Seanan McGuire - Midnight Blue-Light Special

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.

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

THE 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.