Midnight Blue-Light Special

  “That’s not fair,” he said quietly.

  “When are they going to get here?”

  “Soon.”

  “Could you be a little more precise? Tomorrow? Next week? Next month? Should I even bother to run?”

  “Goddammit, Verity, can you stop being angry with me for one second and just think? I’m not telling you this because I want to gloat! I’m trying to help. I’m trying to give you a chance—”

  “You can’t.” My anger was suddenly gone, replaced by a resignation so deep it felt like it ran all the way down to my bones. “There’s no way I can evacuate the entire cryptid population of Manhattan. Even if I wanted to try, they’d have nowhere to go. It would be chaos. And if I can’t get them all out, I can’t go.”

  “Verity. They’re not—” He stopped speaking so abruptly that for a moment, I thought he might have actually bitten his tongue. Somehow, that just made me feel even more resigned.

  “You were about to say that they weren’t worth staying here and maybe getting myself killed over, weren’t you?” He didn’t answer me. “Come on, Dominic. Tell me that I’m wrong. All I’m asking you to do is look me in the eye and tell me that I’m wrong.”

  “I can’t,” he said, very quietly.

  I nodded. “I sort of figured that was what you were going to say. Did you really think I could run and leave them all here to die? Did you think I was that much of a coward?”

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The look on his face was all the answer that I needed from him, and it broke my heart a little bit to see it.

  “I see.” I took a breath, drawing myself as upright as I could. It helped if I told myself that this was another form of Paso Doble, the only form of Latin dance whose competitive form was as much a battle as anything else. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll take it from here.”

  Dominic’s eyes widened in visible alarm. “Verity, please. Don’t do anything rash.”

  “I’m a Price girl, remember? We specialize in rash, with the occasional side order of outright stupid.” I straightened a little. “I think you’d better go.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t be like this.”

  “If wishes were horses, we’d have a way easier time feeding the chupacabras. Now please. Go.”

  The mice were still celebrating in the kitchen, but that sound seemed to drop away, leaving nothing but Dominic, and me, and the sudden silence stretching out between us. I’d always known that we came from different worlds, and that we’d have to go back to them someday. I’d just been telling myself that we’d have longer than this. And I’d been wrong.

  “Very well,” he said finally. He walked back to the door, shoulders ramrod-straight beneath that damn pretentious duster he was so fond of. The mice cheered louder as he approached them, and he nodded genially in their direction—a small kindness, but one that showed how much he’d grown. How much I thought he’d grown. I was starting to realize I’d never known him at all.

  He only looked back once, dark brown eyes pained above a mouth that was set as firmly as his shoulders. Then he opened the apartment door, and he was gone, leaving me alone.

  The sound of a door swinging shut had never seemed so final.

  It felt like I was moving in slow motion as I walked across the living room to where I’d dropped my bag. My cell phone was tucked safely into the front pocket. It took me three tries to make the zipper work, and another five tries before I could successfully access my contact list and call the one number that had a prayer of helping: Home.

  Covenant “purges” are legendary in most cryptid circles, including the ones my family moves in. The Covenant of Saint George sends in a team of their best men, and when the dust clears and the blood has been hosed off the streets, nothing inhuman remains standing. When Dominic had first arrived in Manhattan, I’d asked my father to look up any historical records relating to purges in the New York area. The things he’d been able to find were bad enough to give me nightmares for weeks, and that was saying something, given all the other nightmare fodder that particular summer had offered me.

  Some people call the Covenant “monster hunters,” and if there’s anything that demonstrates how wrong that label really is, it’s the way they purge a city. True hunters spare the children and the pregnant females, allowing the population to remain stable. That’s how they ensure that they’ll always have something to hunt. The Covenant has no such concerns. They don’t want to ensure that they’ll always have something to hunt. They want to wipe every breathing cryptid off the face of the planet. I don’t know that they give out merit badges for confirmed extinctions, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

  The members of the Covenant aren’t monster hunters. They’re exterminators.

  The phone rang for what seemed like forever but was probably only a few seconds. Then my father’s voice was in my ear, asking in that warm, familiar tone, “Why shouldn’t I hang up on you? You have five seconds.”

  My family has been answering the home phone as rudely as possible for as long as I can remember. It’s a mechanism for screening calls without raising suspicion from the wrong quarters. As far as we’re concerned, that’s pretty much everyone who isn’t a relative or on the extremely short list labeled “allies.”

  “Dad, it’s me,” I said.

  “Verity!” he said, delighted. “That’s an excellent reason not to hang up on you. Hello, sweetheart. What’s going on? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “Yes. Normally, I would be. Daddy, there’s a problem.”

  His tone sobered in an instant. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Honey, you don’t sound fine. Is it Sarah?”

  “Not yet.” Any purge of Manhattan would naturally affect her . . . assuming the Covenant could find her. There’s nothing in this world or any other that hides as well as a cuckoo that doesn’t want to be found, and that includes the hidebehinds.

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “It’s the Covenant, Daddy.” I walked back to the couch and sat down, covering my face with my free hand. That helped, a little. Maybe if I stuck my head under something and waited patiently, the Covenant would go away. “Dominic says they’re coming to check his work. They want to see how far along he is in preparing the city for a purge. Which means the next step is either them figuring out that he isn’t prepared at all, or the Covenant starting the purge.”

  There was a long pause before my father asked, “Did he tell you this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he there with you now?”

  “No. I asked him to leave.”

  There was another, longer pause. Finally, my father said, “I don’t think you should have done that.”

  “What?” I straightened, pulling my hand away from my face. “Who are you, and what have you done with my father?”

  “If he was willing to tell you that the team was coming—”

  “—but not willing to stand up to the Covenant! Not willing to stop them from—”

  “—then he may be willing to work with you to minimize the damage to the population.” My father’s tone was firm, and left little room for argument. He’s been in charge of our branch of the family since before I was born, and that means he’s had time to get very, very good at giving orders to people who aren’t very good at taking them. “I know it’s hard. I can tell that you feel betrayed right now.”

  “Um, just a little. Why are you on his side?” I stood, pacing across the living room to the hallway door. The mice were finishing up their celebration. I stopped there, leaning against the wall and watching them. At least the mice could still find things to be happy about. “I thought we hated the Covenant.”

  “I also thought you’d decided that Dominic deserved to be judged as an individual.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Dad si
ghed. “Verity. Please. I’m glad you called me. That was the right thing to do, and I’ll do my best to get you some backup. But that doesn’t mean you can neglect the resources that you already have at hand. I’m not telling you to trust him. I’m telling you to use him, for as long as you possibly can.”

  “Hold on a second,” I said, my stomach sinking. “Are you telling me that you might be able to send me backup, and that until then, I have to work with the man who may or may not be in the process of selling me out to the people we’ve been hiding from since before I was born?” I paused. “I lost track of that sentence somewhere in the middle. Dad, you can’t. You can’t expect me to work with him. Not now.”

  “You have to.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Are you saying that because you think it’s the right thing to do, or because he hurt your feelings by not cutting ties with everything he’s ever known as soon as it came into conflict with what you wanted?” I didn’t have an answer for that, so I didn’t even try. Dad kept talking: “I know this is hard. I will do everything I can to get you the help you need. But Dominic is right there, Very, and he wouldn’t have told you if he didn’t want to help, at least a little.”

  My voice was very small as I asked, “What if he doesn’t want to help me anymore? I turned him down hard.”

  “Then we’ll figure something else out.”

  “Okay.” I pushed away from the wall, turning my back on the mice. “What do I tell Sarah?”

  “Tell her that she should come home. She has no business staying in that city while a purge is going on.”

  I wanted to make a snarky comment about how he’d leave me to die while he evacuated my adopted cousin for her own good. I couldn’t do it because he was right. I was raised fighting, whether I wanted to or not. Sarah was raised doing her homework, obeying curfew, and trying to pass for human without constantly rearranging the brains of the people around her. She could keep herself out of sight better than damn near anyone else in the world, but she wouldn’t be any help if things got really bad.

  “I’ll tell her,” I said, quietly. “I can’t promise that she’ll listen.”

  “Of course not,” he said, and laughed. “She’s a member of this family, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “She is.”

  Dad and I talked for a few minutes after that, but if anything of substance was discussed, I didn’t remember it after I hung up. All I really remembered was the tone of his voice, struggling to reassure me without letting his own panic show. It’s times like that that make me wish my parents were just a little better at lying to me. It would be nice to have them say, “Don’t worry, honey, everything’s under control,” and actually be able to make myself believe them.

  I found myself back in the kitchen doorway, watching the mouse acolytes as they dutifully cleaned up the remains of their celebration. I don’t really understand the full details of the Aeslin religious structure. I don’t think anyone human—or even demi-human, like Sarah or my Uncle Ted—can. The logic of the Aeslin is not like our Earth logic.

  One of the acolytes noticed my observation and straightened, tiny oil-drop eyes fixed on me in rapt fascination. “Priestess,” it said, solemnly. “I am Blessed by your Observance.”

  Nobody pronounces capital letters like an Aeslin mouse. “Hey,” I said. “Do you know when the night prayers will be over? I need to talk to the Head Priest at some point.”

  “The Catechism of the Patient Priestess is to be recited tonight,” said the acolyte. “It should conclude with the sunrise. Would you like me to go to the Head Priest, and request his Attendance upon your Holiness?”

  The Patient Priestess was their name for my great-great-grandmother, Enid Healy, who belonged to the Covenant of St. George, once upon a time, before she and her husband wised up, quit, and moved to America. According to the mice, she was a really awesome lady. I wish I’d had the opportunity to meet her, but, well. My family isn’t exactly the “live long and die peacefully in your bed” sort. She was killed a long time before my parents were born.

  “That’s okay,” I said, crouching down to put myself more on the acolyte’s level. “I can talk to him when the catechism is over. Have you been to this recitation before?”

  “No, Priestess,” said the acolyte, with obvious reverence. “I am very excited by the knowledge that this will be a night filled with Revelations and Enlightenments.”

  My family’s colony of Aeslin have so many religious rituals at this point that even the supposedly yearly rites don’t actually come around on a yearly basis anymore. There was a ten-year gap between recitations of the Catechism of the Violent Priestess—my great-grandmother, Frances Healy. Then again, that may have been because Mom yelled at the mice about the property damage every time they performed those particular devotions.

  At least the revelations and enlightenments offered by Enid’s life story weren’t as likely to hurt the apartment’s security deposit. The Sasquatch I was subletting from probably wouldn’t take “but the mice had religious needs” as much of an excuse.

  Crap. I needed to call her answering service and tell her that there might be a purge coming. If I died trying to stop it, she could come home to a very, very bad situation. Considering I’d been living out of her apartment for almost a year, that didn’t seem fair.

  “Well, if you see the Head Priest before the services begin, and he doesn’t look too busy, can you let him know that I’ll be coming to see him sometime around dawn?”

  “Yes, Priestess,” said the acolyte.

  “Cool. Thanks.” I straightened, picking up my backpack in the process. “I’ll be back later. Don’t burn down the apartment.”

  The small audience of previously unnoticed mice that had come to watch with rapt attention as I spoke to the acolyte suddenly cheered. Loudly. “HAIL THE COMMITMENT TO NOT IGNITE THE DOMICILE!”

  “Uh, yeah,” I agreed. “No fire.”

  “HAIL THE ABSENCE OF FIRE!”

  “I’ll just be going now,” I said, and fled, before the mice could launch fully into some sort of ritualized fire-safety lesson. Sometimes being one of the holy figures of my own personal church was more trouble than it was worth.

  Dominic didn’t pick up when I called his cell phone. I didn’t have his home number, assuming he even had one; I’d never seen the place where he lived. He could have been emulating Sarah, and just moving from hotel to hotel, keeping a roof over his head without tying himself to a permanent address. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like I’d been deluding myself all along. There was no way he’d ever really trusted me.

  Still, I needed to put that aside, at least for right now, and figure out how I was going to deal with the very real threat of a Covenant purge. I broke into a run as I pushed my phone deep into the front pocket of my jeans, building to a full-out sprint. I needed to find Dominic. I needed to start warning people. And there was nothing saying I couldn’t combine the two.

  Gravity took over once I stepped off the edge of the roof, and I was able to push other concerns aside in favor of the pressing need to keep myself from splashing on the pavement. That’s one of the nice things about free-running; it’s very distracting when I need it to be. I’m focused enough on my surroundings that I can usually avoid things that present an actual danger, like pissed-off cryptids or booby-traps, but I don’t need to think about my faltering dance career, or the fact that the man I’d been starting to think about as maybe being my boyfriend wasn’t really boyfriend material, or the upcoming Covenant purge. All I have to think about is the run.

  My first destination was a little café called Gingerbread Pudding. Going there wouldn’t help me find Dominic. It would help me begin the process of warning the city’s cryptids that they needed to keep their heads down and maybe consider taking that California vacation they’d been dreaming about. I was telling the truth when I to
ld Dominic that there was no way I could evacuate the entire city. That didn’t mean I had to leave the people I considered my friends unprepared for what was coming.

  Letting go of the last rooftop between me and my destination, I dropped down, into the dark beyond.

  The hours posted outside of the Gingerbread Pudding storefront said that they were open until nine PM, and a cheery sign in the window told me to come back tomorrow for fresh sweets and the best hot chocolate in New York. I can testify to the quality of both the baked goods and the hot drinks, but coming back tomorrow wasn’t an option. I banged on the door. Politely. When five minutes passed without anyone coming to let me in, I banged again, impolitely this time.

  “Hey!” I half-whispered, half-shouted, pressing my mouth up to the crack in the door. “Sunil! Rochak! Come let me in, I need to talk to you!”

  I was starting to consider breaking and entering when I heard the bolt on the door being undone, and the door swung soundlessly open, revealing a smoking-hot Indian man in his mid-twenties. Note that the word “human” was nowhere in that sentence. Sunil was a Madhura, a type of humanoid cryptid. His skin was a rich, medium brown, and his hair was a few shades darker, distinguishable from black only because his brother, Rochak, had hair that was even darker. Their sister Piyusha’s coloring had been somewhere in-between, with lighter brown eyes like Sunil’s and true black hair like Rochak’s.

  Piyusha had been sacrificed by the snake cult that was trying to wake the dragon sleeping under the city. I tried to save her. I hadn’t been fast enough. There were reasons I thought warning her brothers about the coming purge was really the least that I could do.