Discount Armageddon
Page 14
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“You killed it.” The urge to shoot him was overwhelming. Only a lifetime of etiquette lessons and the irritating fact that he was probably wearing some sort of body armor stopped me. I turned to face him. “You’re with the Covenant, aren’t you?”
I might as well have shot him from the way he recoiled. He took a step backward, one hand going to his hip and pulling a nasty looking hunting knife from a previously hidden scabbard. “How do you know that?”
“Simple.” I offered a sweet, sunny, entirely insincere smile, trying to pretend that I wasn’t standing in front of a dead cryptid that had been needlessly slaughtered in my city. “My name’s Verity Price. Now what the hell are you doing in Manhattan?”
No one knows exactly when the organization that became the Covenant was founded. Their ranks included a lot of scholars and scribes, but records get lost, libraries have a tendency to burn down—especially when the libraries belong to a secret society that goes around harassing dragons for fun—and if you give history enough time, it has a nasty tendency to turn into myth. We know it’s been around for centuries. We know it’s all over the world, sometimes under different names, but always with the same mission statement: if a thing doesn’t fit whatever’s currently defined as “natural,” it needs to die. No argument, no discussion, no mercy. From ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night, the Covenant is out to deliver us. Whether or not we particularly want to be delivered.
Nice folks, the Covenant, especially given the part where, last time any of us bothered to check, they were really invested in the idea of arresting my entire family and dragging us to their central headquarters to stand trial for crimes against humanity. Just being born a Price is enough to qualify as a traitor to the human race, which is a neat trick. All the treason, none of the effort. And how did we earn the enmity of a global brotherhood of fanatic monster hunters? The simple way: we quit.
My paternal great-great-grandparents, Alexander and Enid Healy, were born into the Covenant. They were active members for years before they started wondering what the hell they were doing. Then Great-Great-Grandpa Healy found the connection between wiping out the unicorns in England and the great cholera epidemic, and it was all over but the shouting, recriminations, and emigration to America. Maybe the Covenant could have forgiven them for their desertion, but two generations later, my grandmother married Thomas Price, a representative of the Covenant who’d been sent to make sure the Healys were harmless. Leaving was bad enough, but convincing others to defect was enough to start a blood feud.
That doesn’t even start going into Mom’s side of the family.
The Covenant: because sometimes you want your genocidal assholes to be organized. Now one of those same genocidal assholes was in my city, holding a knife on me, looking like I’d just run over his dog. And he was killing cryptids. This was sure shaping up to be a swell night.
“Price,” he said, with almost exaggerated care. “As in…?”
“Thomas Price was my grandfather.” I didn’t feel the need to mention my parents. For one thing, they weren’t on the roof. For another, invoking the Bakers would probably be enough to tip him over the edge. He’d already killed once. I didn’t want to encourage him to do it again. “What are you doing in my city?”
He pulled himself a little straighter, trying to look imposing. I’ve been dancing the tango with men a foot and a half taller than I am since I was fourteen. I wasn’t impressed.
“I wasn’t aware that you’d been granted the authority to claim cities. How quaint. Who backs you?”
“Me.” I shrugged. “The rest of the family. Oh, and most of the city’s cryptids, who happen to be big fans of me and my tendency not to kill them. They won’t be happy if you try arresting me. Or with the idea that there’s a hunter in the city.”
“This city has gone without a purge for far too long.”
“This city is doing just fine without a purge, thank you very much. It’s not in the market for a serial killer.” I glanced at the dead ahool one more time. “No one asked you to come here.”
Dominic actually looked affronted. “Are you implying that I—?” He left the question unfinished, but the intonation was clear.
“You’re setting snares for potentially intelligent creatures with the intent to kill them based solely on attributes that you don’t like.” Ahool weren’t intelligent, but they also weren’t going to get caught in a snare. Rooftop snares meant he was hunting for a wide variety of prey. “I think the situation’s pretty self-explanatory, don’t you?”
He started to step forward, the knife still in his hand. I had my gun drawn and pointed straight at him before he’d finished the motion.
“Do you really want to do that?” I asked. “Think hard. I’m having a lousy night, and I promise you’re not going to take me quietly.” The harpies were probably too far away to hear me if I screamed. That was bad. We were, however, reasonably close to a flophouse that I knew was frequented by a lot of bogeymen. Bogeymen are attracted by the sound of screams, and most of the city’s bogey community knew me. Even if Dominic was wearing body armor, I was no slouch at hand-to-hand, and I’d have backup before he had time to do much damage. I hoped.
Dominic hesitated. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t. I thought you’d been wiped out.”
“Wiping things out is your hobby, but no, we haven’t been.”
“They taught me about you. Your desertion.”
“What a great way of putting it. I’ll have to write that in my diary.”
“You were a glorious bloodline before you decided to turn traitor.”
Now I was starting to get pissed. I shifted as much of my weight as possible to my right leg, glaring at him. “Are we doing this thing or not? Because if not, I want you out of Manhattan, and out of my way.”
“I suppose that’s the answer, then,” said Dominic regretfully, before he lunged.
I have to give the Covenant this: they teach their people how to fight. Dominic moved with grace and deadly speed, turning a headlong charge into an attack before most people would have had time to do more than blink. Keeping the knife held slightly behind him, he balled his right hand into a fist and swung for the place where my head should have been.
I might as well have shot him from the way he recoiled. He took a step backward, one hand going to his hip and pulling a nasty looking hunting knife from a previously hidden scabbard. “How do you know that?”
“Simple.” I offered a sweet, sunny, entirely insincere smile, trying to pretend that I wasn’t standing in front of a dead cryptid that had been needlessly slaughtered in my city. “My name’s Verity Price. Now what the hell are you doing in Manhattan?”
No one knows exactly when the organization that became the Covenant was founded. Their ranks included a lot of scholars and scribes, but records get lost, libraries have a tendency to burn down—especially when the libraries belong to a secret society that goes around harassing dragons for fun—and if you give history enough time, it has a nasty tendency to turn into myth. We know it’s been around for centuries. We know it’s all over the world, sometimes under different names, but always with the same mission statement: if a thing doesn’t fit whatever’s currently defined as “natural,” it needs to die. No argument, no discussion, no mercy. From ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night, the Covenant is out to deliver us. Whether or not we particularly want to be delivered.
Nice folks, the Covenant, especially given the part where, last time any of us bothered to check, they were really invested in the idea of arresting my entire family and dragging us to their central headquarters to stand trial for crimes against humanity. Just being born a Price is enough to qualify as a traitor to the human race, which is a neat trick. All the treason, none of the effort. And how did we earn the enmity of a global brotherhood of fanatic monster hunters? The simple way: we quit.
My paternal great-great-grandparents, Alexander and Enid Healy, were born into the Covenant. They were active members for years before they started wondering what the hell they were doing. Then Great-Great-Grandpa Healy found the connection between wiping out the unicorns in England and the great cholera epidemic, and it was all over but the shouting, recriminations, and emigration to America. Maybe the Covenant could have forgiven them for their desertion, but two generations later, my grandmother married Thomas Price, a representative of the Covenant who’d been sent to make sure the Healys were harmless. Leaving was bad enough, but convincing others to defect was enough to start a blood feud.
That doesn’t even start going into Mom’s side of the family.
The Covenant: because sometimes you want your genocidal assholes to be organized. Now one of those same genocidal assholes was in my city, holding a knife on me, looking like I’d just run over his dog. And he was killing cryptids. This was sure shaping up to be a swell night.
“Price,” he said, with almost exaggerated care. “As in…?”
“Thomas Price was my grandfather.” I didn’t feel the need to mention my parents. For one thing, they weren’t on the roof. For another, invoking the Bakers would probably be enough to tip him over the edge. He’d already killed once. I didn’t want to encourage him to do it again. “What are you doing in my city?”
He pulled himself a little straighter, trying to look imposing. I’ve been dancing the tango with men a foot and a half taller than I am since I was fourteen. I wasn’t impressed.
“I wasn’t aware that you’d been granted the authority to claim cities. How quaint. Who backs you?”
“Me.” I shrugged. “The rest of the family. Oh, and most of the city’s cryptids, who happen to be big fans of me and my tendency not to kill them. They won’t be happy if you try arresting me. Or with the idea that there’s a hunter in the city.”
“This city has gone without a purge for far too long.”
“This city is doing just fine without a purge, thank you very much. It’s not in the market for a serial killer.” I glanced at the dead ahool one more time. “No one asked you to come here.”
Dominic actually looked affronted. “Are you implying that I—?” He left the question unfinished, but the intonation was clear.
“You’re setting snares for potentially intelligent creatures with the intent to kill them based solely on attributes that you don’t like.” Ahool weren’t intelligent, but they also weren’t going to get caught in a snare. Rooftop snares meant he was hunting for a wide variety of prey. “I think the situation’s pretty self-explanatory, don’t you?”
He started to step forward, the knife still in his hand. I had my gun drawn and pointed straight at him before he’d finished the motion.
“Do you really want to do that?” I asked. “Think hard. I’m having a lousy night, and I promise you’re not going to take me quietly.” The harpies were probably too far away to hear me if I screamed. That was bad. We were, however, reasonably close to a flophouse that I knew was frequented by a lot of bogeymen. Bogeymen are attracted by the sound of screams, and most of the city’s bogey community knew me. Even if Dominic was wearing body armor, I was no slouch at hand-to-hand, and I’d have backup before he had time to do much damage. I hoped.
Dominic hesitated. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t. I thought you’d been wiped out.”
“Wiping things out is your hobby, but no, we haven’t been.”
“They taught me about you. Your desertion.”
“What a great way of putting it. I’ll have to write that in my diary.”
“You were a glorious bloodline before you decided to turn traitor.”
Now I was starting to get pissed. I shifted as much of my weight as possible to my right leg, glaring at him. “Are we doing this thing or not? Because if not, I want you out of Manhattan, and out of my way.”
“I suppose that’s the answer, then,” said Dominic regretfully, before he lunged.
I have to give the Covenant this: they teach their people how to fight. Dominic moved with grace and deadly speed, turning a headlong charge into an attack before most people would have had time to do more than blink. Keeping the knife held slightly behind him, he balled his right hand into a fist and swung for the place where my head should have been.
