Midnight Blue-Light Special (8 page)

“He has a name, you know. It’s Ryan.”

“I know. You’re avoiding the question.”

“I know.” I sighed and ran the fingers of my right hand through my bed-messed hair, using the gesture to buy myself a few seconds to think. “Jeez, Dominic. Most guys start the day by asking the girl if she wants breakfast. Not if they’re dating.”

Dominic smiled a little. “I am not ‘most guys.’ No more than you are most girls. You are a fabulous, insane, infuriating creature, and I have never felt that normal was a requirement for this . . . whatever it is. Still. I’d like to know.”

“Is this about those vow of chastity jokes? Because I really didn’t mean them.”

“Verity.” Dominic reached out and took hold of my chin, resting his thumb in the hollow just below my lip. “Most of the young knights in my generation have taken lovers as soon as they arrived in a new city. Others hire prostitutes to fulfill their carnal needs. All of them know that one day, they will return to the Covenant and be married to a member of a good Covenant family, to have children of good breeding to join in the cause.”

My eyes widened. I pulled away. “So what, I’m your spring fling?”

“No! No.” Dominic scowled. “That isn’t what I’m saying at all. Verity, I didn’t take a lover because I didn’t
want
one. I was not looking for distraction from my mission. And so, instead of falling into the arms of a soft American woman who would never ask where I spent the small hours of the morning, I found myself with you, and you, Verity Price, you were so much more than that phantom girl could ever have been. Do you understand me? I did not choose you because you were expected. I did not choose you at all. But now that I have found you . . . please. I just want to understand what you are to me, and what I am to you.”

I stared at him. That was the only thing that I could think of to do. “I . . .”

In the pocket of his pants, kicked half under the bed and nearly hidden under the black cotton of my sports bra, Dominic’s phone began to ring. We both froze, the rest of the sentence dying before I could force it past my lips. It wasn’t a ringtone I’d heard before. Not that I’d heard his phone ring more than once or twice, but that ringtone—

“Is that . . . ?”

“Yes. It is.” He rolled away from me, spine suddenly stiff again, like the spine of the wannabe holy warrior who caught me in his rooftop snare. He was still there with me, but he was already gone by the time he found his pants and dug his phone out of the pocket, flicking it open. “De Luca.”

There was a long pause as whoever was on the other end spoke. Then Dominic asked, in a light, rhetorical tone, “If God is occupied with the fall of sparrows then who, on Earth, will count the fall of dragons?”

It must have been the right thing to say. There was another pause, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders.

“Yes, of course, sir,” he said. “Pier A, in Battery Park. Two hours. Yes, sir. I have arranged for transportation and housing.” He paused again. “Yes, sir, I understand. I will bring all my reports thus far for review during the trip to your residence.”

The next pause was longer. Dominic closed his eyes as it stretched on, chin dipping slightly, so that he looked for all the world like he was praying. Finally, he said, “Yes, sir, I understand the scope of the honor that is being afforded to me. I will not question my privilege. I will not doubt my orders. I will do my best to bring glory to the name of the Covenant, and to the family whose name I bear. Yes, sir. I will be on time.”

Then he closed the phone. For a moment, he just stood there, eyes still closed, lit by the early morning sun streaming through the window.

I slid out of the bed and walked toward him. “Dominic?” He didn’t react. I raised a hand, reaching carefully toward his shoulder. “Dominic?”

“Don’t touch me right now, Verity,” he said. His voice was low. “I am betraying someone, right now, and I honestly do not know who it is. So please, I beg you. Do not touch me.”

“I’m sorry.” I pulled my hand away. “That was the Covenant. On your phone.” In my apartment. For the first time in a while, I realized just how dangerous my relationship with Dominic really was. All he had to do was say the word . . .

And if he was going to do that, he would never have told me the purge was coming, much less answered the phone in my presence. I couldn’t let myself start thinking that way. If I did, I might as well get out of the city right now.

“Yes. They’re on their way. I’ve told you when and where they will arrive. Be careful. Don’t let yourself be seen.” He grabbed his pants off the floor, yanking them roughly on before looking back at me over his shoulder. I had never seen him look so miserable. “I truly do not know whether I’m doing the right thing. But I know that I don’t want you getting hurt, and I know that nothing I can say will make you leave. So, for me, for my sake, be careful.”

“I’ll try,” I said. Where I grew up, “be careful” was a death sentence. From the look in his eyes, he didn’t think of it that way.

To my surprise, Dominic laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “A man from the Covenant of St. George telling a Price woman to be careful. What is this world coming to?”

“I don’t know, but we’ve been here a few times before,” I said.

Dominic laughed again, even less happily. “So true.” He didn’t say anything else as he gathered the rest of his clothes and got dressed, and he didn’t look at me on his way out of the room. I heard the front door slam a few minutes later. Once again, I was alone, and feeling more lost than ever.

I stayed in the bedroom long enough to collect my thoughts and give Dominic a chance to get out of the building. Then I dressed, taking my time, concealing as many weapons as I possibly could under camouflage cargo pants and a black tank top. Adding my custom tactical vest—half-corset, half-Kevlar, all military spec material—gave me room for easily a dozen extra knives. If I needed all those weapons, I was probably already dead, but it’s better to be prepared for anything.

The mice were waiting in the hall when I opened the bedroom door. They cheered as I emerged, a cry of “CHEESE AND CAKE!” rising from the throng.

I smiled a little. No matter how bad things look, life goes on. “I have to go out for a little while,” I said. “Let’s get your communion set up.”

Praise and exultations followed me into the kitchen. That was nice. I had the distinct feeling that no one else was going to be singing my praises any time soon. It was time to go.

Eight

“Don’t be careful. Be courageous. Don’t be safe. Be strong. Don’t be a victim. Be the one who makes it home.”

—Evelyn Baker

The rooftop of the old Department of Docks on Pier A in Manhattan

T
HE ROOFTOP OF THE OLD
Department of Docks building was slanted—something uncommon enough in Manhattan to be deeply disconcerting, especially when I was trying to stay out of sight. The angle of the roof was sharp enough that I couldn’t lie flat, but shallow enough that I couldn’t use it for cover. “Avoid really obvious cover” was one of the rules I’d been raised with, entry number eight hundred and thirteen in the Gospel of Staying Alive. I sent up a silent apology to my entire family tree as I disregarded their advice and slunk into the shadow of the building’s decorative clock tower. It was a short, mostly useless piece of masonry. It was sufficient for my current needs.

Once I was safely out of view, I settled into a crouch, and prepared myself to wait.

There’s a certain meditative mindset that goes with long periods of actively doing nothing. That isn’t the contradiction that it sounds like. Anyone can passively do nothing, staring off into space or at the latest mindless sitcom eating up the hours on their TV. Actively doing nothing means holding perfectly still while paying attention to everything around you. It’s a skill cultivated by hunters, soldiers, and biologists hoping to get a glimpse of something no one’s ever seen before. My training makes me sort of a combination of all three, and I’ve had time to get very, very good at not moving.

I didn’t move as the sun slid slowly across the sky, counting down toward the point when Dominic’s superiors were scheduled to arrive. I didn’t move when I saw Dominic himself come walking down the pier. He was wearing that stupid leather duster that he had on the night we met. I was too far away to see his face. I didn’t need to. His shoulders were locked, and he was walking with the slow, borderline-resentful steps of a man on the way to his own execution.

He stopped at the edge of the pier, hands in the pockets of his duster, and looked out over the water. Then he froze, going as still as I was. I held my position, and the two of us waited, together and apart at the same time.

The Hudson River isn’t the sort of thing you mess around with. I’m not sure what I was expecting to see come sailing up to the pier. I certainly wasn’t expecting the taxi that drove up behind Dominic and stopped, disgorging three black-clad figures onto the sidewalk. Each of them had a satchel. The driver emerged long enough to help them remove two suitcases from the trunk. Then the tallest of the figures handed him a stack of bills, and he climbed back into the cab and was gone, leaving Dominic and the trio behind.

Dominic still didn’t turn. The shortest of the three—a woman, with long brown hair pulled into a ponytail—stepped up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. There was a pause while none of them moved; the brunette was probably speaking. Dominic nodded once, not turning. One of the others raised his hand to shoulder-height in a gesture that looked like a benediction or a summons, or possibly both. Dominic nodded again.

This time he turned to face the three, and bowed to them deeply. The brunette woman bowed back, as did the shorter of the two men. The taller man simply stood there with his hand raised, watching. It should have looked ridiculous, an old-fashioned dumb show being carried out in front of a semi-abandoned pier, with a pile of luggage just begging to be stolen. Instead, it was positively chilling. These were Covenant agents. Three of them, in
my
city. Dominic didn’t count. He hadn’t been Covenant to me since the day we found William.

Dominic gestured toward their bags, probably saying something else that I was too far away to hear. I found myself wishing Sarah was with me. She’s not usually very good at getting clean telepathic reads off people she’s never met, but anything would have been better than nothing. The three Covenant operatives nodded, and the tall man finally lowered his hand.

They followed Dominic as he walked down the side of the pier to the rental car he had parked illegally in a nearby loading zone. It was a black Crown Vic—of course it was—and from the way he held the doors open for them, he could almost have been mistaken for their chauffeur. He even loaded the suitcases into the trunk without assistance. All three kept hold of their satchels. Dominic never even reached for them. There were apparently some things that simply were not done.

Once the others were safely in the car, he walked around to the driver’s side door and pulled it open, taking what must have looked like a natural pause while he looked up to the nearby rooftops. I remained frozen where I was, using the shadow of the clock tower for cover. His eyes skated over me without pausing, and as he climbed into the car and drove away, I still wasn’t sure whether I’d been seen.

I would normally have tried to follow the car, but the selection of the old Department of Docks building hadn’t been an accident. It was detached, set far enough out on the pier that there was nothing I could jump to or grab hold of. Even getting to the nearest buildings would have required running across level ground, and that would have left me visible. I did follow them as far as the roof’s edge, straightening up while I watched them disappear into the flow of traffic.

The Covenant was in Manhattan. All I could do now was try to keep myself—and everyone else—alive.

The Department of Docks roof was as good a place as any to make a phone call, and the cell reception was surprisingly good, maybe because it was one of the few spots in the city without multiple skyscrapers looming directly over it. I retreated back to the shadow of the clock tower to dial, propping myself in the space created where the tower wall met the angle of the roof.

The logical person to call would have been my father, who was probably worrying himself sick while he waited to hear what was going on. Instead, I dialed someone who stood a better chance of actually helping me. “Sarah? Hi, it’s Verity.”

“Oh, hey.” Sarah yawned, barely making an effort to hide it. “What do you want? It’s, like . . . jeez, Very, what time is it?”

“About eleven,” I said. “Don’t you have morning classes?”

“I was at the Nest until almost five-thirty,” she said, and yawned again. “Besides, it’s not like I’m actually enrolled in any of my classes. Nobody’s going to notice if I don’t show up.”

“Fair,” I allowed. Sarah probably had the equivalent of three math degrees, but she didn’t have anything on paper. Her natural camouflage meant she could show up for any class and be accepted as someone who belonged—and yet she’d never enrolled in a single college course. She hadn’t even gone to a public high school, since being a telepath in a building full of confused teenagers trying to figure out what to do with their hormones was something she and Grandma Angela both regarded as just this side of hell. Actual Hell, I mean, where the border imps live, and those bastards can strip the meat off a cow faster than a swarm of horror movie piranha.

“The dragons were pretty calm,” said Sarah, still audibly waking up. “I mean, for dragons. Bill breathed fire on the girls when they got rowdy, and that settled them right down.”

Male dragons breathe fire; female dragons are fireproof. Evolution works in mysterious ways. “What are they going to do?”

“Circle the wagons and stay underground until we give them the all clear. Even if they could move Bill, they can’t shift the eggs.” Sarah paused. When she spoke again, she sounded sharper—good. I needed her sharp. “Verity, why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be off saving the world or something? Or at least sleeping?”

“I need a favor.”

“You always need a favor.”

“I need a favor from Artie.”

I could practically hear Sarah’s double take. “You need a what?”

“I need you to call Artie and get him to trace a rental car for me.”

“Uh . . . Verity, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but real life doesn’t work like television. You can’t just say ‘trace a rental car in Manhattan’ and have your helpful neighborhood computer guy find you a name and address before the next commercial break. Remember? We went over this when you wanted us to trace Antimony via her cell phone GPS. Please stop taking your technology tips from
Criminal Minds
.”

I ignored her. “The car is a black Crown Victoria, looked like either a 2006 or a 2007, rented to Dominic De Luca. He’ll have been using a foreign ID, but the card he used will have a billing address somewhere in Manhattan.”

Silence greeted this statement.

I kept going: “The Covenant called him this morning while we were at my apartment. I watched him make the pickup. There are three of them, two male and one female. I didn’t get a good look at their faces, but one of the men was pretty obviously in charge.”

More silence.

“I don’t know when the next time Dominic is going to be able to get away from them will be. He made sure I was there to see the pickup. They didn’t see me.”

“Very . . .” Sarah took a breath. “If you’re that sure he’ll be easy to find, why didn’t he give you an address? It would have been easier.”

“Because he’s still trying to figure out who he’s going to betray—me, or the Covenant.” I shook my head, not caring that she couldn’t see the gesture. “I honestly don’t know which way he’s going to go, either. Maybe he’ll turn his back on the only life he’s ever known. Maybe he’ll sell me out. I guess we’ll find out sooner or later.”

“If you really think there’s a chance that he might turn you in, you need to get out of there. We don’t know if the Covenant taught him to hide things from telepaths.” Sarah sounded alarmed, and rightfully so. “You can come stay with me. Bring the mice, we’ll make it a slumber party.”

“And when Dominic decides I’m the next one on the ‘betray me now’ list and comes looking for me? I can’t disappear completely, Sarah. If they start looking for me, they’ll find me, and they’ll follow me straight to you.” More silence from her end of the phone. I sighed. “Yeah, I thought so. Look, Sarah, there’s no good answer here. I wish there was one. Just call Artie for me, okay?”

“What do you want me to tell him? I’m not going to be the one to say, ‘Oh, hey, the Covenant’s throwing a purge on the island of Manhattan and me and Verity are both invited.’ I’m just
not
.”

“Tell him I need to know, and that I’ll explain later.” If I’d called Artie myself, I would have been explaining
now
, because otherwise he would never have done it. If the request came from Sarah, he’d go ahead, minimal questions asked. And then the two of them wonder why the rest of the family is betting on when they’ll just go ahead and start dating already.

“Verity . . .”

“I’m not leaving New York while the Covenant’s here, and you’re not leaving while I’m here, so will you just call Artie? Please, for me?”

Sarah sighed. “Okay. I’ll call him. But I’m really not sure this is the way to go about things.”

“I’ll tell you what: if you come up with any better ideas, you be sure and let me know.” I hung up before she could say anything else, and sank down against the roof, briefly closing my eyes. This was one hell of a mess, and it was going to get a lot worse before it got any better.