Midnight Blue-Light Special Part 19

"Take it," he advised. "You need to talk to him, and it's not like you're going anywhere dangerous."

"Right," I said, not sure whether I should be annoyed with him for meddling or grateful for the excuse. I pressed "answer" instead, bringing the phone to my ear as I started walking away from the others. If I was going to have this conversation, I was going to have it in "my" room. "Hi, Artie. What's up?"

"I hadn't heard from you in a few hours, and you're not online. You've got the Covenant in town, Verity's not answering her phone, I got worried, hey-presto, I'm calling you." Artie's voice was a warm, familiar presence in my ear, conjuring images of afternoons spent lying on his bedroom floor arguing about whether Wolverine's claws could pierce Captain America's shield. (They so could, a.s.suming Wolverine cared enough to try. And the fact that I know that is why Artie and I get along so well, and why Verity despairs of me ever going on a real date, with a non-virtual boy.) Those comfortable thoughts were followed by a chill sliding down my spine, chasing all the warmth away. Artie didn't know that Verity was missing. Uncle Mike knew, but apart from that, no one in the family had been notified. "It's good to hear your voice," I said, with utter sincerity, and closed my eyes as I walked up the stairs. Maybe if I looked at nothing, I wouldn't feel so bad about lying by omission. Maybe. Probably not, though.

I always tell people not to lie to the telepath. It sucks to realize that my rules don't swing both ways.

"Yours, too, Sars," said Artie. He paused. "Everything okay with you? You sound tense."

"Covenant's in town, remember? We're bunking in an undisclosed location with what feels like half the cast of The Muppet Show, since Verity doesn't want any of us to wind up dead. And Uncle Mike is here, which means everything's been b.o.o.by-trapped."

"I bet Antimony would love it there."

I laughed at that, opening my eyes. I was at the top of the stairs by then; I needed to be able to see if I wanted to find my room. "She'd be sawing holes in the floor so she could make actual pit traps, and we'd never get our security deposit back."

"I said she'd love it, not that she'd be useful." Artie sounded like he was buying my story, which helped me relax even more. "Any chance you'll be back online tonight?"

"Well . . ." I glanced guiltily down at the slaughterhouse floor. Everyone seemed very busy getting ready for battle. Uncle Mike was deep in conversation with the mice on the table; Ryan was on the phone; Istas was relacing her boots. None of them appeared to have particularly noticed that I was gone. That didn't mean I was off the hook. "No, I don't think so. We're doing a field thing, and Uncle Mike wants me to be there."

"You're doing 'a field thing'? You hate field things."

"That doesn't stop Very from making me do them every other weekend."

"No, but you always complain about them, and you're not complaining now." It's impossible to pick up thoughts through the phone, and for once, I was glad; the anxiety in Artie's voice was loud enough without any help from my telepathy. "Why aren't you complaining, Sarah? Are you really okay?"

"I'm fine, Artie," I said, and stepped into the barren little office that was, for the time being, my bedroom. I sank down onto the air mattress, sighing in time with the little hiss it made as I settled. "I'm stressed, and I'm scared, and I'm afraid somebody's going to get hurt before this is over, but I'm fine. Honest. I'd really rather hear about how you are, if that's cool. I need to not think about things here for a little while."

"Have you been to the comic book store yet this week?"

A smile tugged at my lips. "No, I have not," I said. "Things have been a little too hectic around here for me to get down to Midtown Comics. Have I missed anything important?"

"Not important, necessarily, but definitely cool. See-" Artie began telling me about the latest developments in the Marvel and DC superhero universes, speaking with the enthusiastic shorthand of the true aficionado. That wasn't a problem for me. I've been reading comics for as long as I can remember; seeing faces drawn on paper helps me recognize them in real life, or at least helps me recognize the emotions they're trying to convey. The encyclopedic knowledge of mutants and superhumans is really just an unexpected bonus.

I curled up on the air mattress with one arm tucked beneath my head as a makeshift pillow while I listened to Artie talk. When he paused, I made the appropriate encouraging noises, getting him started again. In the comic books, the good guys might lose for an issue, but they always won by the end of the story arc, and death was never forever. I liked the comics. I couldn't live there, but for a little while, I could pretend.

Not for long enough. Someone knocked gently on my doorframe. I sat up, the phone still pressed against my ear. Uncle Mike was standing there, and I didn't need to be good at reading faces to understand how grim his was.

"It's time," he said.

"Okay," I whispered.

"Sarah?" asked Artie. "What's up?"

"Nothing-Uncle Mike just needs me. It's time to go. Stay safe, okay? I'll call you soon." If I was alive. If any of us were still alive.

"Okay, Sars. Miss you."

"Miss you, too," I said, and hung up the phone.

Fun facts about cuckoo biology: we can't bleed, not the way mammals do. But we can cry. I got up and followed Uncle Mike out of the room, and I cried the whole way.

Nineteen.

"You know what, honey? You're right. It's time to change my approach. Can you give me one of those nice concussion grenades?"

-Alice Healy The Freakshow, a highly specialized nightclub somewhere in Manhattan WE LEFT SUNIL and Rochak behind when the rest of us left the Nest. There was no way of knowing whether Verity had given up our location, and so Kitty was calling some of her relatives to come and take the Madhura away to someplace Verity didn't know. The brothers Madhura weren't happy about spending quality time with the city's bogeyman population, but they understood that it was the only way we could keep them safe, since taking them into battle with us would have been an even worse idea.

It was a good thing the Madhura weren't coming, since Uncle Mike's car was barely big enough as it was. I got the front seat-no one really wanted to snuggle up to the touch-activated telepath-while Istas, Ryan, and Dominic were crammed into the back. It would have been funny, if the situation hadn't been so dire. I couldn't stop thinking about how much Verity would have laughed if she'd seen her boyfriend wedged between two therianthropes like that. She probably would have taken a dozen pictures with her phone and threatened to use them for her Christmas cards.

Thinking about Verity's laughter helped me keep my shields up, which kept me from picking up on the thoughts of the people around me. That was good. The vague dread filling the car was stomach-churning enough without adding any stronger signals. Being a telepath in a largely non-telepathic society means the onus of not reading people's minds is entirely on me. Almost no one maintains a decent mental shield on purpose, and the ones who do it accidentally are rare enough to be a miracle.

At least Istas wasn't worried. Her emotional state was pure excitement, and a particularly b.l.o.o.d.y sort of antic.i.p.ation. It said something about the day I'd been having that this was rea.s.suring.

"We're here," said Uncle Mike.

The backseat emptied like a clown car at the circus, everyone hurrying to be the first one out. Uncle Mike moved at a more leisurely pace, still efficient, but aware that no amount of hurry was going to make up for an a.s.sload of support and ammunition. I was somewhere in the middle, clearing the car while Uncle Mike was still setting the alarm. The other three were almost to the Freakshow doors. I hurried to catch up.

The ticket booth was empty when I got there, and the doors themselves were closed and locked. According to the posters advertising the Freakshow's virtues, the club should have been open, even if this wasn't anything like peak business hours. I guess when your friendly neighborhood cryptozoologist gets herself taken by her less friendly relations, staying closed starts looking like the better option.

"Now what?" demanded Dominic.

"Chill," said Ryan. He knocked four times, paused, and knocked twice more. There was an answering knock from inside. Ryan knocked again.

"This code is stupid," said Istas. "We should simply allow whomever is manning the door to eat anyone unwelcome. People we do not want coming around would quickly cease."

"Or they'd come back with tanks," said Ryan. "Strategic thinking means not eating your enemies all the time."

"I hate strategic thinking," grumbled Istas.

Kitty opened the door. I blinked.

She was wearing the modern equivalent of bogeyman cultural dress: dark gray leggings and a knee-length dress a few shades lighter, cut to accommodate the length and flexibility of her limbs. Her hair was loose around her face, accentuating the strangeness of seeing her like this. Kitty could never pa.s.s perfectly for human-very few types of cryptid can. A lot of the ones who come close, like Kitty, resent me for how easily I can move through the human world, even if they forget why they resent me the second I'm out of their sight. Still, she normally wore human clothing, and kept her hair neatly styled. The monster-under-the-bed look wasn't normal for her.

If she was wearing a bogeyman's array, she meant business.

"Come on in," she said. "Everybody's waiting."

"Thank you again, Kitty," said Uncle Mike, and stepped into the Freakshow. Ryan and Istas followed.

Dominic moved to do the same. Kitty stepped between him and the opening, setting her hand flat against his chest. She wasn't exerting nearly enough pressure to hold him in place, but he still stopped, looking at her gravely.

"This is your fault," she said. "I'm going to bet that you've already been threatened to within an inch of your worthless life, so I'm not going to bother. I'm just going to make you a promise. If the Price girl dies, that's sad, but she knew this job was dangerous when she took it. If a single cryptid who didn't choose to walk into this fight dies? Just one? I will be the monster in your closet for the rest of your life. If not me, then my cousins, and their cousins, until you've paid for your sins. Do I make myself clear?"

A bogeyman threatening a trained operative from the Covenant of St. George should have been funny. It wasn't, because I didn't have to be a telepath to know Kitty meant it. If Dominic failed, she was going to throw the weight of her entire species at destroying him.

I almost felt sorry for the man, but Dominic didn't waste time with anything as useless as self-pity. He just nodded, and said, "I understand, and I accept your punishment as just."

Kitty blinked, surprise rolling off her like fog. She dropped her hand. "Well, then," she said, sounding bewildered. "As long as we've got that straight." Then she stepped aside, letting Dominic into the Freakshow.

I moved to follow. Her hand flashed up again.

"Hold it," she said. "Who are you again?"

Oh, fudgesicles.

This is life as a cuckoo: sometimes your allies will cease to be your allies in the middle of a bad situation, because your distress signals are overwhelming the low-grade "we should be friends, let's be besties" beacon that cuckoos put out at all times. Bogeymen are more resistant than humans, maybe because they made easier targets in the days before they learned to lock their doors against us. Easier, not preferred-cuckoos are happiest when they blend in, and we blend in best with humans.

"Sarah Zellaby," I said, and quoted her own words back at her: "'Verity's little adopted cousin with the big blue eyes and the clear antifreeze for blood.' Does that ring any bells?"

Kitty's eyes widened, a response I didn't have to be good with faces to understand. "You're a cuckoo."

"Yes, but I'm a good cuckoo, I swear, and we've met before like a dozen times. You usually remember me. I'm sorry, I'm so freaked out that I'm broadcasting." I tried to focus on building a mental wall between us. It was harder than normal. Stress was making everything slippery.

Kitty's suspicion slowly gave way to recognition. "Sarah?"

"Yes," I said, and smiled a little, hopefully. "Sorry for the whammy, I didn't know it was going to be that bad."

"Just try to keep it under wraps while we're inside," she said, lowering her hand. "I don't want you starting a riot."

It was a lot more likely that I'd start a new branch of the "everybody protect Sarah" club, but I didn't say anything. I just stepped past Kitty. She closed and locked the door behind me. I waited for her to finish, and we walked together down the canvas-draped corridor to the main room where, by the sounds of things, there was quite a party going on. The mental noise hit a second after the audible noise did: at least two or three dozen people, almost as many different species, and all of them doing their best not to panic.

I gasped. I couldn't help myself. The wall I'd built to keep from broadcasting to Kitty was good, but it was nowhere near good enough to withstand the a.s.sault waiting at the end of the hall.

"Are you okay?" asked Kitty.

"What?" I hadn't even realized that I wasn't walking anymore. My legs had stopped moving without conscious command, taking themselves out of the equation while I did the complicated mental math of self-protection. I needed better walls, bigger walls, walls that could keep me from becoming so overwhelmed that I whammied everyone in the room just to keep them from hurting me.

"Are you okay?" repeated Kitty. "You look like you're about to throw up."

I was considering it. "I'll be fine," I said. "There's just a lot of focused anxiety in here." And it was all about my cousin, or at least about the people who had her; that, coupled with my having met everyone in the Freakshow at one point or another, explained the severity of my reaction. "Give me a second."

"Those are in pretty short supply, cuckoo girl," said Kitty . . . but she waited with me while I got myself under control, and I was grateful for that. It's easier to build a telepathic wall when you have someone nearby you can build it against, and Kitty was a lot less angry than some of the people in the main room. Once I was sure I wouldn't fall apart, I nodded, and Kitty led the rest of the way into the Freakshow.

The room looked strange, seen during the daylight. The lights were turned up to full, exposing the scuffs on the floor and the well-repaired tears in the upholstery. I could see scars on the ceiling where the old stripper poles had been removed. On the whole, though, the decor stood up pretty well to being visible-probably because it was designed by Kitty, and Kitty, like all bogeymen, could see perfectly well in the dark. She might be willing to live with a little wear and tear, but who wants to own a club they can't be proud of?

I wasn't surprised by the number of people who were turned toward the door, waiting for us; I'd already detected their presence, and my head still throbbed a little from the shock of it. I was, however, gratified. They could have run. They could have hidden themselves away and let Verity take whatever punishment the Covenant wanted to dish out. Instead, when the call for help was sounded, they came. Sure, some of them were probably like Istas, who would take any excuse to hurt things without getting in trouble for it, but I didn't care. They came. That was enough for me.

Kitty clapped her hands, walking ahead and leaving me standing in the doorway. "Okay, people. Nothing to see here, and we have a rescue mission to mount." She looked to Dominic. "That's your cue, Covenant boy. Impress us with your willingness to sell out your former allies."

"Think you could've made that sound any worse, Kitty?" asked Ryan.

"Oh, trust me, I could still make it sound worse," said Kitty. "I have a gift."

Dominic listened in silence, his posture impa.s.sive and unyielding. I was pretty sure his expression was meant to match. Internally, he was a different story, broadcasting anxiety and remorse so loudly that it was leaking through my shielding. I took a breath, focusing on shoring up the walls between me and the rest of the room a little bit better.

"Before we go any further with this, and yes, knowing that we have very little time, I need to be sure you understand that I did not make the decision to come to you lightly," said Dominic. There was a slight quiver to his voice. Anyone who didn't know him would probably miss it. I couldn't stop hearing it. "I was raised to believe that almost everyone in this room was a soulless monster, and that the humans among you were traitors to their species. I was misled, and I allowed it, because it was all I knew. I'm sorry."

Muttering greeted the first part of his statement, replaced by silence and a general feeling of surprise as he continued. I stepped out of the doorway, moving to stand next to Kitty.

"I was willing to let the Covenant come and go unhindered, helping Verity protect you and your families until the danger had pa.s.sed. Unfortunately, that ceased to be an option when they took her. I understand that I am asking you to challenge an organization that wants nothing more than your extinction. I have nowhere else to turn, and Verity has no other options."

"Will they kill her?" asked Carol. She wasn't wearing her wig, and the snakes atop her head hissed and writhed in response to her agitation.

"Sadly, no," said Dominic.

Ryan took a step toward him, seeming to get almost a foot taller in the process. My eyes weren't deceiving me; the therianthrope was growing. Never a good sign. "What did you say?" he growled.

"If they were going to kill her, we could create a gas leak in the building and blow them all to Kingdom Come," said Dominic. If having a shift-primed tanuki menacing him was a problem, he wasn't letting it show. "Since they're not going to kill her any time soon, we have to come up with a solution that doesn't include killing her ourselves."

"Oh," said Ryan suspiciously. He didn't shrink back down to his original size. I guess some things take time.

"As I was saying: no, the Covenant will not kill her. It would be, if you will forgive me an unpleasant turn of phrase, wasteful. Verity Price represents something they have not had in generations. She is a source of information about her family, and about the cryptids of North America. They will break her, through whatever means necessary, and then they will drain her dry." Dominic shook his head. "I love her. I do. But believe me when I say that the Covenant of St. George is extremely good at breaking people. She will do her best to withstand them, and I believe she'll be able to hold out much longer than many people could. In the end, she'll break. In the end, everyone breaks."

"So what do we do?" asked Angel.

"The Covenant is using a dockside warehouse as their temporary headquarters while here in town. Their hotel rooms have already been abandoned; presumably all three of them have moved into the warehouse to supervise their prisoner, and to fortify their defenses against me." Now Dominic's voice turned even grimmer. "I didn't tell them Verity existed; I vanished when she was taken."

"And our family has a history of converting Covenant agents to our way of thinking," I said. "They've probably already decided that Dominic is no longer on the right side."

"This is true," said Dominic. "In their eyes, I am as much of a monster as any of you, if not more. After all, I saw the light, and turned it aside."

"Congratulations," said Istas primly.

Nervous laughter spread through the room like a stain. Uncle Mike allowed it for a moment before stepping forward, saying, "Okay, folks, get it together. My niece needs saving." He glanced to Dominic, who nodded. Uncle Mike nodded back before he continued, "We know where they are, and we know how many of them we're going up against. We also know they may have bitten off more than they could chew when they took Verity. If they're hoping to get information out of her, that means they're keeping her awake and reasonably aware of what's going on. Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but I've seen that girl kick a boundary imp's a.s.s when she had a concussion and a broken arm. If they think she's just going to sit there and let them ask their questions, they're going to find themselves with a nasty surprise. That works in our favor."

"If things are so slanted in our favor, what are we still doing here?" asked a Pliny's gorgon I vaguely recognized as being one of the newer members of the staff. He crossed his arms, posture daring Dominic and Uncle Mike to come up with an answer he'd believe. The snakes on his head hissed ominously, twining themselves together in a sinuous braid which undid itself just as quickly. I thought his name was Joe. Maybe. Whatever his name, he was tall, unfriendly, and crowned with venomous snakes. That alone made him worth listening to, if only so his hair didn't start biting people.

"Because there's this little factor called 'the unknown,'" said Uncle Mike. "We need to worry about what we don't know."

"The three Covenant operatives are highly skilled in their own areas, and are not going to be inclined to go gently on us," said Dominic. "Peter Brandt is a demolitions expert. Robert Bullard is a tactical specialist. Between the two of them, they're very likely to have turned the warehouse into a death trap for anyone coming in without knowing how to avoid the trip wires. Margaret . . ." He hesitated.

"Margaret is a Healy," I said. Several heads turned toward me, like everyone had forgotten that I was there. Sadly, they probably had. Stupid cuckoo powers. "For those of you who don't know what that means, she's like an evil Verity. She won't stop hitting you just because you say you're going to be good, you changed your mind, and you'd like to go home now. That means that no matter how heavily weighted we think this equation is in our favor, we have to be better than the probabilities. We have to be absolutely certain of what we're walking into."

"n.o.body's absolutely sure of anything, cuckoo girl," said Kitty, sending mutters through some of the staffers who had managed to forget what I was. Stupid, stupid cuckoo powers. Sometimes I get tired of apologizing for my species to the same person a dozen times. "How are we supposed to know that we're not all walking into a trap?"

"We employ spies," said Uncle Mike, dipping his hand into a pocket.

When he pulled it out again, one of the younger mouse priests was standing proudly on his palm. "Hail!" squeaked the mouse.

Silence reigned.