Discount Armageddon i-1

by Seanan McGuire

  “Probability theory,” corrected Sarah sharply, “and next time you’d damn well better interrupt me, or I’m telling.”

  “Who are you going to tell? Alex knew where I was going. Mom and Dad would’ve known, except they’re off chasing basilisks, which is arguably even dumber than going into the sewers where the servitors are. I mean, all the servitors will do is bite me and maybe haul me back to the dragon for mutation. The basilisk will turn me into a piece of lousy garden statuary.”

  “I am oddly less reassured than I believe you intended me to be.”

  “And I find myself in the somewhat uncomfortable position of agreeing with a nonhuman,” Dominic said, frowning. “Mutation does not strike me as being a desirable or laughable consequence.”

  “Oh! That reminds me.” I dug the jar of gold dust out of my pocket and held it up, giving it a little shake to make the powder swirl like the world’s most expensive snow globe. “The dragon princesses said that eating gold will keep us from being mutated.”

  “… why does this statement not seem even slightly unreasonable or insane?” asked Dominic. “Something has gone terribly wrong with the world.”

  Sarah patted him reassuringly on the arm. “Welcome to life with Verity. Just wait. Soon she’ll have you thinking that three-inch heels are suitable for combat situations.”

  “Unlikely,” said Dominic.

  “But funny,” I added. “Besides, you have the legs to pull it off. Not many men do. Anyway, Dominic, I know you’re planning to go down there again, and Sarah, I’m hitting the point of ‘better safe than sorry.’ So who wants a gold smoothie?”

  “Can I have mine with ketchup?” asked Sarah.

  Twenty-one

  “Most of the time, there isn’t time to adjust to whatever’s going on before you have to deal with it. Life in our world is very sink or swim, and that’s for the best. If you can’t survive in the deep end, you should get out before you drown.”

  –Alice Healy

  Drinking the world’s most expensive milkshakes, the kitchen of a semilegal sublet in Greenwich Village, soon to be late for work

  THE PERFECT RECIPE FOR GOLD MILKSHAKES turns out to be two tablespoons of gold dust to two scoops of vanilla ice cream, a cup of vanilla soy milk, and either a sizable quantity of Hershey’s Syrup (if you’re a reasonably normal human being) or a quarter-cup of leftover chunky Prego with mushrooms (if you’re a cuckoo). Sarah was kind enough to let me make the human-style milkshakes first, since past experience has taught us that preparing one of her milkshakes leaves the blender looking like the site of a particularly nasty massacre. This time was no different. I could probably have achieved a very similar effect by blending a human hand, provided it was wearing a watch or a wedding ring, or maybe just a lot of glitter.

  Dominic watched me pour Sarah’s milkshake, clearly unsure as to whether he should be fascinated or utterly appalled. He settled for a combination of the two, demanding, “Why did you put spaghetti sauce into your cousin’s drink?”

  “Because I like it that way,” said Sarah, taking the glass. “You have your chemical stimulants and I have mine, monkey.”

  “Monkey?” echoed Dominic, now sounding more puzzled than anything else.

  “Not actually a mammal,” said Sarah. She sipped her tomato-based milkshake before adding, “We’re pretty sure cuckoos evolved from some sort of really big bug.”

  “Thanksgiving dinner with my family is awesome,” I deadpanned. “Now drink your gold before somebody comes along and mutates you into a twisted parody of humanity.” The milkshake tasted basically normal, if I was willing to ignore the gritty residue it left at the back of my throat. I’m willing to ignore a lot in the interest of avoiding mutation.

  Dominic sipped his own shake, grimaced, and took a larger swallow. “Are you sure this will protect us?”

  “Nope. But the dragon princesses said it would, and I don’t have a good reason to think they’re lying. Besides, they gave me the gold. Getting them to part with gold is sort of like getting Sarah to part with her laptop—it only happens under extreme duress, and it’s something they’d really prefer to avoid if at all possible.”

  “I’m not that addicted to the Internet,” said Sarah frostily.

  “Sure you are. It’s like telepathy you don’t have to feel bad for using. Also you don’t have to worry about stumbling over any sexual fetishes unless you’re checking somebody’s browser history, and I figure once was enough to teach you that lesson.”

  Dominic choked on his milkshake.

  “I hate you.” Sarah sipped her shake, expression mild.

  “I know.” I finished my own milkshake, putting the cup in the sink before I began digging in the junk drawer for plastic baggies. “I’m going to give you each a scoop of gold dust for later. I’d say wait about six hours and then swallow it. Mix it with something if you need to, but make sure it stays in your system.”

  “Are we even sure this stuff is going to work for me?” Sarah held up her glass. “It’s tasty and all. I just don’t want to take it away from the two of you if you’re going to actually need it.”

  “Better safe than sorry.” I started tipping gold dust into baggies, trying to distribute it in roughly equal portions. “We don’t know that it’ll work for you—we don’t even know if dragon blood can mutate you the way it does humans, given your biology—but I’d rather not take the risk. The last thing we need is a snake cult with a cuckoo-lizard-hybrid doing its bidding. The servitors are problematic enough without adding telepathy.”

  “I’m afraid I would have to kill you at that point,” said Dominic. He sounded apologetic, which was a bit of a surprise. I would’ve expected him to be happy about an excuse to kill a cryptid, even if the cryptid in question was a member of my family.

  “It’s okay, I get that,” said Sarah.

  “Touching as the threats of mayhem are, Dominic and I really do need to go and talk to Piyusha’s family. What are your plans for the rest of today, Sarah?” I handed her a baggie of gold dust.

  She tucked the baggie into her pocket, replying, “I’m going to hang out here, if it’s okay with you. I promised the maid service I’d give them a few hours to clean my room before I locked them out again, and I’d like to catch up with the mice.”

  “That’s cool.” I handed Dominic his baggie. He promptly made it disappear into his coat. “Can you do me a favor before you go?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Take Dominic on a Starbucks run? I’d kill for an iced coffee.”

  Sarah glanced from my empty milkshake glass to the blood spiking up my hair. You need a chance to shower? she asked, as she said, out loud, “Your usual order is good?”

  “Yes, exactly,” I said.

  “No problem. Come on, Covenant boy.” She grabbed a startled-looking Dominic’s elbow, tugging him toward the apartment door. “You can buy me a scone.”

  “Are you going to insist on covering it with ketchup?” he asked, glancing back at me with a question in his eyes. I nodded reassuringly. Either he was starting to trust me, or he could guess my real motives, because he didn’t fight her as she guided him out of the kitchen.

  “Don’t be ridiculous; ketchup doesn’t go on scones.” Sarah stepped out into the hall, still pulling Dominic along. “Curry goes on maple scones, and steak sauce goes on blueberry scones.”

  “What about chocolate scones?”

  The closing door cut Sarah off mid-”Ew.” I smiled slightly, shaking my head, and turned to sprint for the bathroom. If I was going to tell Piyusha’s family that I hadn’t been fast enough to save her, I was at least going to do them the courtesy of doing it while not covered head to toe in gore.

  * * *

  Going by the clock, I was going to need to head straight to work after visiting Piyusha’s brothers. Dave would probably let me get away with working a half-shift, given the whole “dragon under the city and snake cult killing people” situation, but if I didn’t pick up some tips, I w
asn’t going to be paying the power bill. Protecting the human race should really come with a per diem, I swear.

  At least knowing that I’d be changing into my work uniform soon made it easy to get dressed, since I didn’t need to worry about looking good, just looking street-legal. By the time Sarah and Dominic made it back upstairs—both of them holding iced coffees, and Sarah gnawing on a sticky-looking maple scone—I was in the front room, emailing copies of the pictures to Auntie Jane and Antimony. I was wearing clean jeans, a dark gray tank top, and a pair of broken-in running shoes that would allow me to take my usual overland route to work without needing to worry about adding blisters to my existing collection. A little heavy-duty foundation was enough to hide most of my bruises, including the ones forming around my neck. Always an important consideration before a dance competition, or a night of cocktail waitressing. Covering the shiner would take more work, and I’d do that later.

  “Here,” said Sarah, thrusting the iced coffee she was holding at me. “Dominic insisted on buying it for you, so you can thank him.”

  “She was intending to walk out without paying!”

  Sarah shrugged. “I left a tip.”

  “Let’s not have the ethics of shoplifting coffee fight right now, okay, guys? Thanks for the coffee, Dominic. Sarah, the apartment’s yours until I get back. Don’t let the mice watch anything on Showtime or Animal Planet, feel free to eat anything you find in the kitchen and, if you’re going to be playing with the computer, keep an eye on my inbox, okay?”

  “I’ll call if you get anything that looks important.”

  “I’ll keep my phone on vibrate.” I grabbed my backpack as I stood, slinging its reassuring weight over my shoulder. I was carrying a few dozen more weapons than I usually found necessary for casual city running, but with a snake cult making things complicated, I couldn’t really be blamed for a little paranoia.

  Dominic gave me a sidelong, half-amused look, commenting, “You’re clanking.”

  “Damn straight.” I waved to Sarah, who was already sitting down at the computer, and left the apartment without looking back.

  * * *

  Once again, Dominic insisted on taking a taxi, and once again, it just wasn’t worth the trouble of fighting him. Besides, he probably had some sort of an expense account (thus explaining why I wasn’t getting a per diem; the Covenant had all the ready cash). If the Covenant wanted to pay to move me around Manhattan, that was their problem, not mine.

  Gingerbread Pudding was still closed. That made sense. If it was a family-owned business, they weren’t going to open the doors until they knew what had happened to Piyusha. The researcher in me wanted to ask what their funereal observances were like, and whether they’d be willing to let me attend. The part of me that actually cares about being a decent person promptly punched my inner researcher in the jaw and stuffed her in a closet at the back of my head, to be retrieved later.

  Dominic looked at the darkened storefront, frowning. “Are you sure they’ll be here?”

  “If you’d just sent a total stranger into the sewers to find your missing sister, would you run off before she came back with news?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But I also wouldn’t send a stranger into the sewers to find my sister alone.”

  “Do you even have a sister?” I knocked on the window next to the door, peering into the gloom. I didn’t see any movement. That didn’t necessarily mean anything. “You know way too much about my family, and I don’t know anything at all about yours.”

  “No. No siblings. No family of any kind.” He continued watching the storefront, expression not changing. “I was an only child.”

  “That must have been nice. Nobody stealing your stuff while you slept, or setting snares on your bedroom floor, or digging pit traps in the front yard.”

  “Your siblings did all that?”

  “My sister is special.” That was putting things as mildly—and nicely—as possible. I knocked again, squinting into the dark. “I really thought they’d be here.”

  “Perhaps you could leave them a note?” I gave him a sharp look. Dominic winced. “Perhaps not. I’m really not sure of the etiquette here.”

  “Do you know what the etiquette would be if they were human?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, assume that when Ms. Manners says ‘human,’ she really means ‘sentient,’ and run from there. It translates pretty well to everything but dining, dating, and divorce.”

  Dominic eyed me oddly. “Divorce?”

  “Oh, yeah. Like when nue split up, the male generally gets sacrificed by the female and fed to the relatives to avoid creating bad blood between the two sides of the family.” I shrugged. “People are weird.”

  “It will never cease to amaze me that you say these things in places where anyone could overhear you. What’s to stop the populace from decrying you as a witch and rising against you?”

  “I don’t know. A couple hundred years of social evolution, combined with a general failure to believe in anything that doesn’t have a Wikipedia entry? Except most cryptids have Wikipedia entries these days, so that’s maybe not such a good measuring stick. You know, most of the edits on the Sasquatch entry are actually made by Sasquatch? They think it’s hysterical watching the human editors argue about whether or not to let one of their corrections stand.”

  “That’s something else that will never cease to amaze me. Your wealth of useless knowledge.”

  “Everybody needs a hobby.” I knocked a third time. “I’m getting a little worried. The snake cult’s only been taking girls before this, but if the dragon isn’t waking up, they may have decided to mix it up a little. See if maybe the problem is that they’re offering him the wrong kind of snack food.”

  “Should we break in?”

  “Maybe.” Something finally moved in the darkened shop. I exhaled. “Okay, good, maybe not. Please be nice to them, okay?”

  “I shall do my best.”

  Footsteps became audible as Rochak approached, undoing the deadbolt before opening the door. He looked worse than I felt. “You came back.” It was almost an accusation.

  “I told you I would.” I gestured to Dominic. “This is Dominic De Luca. He was with me when I met your sister.” I didn’t offer Rochak’s name. If he wanted to identify himself to a member of the Covenant, that was his choice, not mine.

  At the moment, he didn’t seem to be leaning in that particular direction. He stared at me like I’d just announced that I was standing on his doorstep with Jack the Ripper in tow, and demanded, in a low hiss, “And you brought him back? Are you trying to get us killed?”

  “If I may,” interjected Dominic, “I already know the location of your business, having been here once before, and I accompanied Miss Price with no intention of either harming you or notifying my associates of your presence. You have my word that I intend you no harm.”

  “See? He comes in peace.” I looked at Rochak gravely. “May we please come in? I can guarantee Mr. De Luca’s good behavior.”

  “It’s true,” said Dominic. “She’ll shoot me if I misbehave.”

  “With pleasure,” I added.

  “I wouldn’t want to miss that,” said Rochak, and stepped backward. “Please, come inside. Sunil is upstairs.”

  Even with the lights off and the customers gone, Gingerbread Pudding smelled of sugar and honey and the sharp sweetness of candied ginger. Rochak didn’t speak as he led us through the kitchen and past the employee break room to a set of stairs behind a door marked “Employees Only.” His silence wasn’t a surprise. He had to know what my showing up without Piyusha meant, and if he wanted to wait to hear for sure until we were in the presence of his brother, that was his decision. I try never to tell others how to grieve.

  The stairs ended in an airy, well-lit hallway. Jars of honey sat on low shelves with candles burning beneath them, covered by mesh lids to keep out any errant flies. The heat was enough to spread the sugary sweetness through the air like
incense, until the whole place smelled like the home of Willy Wonka’s trendy older sister. The décor was a blend of traditional Indian and modern American, and the walls were covered with photographs of people who were clearly family. Pots of honeysuckle and live sugarcane lined the windowsills, all clearly thriving.

  Dominic stuck close to my side, expression growing deeply uncomfortable as he looked around the upstairs hall. His training had probably prepared him for caves, dank lairs, and horror movie kitchens with bloodstains on the walls. Unless the Covenant had changed a lot more than he was letting on, it hadn’t prepared him for polished hardwood floors and lumpy modeling clay “vases” of the type I recognized from Antimony’s kindergarten year (before she moved on to homemade shrapnel grenades).

  The room at the end of the hall seemed designed to serve as a combination kitchen and dining area, and was larger than the living room at my sublet. Sunil was at the stove, sautéing something in what smelled like more honey. He looked up when we entered. Seeing the look on Rochak’s face, his own face fell, expression fading by inches from mere worry into something utterly empty of emotion.

  “Piyusha’s dead, isn’t she?” he asked.

  Unable to find the words to answer him, I nodded.

  “What happened? Where is she?” His voice was even blanker than his expression, as flat as day-old soda.

  “She’s still underground where I found her,” I said, once I could force myself to speak. It was hard to make myself look at him, rather than staring off at some point in the distance—some point that wouldn’t look at me with accusing eyes. “I found her shortly after I went down. I’m … I’m sorry.”

  “You just left her there?” asked Rochak incredulously. “You found our sister, and then you just left her? What kind of a monster are you?”

  “Rochak, be nice,” said Sunil.