Midnight Blue-Light Special i-2

by Seanan McGuire

  Besides, who needed weapons when I had Istas? She was shorter than me in her human form, and she’d never met a pair of practical shoes in her life, but she could take on just about anything that I couldn’t mentally shield us from. We were an unstoppable team, or would have been, if I’d had the first clue how to talk to her. Verity always made it look so easy, while I found communication with most other cryptids really, really hard. Even when I could read their minds, I couldn’t always understand what I found there.

  With Istas’ help, I was able to get the manhole levered out of the way—by which I mean “Istas picked up the manhole and tossed it off to one side, because she is not the most subtle brick in the wall”—and descended the ladder to sewer level. Istas skipped the ladder in favor of simply stepping off the edge, landing next to me without even bending her knees. Even Verity would have crouched to absorb the impact. Istas just dropped.

  “Come on,” I said, and pulled the flashlight from my belt. She followed amiably after me as we started walking into the dark.

  The waheela minced through the sludge covering the sewer floor like she was strolling down Broadway on a summer afternoon. She had added a parasol and a miniature top hat to her ensemble before we left the Nest; the hat was perched jauntily just above her side-swept ponytail. From the feelings of contentment emanating from her mind, she was convinced she looked absolutely fabulous, and also anticipating the opportunity to show her fabulousness to anything that might decide to take a shot at eating us.

  “I don’t think there are any alligators down here, you know,” I said, playing the beam from the flashlight over the sewer wall. A rat ran by on urgent rat business.

  Istas watched it go, emotional weather briefly shifting to “hungry” before swinging back to her usual calm contentment. “No, there are not,” she agreed. “There used to be, before the bugbears, servitors, and other carnivores removed them. There is, however, always the potential for a pleasant surprise. There have been rumors which indicate that a sewer kraken may be making its home downtown. I would enjoy the opportunity to battle something with that many limbs.”

  Given the way Istas was dressed, the idea of her fighting a sewer kraken was disturbingly like something from the kind of anime Artie liked to pretend he never watched, and I liked to pretend I didn’t know about. I gave her a sidelong glance. “Um, Istas, it was nice of you to insist on coming with me and everything, but you do know what we’re doing down here, right?”

  “I am not stupid, Sarah Zellaby,” she said, in a voice that was much quieter than the one she’d been using only a moment before. “I realize I wear frilly clothing and impractical shoes, and that by many people’s standards, I am odd, but I am not stupid. You are here because you want to ask the dragons to assist in recovering your cousin. I am here because Verity is my friend, and would look on me with sadness if I were to allow you to come to harm. Friendship is a rare thing among my people. We do not practice it often, and most of us do not practice it very well. I am hoping to be a better friend to Verity than my brothers and sisters were to me.”

  “Oh.” I kept walking. Beside me, Istas did the same, spinning her parasol lazily with each step. Finally, I said, “I forget sometimes that I can’t treat you like you’re human. I mean, I don’t forget, exactly, but . . .”

  “Your mannerisms and reactions are human enough, despite the fact that you are biologically even less human than I am, that you sometimes forget not all hominids will follow the same behavioral patterns.” Istas shook her head. “It is a common, if unfortunate, trap of the mind. I am sorry you have fallen prey to it. I will not take offense at your ignorance.”

  The worst part was that she meant it: for Istas, the matter was already forgotten. I had made the mistake of treating her like a human being, she had corrected me, and as long as I didn’t do it again, there was nothing left to discuss. Being a waheela had to be pretty simple compared to being a cuckoo.

  Then again, being a real cuckoo—an amoral sociopath who existed only for the sake of making other people miserable—is probably pretty easy. It’s being a cuckoo like me that’s hard. Sometimes I feel like neither nature nor nurture did me any favors. Here, Sarah. Have a moral and ethical code that means you’d feel bad killing people for your enjoyment, and have a set of instincts and hereditary skills that means you’re not really built to do anything else. It’ll be fun!

  It’s not fun.

  The sewer floor got gradually cleaner as we walked, until the sludge was gone, and the walls showed subtle signs of having been washed recently. Dragons don’t like wallowing in filth any more than the rest of us. They just lived in the sewers because William had been asleep during the construction of Manhattan, and now a good sized chunk of downtown was built over his head. Until someone figured out a way to get him out of his cavern without destroying the city, he was stuck.

  Not that he was complaining. Fresh air is nice, but not being slaughtered by the Covenant of St. George is nicer, and as long as he stayed underground, he was safe from most forms of detection. Most, not all: if the Covenant had Verity, and if they were able to break her . . . the dragons wouldn’t be able to move William. We weren’t ready for this. We never thought we’d need to be.

  Istas looked around as we moved into the final branch of the sewer. This one looked absolutely filthy, and smelled filthy, too, until we were about ten feet from the entrance. Then the smell of sewer was replaced by the smell of bleach and cheap air freshener. “The dragons have a good working relationship with the hidebehinds,” I said. “It’s a camouflage measure.”

  “Clever,” allowed Istas. “I have not been here since the snake cult attempted to sacrifice me to wake their sleeping dragon. I have never met William while awake.”

  That explained the little hat: she was trying to make a good impression. “He’s nice,” I said. “He even beats me at chess sometimes.” We kept walking, and the darkness around us abruptly went away, replaced by a pleasant level of soft illumination. Istas jumped, whirling so that her back was pressed against my shoulder. I kept walking. “More hidebehind tricks. They use darks for that part of the passage, so that curious sanitation employees don’t wander down here.” I personally doubt that anyone would be curious enough about a dark, smelly tunnel that isn’t part of the currently in-use sewer system to wander down it, but Verity swears I should never underestimate human curiosity. Humans are weird.

  “I do not like this,” proclaimed Istas.

  “That’s part of the point.” The tunnel ended at a bare wall eight feet, five inches across. I knocked lightly at a point exactly four feet, two and a half inches from either wall, stepped back, and motioned for Istas to wait.

  A few minutes passed. Then a door—a simple, normal, wooden door—swung open in what had appeared to be solid stone, and a blonde woman in a baggy New York Giants sweatshirt peered out through the opening. I smiled pleasantly, reaching out with my mind just far enough to tap the surface of her thoughts and confirm her identity.

  “Hi, Priscilla,” I said. “Is Candy here? I need to talk to her.”

  Priscilla’s ever-present frown deepened as she looked past me to Istas, who was doing her best to look through the open door into the Nest beyond. “Why did you bring the waheela?” she demanded.

  “Because Verity was unavailable, and it’s not safe for anyone to go out alone right now.” Most of the female dragons picked up shifts at the Freakshow every now and then, and several of them worked there full time. There was no way Priscilla didn’t recognize Istas. She was just being prickly, which was something the dragons specialized in. “Now please, can we come in before we attract attention standing here?”

  Frowning even more, Priscilla said, “Fine,” and opened the door the rest of the way, beckoning us inside.

  “Thank you,” I said, and led Istas into the Nest.

  * * *

  Some clichés exist for a reason. Dragons and gold, for example. They love it. It’s biologically and psychologically vita
l to their well-being, and consequentially, they collect the stuff the way Artie collects comic books. Since male dragons are larger than Greyhound buses when fully grown, they serve as guardians of the hoard, while the females find ways to go out and get more gold. That used to involve highway robbery, infiltrating kingdoms, and occasionally mining. There are a lot of female dragons living in California, thanks to the Gold Rush. These days, about half the “cash for gold” franchises out there are operated by dragons, while the rest work tirelessly at whatever jobs they can get, immediately turning around and converting their paychecks into more gold for the Nest. As for what they did with all that gold . . .

  We walked through the door into Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory as reinterpreted by King Midas and Salvador Dali. Cardboard structures scavenged from closing Halloween specialty stores were studded around the room, all covered in a thick layer of genuine, structurally-reinforcing, 24-karat gold. It made a weird maze of haunted houses without backs, abandoned tunnels, and crooked graveyard fences. William enjoyed metalworking, and he was his own forge, so he just let the girls bring home whatever they thought would go well in the Nest. If it didn’t work out, he could always re-melt the gold and try again.

  More normal furniture from thrift shops and Ikea was scattered around the gold sculptural pieces, along with the better part of a playground. There was a slide, a jungle gym, even a swing set—and all of it was plated with still more gold. Gold bars, coins, chains, even gold leaf littered the floor of the cavern, making our footing a little unsteady. We were standing in the midst of several hundred years of concentrated penny-pinching, and oh, how it glittered.

  Istas looked around without shame, lazily twirling her parasol. Finally, she said, “It is very sparkly.”

  “It is at that,” I said, just before a swarm of young dragon girls—none of them older than eight—came running from the direction of the jungle gym, waving their arms in the air and shouting my name. I didn’t recognize any of them, and when they came at me in a pack like that, I couldn’t pick out individual minds. That didn’t particularly matter. I stooped and swept up the first one to reach me, swinging her up into the air and draping her over my shoulder like a potato sack. This put her nose-to-nose with Istas, who surveyed our sudden ocean of giggling preteens with bemusement.

  “Hi!” said the dragon on my shoulder. “I’m Eva. I’m a dragon. Who’re you?”

  “I am Istas,” Istas replied gravely. “I am not a dragon.”

  “I knew that,” said Eva. “But you’re not a cuckoo either, ’cause you have the wrong eyes, and you’re not a human, because Aunt Priscilla wouldn’t have let you in without calling for Aunt Candy. What are you?”

  “Istas is a waheela,” I said, and put Eva down. “Go find your Aunt Candy for me, okay?”

  “Okay!” said Eva, and the swarm moved on, running easily over the uneven floor. A few of them ran backward so that they could wave. I waved back, and tried not to look relieved. Sometimes the little girls would spend an hour or more making me do parlor tricks before they got bored, and when you’ve read one preteen dragon’s mind, you’ve read them all.

  I resumed walking. Istas did the same, looking at me while confusion wafted off her thoughts like smoke. “If you have sent them to retrieve Candy, why are we not waiting?”

  “Because I have a landmark to say hello to.” I gestured toward the far wall of the cavern, where one of the only things that was neither blonde nor covered in gold was waiting for us.

  William raised his head as we approached, opening enormous eyes the color of electric jack-o’-lanterns. His lips turned upward in an eerily human smile, considering that he was a giant fire-breathing semi-saurian cryptid. “Sarah!” he said, his crisp British accent somehow making things all the more incongruous.

  Even dragons have to come from somewhere. William came from England, back when the United States of America were still the thirteen original Colonies. In a very real way, this country was built on top of him.

  “Hey, Billy,” I said, waving. “You remember Istas? She was here when you woke up.”

  “But she was unconscious at the time, as I recall.” William lowered his head, putting Istas at eye level. That wasn’t necessarily a comfortable place to be; his head, after all, was the size of a VW bus. “A pleasure to properly make your acquaintance, Miss Istas. I truly do appreciate your efforts on my behalf.”

  Undaunted, Istas looked him in the eye. Then, solemnly, she curtsied. “It is very nice to meet you.”

  I will never understand people, no matter how long I live. And that could be a very long time, if the Covenant of St. George doesn’t kill me—cuckoos have an extremely high life expectancy. “We’re here to talk to you, and to Candy,” I said. “It’s about Verity.”

  William’s smile faded, replaced by an expression of profound concern. “Oh, dear. Has Miss Verity’s unsuitable swain finally turned against her?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, thankfully, but that’s sort of the problem.” I could hear Candy’s thoughts clearly enough to know that she was pissed about us being here. Also that she was coming up behind me. I turned. “Hi, Candy.”

  The current Nest-mother stopped and folded her arms over her chest, glaring so hard that even I could recognize it. Candy hated the fact that I could always recognize her, since she knew I didn’t do faces. What she never quite understood was that I do minds, instead, and hers was distinctive.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, turning her glare from me to Istas, who looked impassively back. “What if you were followed?”

  “We weren’t followed,” I said.

  “What if you were?”

  “I would have ripped and torn and broken the bodies of our pursuers, and it would have been glorious,” said Istas. She sounded so calm that we all turned to look at her, even William. Heedless, Istas gave her parasol a spin, and added, “I would have brought you their heads. I think it would have made a suitable subterranean cavern-warming present.”

  The silence that followed this announcement lasted for several seconds. I was the one to break it, turning to Candy and saying, “We’re here because we need your help.”

  “Did Verity send you because she knew I’d tell her no?” asked Candy. “She already has our slaughterhouse. She doesn’t need any more help from us.”

  “Verity didn’t send me,” I said. “Verity’s gone.”

  Candy paused. William snorted out a small puff of smoke.

  “Gone?” he asked.

  “Gone. Something knocked her out about an hour ago. It hurt like hell, and I haven’t been able to reach her since.”

  Candy’s thoughts turned alarmed. “Oh, God, what if she’s not dead?”

  “Candice,” said William chidingly. “That isn’t a nice thing to say in front of her family.”

  “But it’s true! What if she’s not dead? What if the Covenant has her? She knows where we are! We can’t move you!” Candy put her hands protectively over her belly, starting to cry. That was an expression even I could read without second-guessing myself. “We can’t lose you. I can’t leave you.”

  “I don’t think she’s dead, but I don’t think she’s told them anything, either,” I said. Seeing Candy cry made it oddly a little easier to stay calm. It was like she was freaking out on my behalf. “They haven’t had her long enough, and I don’t think there’s any torture they could subject her to that would make her give you up in less than a day.”

  “If they have a telepath—”

  “They’re using anti-telepathy charms. If they had a telepath, they’d have to remove those charms from Verity in order to get any kind of information out of her, and I’d know where she was. Since she hasn’t been appearing and disappearing from my radar, they aren’t removing the charms, and they don’t have a telepath. Human methods of getting information aren’t good, but they’re not going to break Verity Price in less than a day. We have time to find her if we start moving now.”

  “We can’t�
��” Candy began.

  “Anything you need,” said William. She stopped, turning to look at him. Her eyes were wide, and her confusion was a raw wound on her emotional landscape. He blew a puff of flame in her face, sending it dancing along her hair. It wasn’t the aggressive gesture it would have been with anything but another dragon: Candy was fireproof. For her, that was an affectionate peck on the cheek. “I would not be with you now if not for Verity. We owe it to her family to do what we can to bring her home. Moreover, you’re correct: she knows where I am. If the Covenant has her, she has to be taken from them, or you’ll lose me again.” He ducked his head enough to nudge her belly, ever so gently, with the tip of his snout. “I want to meet our baby. I want to see how many of you are carrying fine, strong sons to bring joy to the other golden ones waiting lonely around this world. How can we deny these women the aid they need?”

  Candy sniffled. Then she sighed, turning back to me, and asked, “What is it you want from us?”

  * * *

  Candy listened attentively as I explained my plan. She even suggested a few things I hadn’t considered, like using the kids—in a swarm, and with the help of some of the adults—to canvas parks and playgrounds, since they’d be able to ask really blatant questions without anyone thinking it was strange. Little girls can get away with a lot just by looking cute and clueless when they’re doing it.

  When we were done talking, William and Candy had promised to dispatch every available female dragon—omitting the pregnant ones, the ones assigned to tend the eggs that had already been laid, the ones under five years of age, and the babysitters—to start searching the city for my missing cousin. They’d phone the Nest if they found anything, and then Candy, who was staying put because of her pregnancy, would call me. If they actually found Verity, as opposed to just finding information that might lead us to her, they’d bring her back to the old Nest.

  “Thank you,” I said for the eighth time, as Candy walked us to the door.

  “Thank my husband,” she said. “I understand why he wants us to help you, but if we didn’t have to stay here and protect him, we’d be gone.”