I gave him an affronted look, not particularly concerned with whether or not he’d be able to see it. “Hey, now. It’s not like I’m stripping. I’m a respectable dancer.”

“Yes, of course,” he said dryly. “Whatever was I thinking?”

“I do not know.” I’ve wanted to be a professional dancer since I was six years old—a calling that has managed to interfere with my involvement in the family business several times over the years. It’s hard to find the time to spend a summer on a Greenpeace vessel concealing the plesiosaur migration from oceanographers when I need to be practicing for half a dozen upcoming competitions. Ballroom dance is a cutthroat world, and if you take so much as a long trip to Disney World, it can trash your standing for years.

Dancing for Kitty was a long way from the rarified heights of the World Tango Championships, but hell, it was dancing, and I was getting paid for it. That was close enough for me, especially where paying my rent was concerned.

Dominic frowned a little as he studied me, his expression barely visible through the dark. Finally, he asked, “Is there someplace we could go, for a brief while, where we wouldn’t be observed? I have matters I need to discuss with you.”

“Well, we can’t go to your place, because you’ve never let me see where you live. And we can’t go to the coffee shop, because you always get all weird when I want to ‘discuss’ things in public,” I said slowly. “You realize what that means.”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Dominic sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s a chance that they’re currently involved in some religious observance involving total silence and secluded meditation?”

I laughed. Maybe it was cruel, but I couldn’t help myself. “You really don’t know Aeslin mice very well, do you?”

“It was an idle hope,” said Dominic. “Well. If the mice are not engaged in ritual silence, can I throw myself upon your mercy and request that we take a cab to your apartment, rather than indulging in your customary suicidal approach?”

“Nope.” I leaned up onto my toes, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Dominic looked suitably flustered in response. Sometimes I wonder if I’d be as attracted to him if he weren’t so much fun to torment. That’s probably one of those things I shouldn’t think about too hard. “You can take a cab, if you want, but I’m going to be taking the overland route.”

Dominic sighed again, more deeply this time. “You’re going to plummet to your demise one day, and I’m going to have to beg your cousin to notify your family, as I’m reasonably sure they’d shoot me for having been in the city when you lost your unending battle against gravity.”

“And again, you say the sweetest things,” I said. “Bye, now. See you at the apartment.” I offered him a little wave before turning and sprinting for the edge of the roof. One step carried me onto the low retaining wall, and another step carried me over it, dropping down into the dark on the other side.

Manhattan is a city built almost entirely on the principle that you can never have too much straight up. This makes the city a free-runner’s paradise and a death trap at the same time, since one moment of carelessness can result in fifteen stories of free fall, concluding with a painful introduction to the street. I’ve managed to avoid doing anything quite that dramatic, but I’ve had more than a few close calls.

The thing to remember about free-running is that energy has to go somewhere. Your momentum can either be translated into going where you want to go, or it can be taken away from you and used to send you where gravity wants you to go . . . and you probably don’t want to go where gravity wants you to go. Continual motion reduces the chances of a fall, assuming you have the training and physical skill necessary to keep that motion under control.

I dropped like a stone for the first two stories, plummeting almost all the way back to the club before I grabbed hold of a ledge and used the energy from my fall to fling myself, hard, onto the nearby fire escape. From there, I slid down the ladder and dropped to the street below, landing with my weight balanced on my toes. The world seemed to stop for a moment, everything falling into the sweet, familiar pattern of the run. And then I was off, racing for the next building, where the dumpster would lead to the fire escape would lead to the roof would lead to the next step in my journey home . . .

Free-running in a city as vertical as Manhattan means a lot of going up just so I can go down again. It may look inefficient, but familiarity and speed make it the fastest way for me to get almost anywhere. There’s rarely traffic on the rooftops, and what there is consists almost entirely of cryptids and cryptid sympathizers, almost all of whom are happy to step aside and let me pass. I’m a Price girl, after all; I’m their defender, even if I am sleeping with the enemy. But when I’m running, that doesn’t matter. When I’m running, everything is simple, even the risk of a permanent fall.

I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Dominic was waiting outside the door to my semilegal sublet apartment when I came trotting up the stairs. He looked calm, cool, and collected, as always. I, on the other hand, was a sweaty mess, although the endorphins generated by my run had me flying high enough that I really didn’t care.

“How is it you can always get in here without me?” I asked, slowing to a walk. “I thought this building was supposed to have security.”

“I have my ways.”

“You stole somebody’s keys, didn’t you?” I used my own key to unlock the door.

Dominic looked affronted. “I did nothing of the sort,” he said. “I bribed the building manager with a tale of woe concerning our lovers’ spat.”

“Uh-huh. Was this before or after we actually had one?”

“Oh, considerably before.”

“Why am I not in any way surprised? Come on. Time to face the inquisition.” I pocketed my keys as I pushed the door open, took a deep breath, and stepped into the apartment. Dominic followed quickly. He’d been over often enough to know what was coming, and that we needed to have the door closed before it got fully underway.

The latch had barely clicked into place when the mice filling the apartment’s short entrance hall began to cheer wildly, waving their tiny banners and ritual implements in the air. “HAIL! HAIL! HAIL THE HOMECOMING OF THE ARBOREAL PRIESTESS!”