Owl and the City of Angels (26 page)

“Do you think I’m stupid?” she said.

Considering you let the vampire-hunting cat bite you?
“It’s that, or let him keep going,” I said. The entire calf and knee were purple now. “You know his bites leave scars—look at Alexander’s face.”

That did it. Red tears streaming down her face, she leaned towards me. Nothing like pain to cloud judgment.

“Enough!”

I turned my attention to the doorway, where Alexander stood in all his Eurotrash glory. Bindi looked too, but she was still whimpering and grasping her leg, trying to block the purple color now creeping up her thigh.

I gave Alexander my best nonchalant look, but the sickly sweet lily of the valley ebbing off him hit me. So much so that Alexander, with chestnut hair that fell a little past his shoulders, struck me as moderately attractive, even with the pink scar marring the right side of his face. His expensive suit and leather shoes were worth more than my Winnebago.

Like Bindi, Alexander noticed the smell, barely hiding his disgust as he pulled out a handkerchief and held it to his nose.

I nodded at Bindi, still whimpering with Captain attached to her leg. “You’re really letting the dress code slide, Alexander.”

He frowned and tsked as he took in the room before turning to Bindi. “I thought I told you to stay away from the Mau,” he said, his thick French accent on full display. As far as I could tell, Alexander had been made roughly three hundred years ago in Paris. He’d picked up English but had never lost the accent.

Bindi stopped whimpering long enough to snarl at me. “She tricked me.”

“I tricked you? Oh come on, Bindi.” I held up my wrists. “I’m a prisoner—of
vampires
. Of course I tried to trick you.” I turned my attention to Alexander. “Come on, you must be desperate if you let her in—”

He strode over to where Bindi—weeping now—was cradling her leg, then he picked up Captain by the scruff of his neck. “Get the cat off, or I will do it for you.”

I swore under my breath and hoped Captain listened this time. I whistled twice. Captain turned his bright yellow eyes on me. “Captain, heel—let go of the vampire,” I said.

He growled, deep and throaty.

“Let go now, otherwise the other vampire is going to eat you.”

That did the trick, but not the way I’d hoped. Captain had been so wrapped up in trying to devour Bindi’s leg that he hadn’t noticed Alexander. Now he did. Captain released Bindi, let out a howl and, contorting his body, made a grab for Alexander.

Alexander shook Captain and held both my cat and the cat pee–drenched bag away from his suit, thereby avoiding Captain’s teeth. I breathed a sigh of relief. As much as I would have enjoyed seeing Alexander’s hand ravaged by Captain’s teeth, there were now two vampires, and I was still tied up and starting to feel the effects of pheromones. I didn’t like Captain’s odds right now if he pissed off Alexander—as it was, I already didn’t like our odds.

Alexander deposited Captain’s bag beside me and turned to deal with Bindi, who was still weeping. I couldn’t see or hear what was said, but she immediately got up and fled the broom closet.

Alexander closed the door behind her, drowning out the music as Captain continued to growl. He removed something from his pocket . . . it looked like something to fit over my mouth.

In spite of my haze, my panic nerves still lit up. I twisted away as Alexander fit the contraption over my head, but that’s the bitch about vampire pheromones—they zap your strength.

I held my breath until my lungs were burning and I couldn’t hold out anymore . . . there was no more trace of rotting lily of the valley. A gas mask? I tested the air, taking in a deeper breath. Sure enough, it was clean.

What the hell was Alexander giving me a gas mask for?

It must have registered in my eyes, because Alexander said, “See? I am not unreasonable. Now we may have a civilized conversation on . . . how would you say? Fair ground?”

I glared. Alexander planned on having a civilized conversation with me about as much as Captain planned on curling up on his lap. “What the hell are you up to?” I said.

Alexander tsked as he pulled up a footstool and sat on the far side of the room— about as far as he could get from a screeching Captain. “So skeptical and angry for one so young.”

Alexander and I have a history. Before I’d known Alexander was a vampire, he’d been a client of mine. A good client; he’d never asked questions, paid me on time, and had been gifted with more money than sense. Or at least that’s what I’d assumed when he’d asked me to retrieve a sarcophagus from underneath Ephesus, telling me under no circumstances to open it because of a vampire. This part I’m not proud of: assuming he was short a few baskets of a picnic, hiding treasure, or both, I’d opened the sarcophagus. In broad daylight. The ancient vampire had dissolved into ash, putting me on Alexander’s shit list for vaporizing his Grand Poobah.

Resealing the sarcophagus and collecting payment before they could get the lid off probably hadn’t helped matters.

Regardless, I knew from experience that the best way to get information out of Alexander was to piss him the hell off. Vampire Psychology with Owl 101.

“Go to hell,” I told him.

Alexander didn’t get mad. He smiled, just enough to expose the tips of his fangs, and held up my purse-turned-cat-carrier. “I wish to know why were you stealing these particular artifacts from the siren this evening.”

Now, that was unexpected . . . and, to be honest, threw me for a loop. What did Alexander care about Daphne’s artifacts?

He jiggled the bag, waiting.

Alexander and his vampires hadn’t been at the party for me, they’d been after the artifacts as well. Now I knew why the case had been open and who was likely responsible for the fake. “What the hell do you want with the artifacts?” I said.

The smile on Alexander’s face fell, but only for a moment. “Never mind my concern,” he said, albeit more strained than before. “I am asking you.”

This nice version of Alexander was unnerving me. “You don’t do questions; you do threats and intimidation. So I’ll ask you again, what the hell do you know about the pieces?”

Alexander’s mood was falling. “Would you prefer it if I started straight off with the torture and threats?”

I gambled. “You guys beat me to the exhibit. You put the fake knife in there, didn’t you? What, did I stumble in before you could get the rest of them?”

Alexander frowned. “Never mind my interest, the topic at hand is yours.”

“No. You want to have a civilized conversation with me? Fine, you go first.”

He swore in French. “This is getting us nowhere—tell me what you were doing.”

“Or else what?” I snorted. “Come on, you gave me a gas mask, for Christ’s sake—what kind of vampire does that?”

“I’m trying to be reasonable so we can come to a mutually beneficial exchange of information.”

“How stupid do I look? You don’t do reasonable.”

Captain bleated, as if in agreement.

Alexander sighed, closed his eyes, and counted to ten. I think he added something derogatory in there, but my French is bad on a good day.

After he finished counting, Alexander opened the bag. “Since you wish me to start and I have no wish of remaining here all evening in you and your horrendous cat’s company—” He pulled the bowl out first, holding it too close to my face for comfort. I drew in a sharp breath and leaned back.

Alexander smiled. “Ahh. We both see you are not so ignorant,” he said, and placed the bowl near my feet. Alexander and his cronies had removed my shoes when they’d placed me in here. Restrained bare feet on wet floor that near a cursed item—you do the math. I felt a bead of sweat form on my neck.

From what Lady Siyu had suggested, only the higher-up supernaturals should be able to handle the cursed items. Alexander as a vampire had started off as human—that type of supernatural tended to have a harder time with magic. Hell, magic curse was how they ended up not human in the first place. “How come you can handle those?”

Alexander’s smile widened. “Because,
ma chérie,
as a vampire I am already cursed. Only one curse at a time, you could say—rather like one of your ‘coupons.’ ”

I would have rolled my eyes at his attempt at colloquial phrases—a bad habit of his—but I was too busy watching the bag and the remaining items.

Vampires feed off fear. They live for it, they can smell it. Alexander was practically salivating. “However, you do not have the same . . . immunity.” He withdrew the flint next and arranged it on the other side of my feet, corralling them between the cursed items. He leaned as close as he dared without coming in range of Captain. “Now, unless you wish to test the truth behind the curses, you will tell me where you found them and why you deigned to remove them from their resting place.” He extended his foot so it was almost touching the bowl.

Oh for God’s sake, not Alexander too . . .

“If by ‘resting place’ you mean Daphne Sylph’s display room, I found out about it like everyone else in this century. Google.”

A sharp breath escaped between his pursed lips. “I think you take me for a fool,
ma chérie
.” And with that, he pushed the bowl forward with the tip of his expensive Italian leather shoes. “Now, their proper resting place?”

Shit. I curled my toes back out of reflex. I was watching his feet, not his face . . . “Look, I know you’re probably going to find this hard to believe, but I didn’t actually break into the City of the Dead. It was someone else—pretending to be me.”

“You who takes me for the idiot again.” This time he pushed the flint closer, and once again I shifted my feet. I’d run out of space soon.

“Look—I realize everyone is having a hard time believing it wasn’t me, especially since apparently some asshole is selling artifacts under my name, but this is some other asshole . . . impersonating me . . .”

“Then why are they now again in your possession? I find that a rather unlikely coincidence.”

“Because I had nothing better to do on a Friday night—hey!” I yelled as he pushed the bowl closer.

“Whereas others may find you funny, I do not.”

Asshole. “If I was the thief who stole them in the first place, would I bother breaking into Daphne’s—a siren, I might add—to steal them back?”

Alexander regarded me, a frown touching his face. “If the dragon was angry enough? Perhaps, especially if you did the theft behind his back, which I well know you are wont to do.”

Open one sarcophagus . . . I shook my head. “OK, despite the fact that was the most intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say—the answer is no, for one very good, logical reason.”

“And what would that be,
chérie
?”

This time I leaned in, just so Alexander could see I meant it. “Simple—if the dragon thought for one second I actually stole those items and sold them behind his back, I’d be dead already—or halfway across some deserted wasteland.”

Alexander sat back, considering what I’d said. “Agreed. The dragon would not suffer you to live for taking these items without his approval.”

If it hadn’t been for those last few words . . . “Oh come on—you seriously think the dragon would want those things unearthed?”

“If he thought they posed a greater threat running wild and free? Certainly.”

I rolled my eyes. “OK, yeah—” Especially since Mr. Kurosawa had done almost that exact same thing before making me fetch the scroll. “But that’s not the case here. And you still haven’t told me what the hell you want with them.”

Alexander still looked skeptical. He reached out and pushed the bowl closer again.

I swore. The worst part was Alexander wouldn’t be breaking rules if I ended up cursed. He wasn’t allowed to kill me, specifically—where supernatural deals were concerned, “made me touch an ancient cursed artifact” was gray area.

He edged his foot towards the flint piece.

OK, now time to panic . . . “Look, Alexander, my phone is in the front pocket. Call Mr. Kurosawa, he’ll back up my story.”

Instead of pushing the piece of flint towards me though, he pulled it back and placed it back in the bag. I didn’t like the smile that spread across his face or the blackening of his eyes.

“From what I understand, Owl, I believe your agreement with Mr. Kurosawa means that you need to retrieve the three items? Yes? Then find the thief?”

I hadn’t told Alexander about the thief. A cold chill ran up my spine.

Alexander continued. “I wonder what will happen if I call Mr. Kurosawa and mention I saw you take the pieces and disappear. I am certain Daphne will back up the story. Why have suspicion fall on me and my vampires, when you were so conveniently in my way? And as for what I want with the pieces, it is, as you say, none of your goddamn business.” The evil look I expected from Alexander filled his eyes.

Great, one thief uses me as a scapegoat, and everyone else figures it’s a free-for-all. “You goddamn low-life son of a bitch—let me out and give me those pieces back.”

Alexander held both hands out to the side. “Or what? What do you suggest you can do from there?” He crouched down inches away from me. “Absolutely nothing,” he said, and tapped the top of the gas mask. “I believe I shall leave this on. I wonder whether letting my children bite first will be more painful that way.”

“You son of a bitch—I
helped
you in Bali—”

His polite demeanor fell as he snarled, “You locked us in a pit for days while you paraded the fact outside. We vampires have some pride.”

“Oh
get
over
yourself. You’d have backed yourself into a corner with the Contingency if it hadn’t been for me.” The Contingency being the group in charge of vampires.

“Consider this my retribution for the embarrassment. Let us see how you like being locked up and useless in a hole for
three
days.”

Evil, fucking, no-good vampires. Not that I’d really expected anything else, but still . . . “Retribution? You assholes were trying to kill me. Hell, I handed over Bindi and Red. I ought to get some credit for that—”

Alexander spread out his hands. “What is the expression? Ah, I know, ‘Like I give a flying fuck.’ ” He made sure to flash his teeth, just to remind me what he could really do if he wanted. “And perhaps after a little misuse at the hands of my fledglings, I shall let you and your wretched cat roam free.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps you will be a vampire by then, who can say?” And with that, Alexander got up to leave, bag in hand.