Discount Armageddon

Twenty-four

“Well, crap.”

–Frances Brown

Some distance beneath the streets of Manhattan, being held captive by a snake cult

TOOTH FAIRY DUST IS MEANT TO BE administered to sleeping children to make sure they stay asleep while the Tooth Fairy feeds. (The specific dietary needs of Tooth Fairies are irrelevant and a little bit disgusting, so I’m not going to talk about them. Even I have limits.) The standard dose, according to Grandpa Thomas’ Field Guide to Pixies, Sprites, and Other Household Pests, is a small pinch. A small pinch, as measured against the hand of something a little bit bigger than a Barbie doll. Dave had blown two full handfuls on me and Istas. At that kind of dosage, it was no wonder that when I finally stumbled back toward consciousness, I felt like I’d been shot full of curare, chloroform, and cockatrice venom.

I groaned, trying to lift a hand and wipe the residual grittiness from my eyes. My arm wouldn’t move. I couldn’t actually feel my arm. That realization snapped me the rest of the way out of my fugue damn quick, and I opened my eyes to find myself staring up at a distant ceiling that looked like poured concrete shot through with massive brass pipes. The sewers. I was somewhere in the sewers, only this time, I was either paralyzed or tied down. This definitely wasn’t an improvement over my earlier descents.

I tried moving various parts of my body. Nothing responded, but at least I was able to feel my hands and feet when I really focused on it. All my bits were still attached; they just weren’t speaking to me at the moment. I started hurriedly reviewing everything I knew about Tooth Fairy dust, trying to remember whether it had a known overdose point.

“I see one of our guests is awake,” said a jovial voice. I turned my head toward it—or tried to, anyway. All I was able to manage was the faintest twitch of the muscles in my neck. That was better than I’d been able to accomplish a few seconds before. I’d take it. “I’m sorry about the way you had to be brought here, dear. It was unnecessarily violent, and I apologize.”

I made a strangled squeaking noise in the back of my throat. Not the most effective comeback I’d ever managed. This paralysis thing was getting old fast.

“Oh, I’m sorry again—I didn’t think. Here.” Meaty hands grasped the sides of my head, turning it to face the speaker: a big, ruddy-faced man with thinning hair and a Brooks Brothers suit that definitely didn’t come off the rack. Whoever my apologetic kidnapper was, he came from money. “Is that better?”

I made the strangled squeaking noise again.

He nodded like I’d just said something brilliant. “I thought it might be. I do apologize that we had to meet under these circumstances, Miss Price. I’ve been a big fan of your work. Oh, don’t look so surprised—we’ve been keeping an eye on you since your arrival on the East Coast. It’s admirable, the way your family has pursued an accord with the unnatural races that battle humanity for rulership of our fair planet. Idiotic, but still admirable.”

If I could look surprised, I could also glare. I did, wishing looks could actually kill as I stared at the asshole who was apparently responsible for my current situation. The asshole who was, unless my instincts had gone totally haywire, part of the snake cult that killed Piyusha.

Chuckling, he leaned over and ruffled my hair. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re adorable when you’re angry? The sedative our operative administered should be wearing off soon, and then we can begin. I’m afraid you can’t be anesthetized during the ritual. It might disrupt things, and we’re dealing with too many variables as it is. As a scientist of sorts, I’m sure you understand why we can’t risk such contamination.”

I kept glaring at him. There are only two good reasons for a villain to monologue: either they’re stalling for time, or they’re sure there’s no possible way for you to escape. This asshole was apparently combining the two. He needed to stall until I was no longer a danger to his dragon’s delicate constitution, and he clearly wasn’t worried about me getting away any time soon.

The tingling in my hands and feet was getting stronger. If he’d just continue his monologue for a little while longer, there was a good chance I could surprise him. His easy dismissal of the city’s cryptid community meant that, while he might work with them, he probably wasn’t inclined to listen to them. That was too bad for him, because if there was one thing they could all have agreed on, it was that you never mess with a Price girl. Not unless we’re already gut-shot and bleeding out … and frankly, not always then.

“There’s nothing to be worried about. You’re doing a great favor for the human race. Your service will be remembered long after the actions of your traitorous family have been stricken from the record of history.”

I squeaked again, glaring. If I hadn’t already known that he couldn’t be working alone, his speech would have confirmed it; no one who couldn’t say “sacrifice” would be capable of performing one.

“I am sorry that it will hurt. I wish there were another way. Sadly, the situation is delicate…” My captor continued rambling for another few minutes, using vague and bloodless euphemisms for what he and the rest of his freaky snake cult friends were planning to do with me. I kept squeaking. Eventually, my responses stopped amusing him, and he returned my head to its original position with a jovial, “Well, I’ll just give you a little time to get your head in order,” before walking briskly away.

I listened closely to the way his footsteps echoed. I hadn’t heard any other voices while he was talking to me, and nothing interrupted the clack-clack-clack of his expensive dress shoes against the concrete. Another sign that he had to be working with a full cult: no one who had a clue what they were doing would be stupid enough to go into the sewer wearing shoes like that. They’d give him no traction at all if the place flooded.

I counted to ten, waiting for the sound of footsteps coming back in my direction. When that didn’t happen, I started trying to flex my fingers and toes, feeling very much like I’d just been cast in an unnecessary remake of Kill Bill. The tingling was getting stronger. It didn’t take long before my toes twitched in answer to my command, followed by my fingers, and then my hands. Sensation began rushing back into my skin so rapidly that it bordered on painful. I gritted my teeth, just glad that I could grit my teeth, and kept trying to get my body to respond.

The return of physical connection brought a host of information in its wake. I was definitely strapped down, not tied, since whatever was holding me in place was leathery-smooth (and given the suit my captor had been wearing, possibly real leather). I was also naked, or close enough as to make no difference, because the leather straps were pressing down directly against my skin. Three straps for my legs, one for my waist, one for my torso, and another for my shoulders. I had to give the snake cult this much, if nothing else; whoever was in charge of securing the sacrifices definitely did a bang-up job.

Someone groaned to my right. I turned toward the sound—abstractly pleased to realize that I could turn toward the sound—and saw Istas. She was strapped to a metal gurney, naked, with arcane symbols drawn in Sharpie all up and down the length of her body. The same symbols I’d found on Piyusha. Her hair was back in its sleek little girl pigtails, making the sight of her even more surreal.

She groaned again before licking her lips and whispering, eyes still closed, “Did we lose because of improper tactical behavior?”

“No.” I was trying to speak softly, but my voice came out as a whisper even fainter than Istas’. Lingering paralysis of the vocal cords, most likely. “We lost because that asshole we work for decided to sell us out.”

“Oh, good.” Istas’ shoulders tensed as she tried to move. The tension passed quickly, with no real visible effect. “I will enjoy removing his insides and displaying them to him as a part of his outsides.” She paused, considering, before she added, “I believe I will wear his liver as a hat.”

“Okay, well, good, that’s a goal,” I agreed slowly. “First we need to get loose. Then we can think about internal organ haberdashery. Can you change shapes?”

“I do not know.” Istas tensed again, the muscles in her neck visibly bulging as they twisted into a new formation. Then the skin smoothed out again as she sagged, chest moving in rapid, if shallow, heaves. “… no. I cannot.”

“Okay. Well, thanks for trying.” I could feel my shoulders again. I pulled them upward, feeling the drag as the