Tricks for Free (InCryptid #7)

“Mr. Knighton,” said Sophie, stepping toward the central of the three PR reps, hand already outstretched. He looked at her coolly before reaching out and slipping his hand into hers.

He looked more like a funeral director than someone who had any business working in Lowryland. When he switched his attention from Sophie to me, it was all I could do not to recoil. Megan was an actual reptile, and her gaze wasn’t that reptilian. It was a crude, mammal-centric way of looking at things, and yet I couldn’t help myself, because it was also true. He looked at me like he was trying to figure out the best way to take me apart.

“You must be Melody West,” he said.

I had never been so grateful to be at Lowryland under an assumed name. If he’d said my real name in that voice, that hollowed-out, sepulcher tone, I would have been compelled to stab him. There are bogeymen who never manage to sound that much like they belong under a rock.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Your friend assures me she was alone during last night’s unfortunate incident,” he said. “We have some security footage that would seem to contradict that. Can you tell me what happened?”

Why PR was asking this and not Park Security was sadly easy to understand. Park Security didn’t care. Unless they had reason to suspect me of being the person who did the stabbing, their attention was needed elsewhere. But PR . . .

PR made sure people kept repeating that old canard about how no one had ever died on either Disney or Lowry property, because they spun and kept on spinning, turning straw into gold, turning rumors into reality. PR swept in when one of the studio’s teenybopper TV stars got wasted in Goblin Market’s supposedly adults-only wine bar, turning it into stomach flu and teenage hijinks and concealing the public drunkenness faster than a six-year-old can cover themselves in glitter. PR did the heavy lifting, keeping the Lowry brand bright and shiny and buffing out all the dings. They were the true predators of the Park ecosystem, the lords of this particular veldt, and I had good reason to be afraid of them. They’d tear me limb from limb if that was what they thought Lowry required.

They were loyal. Lowry kept them well-fed. They still scared the crap out of me, and I’d fought actual monsters that were trying to kill me with teeth and claws and other nice, normal things.

“Fern and I were roller skating after closing,” I said, careful to keep my voice meek and my tone from wavering. If I oversold this, I’d end up setting off their bullshit detection systems, and then things would get ugly. “She knew I was supposed to open this morning, while she had the afternoon shift, so when I said I was getting tired, she told me to go ahead and go home. We do that sometimes.”

“That seems like a great deal of trouble to go to for less than five minutes of enjoyment,” said one of the two women. They were flanking Mr. Knighton like lionesses, and seemed just as friendly when it came to outsiders. I decided not to like them. Not that there had been much chance of that.

“It’s part of how we stay close as roommates, and prevent fights in the apartment,” I said. “Megan doesn’t skate with us, but she always comes to watch, and she thinks it’s funny.”

“That would be Miss Rodriguez, would it not?” asked the other woman.

I concealed my wince at having been the first one to bring my second roommate into the conversation, and nodded. “Yes, it would,” I said. “She’s a resident at the hospital. She was at the ice cream shop while we were skating.”

“Lowryland frowns on activities such as skating in the Park,” said Mr. Knighton.

“We’ve spoken to Security, and they said as long as we wear protective gear and don’t try to sue the Park if we bang our elbows, they have better things to worry about,” I said. That wasn’t exactly what they’d said, but it was the gist of it. We did a lot of things by “the gist of it” at Lowryland. Disney was probably more formal. Disney also had a lot more rules, a lot more moving parts, and a lot more overhead. Honestly, if this was the life I had to lead, I was glad I’d landed where I had. Disney would probably have ended with me stabbing some asshole in a Mickey Mouse costume in the throat for implying that I wasn’t showing the proper attitude.

“Miss West is correct,” said Sophie, smoothly interjecting herself back into the conversation. “While we don’t encourage after-hours activities on Park property, we’ve shown time and time again that part of what gives the Lowry family our ability to stand together against adversity is the off-hours bonding we do of our own free will and without coercion. As Miss West and Miss Conway were not damaging Park property, and were wearing safety equipment, their activities are not under review at this time.”

Her eyes said drop it loudly enough that it might as well have been verbal. To my surprise, the PR team frowned but didn’t object.

Sophie looked to me. “How long do your skating sessions usually last?”

“Can be five minutes, can be three hours, depending on when we’re scheduled to work the next day and how we’re feeling.” I shrugged. “I’ll be honest—”

“Please,” said Mr. Knighton.

I did my best to ignore him. “—sometimes knowing I’ll get to have some fun in the Park before I go home is what makes it possible for me to keep smiling for our guests. I know work is work and play is play, but they have fun all day long, and I just want my turn. Is that weird?”

Mr. Knighton looked like he was grinding his teeth as he said, “It’s perfectly normal.”

Score one for the little liar. I gave him my best wavering smile, the one I used to use on teachers who wanted explanations for my bruises, and asked, “Is Fern okay? Can I see her?”

“Emily will take you to your friend,” said Mr. Knighton. One of the two PR women—the one in the chunky green necklace and the impeccable eyeliner, winged back like she was about to go to war—took a half-step forward, identifying herself. He turned to Sophie. “Miss Vargas, if you would?”

Sophie walked over to join him and they strolled away down the hall, the second PR woman following them, and just like that, I was dismissed. I turned to Emily, strengthening my smile against whatever obstacle I was going to slam it up against next.

“Hi,” I began. “I’m—”

“You stink like ghost, little girl,” she said, an open sneer in her cultured tones. “Something’s been haunting you. What have you been doing that you shouldn’t have been?”





Six




“Being right is never as important as staying alive.”

–Evelyn Baker

Inside the Lowryland Public Relations building, trying not to panic

I FROZE. My fingers heated instantly, so fast that I didn’t have time to ball them into my palms before they brushed against the nylon strap of my duffel bag. The smell of singed plastic filled the air. I prayed Emily wouldn’t notice.

Emily noticed. Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “Oh,” she said. “So that’s the way it is, hmm? I should have guessed. So what are you? Ambulomancer? Trainspotter? We’ve had a few of them infiltrate the Park. They say the monorail and the roller coasters do enough to keep them going. Or are you an umbramancer? We haven’t had one of those in ages.”

“I don’t even know what that last one is,” I said, my voice barely reaching the status of a squeak. “I mean . . .”