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

especially at night on unfamiliar ground. Free running while scanning the skies and likely hiding spots for giant carnivorous bats really leaves no room to watch for anything else. I’ve had years of training at spotting traps and deadfalls. I’ve even managed to beat Antimony a few times at games of hide-and-seek, and that’s damn near impossible. So nothing but distraction and simple carelessness can excuse my failing to see the snare before I jammed my foot straight into it.
    The rope snapped taut, the loop closed around my ankle, and all I had time to think before the deadweight hit the side of my head and knocked me into unconsciousness was how much Alex was going to laugh at me for this one.
    Then the weight came down, the snare whipped me into the air, and I wasn’t thinking of anything for a while.

Five

    “When in doubt, play dead. Well, unless you might be dealing with a ghoul, or a basilisk, or something else that likes its meat a little ripe. Actually, when in doubt, just start shooting.”
    —Alice Healy
    Upside down in a really short skirt somewhere on the rooftops of Manhattan
    T HERE IS NO SHAME IN BLACKING OUT when whipped abruptly into the air, especially if you were running when it happened. Seriously, if there was shame in it, Alex and I would have died of embarrassment before Antimony turned nine. Having a little sister who sets traps for fun definitely made us a little blasé about getting caught in them. Any trap you can walk away from was probably set by someone who wasn’t trying to kill you. Not immediately, anyway.
    Rubbing my aching head, I opened my eyes to find myself dangling about eight feet above the rooftop where I’d been running. That was awkward. A quick check showed that I was still in possession of all my limbs and all my weaponry; thank God for custom holsters. “Gotta tell Dad we have a new stress test for the snaps on these things,” I said, and tried to jackknife up to grab my knees. The rope promptly started to sway,turning what should have been a simple exercise into something better performed by a circus acrobat.
    Fine; if it wanted to be that way, I would improvise. The rope was creaking, but it wasn’t showing any signs of giving way. That was good. Tips for getting out of a snare without breaking any major bones, number one: make sure
you
control when you get down, not the rope. I started rocking with more vigor, until I had built up sufficient momentum to let me fold myself in half despite the motion of the rope. I wrapped my arms around my legs, taking a moment to breathe before I leaned back and assessed the situation further.
    The rope was looped around my left ankle, drawn tight in some sort of complicated slip knot. “Huh,” I said, sliding my hands up to grasp my calves and pull myself closer to the knot. It was a maneuver easier performed than described, and resulted in my feeling somewhat like a giant inchworm. “Who the hell tied you?”
    The knot, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer. It was starting to chafe. If it hadn’t been for the amount of time I spent balancing on one leg while being dragged around the dance floor, I probably would have been in a lot of pain; as it was, I was
going
to be in a lot of pain if I didn’t figure out how to get myself safely untied, and soon.
    My work uniform didn’t give me a lot of padding, and the roof below me wasn’t what I’d call a safe place to land. I could cut the rope—I’d be disowned if I went out without a knife, or at least looked at admonishingly—but the odds of me flipping around and landing on my feet weren’t good. Actually, they were bad. My only
good
option involved climbing the rope, somehow managing to get a grip on the flagpole it was tied to, and starting from there.
    “I should never have quit gymnastics,” I grumbled, and began swinging back and forth again, trying to work up the momentum to let me grab hold of the rope. On the third swing, I managed to swing myself up far enough to