Savage Saints (Monsters of Saint Mark's)

This thought makes me smile and miss Pie terribly. But how delighted will she be when she gets home from her hard day’s work and she finds me in pants?

I picture her face and smile at the thought.

Where did I leave those pants?

Oh! I snap my fingers as the memory comes back. In the Pleasure Cave.

I leave the apothecary, make my way to the cave, and find the pants exactly where I left them weeks ago. In a little pile next to the hot spring. They are stiff and a little bit smelly, but they have pockets and that’s all I need. When we go to the hallways, I will pick up a new pair. For now, they’ll do.

I spend the rest of the morning going through jars in the apothecary. The ancient satyrs wander in and get busy, but I don’t stop them. They are intent on reorganizing this place. Tomas appears around lunchtime—not because he needs me, he’s calling the monsters to eat. And that’s when I see it! A small glass jar filled with red and gold ammolite. I hold it up to the light, mesmerized by their sparkle.

“What’s that?” Tomas asks. He comes over to me and leans in to see the little pieces of fossilized shell.

“Ammolite.”

“Oh,” he says, smiling. “Like the scales on my legs.”

We both look down at his legs and then I actually laugh. “Forgot about that. I guess I should’ve just come to you in the first place.”

“Really?” He’s excited at the prospect of me needing him. “What for?”

“A spell, Tomas. I looked up magic rings and the only way to properly contain them is with a special dragon spell.”

“Really?” he exclaims again, this time louder. “What kind of dragon spell?”

“I need iron and ammolite.” I hold up the jar. “And dragon’s fire.”

Tomas squints his eyes. “You can have as many scales as you like. But I no longer have dragon fire. So I don’t know what you’ll do about that.”

“Oh, come on,” I huff. “Surely you have one more puff inside you.”

“No. I don’t.”

I sigh. I want to argue with him—make him admit that he could, technically, breathe a little fire for me if he really wanted to—but it’s not worth the effort right now. First, I need to find the forge and brush up on my chainmail-making abilities. So I say, “Whatever. I’ll be in the blacksmith building.”

“We have a blacksmith building?”

“Well… we used to. It’s only been about two hundred years since I was last in there. I’m sure it’s around somewhere.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN – PIE

Talina and I basically walk into Starbucks, but it’s not called Starbucks. It’s called Dragonbucks. And I gotta say… that’s kinda weird. Starbucks. Dragonbucks. I dunno. Maybe I’m just seeing connections where there aren’t any because I have a dragon friend and a buck friend in my new life now, plus there are a lot of other buck-like people walking around this place, but the whole thing reminds me of Bizarro World.

The logo isn’t green and white and the inside doesn’t look like a Starbucks. It’s not hipster, it’s actually very formal. Kinda Victorian. Which doesn’t make sense, either, because this is another world and that means there was no Victorian-era Europe to emulate. Also, there’s that clash again. The lacy, old-fashioned monster stuff and the flashy, gleaming modern stuff.

But this place does have a Victorian look to it. I mean, I’m no expert on eras or anything. But it’s all very… period piece, but with a modern twist. I feel like I just stepped into that over-the-top Marie Antoinette movie with Kirsten Dunst where all the royal women are trying on shoes and eating cakes.

The colors aren’t washed-out pastels—they are crisp, bright pinks, and spring-grass greens, and eye-popping lavenders.

It’s all very feminine, but somehow radiates power, too.

The tablecloths are made of thick silks and luxurious lace. Glass cases in the front are filled with elaborately decorated pastries. The coffee is served in fine porcelain. And the low, whispering chatter in combination with the delicate clinking of tea cups on saucers is a warm and welcoming kind of white noise.

“Wow.” I’m looking up at an intricately painted ceiling covered in naked satyrs and nymphs having sex. “That’s…” But I don’t have words for it, so I give up.

Talina elbows me with a giggle. “It’s a reimagining of a famous painting from hundreds of years ago. In the original, they were all prim and proper, having a very formal and boring dinner. The nymphs were buttoned up to their necks in fashion and it was against the law for the satyrs to”—she giggles again—“let it all hang out, so to speak.”

I’m still looking up at the ceiling when she says this, but then I quickly glance at her. “Wait. What do you mean it was illegal? They were forced to wear pants?” I almost can’t contain my snort.