“That shows sense. Most of the people who come here don’t have much of it.” Bon dropped herself into the chair reserved, based on position, for her use. Dominic and I sat on the other side of the table. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do. “We’ve had snake cults here since the 1920s. A lot of people think—even if we can’t prove it—the snake cults are why Maleficent turned herself into a dragon in Disney’s Sleeping Beauty. He’d been around Hollywood long enough to know the score.”

I stared at her, appalled. “Are you telling me Walt Disney was a snake cultist?”

“Nah. He summoned a demon once and bound it into one of his roller coasters, but that’s not the same as being a snake cultist.” Bon shook her head. “Still, he was here, he had to have heard. Snake cults are the pyramid scheme of instant fame and fortune. If you want one, you need to collect a bunch of loyal cultists you can feed to your snake god when you get it.”

“Pardon me if I sound ignorant, but . . . these people are attempting to summon snakes,” said Dominic. “Not djinn or creator gods. Snakes. How can a snake give you anything apart from venom and a quick death?”

“Snake gods don’t come from this dimension, at least not anymore; there’s some argument on whether the Titanoboa was big enough to have qualified for snake god status, and whether, if it was, there are still examples of the genus out there somewhere, slithering around and swallowing the people foolish enough to summon them. But that’s neither here nor there.” Bon leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “The point of the snake god is not the snake god itself, although the cults that worship them would probably disagree. It’s the stuff they bring with them when they tunnel through the dimensional walls.”

“It’s the shape of them,” said Alice. We all turned. She was standing in the entrance with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder that hadn’t been there when we had arrived at the flea market, and from the way it bulged at the bottom, it was packed to capacity with things she thought would be useful. “They’re long and smooth—not many limbs to slow them down. So the snake gods pierce through dimensions and get covered in the membrane that keeps them apart, and magic-users can use that membrane to fuel things. It’s raw possibility. Luck and lies and all the tricks you could wish for, wrapped around a giant snake like a second skin.”

“Alice.” Bon stood, a smile lighting up her face. “I wondered if I’d be seeing you.”

“Bon, you old troublemaker.” Alice dropped her duffel bag—it clinked when it hit the floor—and moved to wrap her arms around the other woman. Bon towered over her, but looking at the two of them, there was no question that, in a physical fight, Alice would mop the floor with Bon. “No one told me you were in Southern California these days.”

“I had a little falling out with the current Queen of the Routewitches and thought it might be a good idea to head for the other side of the country,” said Bon easily. She let go of Alice, dropping back into her chair. “You here about the snake cult thing?”

“My granddaughter needed me,” said Alice, gesturing toward me.

“Your granddaughter needs to do whatever it takes to keep more people from winding up dead,” I said. “So these snake cultists, they don’t really want to summon giant snakes from beyond the walls of the world? They just want a quick way to get their hands on pieces of reality, and the snakes make a good delivery mechanism?”

“Something like that,” said Bon. “A lot of snake cults do want the giant snakes, because they’ve lost track of what makes this particular bad idea work. That’s also why you don’t hear many stories of snake cults who got what they were looking for. The ones who actually manage to summon giant snakes wind up being slowly digested as often as they accomplish their goals. Maybe more often these days, since most people don’t remember the binding spells.”

“Do you?” asked Dominic. There was something low and dangerous in his voice. I put a hand on his knee, hoping it would be enough to hold him in place. If it wasn’t, I was going to witness the remarkable sight of my grandmother punching my husband in the throat. Family reunions were tense enough without adding that extra layer of awkwardness.

“I’m a routewitch, son, not a magician,” said Bon. She didn’t sound offended. If anything, she sounded amused. “I pull magic from roads and travel, and it’s mostly tied to foresight and prophesy and the dead. You want someone to talk to ghosts or tell you where there’s going to be a bad accident, I’m your lady. You want to know what the road knows or find a missing person, I’m happy to help. But if you want to summon a giant fucking snake from the other side of the universe, I’ll be leaving.”