Owl and the City of Angels (12 page)

There were photographs of three artifacts sitting in a case. I scrolled down to a series of close-ups: a stone chisel described as “mega-Neolithic chipped flint,” followed by a piece of a very well-preserved carved stone bowl and a bronze sword.

“Shit.” I switched back to the folder and pulled out the inventory from the latest IAA dig. The pieces were uncannily close to the ones catalogued . . . so close that if I had to bet on the pieces being the same . . .

“OK, you may be on to something—” I started, then stopped midsentence when I caught sight of Mr. Kurosawa’s red face and Lady Siyu’s hint of fang.

“Now I ask you once again, Owl, why do you suppose the IAA has orchestrated this manhunt?”

“
Thief,
” Lady Siyu added.

Oh hell no . . . Despite the heat in the room, my skin chilled. They’d both moved in closer, as if I’d somehow turned into prey in the last five seconds.

“Woah, now wait just a minute,” I said. “You think it was me?”

“It would explain why the IAA was so persistent in Egypt.” Mr. Kurosawa smiled, and I caught sight of black serrated teeth. Shit, this was not good. Now I knew why Rynn hadn’t been invited to the party.

I took a step back, but I was already at the bar. “OK, just because the IAA thinks I stole something doesn’t mean I did. You couldn’t pay me enough to go into that city—it’s cursed.” I hopped up onto the bar and swung my legs over. I didn’t think I could make it to any of the doors, but at least it gave me time to shoot my mouth off.

“That is your specialty, is it not? Sneaking into their dig sites and taking things from right under their noses?” Lady Siyu said.

“OK, yes—” In fact, the theft did have my signature all over it, and so did the others Benji had pointed out . . . “But this is someone else.”

Lady Siyu hissed and dragged a claw across the stone bar as she walked around, effectively cutting off any hope of exit.

Appealing to my innocence was only pushing the conversation in the wrong direction.
Think, Owl, there has to be something that shows you didn’t do it.
Unfortunately, the time line was no damn good. The fact that I’d been in Morocco, Algiers, and Egypt only made me look more guilty—which was why the IAA had figured it had to have been me, and falling for the Algiers bait had only confirmed I’d been in the area. All right, what about the job itself?

Lady Siyu hissed and flashed her fangs, as if about to strike.

Something to hold her off . . . matches? No, that’d just piss her off . . . I spotted the soda gun in the well—what was it Rynn had said about Nagas being more like salamanders than snakes? Something about their skin and scales being sensitive to acid rain . . . Worth a shot. I grabbed the soda gun and held it out towards her. She snorted. Not exactly spectacular self-defense on my part, but she did narrow her eyes at the soda gun.

OK, think.
If I
were
the thief—and, for the record, I’m
not
—how the hell would I do it, assuming getting into the dig was the least of my worries? From what I could tell, the real thief hadn’t had any trouble in that department, otherwise the IAA would never have suspected me. Moving the artifacts across two continents would be where I’d get twitchy. I wouldn’t risk a flight out of Syria, not even chartered. With the site open the IAA would be on high alert for anything that could release a supernatural plague.

A boat would work, but not through the Mediterranean—too obvious. Maybe by the Red Sea or Persian Gulf—or just head south, then fly out of Africa . . .

The point is it’d take me a minimum of two weeks to get it to the continental US.

Lady Siyu lunged at me, spitting venom. I yelled and fired. Club soda shot out, drenching the front of her suit. The skin around the neck of her shirt and below her cuffs began to turn a slow shade of red. She shrieked, but jumped back. After the shock vanished, the look she gave me was pure death.

Talk fast, Alix, before she strikes again
. “Wait! I can prove I didn’t do it!” I said. Lady Siyu wasn’t interested in hearing. She hissed and strode towards me, knocking the soda gun out of my hands. I backed into the corner and braced myself. Oh hell, this was going to hurt.

But before Lady Siyu reached me, Mr. Kurosawa barked out a command—or that’s what I assumed it was, considering I don’t understand a goddamn word of supernatural common. Lady Siyu froze less than a foot away from me, close enough that I could smell the perfume trailing off her skin and feel her breath on my face. Everything went very still. Especially me.

“Explain, Owl,” Mr. Kurosawa said.

I took a deep breath and tried to steady my heart. “OK, first, the time line doesn’t match up with me being in North Africa. Yes, I was there, but I would have to have already been at the Syrian dig site two weeks ago, minimum. I was in Vegas,” I said, and explained my logic of how the theft was pulled off using a route through Africa.

Mr. Kurosawa seemed to consider it, which raised Lady Siyu’s skepticism.

“You expect us to believe the thief would have to circumvent the IAA after stealing artifacts from their midst?” she said.

God, I wish I could wipe that sneer off her face. If it wasn’t for the fangs . . .

I held up a hand. “Despite what you two would like to think, the IAA actually knows what they’re doing when it comes to covering up the supernatural. They’ll be looking for these—” I pointed to the objects on the tablet. “And if they haven’t found them already, they will soon, courtesy of Daphne Sylph.”

Mr. Kurosawa spoke to Lady Siyu in supernatural. Normally the routine is Lady Siyu nods and slithers off into some dark hole—and yes, I’m proud of myself for that one. This time she spat back.

Only when Mr. Kurosawa turned a deeper shade of red and barked out another command did Lady Siyu back down, though if I was any judge, she wasn’t too fucking happy about it.

Mr. Kurosawa focused his attention back on me. He indicated the couch opposite the mirrored coffee table. I took the seat—and promptly downed a second glass of champagne as he settled back. Thin line between calm and buzzed be damned.

“Lady Siyu thinks I should let her kill you,” he said, smoke billowing out of his nose. “Though I will admit, your current argument is compelling, if not convincing.”

“No offense, but I think she’ll take any excuse she can get to kill me.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and I noted his teeth had shifted back to the white, human-looking version. “It is as you say. So, tell me, if I entertain the notion that you are not the thief, who is?”

I wracked my head for any other antiquities thieves who could have pulled it off. Unfortunately, none of the good ones that came to mind were stupid enough to touch the city. They all valued their skins too much. “Whoever did this is very good,” I said tentatively.

“Better than you?”

I weighed that one carefully. Whoever had pulled it off had managed to convince both the IAA and Lady Siyu it was me. Even if it wasn’t on purpose, that meant they had to be as good as me, maybe better, since I was the only thief in anyone’s crosshairs.

“Let’s just say they’d have to be good enough to get by the IAA, and dumb enough to go after the city.”

Mr. Kurosawa reached for a glass containing a deep red liquid, wine maybe—or something else dragons ate. Vampires weren’t the only supernaturals fond of blood. “Lady Siyu’s contacts insist that very thief could only be you.”

I shook my head. “I’m not that stupid.”

His smile widened as he took another sip. “That, as you might say, is a matter of opinion. One that is currently divided in my house. I do not like a divided house.”

God, I hate supernatural logic. The equation here was simple; they were supernatural, I was human. My existence was currently presenting both a benefit and a problem. Things don’t stand in tandem for long. I either helped make the problem go away, or before long the inconvenience would start to outbalance the benefit.

And I doubted very much Lady Siyu really thought I was the thief: she just wanted an excuse to kill me, and this was the first chance—lately—to fall in her lap.

“Since we are divided,” Mr. Kurosawa continued, “here is my compromise. First, you will go to Los Angeles and retrieve every piece from this collector.”

OK, B&Es were not exactly my specialty, but I could handle it if it meant Lady Siyu didn’t get to eviscerate me.

“Second, since someone did remove those artifacts from the city, and you are currently our only suspect, I require you to find the real thief.”

“If such a human exists,” Lady Siyu added.

OK . . . a little more difficult. Like I said, whoever this thief was, they were good enough that I had no leads. “And if I can’t find out who it is?”

“Then I will have no choice but to revisit Lady Siyu’s evidence.”

I stopped myself just short of swearing. Great. Just what I fucking needed. If I couldn’t find out who did take the artifacts, I’d be back up on the plate for slaughter.

Mr. Kurosawa stood and straightened his suit. “Since Lady Siyu is occupied, I will lead you to the entrance myself.”

I figured that was more so Lady Siyu didn’t accidently kill me. I didn’t see Mr. Kurosawa leading many mice out of the mousetrap.

I followed close on his heels. Getting lost amongst the slot machines was a bad idea. It looked straightforward enough, but when I glanced back over my shoulder, I could have sworn the machines changed their arrangement. Some kind of magic-induced maze. Contrary to popular belief, I do in fact learn from my mistakes. I wouldn’t make a very good enslaved soul. Especially not one trapped in a slot machine.

I’d probably just start hoarding treasure behind his back . . .

We reached the heavy black doors painted with red Japanese characters. “Lady Siyu will forward you documentation we’ve collected on the thefts, and the incubus will accompany you to Los Angeles,” Mr. Kurosawa said as the doors swung open as if of their own volition.

Yup, I’d seen that one coming too.

“Things will not go well if you do not find me the thief. We supernaturals agree with the IAA in that we do not wish to be exposed to the human population at large.”

Mostly because I didn’t dare turn my back on Mr. Kurosawa, I bowed to him and watched as he retreated back into the casino.

Before he stepped into the slot machine maze, he stopped.

Reflex kicked in, and I started to gauge how fast I could get to the elevators . . .

But Mr. Kurosawa didn’t attack. Instead, he said, “You are correct in your assessment of the City of the Dead. Keep in mind that even we supernaturals sometimes lose places for a reason.”

And with that, he was gone, and the black doors slammed shut behind me. I headed to the elevators and called Nadya.

“Alix, I’m relaxing. I don’t want to hear about any more disasters for the next three hours, preferably after I’ve convinced the attractive Japanese bartender Rynn hired to come over and say hello.”

“Seriously?”

She sighed. “Just tell me what is so important you are interrupting my quiet afternoon.”

“What do you know about the Syrian City of the Dead?”

There was a pause on the other end. “Enough to know if you’re the one asking it counts as an imminent disaster.”

“Yeah, well the good news is it wasn’t me.”

“Bad news?”

“Someone beat me to it and everyone thinks it’s me.”

Nadya swore. “Meet me down by the pool.”

I hung up and rode the elevator down. I really hoped Nadya had some candidates for the theft, because I had no plans of letting Lady Siyu gut me.

5

The Devil’s in the Details

2:30 p.m., the Garden Café. Where the hell is Nadya . . . ?

It took me a minute of scanning the casino’s greenhouse-themed restaurant to spot Nadya, who was sitting outside at a table by the pool. I headed through the giant glass doors decorated with what looked like gold cherry blossoms—or maybe they were lotus flowers. I was never one for plants in the first place, and recent events with vampires had turned me off lilies forever. Now Lady Siyu took perverse pleasure in filling the Japanese Circus with lily of the valley arrangements whenever I returned.

I slid into the seat across from Nadya. “Here, see what you can make of these,” I said, passing her the stack of files Lady Siyu and Mr. Kurosawa had left for me at the front desk. “I’m officially the one and only suspect on the IAA’s shit list for one City of the Dead theft.”

For her part, Nadya only glanced at the folder before turning her attention back to the bar. She was busy trying to make eye contact with the new bartender, an attractive Asian man with hair bleached within an inch of its life, and re-dyed in a color scheme I could only call tequila sunrise; red at the ends, shifting to orange, then white-yellow at the roots.

“What number cosmo are you on?”

“Two.” She angled her sunglasses down to glare at me, then waited until she caught the bartender’s eye. She winked, raising her empty martini glass and flashing a smile.

Not that I’m an expert in relationships, but to me, the bartender looked more interested in mixing drinks than sneaking a glance at Nadya. Wonder of wonders, Rynn hired bartenders who actually worked . . .

“How many cosmos before you throw in the towel?” I asked.

“As many as it takes, Alix. I’m a professional hostess. Trust me, I can hold my alcohol. Besides, I haven’t had a fix in a month, and the bartender isn’t the only view out here.”

I followed her gaze. Nadya had a good view of the nymph pool boys Mr. Kurosawa employed to take care of the pools and various stray bodies that seemed to accumulate around supernaturals in general. They were close enough that you could enjoy the show, but not so close that their plastic faces unnerved you.

Nadya didn’t have my inherent fear of supernaturals. Then again, Nadya didn’t have my experience—probably since she was a sight better at spotting them, and I . . . well . . . let’s just say I have a blind spot, one that had led to a number of problems over the years.

I watched as a pale man sporting a tuft of white hair carried a glass rack across the pool area, walking with a wide, lumbering gait to the outdoor bar. After stopping to chat with Nadya’s bartender, he unloaded the fresh glasses.