Discount Armageddon

Seven

Just arriving at Dave’s Fish and Strips, a club for discerning gentlemen

BY THE TIME I GOT TO DAVE’S I was drenched in sweat, feeling put out and abused by the universe. I don’t know how walking at street level could do more damage to my admittedly low-maintenance haircut than running across the rooftops would have, but it managed. The gel I’d used to make myself look less like a startled cockatoo melted in the hot Manhattan air. At this point, my hairstyle was best described as “half spikes, half surprised mop.”

I stomped into the dressing room, stopped, and promptly upgraded my opinion on the unfairness of the universe. Candy was sitting in front of the mirror, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. She looked as dewy-eyed and fresh as a Miss America contestant getting ready for the swimsuit competition. Even the tawdry uniform Dave forced us to wear was elevated by contact with her skin, somehow becoming raiment fit for a princess. And that’s exactly what it was, because she was a princess, cryptid royalty and, like any real princess, she didn’t need fur or jewels to let her intrinsic nobility shine through. Her flaxen hair was long, smooth, and perfect, just like her hourglass figure and fashion-model face. Nothing human should look that good. Which was a good thing, because Candy was a long way from human.

“Candice,” I greeted, heading for my locker.

Her gaze didn’t waver from her reflection as she offered a cool, “Verity,” in return. Out of all the girls working at Dave’s, Candy liked me the least.

Sadly, that made sense. My family is part of the reason she’s been reduced to cocktail waitressing—us, and the rest of the Covenant.

Dragon princesses look like curvaceous, drop-dead gorgeous human girls; as the name implies, there are no males, and their exact method of reproduction is unknown. Not, I’m ashamed to admit, due to a lack of field research. Cryptozoologists have been trying to figure out where dragon princesses come from for centuries. It’s one of our holy grails, like finding a living unicorn or, well, the Holy Grail. (People used to think dragon princesses hatched from the bodies of dead dragons. People also used to think rotting meat spontaneously generated flies, and that’s only occasionally true. It depends on the type of meat.)

Near as anyone can tell, dragon princesses evolved solely to care for dragons. They’re born craving gold and spend their lives pursuing wealth—and if they get it, they promptly use it to buy more gold. They gather in Nests, sleeping in tangled harems on beds of 24-carat loot. It’s a pretty sweet gig. There’s really just one problem with the dragon princess gig: dragons have been extinct for centuries, leaving their symbiotic pets to gather gold for nobody, and worse, leaving them stranded in the cryptid world with no natural weapons to speak of.

Dragon princesses don’t have fangs, claws, or poison. They don’t survive under impossible conditions or live in places where they won’t be bothered. They don’t burn—you could take a blowtorch to a dragon princess and all you’d do is piss her off—but there isn’t much call for the asbestos blonde.

The thing is, dragons didn’t go extinct. They were made extinct by the Covenant, since no one was really keen on sharing their living space with a giant fire-breathing lizard. That was long before either the Healys or the Prices left the Covenant, and it turns out dragon princesses carry a grudge as well as the dragons supposedly did. Maybe even better. Ninety percent of the world’s cryptid population have forgiven us for what our family used to be, focusing instead on what we’ve become: advocates, allies, and sometimes the only humans willing to put themselves in danger to save a cryptid life. The dragon princesses focus on what we used to be.

Killers.

I tossed my backpack into my locker and grabbed my spare uniform off the top shelf. I heard Candy shift in her seat, no doubt so she could keep watching me in the mirror. She didn’t like being alone in a room with me, largely because she seemed convinced I’d flip out and try to kill her at any moment. There were times when I was tempted, usually when she cleared one of my tables and they “mysteriously” failed to leave a tip, but my parents raised me to be tolerant of the racial quirks of our cryptid neighbors. In Candy’s case, that meant she’d need to be a lot bitchier before I wasted a bullet on her.

After fluffing the pleats on my skirt into their appropriate jailbait-esque configuration, I turned and asked, “Is Dave in his office?”

“Please. Like he’d leave it during the day?” Candice twisted to eye me suspiciously. “Why?”

There were a lot of possible answers to that question, starting with “like I’d tell you?” and going downhill from there. Sadly, protecting the cryptid population of Manhattan was at the core of my mission statement, and that meant I had to at least pretend to give a damn about Candy’s welfare. Even if I didn’t want to.

“I ran into a man from the Covenant last night while I was making my rounds. He seemed like he was planning to stick around for a while. Thought I’d check with Dave, see whether he knew anything about our new neighbor.”

Candy’s normally milk-and-roses complexion went waxen as her eyes widened until they looked like they were going to fall out of her head. Composing herself with a visible effort, she licked her lips and said, “You—you’re lying.”

“Sorry. Wish I was.” I shrugged. “His name’s Dominic De Luca. I already called my folks, and Dad sent me the intel on his family. They’re old school Covenant. Guy looks like he’s legit.”

“I … no. No, you have to be wrong.” She stood, scattering cosmetics as she fumbled for balance against the dressing room counter. “The Covenant doesn’t come here anymore.”

“The Covenant comes when it’s time for a purge, same as they come everywhere else.”

Her eyes widened again, but only for a few seconds; then they narrowed, fury suddenly radiating from her expression. “This is your fault,” she spat. “You and your goddamn family couldn’t just stay on the West Coast until they hunted you down, could you? And now they’ve followed you here. Well, I hope you’re happy, Verity. I just hope you’re happy.”

“Candy—”

She didn’t give me time to finish the sentence. Ripping off her apron, she flung it on the floor between us and turned to stalk out of the room. I sighed. On the plus side, she was probably on her way to warn the rest of her Nest that the Covenant was in town. On the negative, out of the city’s three dozen or so dragon princesses, she was the one I probably had the best relationship with. The rest of them wouldn’t just blame my family; they’d blame me personally.

This day was getting better and better, and it wasn’t even noon yet. Who knew what wonders were lurking on the other side of the lunch rush? Leaving Candy’s apron on the dressing room floor, I turned to follow her path out to the hall. It was past time to have a little chat with my boss.

Dave’s darks were on again, making it impossible to tell whether he was in the office while I was standing in the hall. I decided to take a chance on Candy’s information being accurate and strode into the blackness with my chin held high and my shoulders pushed back, like I was making my entrance to the stage before a competition tango. Always wow the people you’re up against with confidence, that’s the family motto. Well, that, and “always count your ammo before agreeing to a firefight.”

Walking into a dark office that might or might not contain a bogeyman definitely didn’t fall under the heading of “ten smartest things I have ever done.” It might be somewhere in the top thirty, but that’s because I had an abnormally interesting time as a teenager. It probably looked like stupid bravado, and it probably was, to a degree. That’s why I had a knife in either hand by the time I cleared the doorway, ready to fling them at the slightest provocation.

It was normally possible to take eight steps into Dave’s office without banging into anything. I stopped after six; far enough to make it clear that I wasn’t bluffing, but not far enough that I risked whacking my knee on his desk and ruining the effect.

“Dave? We need to talk.”

There was a brief pause before Dave’s voice hissed out of the black, sounding puzzled and a little excited. “Why, Verity Price, how very … very of you. Have you finally decided that the time is ripe to have a proper play date?”

“Turn off the darks, Dave. We need to talk.”

“So you say, so you say, but you came into my lair without demanding safe passage through the light. An interesting choice for a girl who says she doesn’t care for shadows.”

I yawned, not bothering to cover my mouth. “Blah, blah, blah, you’re very scary, oh, I’m trembling. I came in without telling you to turn off the darks because I wanted you to actually believe that I was serious when I said you needed to listen to me. We have a deal. Part of it involves me not hunting you.”

“And?” There was caution under the excitement now, as logic overrode his instincts.

I flung a knife into the darkness, aiming for a spot a foot to the left of where Dave’s head would normally be. I heard it hit the wall. “And if you insist on giving in to your nature and spooking me, I’m going to have to give in to my nature, and hunt you. Darks, Dave. Talk, Dave. Now, Dave.”

The darks clicked off and the lights clicked on, revealing the dour, gray-skinned form of my boss sitting behind his desk and sulking like a petulant child. “What could possibly be so important that you needed to come in here like that?”

“Candy went home.”

Dave hesitated, visibly trying to fit that statement into any sort of logical conversation. “So, what, you want her tables?”

“It was a personal emergency.”

“What sort of personal emergency could possibly make a dragon princess give up her tips for the second shift in a row? I expected her to come in here black and blue after her Nest-sisters kicked holy hell out of her for missing work.” Dragon princesses view the income of one as the income of all, and they tend to get a little bit cranky when that income is threatened.

Watching Dave’s expression, I said, “She had to go make sure the Nest was aware that there’s a representative from the Covenant currently resident in Manhattan.”

I’ll give Dave this much: he managed to school his face almost instantly into a neutral state. Sadly, “almost” wasn’t fast enough to keep me from seeing the way the skin around his mouth tightened. It was a subtle tell, but it was what I had to go on. “Is that so?” he asked. “That’s a pisser. We’d better make sure the rest of the staff knows. How’d you find out, Very? Has this guy been bothering you?”

“If we were on a bad cop show, this is where I’d point out that I never told you it was a guy, but since the Covenant’s field agents are ninety percent male, I’m going to let it pass,” I said, stepping forward until I could rest the heels of my hands against the desk. “Why didn’t you tell me he was in town, Dave?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Uh-huh. Let’s go again. Why didn’t you tell me he was in town, Dave?”

Scowling now, Dave crossed his arms. “Aren’t I your employer? Thus making me the man with the power to sack your pretty little ass if you go around accusing me of things?”

“Ignoring the part where I could double my income if I started teaching dance classes instead of working here, yes, you are,” I said, and smiled. “Aren’t I the one who could walk out into your bar and tell everybody you’ve been withholding information that could get them killed? I don’t think I’ll need to worry about you firing me after you’ve been slaughtered by the rest of your employees.”

There was a pause as Dave measured out my statement, trying to figure out whether I was bluffing. I let him take as much time as he needed. I might have been more inclined to hurry him if I had been bluffing, but I was doing nothing of the sort. If the Covenant was in town, the locals needed to know. Whether I also told them Dave had been aware before they were was entirely dependent on him.

Finally, he settled back in his seat and gave me a wounded look. “How did you know?”

“About the Covenant, or about you having prior knowledge?”

“Both.”

“I know about the Covenant because I need a new pair of socks, which you, having been previously aware of their presence, will be kind enough to supply me with for free. I got caught in a lovely little rooftop snare last night. Not sure whether our boy was hunting Jersey devils, harpies, or just whatever happened to wander by, but he got himself a cryptozoologist for his trouble. He nearly got a bullet to the forehead to go with it. He’s already killed at least one ahool. I don’t know what else he may have done.”

“What stopped you from shooting him?” Dave asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Didn’t want to waste the ammo.” I kept smiling. “As for how I know you were previously aware, well. You’re a bogeyman who runs a strip club. If anybody would have heard it through the grapevine, it’s you. And you let Kitty go on tour with her boyfriend’s band.”

“Wanting my employees to succeed in their chosen fields of endeavor makes me the bad guy now?”

“Kitty’s one of the only girls you have who’s always willing to work the overnights, doesn’t complain about the skanky little uniforms, and puts up with you being a lech. You wouldn’t let her out of the building at the end of her shift if you didn’t have to. That means the only good reason for you to let her go on tour is getting her out of the line of fire. What do you know? What aren’t you telling me?”

Dave fixed me with an eye, giving me his best piercing glare. It was the sort of look bogeymen excel at, all supernatural menace and the promise of nasty things lurking in your closet. I met it with an even sweeter smile.

Dave knew when he was beat. He sagged, and said, “He got here about a week and a half ago. Boy’s been keeping his head down. I wouldn’t even know if he hadn’t flown through JFK.”

Raising my eyebrows, I asked, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I have some friends in the TSA. Most of the agents spend their time looking for signs of human terrorism. These folks are looking for a different sort of terrorist—the sort of terrorist who starches his socks and keeps silver flasks full of holy water in his checked bags.” Dave shrugged, looking slightly smug. “They caught him coming in, passed me the info, I did some checking, and bingo, we’ve got us a tasty little piece of intelligence.”

“Well, that’s dandy and all, but when were you planning to bring me into your little circle of trust? Before or after he killed me for being a cryptid sympathizer?”

Holding up his hands, Dave said, “Hey, now, Verity, that’s not the deal, now, is it? I’m not informing for you. A man’s got to eat, and you work for cash on the barrel, not for gossip.” A smile wormed its way across his face. “Of course, if you wanted to add a little rider to your contract, maybe something about dancing for data—”

“You go to hell, Dave,” I said pleasantly. “I’m going to go talk to the bouncers. If you hear anything else about this guy, I expect to be informed. Got me?”

“Or what?”

I took my hands off the desk and straightened, still smiling. “I become the monster under your bed.”

Not pausing to give him a chance to respond, I turned and walked out of the office, leaving the knife sticking out of his wall. I had warnings to pass on, a pair of socks to collect from the wardrobe locker, and a shift to work. No rest for the wicked.

The lunch rush was more of a lunch trickle by the time I hit the floor, apron in place and new socks pulled securely over my knees. The other girls on duty were walking laconically among the customers, taking orders and providing the occasional panty-shot in an effort to drive up tips. They looked profoundly bored. Even without Candy, they had things more than under control. Istas was at the bar picking up a round of cocktails for one of the few occupied tables as I approached. I offered a respectful nod, which she returned without comment. Like most waheela, she wasn’t particularly comfortable with interpersonal interaction, but she made more of an effort than the bulk of her kind. I had to respect her for that, even as I continued to wonder what the hell would drive a member of a solitary, semiferal species to take a job at a Manhattan titty bar.

Ryan was leaning against the bar nursing a cup of something that smelled suspiciously like pickle juice. He smiled at me, waiting until I was close enough to hear him over the thumping music to say, “Hey, Verity. Those new socks? What happened this time?”

“I got snared by a representative from the Covenant while I was making my rooftop rounds and sort of bled through the cotton. Also, your nose for fresh cotton remains creepy and means I want you nowhere near my underwear drawer, ever.” I slid myself onto a stool. “Hey, Daisy, can I get a plate of hot wings? I’m starving to death over here.”

“Got it, hon,” called the bartender, heading for the kitchen.

Ryan, meanwhile, was staring at me like I’d suddenly announced my desire to get wasted and catch a nice social disease. “Come again?”

“The Covenant’s in town,” I said, turning to face him straight on. “Dave didn’t give you the info either?”

Ryan didn’t answer in words. He just growled, lips pulling back to show incisors considerably sharper and more pointed than the average human’s. Those teeth were normally the only sign that he’d inherited more from his Japanese mother than black hair and the sort of exotic features that kept the tourist ladies throwing themselves at him.

I nodded. “Thought not.”

“How many?”

“One that I’m aware of, about my age, pretty good at the hand-to-hand, but not smart enough to avoid bringing knives to a gunfight.” I held up a hand. “Pass the word that he’s out there and people need to be careful, but also pass the word that nobody should do anything stupid, like try to kill him.”

Ryan eyed me. “He’s from the Covenant, Verity,” he said, like that explained everything. From Ryan’s perspective, it did. The Covenant did a lot of “cleansing” in Japan, and Ryan’s species suffered pretty badly. Tanuki are therianthropes—shapeshifters powered by magic, rather than by the virus that causes lycanthropy—and they’ve never had much success with outbreeding. They probably would have died out entirely if not for the fact that they’re incredibly determined and spent several generations sticking it into anything that would wiggle as they tried to find species they could mate with to produce children who would live. My family has a lot of reasons to hate the Covenant. Ryan’s family has more.

“Yes, he’s from the Covenant, and if we go messing with him, the rest of the Covenant is going to find out. If everyone just lies low, stays out of his way, and passes the word around, maybe we can handle him without this turning into something worse. Or we can mess with him, and the Covenant can send a legion to put us down.” Daisy put my wings on the bar. I offered her a nod of thanks, reaching for the tray. “The way I see it, the choice is ours.”

“I don’t like this,” Ryan rumbled. His voice was getting deeper as his vocal chords constricted, modulating toward animal. He’d get control of himself in a minute, and it would be rude to point out the changes. Like most therianthropes, Ryan was very sensitive about his slips.

“You don’t have to like it. You just have to help me pass the word along.” I picked up a hot wing, dipping it in bleu cheese dressing before offering a wry smile. “Besides, maybe if we all go underground, he’ll get bored and go away. Stranger things have happened, right?”

“Stranger than the Covenant letting go of a purge before they get to skin somebody?” Ryan gave me a dubious look. “I’m not sure anything that strange has ever happened.”

I shrugged. “There’s a first time for everything.”

“Not for this.”

“We’ll see.”

Ryan sighed, throat visibly contorting as his vocal chords slipped themselves back into their human configuration. “Yeah,” he said, sounding doleful. “I guess we will.”