Discount Armageddon
Page 35
It was also trashed.
Room service dishes covered the dining area table, and fast food bags littered the area around the couch, which was almost entirely hidden under textbooks and sheets of notebook paper. The coffee table had been repurposed into a mini-computer lab, with three laptops all doing their weird computer things. A trail of discarded clothing marked the way to the bedroom, like Hansel’s bread crumbs if he’d been working with ladies’ undergarments instead of bread.
“What happened here?” asked Dominic, sounding faintly awed by the sheer scope of the mess.
“Sarah did.” It’s not that Sarah is a destructive person. She’s not, especially when measured against the standards of her species. She’s just distracted most of the time, and the sheer effort of staying focused tends to interfere with silly things like “laundry” and “cleaning up after herself.” Grandma Baker is the same way. Telepaths living in a non-telepathic society deal with a lot of white noise from the people around them, almost none of whom know how to construct a proper shield against mental invasion. The telepaths wind up easily distracted almost as a form of self-defense.
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “This is the Sarah I’m not allowed to ‘hassle,’ correct?”
“Yup.”
“You still haven’t told me why I’d want to.”
“Because as a member of the Covenant of St. George, you consider yourself morally and ethically compelled to exterminate me for the sin of not having been present on the Ark. Although I think I could make a case for it being impossible to tell whether or not my species was there.” Sarah walked out of the bedroom as she spoke, offering a vague smile in our direction. “Hey, Very. Hey, Very’s friend from the Covenant. Should I be running for cover about now?”
“No, he’s promised to play nice.” I gestured to Sarah. “Dominic De Luca, meet my cousin, Sarah Zellaby. Sarah, meet Dominic. We’re looking for information, and I was hoping you could help.”
“Just what every cryptid girl wants. A Covenant member in her hotel room.” Sarah shrugged, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll do what I can. Come on. I think there are some chairs in here.”
I shrugged and followed. Dominic trailed after me, half-scowling as he studied Sarah, looking for a clue to her species. He wasn’t going to find one. I elbowed him lightly, saying, “Remember, no harassing my cousin or hunting the cryptids who help us with this thing.”
“You’re certainly putting a lot of faith in my good behavior,” he muttered.
“No, I’m putting a lot of faith in the fact that I have a lot of knives and you’re outnumbered,” I said. “Besides, you didn’t kill Piyusha. There’s no point in starting with Sarah. She’s a math geek.”
Sarah stuck her tongue out at me.
“But what is she?” he demanded.
“The technical name for my species is ‘Johrlac,’ but more colloquially speaking, I’m a cuckoo.” Sarah swept the papers off the loveseat in the breakfast nook—my apartment doesn’t have a damn breakfast nook—before doing the same with the matching easy chair and dropping herself unceremoniously into it. “As Verity so kindly told you, I usually identify myself as a mathematician. Neither this nor my species gets me many dates.”
Dominic had the good grace to look faintly embarrassed as he sat beside me on the loveseat, careful to keep his knee from touching mine. “I’m sorry, miss. I don’t believe I’ve encountered your species before.”
“Oh, you probably have,” said Sarah, with the small grimace that always accompanies her talking about the rest of the cuckoos. “You’re just lucky: you didn’t notice.”
Dominic gave her another appraising look. I’ll admit she wasn’t at her most threatening: she was wearing jeans with the knees worn through, a green T-shirt two sizes too big, and white ankle socks. Her thick black hair was gathered into a sloppy ponytail, and didn’t look like it had been brushed since the last time I’d seen her. As “big scary cryptids” go, she wasn’t even making the junior leagues. I could almost see him dismissing her as harmless. That was a mistake, although I wasn’t going to call him on it.
“I suppose I’ll take your word for it,” he said finally.
“Thanks,” said Sarah, and focused her attention on me. “What are you looking for, and why am I your girl?”
“Dominic thinks there’s a dragon somewhere under the city.”
Sarah stared at me.
“If he’s right, it’s probably asleep, since I haven’t heard any reports of Godzilla’s scary older brother rampaging through Central Park.”
Sarah continued to stare at me.
“We met a Madhura who said there have been disappearances in the local cryptid community. Like, actual ‘has anybody seen Mary’ disappearances, not just people moving out of town to avoid Happy Boy here.” I jerked a thumb toward Dominic, who scowled. “She said it’s all females, all unattached.”
“Implying all virgins, if you’re an archaic prick,” said Sarah, beginning to nod slowly. “Have you called Uncle Kevin?”
“Not yet—that’s my next stop. I wanted to see if you could do a scan for subterranean hostiles. See if we’re about to have the world’s biggest iguana come out and start eating people.”
“Scan?” said Dominic.
“I’m a telepath,” said Sarah, in a distracted, matter-of-fact tone. Ignoring the fact that it was now Dominic’s turn to stare, she continued, “You realize that in a city this size, you’re basically asking me to buy two first-class tickets on the Migraine Express, right?”
“I know. But if we’re going to go down there and check things out—”
“You’d like to know you won’t be eaten. Fine.” Sarah sighed, digging a cell phone out of the pocket of her jeans. Dominic continued to stare as she dialed a number, waited a few seconds, and said, “Hi, Professor Hines, this is Sarah. I just wanted to call and let you know that I ate some bad sushi, and I won’t be able to make it to tonight’s review session. I’m really sorry, and I’ll make sure to get Tanya’s notes before next week’s class.” She hung up. “There. I can now incapacitate myself for your pleasure.”
Room service dishes covered the dining area table, and fast food bags littered the area around the couch, which was almost entirely hidden under textbooks and sheets of notebook paper. The coffee table had been repurposed into a mini-computer lab, with three laptops all doing their weird computer things. A trail of discarded clothing marked the way to the bedroom, like Hansel’s bread crumbs if he’d been working with ladies’ undergarments instead of bread.
“What happened here?” asked Dominic, sounding faintly awed by the sheer scope of the mess.
“Sarah did.” It’s not that Sarah is a destructive person. She’s not, especially when measured against the standards of her species. She’s just distracted most of the time, and the sheer effort of staying focused tends to interfere with silly things like “laundry” and “cleaning up after herself.” Grandma Baker is the same way. Telepaths living in a non-telepathic society deal with a lot of white noise from the people around them, almost none of whom know how to construct a proper shield against mental invasion. The telepaths wind up easily distracted almost as a form of self-defense.
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “This is the Sarah I’m not allowed to ‘hassle,’ correct?”
“Yup.”
“You still haven’t told me why I’d want to.”
“Because as a member of the Covenant of St. George, you consider yourself morally and ethically compelled to exterminate me for the sin of not having been present on the Ark. Although I think I could make a case for it being impossible to tell whether or not my species was there.” Sarah walked out of the bedroom as she spoke, offering a vague smile in our direction. “Hey, Very. Hey, Very’s friend from the Covenant. Should I be running for cover about now?”
“No, he’s promised to play nice.” I gestured to Sarah. “Dominic De Luca, meet my cousin, Sarah Zellaby. Sarah, meet Dominic. We’re looking for information, and I was hoping you could help.”
“Just what every cryptid girl wants. A Covenant member in her hotel room.” Sarah shrugged, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll do what I can. Come on. I think there are some chairs in here.”
I shrugged and followed. Dominic trailed after me, half-scowling as he studied Sarah, looking for a clue to her species. He wasn’t going to find one. I elbowed him lightly, saying, “Remember, no harassing my cousin or hunting the cryptids who help us with this thing.”
“You’re certainly putting a lot of faith in my good behavior,” he muttered.
“No, I’m putting a lot of faith in the fact that I have a lot of knives and you’re outnumbered,” I said. “Besides, you didn’t kill Piyusha. There’s no point in starting with Sarah. She’s a math geek.”
Sarah stuck her tongue out at me.
“But what is she?” he demanded.
“The technical name for my species is ‘Johrlac,’ but more colloquially speaking, I’m a cuckoo.” Sarah swept the papers off the loveseat in the breakfast nook—my apartment doesn’t have a damn breakfast nook—before doing the same with the matching easy chair and dropping herself unceremoniously into it. “As Verity so kindly told you, I usually identify myself as a mathematician. Neither this nor my species gets me many dates.”
Dominic had the good grace to look faintly embarrassed as he sat beside me on the loveseat, careful to keep his knee from touching mine. “I’m sorry, miss. I don’t believe I’ve encountered your species before.”
“Oh, you probably have,” said Sarah, with the small grimace that always accompanies her talking about the rest of the cuckoos. “You’re just lucky: you didn’t notice.”
Dominic gave her another appraising look. I’ll admit she wasn’t at her most threatening: she was wearing jeans with the knees worn through, a green T-shirt two sizes too big, and white ankle socks. Her thick black hair was gathered into a sloppy ponytail, and didn’t look like it had been brushed since the last time I’d seen her. As “big scary cryptids” go, she wasn’t even making the junior leagues. I could almost see him dismissing her as harmless. That was a mistake, although I wasn’t going to call him on it.
“I suppose I’ll take your word for it,” he said finally.
“Thanks,” said Sarah, and focused her attention on me. “What are you looking for, and why am I your girl?”
“Dominic thinks there’s a dragon somewhere under the city.”
Sarah stared at me.
“If he’s right, it’s probably asleep, since I haven’t heard any reports of Godzilla’s scary older brother rampaging through Central Park.”
Sarah continued to stare at me.
“We met a Madhura who said there have been disappearances in the local cryptid community. Like, actual ‘has anybody seen Mary’ disappearances, not just people moving out of town to avoid Happy Boy here.” I jerked a thumb toward Dominic, who scowled. “She said it’s all females, all unattached.”
“Implying all virgins, if you’re an archaic prick,” said Sarah, beginning to nod slowly. “Have you called Uncle Kevin?”
“Not yet—that’s my next stop. I wanted to see if you could do a scan for subterranean hostiles. See if we’re about to have the world’s biggest iguana come out and start eating people.”
“Scan?” said Dominic.
“I’m a telepath,” said Sarah, in a distracted, matter-of-fact tone. Ignoring the fact that it was now Dominic’s turn to stare, she continued, “You realize that in a city this size, you’re basically asking me to buy two first-class tickets on the Migraine Express, right?”
“I know. But if we’re going to go down there and check things out—”
“You’d like to know you won’t be eaten. Fine.” Sarah sighed, digging a cell phone out of the pocket of her jeans. Dominic continued to stare as she dialed a number, waited a few seconds, and said, “Hi, Professor Hines, this is Sarah. I just wanted to call and let you know that I ate some bad sushi, and I won’t be able to make it to tonight’s review session. I’m really sorry, and I’ll make sure to get Tanya’s notes before next week’s class.” She hung up. “There. I can now incapacitate myself for your pleasure.”
