Chaos Choreography (InCryptid, #5)(96)
“The original tunnel was built in 1922, when we acquired the property that would become our main Nest,” said Brenna. “We hired local contractors for the bulk of the work. The expense stung, of course, but better to pay for something that would last than to be patching and renovating every ten years, right?”
“Local contractors,” I said. “Not human ones, right?”
Brenna looked appalled. “And have humans know where we lived? No offense, Verity, you and your family . . . you’re a special case. But most of the species is dangerous, callow, and not to be trusted.”
“Preaching to the choir,” said Malena. “There’s a reason most humans didn’t even think chupacabras were an urban myth until fifty years ago. We’ve always been there. We just didn’t feel like getting skinned and sold to tourists in six-inch squares.”
Alice didn’t say anything. But I could see her profile, and the downturned corners of her mouth made it clear that she was far from happy. Whether she was upset by the defamation of humans or thinking about all the humans she hadn’t killed in the last fifty years was harder to say. My grandmother wasn’t much on species loyalty. None of the members of my family are, when you get right down to it. It’s just sometimes difficult to know where her loyalties actually lay. She isn’t a danger to people she’s related to. Everyone else is a different story.
I had another question, and this one felt considerably more pressing. “If the same people built the tunnels here and the ones under the Crier Theater, why were you able to hold on to your property while they lost theirs? Why didn’t you help them?” I was wagering she would know what I was talking about.
I was right. Brenna shot me a startled look. “We kept our property because we invested in the local area, and made sure the place was run-down and unappealing to human residents. We own half the buildings in a three-block radius. We do have humans living here—we couldn’t manage absolute control—but with us fighting gentrification and them happy to have rents they can afford and a relatively low crime rate for an area in this apparent state of disrepair, they mostly keep to themselves. They even afford a reasonable smokescreen if someone from the Covenant comes sniffing around.”
Dragons frequently became black holes for an area’s wealth. I had never heard of them investing in infrastructure before, but it made a certain amount of sense: they could always recoup their money by selling some of their property, since anything in the Valley would go for way more today than they had paid for it fifty years ago.
“As to why we didn’t help them . . . they didn’t ask,” Brenna continued. We’d reached a sturdy door, set into a metal frame. She produced a set of keys from her purse and began undoing the locks. “Honestly, we didn’t even know anyone was looking to buy the land the theater’s on now until it was already done. We have little contact with the wholly subterranean communities. They’re mammals. Mammals are messy and unpleasant to deal with on a day-to-day basis. Present company excepted, of course.”
“No one’s sure whether I’m a mammal or not,” said Malena, far too cheerfully.
(She was right, though. Chupacabra looked human in their bipedal form. They had hair, presumably they had bones in their inner ears, and females had what looked like mammary glands, although that could have been a case of Batesian mimicry. No one had ever worked up the nerve to ask a female chupacabra whether she lactated. On the other hand, they transformed into terrifying lizard-wolves from the dawn of time, and were known to be egg layers. Maybe they were mammals. Maybe they were reptiles. Or maybe they were something old and ostensibly extinct—the most common theory held that they were therapsids, and should have died out millennia ago. But that was an argument for another time.)
Brenna blinked at Malena, looking momentarily nonplussed. Then she shrugged, turned back to the door, and pulled it open to reveal the cavernous depths of the dragon’s Nest.
Dragon Nests are like human homes: every one is unique, even if they began from the same original floor plan. At the same time, just as all human homes will include features like “kitchens,” “bathrooms,” and “beds,” all Nests contain certain points of similarity. Chief among them is the gold.
The dragons of Los Angeles had made their home in an artificial cave created by gutting the interior of what looked like a hospital building. I glanced to Brenna for confirmation.
“The Shady Oaks Mental Institution,” she said. “Constructed in 1885, abandoned in 1912, following a severe outbreak of tuberculosis among the staff and patients. We were able to buy the property for a song.”
“And, of course, you’re immune to tuberculosis, so there was no need to be concerned,” I said. “Clever.”
Brenna smiled. “We try to be.”
The building may have started as a place of human suffering, but it had been reforged since then, becoming something wonderful and new. The windows had been boarded over; I could see the ghosts of those structures beneath the layers of gold leaf that covered them. Heaps of gold covered the floor, coins and chains and random bits of cutlery, like the world’s most expensive thrift shop had been emptied out for everyone to walk on. Brenna reached down and removed her heels before stepping, barefoot, into the nearest pile of golden rings and wiggling her toes in evident delight.
Malena was staring around herself, eyes wide. “This is all real?” she asked.