Owl and the Japanese Circus

by Kristi Charish

“Oricho? It’s Owl—please don’t tell me a pack of vampires are hot on my tail. If they are, so help me—”

  “Lady Siyu has successfully contacted the Paris Vampire Contingency on Mr. Kurosawa’s behalf and requested that I contact you with the information,” he said.

  Well, it wasn’t completely bad news. “Why the hell didn’t she just call me herself?”

  Oricho paused for a moment. “Lady Siyu does not deal well with inefficient phone conversations,” he said carefully.

  “Oh, you got to be kidding me,” I said, just as the train pulled up to the next station. I checked the name printed in big black letters on the tile wall through the window; still six more to go. “Fine, well, what information did she get on Sabine?”

  Another pause. Not good.

  “She said they were less than forthcoming with any relevant information.”

  “That’s it? I thought you guys could make them talk?”

  “Though they were evasive throughout the entire conversation—eventually falling on the fail-safe that they couldn’t possibly keep track of every vampire in Paris—Lady Siyu is convinced they were attempting to obtain as much information from her as she was from them.”

  A chill went down my spine. Sabine was independent. “Fuck,” I said, drawing a few sideways glances. I could picture Oricho arching an eyebrow. For someone with so many visible tattoos, he sure as hell was prim and proper. “I don’t think I can stress how really not good this is.”

  “I’ve already arranged—”

  “No, you don’t understand. If she’s not with the Paris vampire pack—” I cupped my hand around my cell as a couple of other passengers glanced over at me. I lowered my voice. “If she’s not with them, then that means she’s independent.”

  “We did not agree to negotiate any other truces with other parties you’ve entered into disagreement with. That would be a separate agreement.”

  That kind of tunnel thinking pissed me off, and right when I’d started not hating Oricho. “You soooo aren’t getting it. I have no outstanding disagreements with any other parties. The Paris boys were it.” Well, and Egypt . . . and an assortment of antiquities departments spread over the world, but they’ve got no idea who I am. I took a deep breath. Where to start explaining? Damn, this is why I work alone and under the radar.

  “OK, Sabine is a vampire who a major vampire organization wants info about. I’d never even heard of her until her vampire flunkie antiquities specialist showed up in your casino and accosted me. Right after I agreed to retrieve the egg scroll—to try to retrieve the scroll contents,” I corrected myself before continuing. “I don’t think this Sabine cares two tail feathers about me. I think you’ve got another tomb raider after the scroll that was supposed to be in that egg, who happens to be a vampire.”

  The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I’ll bet Sebastian hadn’t had any plans to shoot me. He’d probably been there to grab my notes and deliver me to Sabine. The fact that the Paris boys have been looking for me was just a convenient cover and the obvious conclusion we would jump to.

  I was still pissed off, so I took the time to slide another jab in . . . while I was far away from Vegas. “And since we’re talking about what we agreed to, I agreed to try and retrieve the scroll for Mr. Kurosawa in exchange for getting rid of my vampire problem. Nowhere in that agreement does it say I need to deal with your vampire problems.” Geez, when I say it like that, it sounds like vampires are some kind of infestation. I wonder if there’s some kind of high-tech vampire exterminator? I’ve never found one, but I’ve seen stranger. I was about to suggest it to Oricho, when he jumped back into the conversation.

  “How certain are you of this assessment?”

  I thought about it for a second. My reputation rests on transparency, after all. “Let’s just say if I had to bet my life on motivation, that would be it.”

  There was another measured pause on Oricho’s end. I didn’t blame him. If I found out a vampire was messing around with a business transaction . . . I imagine it’s a bit like finding out from a maid that the hotel is infested with bedbugs.

  “I will appraise my contact in Japan of our new situation and brief Mr. Kurosawa and Lady Siyu of your assessment.”

  A lot of good that was going to do me. She probably just thought I’d pissed off another vampire. “Fine, do that. Just don’t deal with it too late. Otherwise you’re going to need another antiquities specialist—”

  “In the future I will refrain from assumptions concerning the transparency of your business dealings. I recommend you do the same, and do try to be careful.” And with that Oricho hung up.

  I held the phone out for a moment. Damn, that had almost been an apology. I checked the name of the upcoming stop: Harajuku Station. My stop. I tossed my phone back in my pocket and grabbed Captain’s carrier, ready to push through the crowds waiting to get in. The door to the train slid open and Captain growled and crammed himself up against the carrier’s mesh. I froze. The faint rotting lily of the valley hit me. I held my breath.

  A Japanese woman in a pink Chanel suit stood in front of me. She glanced down at Captain, who was putting new meaning into the expression hissy fit, and then back at me. She smiled, revealing the slight points of her canines; nothing a normal person would notice, but I’m not normal. I swallowed, and it took every ounce of self-control not to bolt for the exit.

  People were getting restless on either side. Ignoring Captain, the vampire slipped around me into the train as I stood frozen. I forced myself to step onto the platform. I knew I should keep going and not look back, but I’m not known for making wise choices under pressure. I glanced over my shoulder. The vampire in the pink suit was standing by the open train door.

  She smirked at me. “Nice cat,” she said in perfect English right before the door closed.

  I shook my head and headed upstairs. “Just a local vampire,” I whispered through Captain’s carrier screen. “Nothing to worry about, but nice catch,” I said, and tossed him a cat treat from the stash in my pocket.

  Still, the incident forced me to take stock of the station. In the young crowd, a mix of club kids and exhausted university students, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Taking advantage of my adrenaline shot, I darted up the steps through the crowd of Harujuku girls showing off their outfits, then took a left. I kept track of everyone I passed; Ochiro had warned me to be careful, and coming from someone who worked for a dragon, that scared me. Three blocks down, past the noodle and clothing shops, I reached the blue neon signs above the flight of stairs for Nadya’s club, Space Station Deluxe. I took in the neon lights that decorated the building like psychedelic sci-fi Christmas decorations. In spite of everything, I was looking forward to catching up with Nadya, something I hadn’t had a chance to do in months.

  I climbed a flight of steps to where two large Japanese doormen stood manning a black door. I didn’t recognize either of them, and from the glares they shot me, there wasn’t much hope they were going to let me in. I wasn’t in the mood to argue, so I pulled out my cell phone. Nadya could deal with it; she practically ran the place anyways.

  Come get me outside. I need to change.

  Nadya knew me well enough to get the picture. In fact, I could imagine her cursing in Russian as she read the text.

  The two doormen crossed their arms, continuing to glare at me. I waved and smiled. “Hi,” I said as cheerfully as I could muster.

  The doormen exchanged a glance. The larger one took a step towards me and nodded down the steps—told you I can’t pull off charming. I shoved my hands in my pocket, retreated three steps down, and watched the passersby. There was nothing out of the ordinary; still, I couldn’t shake that raised-hair feeling on the back of my neck that says someone—or something—is watching you. With vampires, dragons, and who knows what the hell Oricho and Lady Siyu were, who could blame me?

  Nadya’s head poked around the door. She was sporting a neon red bob, which looked fantastic on her. Nady
a had always been a head turner; she was from Moscow and had the height and looks of a brunette Russian bombshell, though she rarely wore her natural hair color and was a fan of colored contacts. Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of me and took in my appearance.

  “Hi!” I said, adding a cheerful wave.

  Nadya frowned even more and pursed her lacquered lips. “Would it kill you to dress appropriately? Once?” she said, her Russian accent light.

  I gave her a big smile and held up my backpack. “Halfway there. Give me five minutes and I’ll fit right in.”

  Nadya tsked. “Get in and get changed fast. I’m trying to run a business. Broke university students are bad for business.” She waved me past the two doormen and into Space Station Deluxe.

  I gave a low whistle. “I knew you were redecorating, but damn,” I said, taking in the new blue track lights. They were set into the ceiling, walls, and floors, creating swirled patterns. It reminded me of being underwater, like walking through a glass tunnel at an aquarium. The blue tinge gave the place an almost daylight feel.

  The dance floor was hidden between the far wall and a sheet of blurred glass that hid the band as well, out of view of the door. It was set up that way because the local laws prohibited dancing past eleven. Though the law is rarely enacted, you can never be too careful. Space Station Deluxe wasn’t packed yet, but give it a few hours and it would be. Out of all the renovations, the new bar was what really got me. Before, it had had a 1990s Star Trek vibe, with embedded lights and that halogen feel. In fact, the whole place had reminded me of a cross between the bar on the Enterprise and the bar in Star Wars, minus all the monsters.

  The new bar was the centerpiece of the club, its oval shape complementing the swirls of track lights. It was a single, thick piece of glass with a blue ombré tint, darkest blue on the bar side, fading to a light blue on the outside. The whole slab was a lamp and added to the underwater feel.

  I followed Nadya past a table of young Japanese businessmen, who all followed her with their eyes as she passed by and greeted them in Japanese. They politely ignored me.

  Nadya pushed open the door to her office and gently shoved me inside. The rest of the bar might have changed, but the office hadn’t. A neat, minimal desk was still wedged into the corner, an open laptop computer on top and, I assumed, a couple of safes still tucked underneath. The only decoration in the room was a lava lamp on the corner of the desk—a birthday present I’d given Nadya back when we’d still been sharing a dorm room.

  Nadya leaned against the open doorframe as I dropped my bag on the chair. “How’s business?” she asked.

  “Gimme twenty minutes and a beer and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  She raised a bright red eyebrow, dyed to match her neon hair. Damn, I wish I could pull that kind of stuff off. “That bad?” she said. She tried but couldn’t hide her concern. Usually my answer was much more predictable and monosyllabic. Crap, better, or dig my grave now.

  “Depends on how you look at it,” I said. I started to close the office door, but Nadya wedged her spiked Louis Vuitton pump in between.

  “Oh come on, really?”

  “Not a chance in hell,” she said, and snapped her fingers, the red nail lacquer reflecting the halogen lights. She held out her hand for my outfit. “Friendship only gets you so far with me.”

  “Barely in the front door, apparently,” I mumbled. I pulled out my Chanel jacket and matching boots for her inspection. Nadya was a perfectionist; she’d want to make sure my outfit passed muster for the club’s dress code, even if I was only there for a few minutes. She gave her approval by silently handing them back.

  “You suck at dressing yourself. I’m just glad you finally took my advice.” She opened Captain’s carrier and led him out. We’d left the red harness on. Captain knew Nadya, but more importantly he knew she babied him. Nadya didn’t bother with the leash; she scooped him up and carried him towards the bar.

  The baby talk drifted back. “Did she feed you? Come on, sweetie, Nadya has something for you.”

  “Hey! My cat gets a free pass but I get the third degree?”

  “Captain always looks nice and clean, don’t you, Captain?” Nadya said, then turned her attention back on me. “You can’t be trusted to put the same-colored socks on.”

  “Great to see you again too, Nadya,” I shouted as I closed the door. In my defense I’d never seen the point in matching socks—I mean, who sees them?

  I exchanged my student disguise for my black boots and leather jacket and checked my handiwork in the office mirror. Well, no one was going to mistake me for one of Nadya’s girls, but I was as presentable as I was ever going to get in a five-minute window or less. At least the bouncers wouldn’t throw me out . . . I hoped.

  I opened the door and headed back out. The things I do for a job . . .

  4

  RYNN AND THE GAIJIN CLOUD

  11:00 p.m., Space Station Deluxe

  I swirled the beer in my glass. It looked really cool over the lit bar. If—when—I got back into my place in Seattle, I’d have to put one of these in. It’d double as a super night-light.

  “So?” Nadya said, waiting for me to finish my explanation of the last few days.

  “So basically I’m on edge till I find out who this Sabine is,” I said, and downed the last bit of my beer.

  Nadya shook her neon red bob and passed me a second Corona, along with a shot of Grey Goose. “I think you’re crazy,” she said.

  I took the beer but pushed the vodka back. “No hard liquor.” The seven shots of Grey Goose from my last trip to Tokyo, and the catalogue of hazy memories, were still fresh in my mind.

  Nadya tsked and pushed it right back. “No, you need a good few shots of vodka in you. Maybe it will kick-start your common sense.”

  I grumbled but downed the shot. With Nadya you have to pick your battles. This wasn’t one of them.

  “I’m not crazy. What I am is a hell of a lot better off than I was three days ago,” I said.

  Nadya sniffed. “Three days ago you weren’t working for a dragon and who knows what else. What did you say this Lady Siyu looked like again?”

  “No, three days ago vampires were trying to eat me.”

  Nadya leaned over the bar, the blue light giving her face a ghostly cast. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘out of the frying pan into the fire’? Besides, didn’t you say this Sabine was a vampire?”

  “Yeah, but as far as I can tell she isn’t trying to eat me. I think she’s just trying to get to the scroll and steal it before I do. Still an improvement.” I needed to change the subject, so I pulled out my sparse file on the Bali dig and passed it over to her. For all my bravado, Nadya was the voice of reason.

  “How’s business?” I said, yelling over the karaoke that a group of hostesses had started up. The businessmen were pouring in for the evening now, and Nadya’s servers had their hands full passing out drinks.

  She shrugged. “Not so bad, could always be better?” She leaned across the table, adding, “And I’m not so easily distracted by idle conversation.”

  I sighed. “Look, you’re right, I’m in way over my head, but besides ‘roll over and die,’ I don’t have a lot of options here. Now,” I said, tapping the file, “can you help me or not?”

  She tried staring me down, and for a second I wondered if she was going to say no. Nadya knows when to bail. She can smell trouble—some kind of sixth sense. I, on the other hand, am a trouble magnet. It’s one of the reasons I got so screwed by the university and ended up a thief.

  Nadya and I met in the same archaeology program, the one that stole two years of my research, handed it over to the up-and-coming postdoc, and hung me out to dry. Nadya had seen the ship sinking six months before me and had taken off while she’d still been able to afford the plane ticket. It’s occurred to me on a number of occasions that I’d be a hell of a lot happier if I followed Nadya’s advice more often.

  If she said no though, I wasn’t only sc
rewed; I’d probably be dead. Not that I’d blame her one bit . . .

  I nursed my beer as I held the stare. Finally, Nadya swore in Russian, broke off, and snatched the file from the bar. She took her time flipping through each page, until a table behind started to call her by name for drinks. She fixed them with a smile, yelled she was coming in Japanese, and slid me back the closed folder. “I can do it, but it’s tricky this time. And more expensive.”

  I coughed and had to cover my mouth to stop from spewing Corona all over the bar. “What do you mean, more expensive? It couldn’t be easier. Call the dirty old man and tell him I have cash.” I pulled a clip of cash out and slid it across the table so she could count it—and so she could see I was serious. Nadya was a good friend, but business was business.

  Nadya shook her head as she popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured four flutes. She handed one to me, downed the second, and sent the third and fourth with a waitress to the table. She wiped a drop of champagne from the corner of her mouth and shook her head. “Nuroshi heard about the Paris boys. He raised his price for working with you.”

  “So? Tell him me and the vampires settled our differences.”

  She snorted. “And omit the dragon, I suppose? Not likely.” She stepped around the bar to deal with her “privileged table”—basically the drinks cost the men extra in exchange for even more of Nadya’s particular brand of standoffish aloofness and verbal abuse. I began to pour my champagne on a plant.

  “Drink!” I heard Nadya yell over her shoulder. “You need better alcohol tolerance.”

  “That’s the last thing I need.”

  Nadya whirled on the heels of her spiked stilettos as if they’d been ballet slippers, just so I’d have the benefit of seeing her glare.

  “Drink it! We’re going out after this.”

  I shot her a dirty look before she turned her back on me. Well, I’d worry how to get out of that later.

  I pulled the folder back and opened it to the pages that referenced the Bali tablet chamber. I still hadn’t worked out exactly why the file was so sparse—I mean, obviously to hide something supernatural, but there were none of the usual hints dropped for archaeologists as to what.