Chaos Choreography
Page 111
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Isn’t family great?” asked Alice.
I snorted.
The drive to the Nest took about twenty minutes, passing through dark residential neighborhoods and only slightly better-lit commercial ones, until we came to a small, ratty looking motel with a “No Vacancy” sign flashing in the parking lot like a blind eye. It was a prime example of 1950s Southern California design, with neon and exposed balconies accented by dead grass and battered cacti. Brenna pulled into one of the few open spaces, a beatific expression on her face.
“Be it ever so humble,” she said blithely.
“Humble?” asked Malena, craning her neck to see the second floor. Nothing moved behind the curtains, but there were lights on; either someone was home, or the dragons had decided that wasting a little electricity to maintain their cover was okay. “This place isn’t humble. This is where people go to get themselves murdered. To death. By white dudes wearing hockey masks.”
“Why specifically white dudes?” asked Alice. Brenna was getting out of the car and so we all followed suit, closing our doors behind us. The car beeped once as Brenna pressed the button to lock it. She might live here, but even she didn’t trust the neighborhood.
“You ever see anybody else slap on a fucking hockey mask and run around filleting coeds for no good reason? It’s always some bored white guy. It’s like Scooby-Doo. People think it’s teaching you all these big lessons about how monsters aren’t real, when really it’s just showing kids over and over again that when something seems out of whack, there’s probably some old white dude behind it.”
Alice looked thoughtful. “You know, you may have something there.”
“I do not have the spare brain to have this conversation right now,” I said, and hurried after Brenna, accompanied by the faint cheers of the Aeslin mice riding in the hood of my sweatshirt.
We were taking Aeslin mice to visit a Nest. May the heavens have mercy on our souls.
The lobby of the motel was as small and shabby as the exterior. A lovely woman in her late twenties sat behind the desk, poking listlessly at a smartphone with tape on one corner to hold the screen in place. She didn’t look up as we entered, just said, “You’re late,” without any heat or rancor. I would’ve known she was a dragon even if Brenna hadn’t been the one to lead me here. There was something about her combination of perfect hair, perfect skin, and secondhand sweatshirt that screamed “secretly a princess, not here for you to save.”
“I had to help Verity with some things,” said Brenna sweetly.
The woman’s head snapped up, eyes suddenly wide. She scanned us all in a quick, economical gesture before settling on me. “Verity?” she asked. “Verity Price? Is she—I mean, are you Verity Price?”
“Yeah, I am,” I said. There was no point in stretching out the suspense of the moment. It would have been cruel, given the circumstances and the power imbalance between us. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She put down her phone. “I—I mean, I—I mean—” She stopped. “I don’t know how to have this conversation.”
“That’s because we’re not having it yet, Chantelle. I’m sorry,” said Brenna, before her Nest-sister could embarrass herself—or me—any further. “Verity isn’t here because the dragons of New York have agreed to see us. She’s here because of problems on the show, and we need to talk to Osana.”
“Sorry,” I said, when Chantelle looked to me for confirmation. “I’m working on it, but I’ve been sort of busy appearing on national television for the last few weeks. I’ll let you know as soon as I have some sort of answer.”
“Please make them answer ‘yes,’” said Chantelle. The raw need in her voice was startling. It’s rare to hear a dragon beg for anything—not even mercy. Chantelle was begging. “Please. I want my daughters to have sons. I want to die knowing my species isn’t going extinct within my children’s lifetimes. Please make them understand why they should sell us a baby boy. We’ll be the best aunts any dragon ever grew up with. We’ll teach him everything he needs to know, and he’ll be loved. No one will ever be more loved than he will, because he’ll be our future. Everyone deserves a future.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence when she finished speaking, like none of us knew how to react. Even Brenna was quiet, maybe because she understood what Chantelle was saying a little too well. I was essentially in control of the future of their species, or at least the future of this Nest; without me to make their case and help them move the baby across the country, they’d have no more chance of getting a mate for their daughters than anyone else, and less chance than many. They needed me, and they didn’t know what to offer in exchange for a favor that could quite literally change their lives forever.
I snorted.
The drive to the Nest took about twenty minutes, passing through dark residential neighborhoods and only slightly better-lit commercial ones, until we came to a small, ratty looking motel with a “No Vacancy” sign flashing in the parking lot like a blind eye. It was a prime example of 1950s Southern California design, with neon and exposed balconies accented by dead grass and battered cacti. Brenna pulled into one of the few open spaces, a beatific expression on her face.
“Be it ever so humble,” she said blithely.
“Humble?” asked Malena, craning her neck to see the second floor. Nothing moved behind the curtains, but there were lights on; either someone was home, or the dragons had decided that wasting a little electricity to maintain their cover was okay. “This place isn’t humble. This is where people go to get themselves murdered. To death. By white dudes wearing hockey masks.”
“Why specifically white dudes?” asked Alice. Brenna was getting out of the car and so we all followed suit, closing our doors behind us. The car beeped once as Brenna pressed the button to lock it. She might live here, but even she didn’t trust the neighborhood.
“You ever see anybody else slap on a fucking hockey mask and run around filleting coeds for no good reason? It’s always some bored white guy. It’s like Scooby-Doo. People think it’s teaching you all these big lessons about how monsters aren’t real, when really it’s just showing kids over and over again that when something seems out of whack, there’s probably some old white dude behind it.”
Alice looked thoughtful. “You know, you may have something there.”
“I do not have the spare brain to have this conversation right now,” I said, and hurried after Brenna, accompanied by the faint cheers of the Aeslin mice riding in the hood of my sweatshirt.
We were taking Aeslin mice to visit a Nest. May the heavens have mercy on our souls.
The lobby of the motel was as small and shabby as the exterior. A lovely woman in her late twenties sat behind the desk, poking listlessly at a smartphone with tape on one corner to hold the screen in place. She didn’t look up as we entered, just said, “You’re late,” without any heat or rancor. I would’ve known she was a dragon even if Brenna hadn’t been the one to lead me here. There was something about her combination of perfect hair, perfect skin, and secondhand sweatshirt that screamed “secretly a princess, not here for you to save.”
“I had to help Verity with some things,” said Brenna sweetly.
The woman’s head snapped up, eyes suddenly wide. She scanned us all in a quick, economical gesture before settling on me. “Verity?” she asked. “Verity Price? Is she—I mean, are you Verity Price?”
“Yeah, I am,” I said. There was no point in stretching out the suspense of the moment. It would have been cruel, given the circumstances and the power imbalance between us. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She put down her phone. “I—I mean, I—I mean—” She stopped. “I don’t know how to have this conversation.”
“That’s because we’re not having it yet, Chantelle. I’m sorry,” said Brenna, before her Nest-sister could embarrass herself—or me—any further. “Verity isn’t here because the dragons of New York have agreed to see us. She’s here because of problems on the show, and we need to talk to Osana.”
“Sorry,” I said, when Chantelle looked to me for confirmation. “I’m working on it, but I’ve been sort of busy appearing on national television for the last few weeks. I’ll let you know as soon as I have some sort of answer.”
“Please make them answer ‘yes,’” said Chantelle. The raw need in her voice was startling. It’s rare to hear a dragon beg for anything—not even mercy. Chantelle was begging. “Please. I want my daughters to have sons. I want to die knowing my species isn’t going extinct within my children’s lifetimes. Please make them understand why they should sell us a baby boy. We’ll be the best aunts any dragon ever grew up with. We’ll teach him everything he needs to know, and he’ll be loved. No one will ever be more loved than he will, because he’ll be our future. Everyone deserves a future.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence when she finished speaking, like none of us knew how to react. Even Brenna was quiet, maybe because she understood what Chantelle was saying a little too well. I was essentially in control of the future of their species, or at least the future of this Nest; without me to make their case and help them move the baby across the country, they’d have no more chance of getting a mate for their daughters than anyone else, and less chance than many. They needed me, and they didn’t know what to offer in exchange for a favor that could quite literally change their lives forever.
