“Miss Zellaby,” said Dominic, with a small nod. Then he turned, and followed me to the door, out to the hall, and into the elevator.
“That went surprisingly well,” I said.
“Yes,” he agreed blandly. “Now let’s go figure out what can go surprisingly poorly.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, as the elevator doors closed. “I’m sure we can find something.”
Six
“We aren’t exiles from the Covenant of St. George. We’re natives in our own country, and when that country is endangered, it’s our duty to dig in our heels and fight. If we aren’t willing to save ourselves, how can we expect anyone else to save us?”
The Freakshow, a highly specialized nightclub somewhere in Manhattan
“SO THIS IS WHAT the street-level entrance looks like these days,” I said, as Dominic and I approached the front door of the Freakshow.
It was painted to look like the mouth of a tent, with old-fashioned “carnival posters” pasted to the wall all around the ticket booth. I recognized myself in the middle of a cancan lineup, one painted leg eternally cocked at a come-hither angle that I hoped never to have to explain to my father. Sometimes I think the dangers of my mundane career outweigh the dangers of the career that’s more likely to get me actually killed. Vivisection hurts, but it can’t hold a candle to parental disapproval.
Dominic followed my gaze to the poster in question, quirking an eyebrow before he said, “Surely this can’t be the first time you’ve approached from the ground.”
“I hate taxis, subways freak me right the hell out, I don’t have a car, and no one who isn’t a bike messenger, certifiable, or both tries to ride a bike in Manhattan.” I shrugged. “I stick to the rooftops. It’s worked out pretty well for me so far.”
“You mean you haven’t reduced yourself to a street pancake due to a misjudged leap.”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it? It’s worked out pretty well so far.” I flashed my ID at the girl in the ticket booth, another dragon I didn’t recognize. She looked up from filing her nails only long enough to confirm that I didn’t need to pay admission—and that, by extension, Dominic didn’t either—before rolling her eyes in disgust and pointing toward the door.
“One day you will have to tell me where you acquired this aversion to walking on solid ground,” said Dominic.
“Try having a baby sister whose idea of a good time involves pit traps and land mines,” I advised. The bouncer on duty opened the club door for us, and I smiled at him as we walked on through. “It’s amazing how fast that sort of thing will make you think it’s time for a return to the trees.”
The entry hall was decorated to match the door: green canvas tent fabric draped with strings of Christmas lights and little triangular banners obscured the walls and ceiling, making it seem like we were heading into the big top. Even the floor was covered in a layer of sweet-scented sawdust, reinforcing the carnival theme. I had to admire it as a cost-cutting measure. The cedar shavings were probably saving Kitty a fortune in air fresheners, and she could buy them from the Abatwa who lived under Broadway, which would save her even more. If you need a corner cut, talk to a bogeyman.
Ryan was on duty at the interior door, less to check the work of the first two gatekeepers and more to make it clear to any drunk businessmen looking for a little grab-ass that we were a respectable establishment that would kick your nuts into your nasal cavity if you so much as looked at one of the girls wrong. He blinked when he saw me come walking down the hall. He blinked again when he saw Dominic walking behind me.
“Verity?” he said, an uncertain note in his voice. “You’re on the ground. Are you okay?” His eyes flicked to my feet, not-too-subtly checking for a limp.
Dominic snorted. “You really were serious.” He stepped up next to me, offering Ryan a nod. “Hello again.”
“Twice in one night,” Ryan said, with a nod of his own. “You’re becoming a bad habit, De Luca. Very? Is this guy bothering you?” From his tone, he was hoping I’d say yes, giving him the excuse he wanted to kick Dominic’s ass.
I didn’t have the heart to tell Ryan that in a fight between him and Dominic, he was probably going to lose. Sure, he was a shapeshifting badass who could turn into a giant raccoon-dog-monster-thing and render his flesh practically impermeable, but Dominic was a heavily armed monster hunter. And when it’s supernatural powers versus cold, hard steel, I vote for the knives every time.
“He’s not bothering me, but we’re here to bother Kitty,” I said. “Do you think you could get somebody to take the door for you? I’d sort of like you to be there for this.”
Ryan blinked again. Then he nodded. “Sure. Why don’t you head on back, and I’ll see if I can get one of the other bouncers to come take over. Can Istas come, too, or is this a private party?”
“Istas should be in on this meeting, I think.” Istas and Ryan represented most of the club’s serious physical defenses. There was no reason not to include them as early as we could.
“Okay. We’ll be right there.”
I reached out to squeeze his elbow, offering a small smile, and led Dominic past him into the Freakshow proper.
The entry put us onto a low catwalk about five feet above the floor, providing a brief but panoramic view of the chaos below. I must have spent half my waking hours in the Freakshow, but that was as an employee. Now I was seeing it the way that a patron would, and that changed everything.
Girls in circus-themed outfits slithered through the crowd, in some cases literally, their cryptid attributes out in the open for everyone to see. Maybe some people thought the wings on the gargoyle girls were prosthetics, or that the sirens were into dyeing their hair, but the harpies? The bogeymen? It took an incredibly charitable—and potentially intoxicated—mind to mistake them for human women. On the stage, Jahi the wadjet was involved in a complicated dance with his snake dancer, Maibe. She gyrated her hips to the beat, seeming entirely unconcerned by the fact that she wasn’t wearing much beyond a fourteen-foot cobra.
Humans mixed freely with cryptids everywhere I looked. It was exactly the sort of scene the Covenant of St. George was dedicated to preventing. “We are so screwed,” I said, in a hushed tone.
“Almost certainly,” Dominic agreed. “This will trigger a purge of Biblical proportions.”
I shot him a look. “Way to be encouraging there, buddy.”
“I’m not here to be encouraging, Verity. I’m here to make sure you get through this alive. If that means a few more lives are preserved in the bargain, then so be it.” Dominic shrugged. “I am learning to accept your idiosyncrasies.”
“What’s sad is that for you, that’s really sweet.” Istas was passing through the crowd, heading back to the bar with an empty tray. I trotted quickly down the stairs, moving to intercept her before I could lose sight of her. “Istas!”
Istas turned at the sound of her name, a quizzical look on her face. The impression of utter confusion was assisted by her hair, which was up in two carefully curled pigtails, with clips of bright blue artificial hair wound through her natural glossy black. “Verity? I thought your shift ended.”
“It did.” I jerked a thumb toward Dominic. “He came to get me. It’s been an interesting night. Think you can take your break and come back to Kitty’s office? Ryan’s going to be there in a minute.”
Istas’ confusion faded, replaced by guarded hope. “Is this meeting a prelude to carnage?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid it probably is.”