m a mammal or not,” said Malena, far too cheerfully.

(She was right, though. Chupacabra looked human in their bipedal form. They had hair, presumably they had bones in their inner ears, and females had what looked like mammary glands, although that could have been a case of Batesian mimicry. No one had ever worked up the nerve to ask a female chupacabra whether she lactated. On the other hand, they transformed into terrifying lizard-wolves from the dawn of time, and were known to be egg layers. Maybe they were mammals. Maybe they were reptiles. Or maybe they were something old and ostensibly extinct—the most common theory held that they were therapsids, and should have died out millennia ago. But that was an argument for another time.)

Brenna blinked at Malena, looking momentarily nonplussed. Then she shrugged, turned back to the door, and pulled it open to reveal the cavernous depths of the dragon’s Nest.

Dragon Nests are like human homes: every one is unique, even if they began from the same original floor plan. At the same time, just as all human homes will include features like “kitchens,” “bathrooms,” and “beds,” all Nests contain certain points of similarity. Chief among them is the gold.

The dragons of Los Angeles had made their home in an artificial cave created by gutting the interior of what looked like a hospital building. I glanced to Brenna for confirmation.

“The Shady Oaks Mental Institution,” she said. “Constructed in 1885, abandoned in 1912, following a severe outbreak of tuberculosis among the staff and patients. We were able to buy the property for a song.”

“And, of course, you’re immune to tuberculosis, so there was no need to be concerned,” I said. “Clever.”

Brenna smiled. “We try to be.”

The building may have started as a place of human suffering, but it had been reforged since then, becoming something wonderful and new. The windows had been boarded over; I could see the ghosts of those structures beneath the layers of gold leaf that covered them. Heaps of gold covered the floor, coins and chains and random bits of cutlery, like the world’s most expensive thrift shop had been emptied out for everyone to walk on. Brenna reached down and removed her heels before stepping, barefoot, into the nearest pile of golden rings and wiggling her toes in evident delight.

Malena was staring around herself, eyes wide. “This is all real?” she asked.

“And quite pure,” said Brenna. “We have a few Cash for Gold franchises scattered around the city. We melt the cheaper pieces, clean out the impurities, and make them into coins before we bring them here. It keeps the atmosphere nicely balanced.”

Alice was narrow-eyed as she looked around. I paused, realizing what had to be wrong.

“Betty isn’t here, Grandma,” I said quietly. “She was in New York. She’s dead.”

Alice cast me a startled look, eyes going back to normal. Then she nodded, and said nothing.

Betty was a dragon—a dragon princess, according to what we’d known when we’d first encountered her—and she’d hated my family for reasons I still didn’t understand, but which had originated when Grandma and Grandpa Thomas had been active. There was clearly some history there. If I was going to keep working with the dragons, I was going to need to find out what it was. And this was not the time.

“Actually, it looks like nobody’s here,” said Malena. She looked to Brenna, shoulders suddenly tight with tension. “Is this a trap?”

“No, it’s a safety precaution,” said Brenna. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “All’s clear! It’s me, with Verity and her friends. We need to talk to Osana.”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the ghost of Brenna’s voice echoing in the high, gold-coated rafters. Then doors began slamming open, and piles of gold leaf and gold chain began to explode with little golden-haired girls who climbed out and swarmed toward us in a sea of prepubescent pseudo-mammalian excitement.

“Verity?”

“The Verity?”