Discount Armageddon: An Incryptid Novel

by Seanan McGuire

  It was a horrific thing to even think about, but if Dominic De Luca wanted to, he could make certain I’d never dance professionally again. I didn’t want to kill him. It was looking increasingly likely that I wasn’t going to have a choice.

  I’ll give Dominic this, even if I didn’t want to give him anything else: he followed me without complaint, despite the havoc the heat outside had to be wreaking on his overly heavy attire. I marched him down the street, around a corner, and through the back door of a greasy spoon that stank like a hundred years of deep-fried dinners. He hesitated when he saw the kitchen, and I grabbed his jacket sleeve, dragging him deeper in. The fry cook on duty was a hulking shape in dirty whites, his back to us as he chopped some unidentifiable cut of meat into smaller and smaller chunks.

  “Hey, Nigel,” I said.

  He grunted, waving us on.

  Dominic picked up the pace slightly, drawing close enough to hiss, “Is he—” in my ear.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I shoved open a door at the back of the kitchen, revealing a rickety flight of stairs leading to the storage rooms overhead. I took the steps two at a time, focusing my anger on the difficult task of not punching my five-inch heels through the half-rotten wood. It helped, a little. If I was thinking about not puncturing things with my shoes, I wasn’t thinking about how easy it would be to impale Dominic with them.

  He managed to stay quiet until we reached the second floor. The hallway was choked off with boxes of old newspapers and stacks of dishes retired after they became too chipped for even the establishment downstairs. I wove between them, careful to keep from triggering an avalanche.

  Dominic wasn’t so lucky. There was a shattering crash, followed by the sound of him swearing in loud, enthusiastic Italian. “Keep walking,” I said, in a singsong tone.

  “What are we doing here?” he demanded.

  “I need to change.” I looked back over my shoulder, smiling sweetly. “If you’d called, you wouldn’t be following me into the place where dishes go to die. Think about that the next time you decide to mess with my competition schedule.”

  “Because God forbid something gets in the way of your dancing,” he sneered.

  “Damn right,” I said, and half-pushed, half-slammed the nearest door open, storming into the mostly-empty storage room on the other side. More crashes and clattering punctuated Dominic’s progress as he followed after me.

  More things that don’t really survive their first encounter with the glamorous, exhausting world of professional ballroom dance, much less their first encounter with the glamorous, exhausting world of professional cryptozoology: modesty. Sure, I’d scream like any other girl if someone walked in on me in the changing room at Victoria’s Secret—probably right before I kicked that someone in the head—but when it comes to changing into street clothes, I could do it in the middle of Fifth Avenue. I knew Dominic had entered the room when I heard his breath catch, and twisted to look over my shoulder at him, eyebrows raised in silent question.

  “You …ah…” he stammered, eyes darting around like he wasn’t sure where he should look. It wasn’t like there was a shortage of targets. I was, after all, standing there in emerald green thong panties, thigh-high sheer stockings, stiletto heels, and an assortment of holsters, having already shucked my costume to the floor.

  If I took my arm away from my chest, he’d probably die. Maybe not a standard way to kill a man, but hey, beggars can’t always be choosers. “Yes?” I prompted.

  Dominic swallowed. “You dance with a gun at your back?”

  “Wouldn’t you?” I crouched to start digging through my duffel bag, producing a plastic baggie full of Ace bandages before I straightened up. Wrapping is pretty standard after a competition—it helps to keep me from injuring myself when I inevitably go running across the rooftops to burn off all my extra adrenaline. Plus, a nice layer of Ace bandage counts as at least minimal armor, which is always nice.

  I would normally have stayed low while I wrapped my ankles and knees, but I didn’t feel like doing Dominic any favors. I stretched my left leg into a full extension instead, staying balanced on the right as I started winding bandages around my knee. “Worst thing about the Argentine tango: you can’t fit more than a few weapons under your costume without it getting really obvious. The waltz is better. You can hide a regulation machete under a waltz costume.”

  “Er, yes. Of course.” It sounded like he still didn’t know where he was supposed to be looking. Tough. “I suppose you’d like to know why I felt the need to seek you out.”

  “Because you’re a pompous asshole who didn’t get a decent cell plan? I could be in your network. All calls would be free.” I bent my leg back to make it easier to get to my ankle, and repeated the wrapping process. “Yes, Dominic. I would like to know why you decided to ruin my day and damage my career. Please, enlighten me.”

  “I believe I’ve discovered the reason for the local disappearances.” He sounded a bit more sure of himself as he made the pronouncement, some of his usual arrogance coming back into his voice. He understood making dire pronouncements. Apparently better than he understood seminaked, highly flexible women. The poor guy must have led a very boring life.

  “What would that be?” I asked. My left knee and left ankle were wrapped, and would be able to take a lot more pressure without getting damaged. I strapped my left ankle holster on over the Ace bandage and switched legs.

  “I’ve been examining the Covenant’s records on this area going back several hundred years—”

  A needle of jealousy stabbed me in the chest. We’re lucky when the family records extend back to my great-great-grandparents arriving in America. “There’s a luxury some of us don’t have,” I muttered.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.” I started wrapping my right ankle, trying not to let irritation make the job turn sloppy. “What did you find in the records?”

  Dominic paused portentously, and said, “I believe there is a dragon sleeping under this city.”

  I fell on my ass.

  Ten

  “A lady is never truly embarrassed. And if she is, a lady is never gauche enough to leave survivors.”

  —Evelyn Price

  The upstairs storage room of an unnamed and highly questionable diner

  FIVE MINUTES, A HASTILY-COMPLETED WRAPPING JOB, and a pair of jeans later, I was sitting atop an antique stove and running my weapon checks, watching Dominic out of the corner of my eye. He was pacing back and forth along the length of the room, his steps thudding in an almost martial rhythm. It was a stable enough beat to be soothing, and there was a decent chance that he’d hit a rotten patch and fall through the floor into the diner below us. That kept it interesting.

  “There’s one major problem with your ‘solution,’” I said. “Dragons are extinct. The Covenant wiped them out centuries ago.”

  Dominic favored me with a look of withering disdain. “Did we?”

  “Hello, not the one who writes the propaganda, remember? But, yeah, according to everything I’ve ever read and everyone I’ve ever talked to, human or cryptid.” If the dragons were still alive, the dragon princesses would know about it—they’d have to know, since all the old bestiaries claimed that the two species lived in a sort of symbiosis. If there were still dragons, the dragon princesses probably wouldn’t be working in strip clubs and living in neighborhoods just this side of demilitarized zones.

  “Nonetheless, it seems that a few may have escaped extermination.”

  I looked up from securing my ankle holster, fixing him with a disgusted stare. “Here’s a tip: wiping out a sentient species isn’t ‘extermination.’ It’s genocide. Get your terminology straight.”

  “Dragons fed on humans.”

  “When humans went into their caves to steal their stuff, you’re damn right they did! If the dragons had been from Texas, they would’ve gotten awards from the homeowners’ association, not a gang of medieval vigilantes looking to skin their ass
es.”

  Dominic looked at me blankly. “What does Texas have to do with anything?”

  “Wow, they didn’t give you any cultural acclimatization before they dropped you here, did they? Did the Covenant want you to get eaten?” I slid off the stove. “Okay, so fine, let’s assume you’re right, and everything we thought we knew is wrong, and there’s a dragon sleeping somewhere under the city of New York.” I paused. “Not the entire city, or even a borough, right? Just a few blocks or something? Because I don’t think I’m equipped to deal with a dragon that’s actually the size of New York.” A dragon the size of Manhattan was too much to think about, especially if there was a chance it was hostile. The old family story about Grandma taking on an entire hive of Apraxis wasps with nothing but some concussion grenades aside, we’re taught never to go up against impossible odds if there’s any other choice.

  “Not the entire city,” said Dominic. He paused, a discomfited look crossing his face. It was an oddly attractive expression on him, softening his features from their usual perpetual arrogance and turning them into something a girl wouldn’t mind seeing, say, on the other side of the table at breakfast. “At least, I don’t believe so. The largest recorded dragon was no larger than a blue whale.”

  “I probably shouldn’t find that as reassuring as I do.” I picked up my bag. “So we’re assuming there’s a dragon. I don’t want you calling reinforcements, since they’d just wipe out the cryptids I’m trying to protect, and I’ll bet you don’t want me calling reinforcements either.”

  “Not particularly,” he said, his normal arrogance creeping across his face like frost across a window on a cold morning. “You already have me far too outnumbered to enjoy.”

  “Me and my army of cryptids that don’t listen to a damn thing I say, we’re scary,” I agreed. “Why do you think there’s a dragon?”

  “I’d rather not say just as yet,” Dominic replied, stiffly.

  “Great.” I sighed. “Let’s say I believe you. So now what do we do?”

  “I suppose we determine whether or not I’m correct, and decide what to do from there.”

  I gave him a thoughtful look. Something in the way that he was standing… “You don’t want to be right, do you?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Why not? I mean, if it’s a dragon, I can’t really stop you from killing it. Not unless it speaks English and likes blonde girls well enough to listen to one and, even then, only if it feels like turning you into a charcoal briquette.”

  Dominic smiled briefly, eyebrows rising. “Good to know that your plans for me include immolation.”

  “I’m flexible. I can flex.” I shrugged. “I’ll happily dispose of your corpse in a nondraconic manner, once we know what’s really going on.”

  “Fair enough. As for why I’m not terribly pleased about the idea of being right, well. This is my first time in the field. I’d rather not start my career with a failed dragon slaying.” There was something else there—something he wasn’t saying to me yet. I could see its shadow in his eyes.

  Better not to push. “That’s cool. I don’t want to call my folks.”

  “Then we’re in agreement. I suppose that once we’ve determined the true nature of the threat at hand, we’ll…” He stopped, mouth continuing to move for a moment with no sound coming out.

  It was hard not to feel bad for the guy. Sure, he was a stone killer, but he’d been raised that way, and you don’t blame a snake for biting. He wasn’t used to being lost like the rest of us. “You don’t know either, do you?”

  Clearly frustrated, Dominic shook his head. “No. I’m not accustomed to lacking a plan of action.”

  “That’s okay.” I smiled wryly. “I’m a Price. We’re basically the reason the universe invented improv.”

  “Well, then, I suppose I had best stick with you.”

  “Don’t think this means I’m not still pissed at you for fucking up my competition,” I said. “Now come on. Let’s go dragon hunting.”

  My usual means of information gathering involves hitting the homes and workplaces of the local sentient cryptids and asking what’s been going on at (or sometimes under) the street level. That wasn’t an option with Dominic along. Neither was my customary overland approach. While he wasn’t uncomfortable on rooftops, exactly, he drew the line at throwing himself over the edges.

  “Oh, come on,” I cajoled, as we walked down a dark alley that stunk like human urine and recycled grease from the vents of the Chinese deli. There was also the sweet, slightly spicy scent of gingerbread undercutting it all; this was part of a Madhura’s feeding ground. That was comforting. I hadn’t been aware that we had any Madhura left in the city. Things couldn’t be that bad if they hadn’t all fled.

  Dominic’s eyes moved constantly as we walked, darting from side to side as he took in the alley walls around us. He wrinkled his nose when the stink first became apparent, but he hadn’t said a word about the Madhura. Lack of practical experience was definitely not an asset for new Covenant field agents. “I said no. Gravity is not a toy.”

  “It’s not like I’m asking you to let me cast some sort of flight spell on you.” He gave me a sharp look. I raised my hands. “I didn’t say I could cast a flight spell, you dork. I’m not a witch. I’m just saying this would go faster if we weren’t restricted to the speed of our feet.”

  “Again, no. You may take pleasure in taunting the laws of physics, but I prefer to save my brushes with death for times when they’re actually necessary.”

  “Now you sound like my father.”

  Dominic snorted. “God forbid.”

  I stopped where I was, giving him a narrow-eyed look. “Exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

  Dominic turned to face me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you really want to have that conversation here and now, when I may be the only chance you have of finding this creature before it does real damage to your precious city?”

  “Yeah, I think I do. What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

  “Only that no respectable member of the Covenant wishes to be told he sounds like a traitor.”

  “Uh, first, mister, my father’s not a traitor. He never belonged to your stupid Covenant. None of us did. If you want traitors, you’ll have to go back at least two generations, and if you ask the mice, they weren’t traitors even then.”

  Dominic blinked, looking nonplussed. “Ask the what?”

  I was just getting warmed up. “Plus, what makes you God’s gift to cryptozoology? Why are you my only shot at finding something that may ‘only’ be the size of a blue whale? I’m a Price, but I’m not an idiot. I’m pretty sure I can find something that big without your help. All you’re doing is keeping me off the rooftops, scaring the local cryptids, and slowing me down.”

  “And what is it that you think you can do for my search, exactly? Are you planning to tango gaily down the yellow brick road to victory? You’re a traitor, from a family of traitors, and there’s not a damn thing you can do that I can’t do without you!”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes!”

  I was having a heated argument, verging on a shouting match, in a deserted alley with a member of the Covenant of St. George who had seen me get dressed, and thus knew where all of my weapons were located. I’d been monitoring escape routes the whole time, and the prospects were pretty bleak; if he didn’t have anything ranged, I might be able to make it to the dumpster and use that to boost myself to the exhaust vents from the deli. After that, I’d have to improvise.

  Dominic stepped closer, sensing victory in my hesitation. His chin was slightly raised, giving me an excellent view of his arrogant, irritating features. My chest tightened as my already sped-up pulse kicked into overdrive. I was essentially cornered. I could flee, or I could fight … and if there’s one thing I’ve spent my life learning, it’s that there’s always more than one way to wage a war.

  “Try doing this without me,” I said. Leaning onto my toes with t
he ease that comes from dancing a thousand rumbas with men half a foot taller than me, I put a hand on the back of his head and pressed my lips to his.

  Kissing a man is a lot like dancing the tango: somebody leads and somebody follows, and the traditional form says it’s the man who controls the dance. I’ve never been one to stick to tradition when it isn’t essential. And that turned out to be a good thing, because the kiss was, well … I’ve had better. Maybe because I wasn’t sure, from the way Dominic was kissing me back, that he’d ever had anything at all.

  I’ve had a lot of practice at dancing with amateurs. I kissed him with more urgency, waiting for his instincts to kick in and remind him of the steps his hindbrain almost certainly knew. There was a moment of puzzled hesitation on Dominic’s part, like he didn’t quite understand what I was doing. Then his arms were around me, crushing me against his chest and surrounding me with the warm, masculine scents of leather and clean sweat. There’s nothing sweeter than the smell of a man who likes to keep himself clean and has managed to run himself into a lather. It means somebody’s been doing something physical, and it means something else physical might be on the table. I felt my body responding and pressed myself harder against him. The buckle of my holster bit into my belly hard enough to leave a bruise. He’d have a matching one, if the angle of our bodies was any indication. I had more important things on my mind.

  He kissed with an urgency that was entirely out of keeping with his businesslike demeanor, possibly because he wasn’t getting kissed nearly often enough. The muscles in his torso were as hard as I’d expected them to be. That wasn’t all that was hard—if there’d been any question about how enthusiastic he was about returning my advances, it was answered by the feeling of him pushing up against my thigh.