“Down the hatch.” “Cheers,” Misty said. They lifted their glasses at the same time and drank in one shot. The tequila burned Misty’s mouth like liquid fire. The rose petals felt strange against her tongue, but she made herself not spit them out. Some stuck to the bottom of the glass, but that was all right, the spell said. They would bury the spent ones. Misty swallowed, and the liquor shot down her gullet in a stream of flame. She coughed. Drink four quantities. Misty coughed again. One rose petal got caught on her tongue, and she fished it out and dropped it to the table. Graham wiped his mouth, shaking his head. “What is this—lighter fluid? Humans actually drink this stuff?” “All the time. Haven’t you ever had a margarita?” Graham made a face. “You mean that frothy shit in fancy glasses?
