Midnight Blue-Light Special
Page 8
“Like a cockroach,” she muttered darkly.
“Not the most complimentary comparison ever, but I can’t refute it.” I turned to face her, offering a sympathetic smile. “I understand that the Covenant stresses you out, Kitty. I mean, honestly, the Covenant stresses me out, what with their whole ‘line of traitors’ approach to my family. But as long as Dominic and I are on good terms, I don’t think you need to worry about this place getting purged.”
Kitty didn’t look particularly reassured. “And when you’re not on good terms anymore?”
“Then one of us is probably dead.” I shrugged. “That’s the best I can do. I’m taking my break now.”
“Will you be back tonight?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“I should fire you.”
“I know. But you won’t.”
Kitty’s glower became a full-on scowl. “Why’s that?”
“Because if you didn’t have me here, you wouldn’t know what the local Covenant was doing. Later, boss.” I flashed her a quick smile—it wasn’t returned—and scooted for the door before she could say anything about cutting my pay for the night. My mama may have raised a generation of thrill-seeking cryptid-chasers, but she didn’t raise no fools.
Now for a little bit more background, since no one should ever go into a potentially sticky situation blind, and anything involving the Covenant of St. George is a potentially sticky situation. The Covenant is your classic secret organization of scholars, warriors, and assholes, dedicated to eradicating the world’s “monster” population. Who decides whether something is a monster? Why, they do, which is why totally innocent cryptids have been finding themselves on the wrong end of Covenant swords for centuries. My family doesn’t like them very much. Which is only fair, because they don’t like us very much either.
Then again, that may have something to do with the fact that we were members of the Covenant until about three generations ago, when my great-great-grandfather—Alexander Healy, Sr., my brother’s namesake—told them to stuff their protocols where the sun didn’t shine. He took his family and decamped to North America, where they’d be reasonably out of the way. The Covenant gave them a few decades to sulk before they started sending field agents to lure the prodigals back to the fold. The family sent the first one packing. The second, Thomas Price, submitted his letter of resignation and married one of the prodigals in question—my grandmother, Alice Healy. The Covenant has had a “kill on sight” order out for my family ever since.
Or they would, if they weren’t reasonably sure that we, like many breeds of cryptid, had gone extinct. We managed to disappear from their radar two generations ago, when my grandfather opened a portal to hell and messed everything up. It was a bad time. The Covenant’s belief that we all died when things went wrong is about the only good thing to come out of it.
Anonymity has proven to be convenient and irritating at the same time. On the one hand, it keeps us from getting shot at—much—while we’re trying to do our jobs. On the other hand, it means that we’ve had to find alternate means of training to protect the cryptids of the world—like my combat applications of ballroom dance, or my sister Antimony’s tumbling and trapeze classes. And no matter how hard we try, we can’t completely avoid encounters with the Covenant. I give you Exhibit A: Dominic De Luca, who may or may not be my boyfriend, depending on the day of the week and which one of us you decide to ask. (Hint: Normally, I’m the one disavowing all knowledge of our assignation, on account of the part where my maybe-boyfriend can be a truly massive asshole when he wants to.) We met when I stepped into a snare-trap he’d set to catch arboreal cryptids. In his defense, he didn’t really expect to snag a cocktail waitress who was taking the scenic route across Manhattan. And to counter that defense, he shouldn’t have been setting snares on my rooftops.
I’ve managed to break him of that habit. Mostly. Dominic was raised Covenant, and some habits die hard. Including, as we’d both discovered, the habit of mistrusting people you’ve been raised to regard as “the enemy.” To him, I was the latest daughter in a long line of traitors. To me, he was the latest in an even longer line of cold-blooded killers. I mean, if it weren’t for the mind-blowing sex, and the part where he saved my life six months ago—that snake cult thing again—we’d have absolutely nothing in common. Then again, my cousin Sarah says that’s probably part of the appeal. He’s forbidden fruit in hot brooding Italian man form, and just like Eve before me, I can’t resist taking a bite or two.
Dominic was waiting for me on the roof of the club, standing silhouetted against the night sky. I stopped for a moment to admire his profile—being a cold-blooded killer may not be good for your karma, but man, does it do amazing things for your physique—before letting the stairway door swing shut behind me with a clang. “S’up?”
“The English language is beautiful, versatile, and capable of poetry that steals men’s breath away from them,” said Dominic, turning to face me. “Is that really the best you can manage?”
“Yup,” I replied, with a sunny smile. “I went to public school.”
“There are times when I listen to you and feel that the reputation of your family is completely overblown,” said Dominic.
“What about the rest of the time?”
Dominic shook his head as he walked away from the edge of the roof. He stopped in front of me, turning to face me. “The rest of the time, I think my elders made a tactical error when they didn’t respond to your forefathers’ defection by destroying the continent.”
“You say the sweetest things.” I cocked my head, trying to make out his expression through the gloom. “What’s up? You know Kitty doesn’t like it when you visit me at work.”
“I don’t much care for it, either. This is not an appropriate venue for a young woman’s employment.”
“Why, because of all the cryptids, or because of the uniforms?”
“Is that what you call them now?”
“Hey, I wear less when I’m competing.”
Dominic sighed. “Yes. I know. But at least that’s to a purpose beyond coaxing cash from the unwary.”
“Not the most complimentary comparison ever, but I can’t refute it.” I turned to face her, offering a sympathetic smile. “I understand that the Covenant stresses you out, Kitty. I mean, honestly, the Covenant stresses me out, what with their whole ‘line of traitors’ approach to my family. But as long as Dominic and I are on good terms, I don’t think you need to worry about this place getting purged.”
Kitty didn’t look particularly reassured. “And when you’re not on good terms anymore?”
“Then one of us is probably dead.” I shrugged. “That’s the best I can do. I’m taking my break now.”
“Will you be back tonight?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“I should fire you.”
“I know. But you won’t.”
Kitty’s glower became a full-on scowl. “Why’s that?”
“Because if you didn’t have me here, you wouldn’t know what the local Covenant was doing. Later, boss.” I flashed her a quick smile—it wasn’t returned—and scooted for the door before she could say anything about cutting my pay for the night. My mama may have raised a generation of thrill-seeking cryptid-chasers, but she didn’t raise no fools.
Now for a little bit more background, since no one should ever go into a potentially sticky situation blind, and anything involving the Covenant of St. George is a potentially sticky situation. The Covenant is your classic secret organization of scholars, warriors, and assholes, dedicated to eradicating the world’s “monster” population. Who decides whether something is a monster? Why, they do, which is why totally innocent cryptids have been finding themselves on the wrong end of Covenant swords for centuries. My family doesn’t like them very much. Which is only fair, because they don’t like us very much either.
Then again, that may have something to do with the fact that we were members of the Covenant until about three generations ago, when my great-great-grandfather—Alexander Healy, Sr., my brother’s namesake—told them to stuff their protocols where the sun didn’t shine. He took his family and decamped to North America, where they’d be reasonably out of the way. The Covenant gave them a few decades to sulk before they started sending field agents to lure the prodigals back to the fold. The family sent the first one packing. The second, Thomas Price, submitted his letter of resignation and married one of the prodigals in question—my grandmother, Alice Healy. The Covenant has had a “kill on sight” order out for my family ever since.
Or they would, if they weren’t reasonably sure that we, like many breeds of cryptid, had gone extinct. We managed to disappear from their radar two generations ago, when my grandfather opened a portal to hell and messed everything up. It was a bad time. The Covenant’s belief that we all died when things went wrong is about the only good thing to come out of it.
Anonymity has proven to be convenient and irritating at the same time. On the one hand, it keeps us from getting shot at—much—while we’re trying to do our jobs. On the other hand, it means that we’ve had to find alternate means of training to protect the cryptids of the world—like my combat applications of ballroom dance, or my sister Antimony’s tumbling and trapeze classes. And no matter how hard we try, we can’t completely avoid encounters with the Covenant. I give you Exhibit A: Dominic De Luca, who may or may not be my boyfriend, depending on the day of the week and which one of us you decide to ask. (Hint: Normally, I’m the one disavowing all knowledge of our assignation, on account of the part where my maybe-boyfriend can be a truly massive asshole when he wants to.) We met when I stepped into a snare-trap he’d set to catch arboreal cryptids. In his defense, he didn’t really expect to snag a cocktail waitress who was taking the scenic route across Manhattan. And to counter that defense, he shouldn’t have been setting snares on my rooftops.
I’ve managed to break him of that habit. Mostly. Dominic was raised Covenant, and some habits die hard. Including, as we’d both discovered, the habit of mistrusting people you’ve been raised to regard as “the enemy.” To him, I was the latest daughter in a long line of traitors. To me, he was the latest in an even longer line of cold-blooded killers. I mean, if it weren’t for the mind-blowing sex, and the part where he saved my life six months ago—that snake cult thing again—we’d have absolutely nothing in common. Then again, my cousin Sarah says that’s probably part of the appeal. He’s forbidden fruit in hot brooding Italian man form, and just like Eve before me, I can’t resist taking a bite or two.
Dominic was waiting for me on the roof of the club, standing silhouetted against the night sky. I stopped for a moment to admire his profile—being a cold-blooded killer may not be good for your karma, but man, does it do amazing things for your physique—before letting the stairway door swing shut behind me with a clang. “S’up?”
“The English language is beautiful, versatile, and capable of poetry that steals men’s breath away from them,” said Dominic, turning to face me. “Is that really the best you can manage?”
“Yup,” I replied, with a sunny smile. “I went to public school.”
“There are times when I listen to you and feel that the reputation of your family is completely overblown,” said Dominic.
“What about the rest of the time?”
Dominic shook his head as he walked away from the edge of the roof. He stopped in front of me, turning to face me. “The rest of the time, I think my elders made a tactical error when they didn’t respond to your forefathers’ defection by destroying the continent.”
“You say the sweetest things.” I cocked my head, trying to make out his expression through the gloom. “What’s up? You know Kitty doesn’t like it when you visit me at work.”
“I don’t much care for it, either. This is not an appropriate venue for a young woman’s employment.”
“Why, because of all the cryptids, or because of the uniforms?”
“Is that what you call them now?”
“Hey, I wear less when I’m competing.”
Dominic sighed. “Yes. I know. But at least that’s to a purpose beyond coaxing cash from the unwary.”
