Despite the very competent chin scritches on Darcy's part, Nimona stiffens, a tiny shudder zipping through her. It makes the fur along her back ripple, like she's about to puff up to Halloween-cat size -- or like she's on the verge of shifting into something else.

"Yeah," she mutters. "But like she superglued you into a dress with poison glue that makes it feel like your skin's on fire. And then the glue starts seeping in and liquefying your internal organs."