Owl and the City of Angels (30 page)

“We stand even less chance if you can’t stop wallowing in self-pity and help us come up with a plan,” she said.

When I didn’t have a snarky comment, Rynn added, “Let’s worry about one thing at a time. Ignore the map for now and help us figure out how we’re going to get into the temple.”

I took another sip of beer and thought about it. If I were a thief, how would I get my ass into the temple? “First, we need to get into Syria without raising any alarms; that’s what the thieves have to be doing. Livestock and cargo planes are too predictable. Even sneaking in with livestock would have raised an alarm somewhere by now. The IAA isn’t completely incompetent—they’ll be watching the borders.”

So how were the thieves getting in and out? Greece? No, too many thieves. Same thing went for Croatia and the Barbary Coast. They’d be combing those already . . . Hell, if the entire Mediterranean coast wasn’t crawling with IAA agents, I’d be shocked. Same thing went for flights anywhere across the Mediterranean, Middle East, and Europe.

I took another sip and stared at the map on my screen as if that might illuminate the answer . . .

I don’t know if it was the alcohol or the fact that I was toeing the blurry line between sober and drunk, but it struck me how the thieves had been avoiding the IAA where I’d just about been snagged.

“What if they aren’t using any of the routes we’ve come up with?” I said.

Both Rynn and Nadya stared at me as if I sounded as drunk as I probably was.

I grabbed Nadya’s notebook, tore a clean sheet out, and started to draw a haphazard map of the Mediterranean, Syria, and Turkey.

“We’ve been assuming all along they’re using the Mediterranean or the Black Sea to get in and out.”

“It’s the only logical way. The IAA would be watching the land borders and airports too closely, you said so yourself.”

“But that’s just it. The IAA is so thick along those coasts that I don’t think we can get back in that way again. We keep figuring these guys are geniuses—what if they’re not? I mean, the fact that they even risked the city tells me they’re idiots—idiots with a golden goose shoved up their asses, but still.”

Nadya tsked. “Golden egg, the goose does not fit,” she corrected me.

“Assuming they’re not using those two ports of entry then,” Rynn said.

I pointed to the East African coast that bordered the Red Sea and traced my finger down to the sharp point where it drained into the Indian Ocean. “I think they’re dumber than we thought. I think they’re using the one place the IAA won’t dare go.”

“The Somali coast,” Rynn said.

I nodded.

Nadya weighed the pros and cons over in her head. “But that would be . . .”

“Suicide?” I filled in. Maybe it was a good thing I was halfway drunk—I don’t think the third idiotic way in and out would have crossed my mind otherwise. “Eventually, sure, but these guys have already managed to sneak into the city twice without getting themselves cursed or otherwise killed. Maybe their luck just hasn’t caught up with them yet,” I said. Nadya looked like she was working on an argument, so I added, “It is the only place the IAA won’t go.”

Fun fact about the largest antiquities society in the known world: they might not be scared of curses, supernaturals, and thieves, but throw pirates in the mix? Historically they haven’t fared well, not since Roman times.

“All right,” Nadya said. “That still doesn’t help us get into the dig and find the tomb.”

“I thought that was your specialty,” Rynn said.

Nadya and I exchanged a look. Where to start? “All right, working backwards—and this is all assuming we can even find the tomb where these things were originally hidden—there are a whole wonder of things we have to worry about.”

“Such as?”

I started the count off. “Ancient booby traps, for one. Without a reliable map, we’ll have to find all of them manually.”

Nadya jumped in. “And those are just the physical ones—trapdoors, weapons, pits. Who knows about the supernatural versions? Magic, more curses—”

“Not to mention the inadvertent traps. You know how much goblins and trolls like these kinds of mountains.”

Nadya nodded. “But before we’re even inside, we need to get past the IAA.”

“Usually that’d be the easier part. Nadya and I would just sneak in.”

Nadya snorted. “I do not play games with the IAA; you would sneak in, I would stay as far away as possible.”

I rolled my eyes. “Regardless, hiding in plain sight is out.”

“How many people guard the dig site at night?” Rynn asked.

“Depends. I can’t see them using more than a skeleton crew in the middle of the mountains, even for a site that dangerous.”

Nadya nodded. “In this terrain, a large team of guards would attract more unwanted attention than it would turn away.” She gave me a pointed look. “They might be keeping the archaeologists working through the night however.”

I’d been worried about that. Because of the time frame . . . and well, now that Nadya’s Russian contacts were well and thoroughly breathing down their necks, they’d want to finish as soon as possible.

“OK, so, let’s say a handful of guards and a night crew of archaeologists—probably half with a shift change.”

Rynn nodded. “Let me worry about getting them out of the way; you two worry about getting in and out again.”

“That still leaves of course the small matter of getting into the mountains without people shooting at us.” It was Murphy’s Law that most of the places in the world with the really cool dig sites were in the middle of civil wars. In that case, both sides figured they had something to gain by shooting the foreigners—either because they didn’t like you, or because they could pin it on the other side . . .

“What about entering as medical? Doctors Without Borders or Red Cross?”

Both Nadya and I shook our heads.

“We’ve tried that—better on paper than in practice. For some reason, everyone still shoots the doctors. Nadya was right on that point—livestock is way better.”

“No one ever shoots livestock—too valuable. Stomachs over curing bacterial infections any day,” Nadya concurred.

Rynn closed his eyes. “I’m going to ignore how much sense that just made. Well, I’ve still got a few favors owed and a contact on that side of the continent who will be interested in what’s occurring in the city. I’ll come up with something that hopefully doesn’t involve being shot at or hiding under the feet of ruminants.” He shook his head.

“There’s one more thing that none of us has touched on,” I said. “Any resident or interfering supernaturals.” I looked hopefully at Rynn.

He shook his head. “My contact can help us get in, but I’m afraid his knowledge of the city is as limited as mine. And there is no guarantee Daphne and Alexander won’t make a claim.”

I also wasn’t comfortable with how little I knew about Alexander and Daphne’s interest in the pieces. “I have an idea how to keep those two occupied for the next few days and out of my hair,” I said, and fished the note Alexander had left me, cringing as I touched it. Before Rynn could stop me, I dialed.

A tentative female voice answered the phone. “Hello?”

Bindi. “Does Alexander still have you answering the phones?”

“You? How dare you disturb—”

“Oh knock it off, princess. Look, I don’t want to talk to your boss, I just want you to give him a message for me.”

She swore, but I was pretty sure I heard the crinkling of paper. “What?”

“Tell your asshole boss Daphne Sylph is buying more pieces. They should be arriving any day.” Before Bindi could slide in any questions, I hung up.

“Call up Artemis for me,” I said.

When Rynn opened his mouth to argue, I added, “Trust me.”

He pulled out his own phone and dialed. I put it on speakerphone.

“Hello?” came a woman’s light voice on the third ring. There was a slight laugh to her voice. I thought I recognized it. “Violet?” I asked.

“Speaking,” she said, laughing again.

“Violet, put Artemis on—tell him it’s Charity.” While I waited a few moments, I heard muffled voices in the background.

“It isn’t enough to ruin my weekend—what the hell do you want now?” came Artemis’s voice.

“Wow, what is this? Violet’s second, third night in a row? Not your style, Artemis.”

“Styles change,” he said, not even slightly perturbed.

“Is she drunk?”

“Secret to tolerating anyone past a few days is to get them good and drunk—besides, she’s not nearly as interesting as you. And you still haven’t told me what the hell you’re bothering me for.”

“Real simple. Deliver a message to Daphne for me. You two are still on speaking terms, right?”

“Marginally. What is it?”

“Tell her the vampire Alexander, den on the Sunset Strip, has the City of the Dead artifacts and is planning on intercepting more coming into the city,” I said.

There was a pause on the other end. “I thought I made it perfectly clear to my cousin we were all squared up.”

Rynn opened his mouth, but I held my finger to my lips. “Yup, you are, Artemis—but this is a message you want to deliver.”

“And why, pray tell, would that be?”

“Well, for one, it’ll put you back in her good books. But two, and this is the real kicker, so you can see the look on her face when you tell her the real Owl sent it.”

With that, I hung up the phone. Rynn glared at me and shook his head. “It’ll never work. They’ll figure it out.”

“You’d be surprised. Neither of them will be able to resist checking it out, and as soon as one of them throws the first punch?” I shrugged. “They’ll figure it out eventually, but hopefully not until the curse is lifted and the other thieves are shut down.”

And the dig site closed . . . there was that small matter . . . I still wasn’t sure whether the IAA could be trusted to do it themselves anymore.

Now here came the fun part. I drained my beer-and-tequila numbing goodness number four. “While we’re still on the topic of stupid plans, how do you two propose we sneak past the pirates and into Syria?”

Do you ever feel like you’re having the same conversation over and over again without getting anywhere new?

Smart person would say it was time to change the conversation. Or that was my plan when I closed my hotel room door.

Nadya was smart. She’d stayed downstairs . . . OK, well, not smart, since this was her Hail Mary to get Rynn’s bartender . . .

God, I hope she and Rynn hadn’t bet money on it.

I frowned when I saw Captain sitting on the kitchen table.
Not
howling for food . . . I picked out the green plastic shrapnel scattered across the carpet. It was his toy—something the vet had convinced me to buy, a ball that doled out treats in reward for exercise.

“You destroyed the toy and ate all the treats?” I said.

He mewed.

Figured. “I can’t leave you anywhere.”

I dumped my laptop on the kitchen table, ignoring Captain’s run for the kitchen. Yeah, not going to happen.

“What’s up with him?” Rynn asked when Captain darted around his feet as he entered. He glanced between the toy and Captain. “It is impressive the cat was able to get it in that many pieces.”

“Yeah, don’t give him ideas.”

All right—important conversations . . .

“It’s not so much the important aspect, Alix, it’s altering the conversation we’ve been having,” Rynn said, kneeling in the kitchen, where he was now petting the damn cat.

Damn it. Sometimes, especially when I’m nervous, Rynn picks up on my emotions and figures out what I’m going to say before I do. I hate it when he does that.

“You don’t hate it. You figure I won’t give you credit for it,” he added.

I leaned against the kitchen table and forced my brain to reorganize. Think Zen thoughts—alcohol-fueled Zen thoughts . . .

“You know I pick up even more when you’ve been drinking?”

One bonus to dating an incubus was that I never lied about what I was feeling.

That streak didn’t go both ways though.

“You know, it wasn’t until this afternoon I figured out what was really bothering you about Los Angeles,” I said.

Rynn came over until he was close—touching distance but not quite touching. Again, he knew my personal quirks; I don’t like having important conversations when I’m touching him. Obvious reasons, the whole incubi thing puts me at a hell of a disadvantage. I took a deep breath and focused on his face. Still the same as when I’d met him at Gaijin Cloud in Japan almost two years ago, except wearing a less amicable expression than he used to . . . then again, maybe not. I’m pretty sure I had heavy champagne glasses on a few times . . .

I don’t know why it occurred to me now, not before, but I wondered if Rynn even did age. Mortality and imminent death do crazy things.

“Alix, you can’t break up with me when you’re drunk and upset. It doesn’t go well.”

“OK, I did that—once—and I said I wouldn’t do it again, so I’m not.”

Rynn watched me, still wary. “You were thinking about it.”

“OK, I do not act on every impulse that filters through my brain—and that was before I realized that you weren’t mad about the curse, you were upset about something else,” I said.

I watched his face as he went on the defensive. Me talking about his emotions was, well . . . let’s face it, I don’t read anyone’s emotions well.