Discount Armageddon: An Incryptid Novel (17 page)

My usual means of information gathering involves hitting the homes and workplaces of the local sentient cryptids and asking what’s been going on at (or sometimes under) the street level. That wasn’t an option with Dominic along. Neither was my customary overland approach. While he wasn’t uncomfortable on rooftops, exactly, he drew the line at throwing himself over the edges.

“Oh, come on,” I cajoled, as we walked down a dark alley that stunk like human urine and recycled grease from the vents of the Chinese deli. There was also the sweet, slightly spicy scent of gingerbread undercutting it all; this was part of a Madhura’s feeding ground. That
was comforting. I hadn’t been aware that we had any Madhura left in the city. Things couldn’t be that bad if they hadn’t all fled.

Dominic’s eyes moved constantly as we walked, darting from side to side as he took in the alley walls around us. He wrinkled his nose when the stink first became apparent, but he hadn’t said a word about the Madhura. Lack of practical experience was definitely not an asset for new Covenant field agents. “I said no. Gravity is not a toy.”

“It’s not like I’m asking you to let me cast some sort of flight spell on you.” He gave me a sharp look. I raised my hands. “I didn’t say I
could
cast a flight spell, you dork. I’m not a witch. I’m just saying this would go faster if we weren’t restricted to the speed of our feet.”

“Again, no. You may take pleasure in taunting the laws of physics, but I prefer to save my brushes with death for times when they’re actually necessary.”

“Now you sound like my father.”

Dominic snorted. “God forbid.”

I stopped where I was, giving him a narrow-eyed look. “Exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

Dominic turned to face me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you really want to have that conversation here and now, when I may be the only chance you have of finding this creature before it does real damage to your precious city?”

“Yeah, I think I do. What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that no respectable member of the Covenant wishes to be told he sounds like a traitor.”

“Uh, first, mister, my father’s not a traitor. He never belonged to your stupid Covenant. None of us did. If you want traitors, you’ll have to go back at least two generations, and if you ask the mice, they weren’t traitors even then.”

Dominic blinked, looking nonplussed. “Ask the what?”

I was just getting warmed up. “Plus, what makes you God’s gift to cryptozoology?
Why are you my only shot at finding something that may ‘only’ be the size of a blue whale? I’m a Price, but I’m not an idiot. I’m pretty sure I can find something that big without your help. All you’re doing is keeping me off the rooftops, scaring the local cryptids, and slowing me down.”

“And what is it that you think you can do for
my
search, exactly? Are you planning to tango gaily down the yellow brick road to victory? You’re a traitor, from a family of traitors, and there’s not a damn thing you can do that I can’t do without you!”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes!”

I was having a heated argument, verging on a shouting match, in a deserted alley with a member of the Covenant of St. George who had seen me get dressed, and thus knew where all of my weapons were located. I’d been monitoring escape routes the whole time, and the prospects were pretty bleak; if he didn’t have anything ranged, I might be able to make it to the dumpster and use that to boost myself to the exhaust vents from the deli. After that, I’d have to improvise.

Dominic stepped closer, sensing victory in my hesitation. His chin was slightly raised, giving me an excellent view of his arrogant, irritating features. My chest tightened as my already sped-up pulse kicked into overdrive. I was essentially cornered. I could flee, or I could fight … and if there’s one thing I’ve spent my life learning, it’s that there’s always more than one way to wage a war.

“Try doing
this
without me,” I said. Leaning onto my toes with the ease that comes from dancing a thousand rumbas with men half a foot taller than me, I put a hand on the back of his head and pressed my lips to his.

Kissing a man is a lot like dancing the tango: somebody leads and somebody follows, and the traditional form says it’s
the man who controls the dance. I’ve never been one to stick to tradition when it isn’t essential. And that turned out to be a good thing, because the kiss was, well … I’ve had better. Maybe because I wasn’t sure, from the way Dominic was kissing me back, that he’d ever had anything at all.

I’ve had a lot of practice at dancing with amateurs. I kissed him with more urgency, waiting for his instincts to kick in and remind him of the steps his hindbrain almost certainly knew. There was a moment of puzzled hesitation on Dominic’s part, like he didn’t quite understand what I was doing. Then his arms were around me, crushing me against his chest and surrounding me with the warm, masculine scents of leather and clean sweat. There’s nothing sweeter than the smell of a man who likes to keep himself clean and has managed to run himself into a lather. It means somebody’s been doing something physical, and it means something else physical might be on the table. I felt my body responding and pressed myself harder against him. The buckle of my holster bit into my belly hard enough to leave a bruise. He’d have a matching one, if the angle of our bodies was any indication. I had more important things on my mind.

He kissed with an urgency that was entirely out of keeping with his businesslike demeanor, possibly because he wasn’t getting kissed nearly often enough. The muscles in his torso were as hard as I’d expected them to be. That wasn’t all that was hard—if there’d been any question about how enthusiastic he was about returning my advances, it was answered by the feeling of him pushing up against my thigh.

The answer changed as he abruptly pushed me away, hard enough to send me staggering into the alley wall. “Hey—” I protested.

“What was the meaning of that?!” He glared at me, cheeks darkening as some of the blood began returning to his head. Pity. I’d liked it better when it was busy with certain other parts of his anatomy.

“
You said there was nothing you could do with me that you couldn’t do by yourself.” I was cranky enough over being shoved away that I decided to twist the knife, and blew him a mocking kiss. “If you can do that by yourself, you should look into getting a place with the circus.”

“You are an insolent, irresponsible, immature little bitch!”

“And you’re an arrogant asshole, and there may be a dragon under this city. Now can we stop the dick waving and start figuring out how we’re going to deal with this? Or do I have to kiss you again?”

Dominic hesitated, making me wonder, for a brief second, whether he wanted to be kissed as much as I wanted to kiss him. Then he glowered, shaking his head. “Fine,” he said sullenly. “What do you suggest?”

“First off? I suggest we go and find the Madhura that lives in this area. She may know something.”

“The what?” He looked at me blankly.

I almost had to laugh at that. “Oh, man. For a big, bad dragon hunter, you sure have a lot to learn. Come on.”

We found our Madhura behind the counter of a tiny café called “Gingerbread Pudding.” She was a petite, attractive woman of Indian descent, wearing a sapphire blue T-shirt and a bright red apron embroidered with “Come catch me! Be a Gingerbread Fan!” Her thick black hair was bound into two long braids that dangled over her shoulders as she served a slab of dark brown gingerbread and a cup of hot chocolate to a customer, smiling all the while. The Madhura are attracted to sweet things. They thrive on honey the way dragon princesses thrive on gold, or bogeymen thrive on information. Working in a place that specialized in desserts was probably close to her inborn idea of Heaven.

Dominic eyed the Madhura with evident bewilderment
as we waited for our turn to approach the counter, nostrils flaring slightly as he detected the distinct spiciness of her pheromones. A happy Madhura is close to irresistible. It’s part of what’s kept them alive for so long. “What is she?” he asked, voice pitched low.

“Madhura. They’re originally from the Indian subcontinent. They used to be worshiped as gods and goddesses of plenty, because they always knew where the honey was.” We took another step forward as the line advanced. “They’re harmless, they’re friendly, and they usually know what’s going on.”

His expression darkened. “I don’t believe we share the same definition of ‘harmless.’”

I dug an elbow into his side. “Just shut up and let me talk.”

He glared but fell silent as the last customer collected his purchases and went to take a seat, letting us step forward. The Madhura turned her smile in our direction, saying, “Welcome to Gingerbread Pudding. I’m Piyusha. What can I get for you today?”

“Whatever you think is good, and some information.” I did my best to look harmless as I offered a return smile, and said, “My name’s Verity Price. This is my … friend … Dominic. We wanted to talk to you, if we could.”

Piyusha’s smile froze in place as she glanced between us, finally saying, “Verity
Price
? As in…?”

“Yes. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on. Please?” Dominic was still glaring. I dug an elbow into his side. He grimaced. “I promise we won’t take up too much of your time.”

“All right.” Piyusha nodded toward a door marked “Employees Only.” “Head in the back. I’m going to get one of the other girls to take the counter, and I’ll be right with you.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said, and took Dominic’s hand, towing him along with me as I followed Piyusha’s instructions. The people who had been in line behind us grumbled darkly as she slipped out from behind the
counter, leaving them temporarily without a server. The door between us and the café swung shut, and we were left alone.

Piyusha was true to her word: she came into the small employee break room about eight minutes later, carrying a tray loaded with two slices of frosted gingerbread, two large mugs of chocolate milk, and a small plate of graham crackers and honey. She took a seat across from us at the card table that dominated the break room, putting down her tray so that the gingerbread was oriented toward me and Dominic, while the crackers and honey were closer to her.

“Now,” she said, focusing her attention on me, “to what do I owe the honor of the attention of your family?”

“We want information about the dragon,” said Dominic, his tone barely short of rude.

Piyusha froze in the act of reaching for one of her graham crackers, simply staring at Dominic. Finally, she allowed her hand to drop to her lap and looked to me once more, asking politely, “Is he a member of your family, or is he a member of the Covenant?”

“The latter.” Seeing the burgeoning panic in her eyes, I added, “But he’s promised not to hunt anyone who helps us in our investigation unless they become an active threat to the local human community.” That was a transition that would mark them for a hunt by my family, as well as by the Covenant. No matter how much we may like a cryptid, once they start hunting people, they have to be put down. That’s part of the service we provide to the local ecology of the places we live.