Tricks for Free (InCryptid #7)

Sam frowned. “Okay, I’m missing something. Why are you mad at her? She kept you from doing something that would have meant I never existed. I like existing. It’s one of my favorite things.”

“She never came back,” said Emery. “Not even when the show passed through the town where she’d found me, not even when I called her name. She never came back and she never said hello, and now she’s in my grandson’s room like it hasn’t been thirty years since the last time I saw her? I’m allowed to be a little hurt.”

“She didn’t come back because she was trying to keep the crossroads from realizing you got away,” said Sam. “Seriously, whatever those things really are, they’re jacked, and I don’t want anything to do with them, like, ever. She has so many rules about what she can and can’t say that I’m a little bit amazed she’s not more of a jerk. Although she is a major jerk. Annie has awful taste in dead aunts.”

“Really?”

“Really-really.” Sam nodded vigorously. “Half the conversations we’ve had so far have been her teaching me the rules of talking to her. I think she’s probably pretty lonely a lot of the time? But she can’t go making friends, because she’s dead, and also because somebody says the wrong thing and suddenly she’s dragging them to her bosses to sell their souls. It sort of sucks to be Mary.”

“Oh,” said Emery, sounding subdued. “I think . . . I think I may have been uncharitable toward the girl.”

“It’s okay. It’s not like the rules are the sort of thing we have easy social conventions for. I wouldn’t be handling them this well if she weren’t my only way of getting to Annie.” He paused, looking at Emery. “I may not have a lot of warning before I need to go. When Mary says she’s ready for me to help, I’m leaving. Middle of the night or middle of the day, whatever, I’m gone.”

“Say goodbye if you can,” said Emery. “Leave a very clear note if you can’t. I can stomach you running off to play the brave hero and rescue the lady, but if I think there’s any chance the Covenant has snatched you from your bed, I will rain down hell itself on their heads. I’ll make them wish all they had gunning for them was a little girl with fire in her fingers and lies on her lips. Are we clear?”

“As crystal,” said Sam. “Can we loop back to the question of whether chicken is good for dinner?”

Emery laughed, the sound tapering into a hiccup that made it sound like she was about to cry. Sam tensed as she wiped her eyes. Then she smiled at him.

“Best thing I ever did in my life was decide that the crossroads weren’t for me,” she said. “If you ever wonder about that, you just remember this moment. And promise me, Sam. Promise me nothing will ever be tempting enough to make you take that walk.”

“I promise, Grandma.”

“Good boy.” She stood. “I’ll come with you. Chicken is fine, but you never get the right sides.”

Sam laughed, pulling himself back into his human guise, and started for the door.

Things were going to be all right.



* * *





MINDY


Our new friend had stepped away from the desk after calling someone to relieve her, and had offered us solace in the safety of her handbag, which was large and leather and smelled most temptingly of breath mints. We had been contentedly exploring its contents ever since, while she stood nearby and spoke quickly and quietly into her mobile phone. When she was done, she picked up the purse, dropping the phone next to Mork, and hissed, “Come with me,” before slinging us up to her shoulder and striding across the walkway.

Mork gave a squeak of pained dismay. I put a paw upon his haunch to calm him.

“Peace,” I said. “For did not the Arboreal Priestess say There Is No Need To Fear A Dragon Who Has Yet To Be Paid? We have incurred a debt against our family on this day, and we are in no danger until it is discharged.”

Mork looked uncertain of my words. I pushed down a pang of irritation. He was still learning to trust this expanded pantheon, and lacked the benefit of the many lessons gleaned from the Arboreal Priestess’s dealings with the dragon world.

Mine is not the path of the Arboreal Priestess’s clergy, nor would I ever wish it to be, for my defection would damage the Precise Priestess heart and soul. But I may admire all members of our pantheon for their graces, and hers is the dance of diplomacy, the bending and weaving of different goals into a single coherent whole. Through her we have become, if not allies to the dragon race, then at the very least valuable beyond measure.

Had the desk clerk been of any other species, I would have been hesitant to approach her, for there are those who would put money against Aeslin lives, those who believe a colony of their own would bring them fame and fortune beyond all measure. For the dragons, however, who have lived for centuries by gold alone, we represent something more valuable than money.

We represent hope.

A door opened; a door closed; a lock was thrown, before the purse in which we rode was tossed unceremoniously onto a sink. “Come out, mice,” said the dragon.

We emerged, cautiously, into the light of the family restroom. It was meant for a single user; there were no stalls, and the door between us and the rest of the airport was locked. The dragon loomed over us, frowning hard to conceal her anxiety.

It is only polite to allow people their masks. “Hail,” I squeaked politely. “Will you aid us?”

“One of my sisters is on her way now,” she said. “She will be escorting you to Portland, and providing you with a safe berth on the plane. In exchange, you will arrange a meeting for her with your family.”

I pressed my whiskers forward in distress. “We cannot negotiate—”

“I know that,” she snapped, cutting off my objections with a wave of her hand. “If you claimed you could, you would be lying. What I want is for you to get back to Oregon, call your family, and have them send a representative to the airport to collect you and sit down with my sister in a public place. She will make an appeal on behalf of our Nest. They will hear it fairly. I know they will, because you’re going to promise on their behalf. If they feel we are worthy, they will assist us in bringing our suit before the dragons of New York. I know your family has brokered a successful deal on the part of the Los Angeles Nest. We’re only asking for the same treatment.”

I bowed my head, acknowledging her words.

Before our gods left the Covenant of St. George—may they wander lost for a thousand years—they were complicit in perpetrating a great wrong against the dragons, whose females could pass for human, but whose males were never seen as anything more than monsters. For centuries, the world had believed the male of their species extinct, and without him, all hope for their future. The females could continue to reproduce on their own, but only more like themselves. The skies would never again know the kiss of leather wings.

Then the Arboreal Priestess, in defiance of her title, had traveled beneath the Manhattan streets and discovered a male dragon, sleeping the centuries away. Since then, his Nest had begun to be blessed with male children. This woman, this dragon, only wanted the same as her sisters—the same as my colony and I. She wanted a future.

“It Will Be So,” I intoned, and the dragon smiled.



* * *





SAM


“Hey, Mary, I don’t know if you, like, eat or anything, but if you do, I have leftover chicken,” said Sam, sitting down on the roof.

There was a scuff from behind him, like a sneaker scraping across gravel. “I could eat,” said Mary.

“Cool,” said Sam.

He watched the dead girl walk around him and settle, cross-legged, to dig through the red and white striped bucket of legs and thighs. Once she had a drumstick in her hand and was picking off the skin, eating it one methodical strip at a time, he cleared his throat.