Free Discount Armageddon: An Incryptid Novel by Seanan McGuire Page B

Father of the Year. Give Mom my love when she gets back from the Underworld.”
    “She’d hurt me if I didn’t.”
    We exchanged the standard pleasantries and I rang off, feeling considerably better. Sure, I was the one standing at what might be about to turn into ground zero, but if the Covenant took me out, the family would descend on New York in a heavily-armed, extremely irritated wave. None of that would make me any less dead, but it would make me feel better. Besides, if I died, I could be the first person in thirty years to figure out whether Grandpa Thomas is alive or not.
    After testing to be sure my ankle was willing to bear my weight, I stood and made my way to the bedroom. Things would look better after a few hours of sleep. Things usually do.
    I was on the verge of drifting off when I remembered my earlier determination to eat something healthy. Getting up would have been too much trouble. I rolled over, pulled the blankets over my head, and slipped into the comforting simplicity of sleep.

    I opened my eyes to the sound of my alarm blaring a cheerful imitation of a fire siren. I rolled over to smack the snooze button, triggering an ecstatic cry of “Hail the renewed consciousness of the Arboreal Priestess!” from the Aeslin mice surrounding my bed. None of them were
on
the bed, a fact that I attributed less to politeness than to their admittedly stunted sense of self-preservation. Not even the Aeslin are dumb enough to get too close to someone who sleeps with as many guns as I do.
    “The Arboreal Priestess isn’t awake enough for you to hail things,” I informed the congregation. They answered with muted cheers. Sitting up, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and glared at the time displayed on the clock. Nine-thirty in the morning. These double shifts were going to kill me if they went on for much longer.
    “Oh, shit,” I said, remembering. “I trashed my uniform socks.”That meant buying a new pair. Dave recommended we all keep backups, but since the socks seemed to get shredded as quickly as I bought them, buying extra just doubled my bill.
    “Hail the purchase of the socks!” cried the mice, before dissolving into general rejoicing.
    I had to smile. There’s very little that won’t inspire Aeslin mice to religious ecstasy, which is why we’ve kept them around for so long. Having a tiny church choir singing the praises of fixing the garbage disposal does a lot to keep things tolerable. Also, they’re too damn cute to kill, and ecological curiosity generally suppresses any homicidal urges that may get past the “awww” impulse. After living with them for seven generations, we have yet to figure out what Aeslin mice are
for
.
    “Okay, guys,” I said, as I swung my feet around to the floor. “Why am I getting the morning congregation experience? Again, I know this isn’t a major holiday.”
    “It is the sixth day of the Month of Do Not Put That in Your Mouth!” proclaimed one of the priests, sounding incredibly pleased about that fact.
    It took me a moment to figure out what that meant. The Aeslin schedule their celebrations according to the standard human calendar, but maintain their own calendar for private use. How they keep the two straight is something I will never understand, especially since they celebrate approximately thirty-two months every year. (That really is an approximation. Several of the months are intermittent, and may skip a year or more before making a return engagement. Religious mice are weird.)
    “You want cheese and cake, don’t you?” This was the right answer: the room erupted into cheers and jubilation.
    I was going to need to get up sooner or later. Probably sooner, if I wanted to make it to work on time. I’m less inclined to take the rooftops when the sun is out—something about not wanting to cause a mob scene when people decide I’m a cat burglar or a masked vigilante—and I didn’ttrust my ankle yet. I would have needed to have two broken kneecaps and