On that hand, Nadya was right. Every IAA dig on the planet went through an approval committee, whose sole purpose was to make sure nothing was crawling around the site that they couldn’t hide from the general public. The word curse should have been enough to put a stop to the whole thing.
“Maybe the treasure is just that damned good,” I said.
She shook her head. “The IAA is a lot of things, but treasure hunters they are not. Either they were leveraged to approve it, or someone managed to bypass their approval completely.” She paused. “The professor who is funding the dig is absent from the dig site itself. You saw who it was?”
I shrugged, determined not to make a big deal out of it. My old supervisor, Dr. Orel Sanders, was the one who’d signed off on the grant and was funding supplies. Unfortunately it didn’t mean a hell of a lot. “That’s not unusual for him. He never works on site. He doesn’t even run the research, just hands it off to the next postdocs in line. Honestly, I’m not sure he even proofreads the papers and grants anymore. I only ever met the man twice; once for my interview, and then when I was kicked out.” Though I wasn’t in the mood to rehash getting screwed over by my supervisor and research committee, I still remember the exact conversation word for word, as if someone seared it into my mind . . .
“Don’t worry, Alix,” Dr. Sanders had said after I’d reported my run-in with the mummy. “Happens all the time. Just sign off on the retraction and we’ll get you to a dig. No mummies this time, promise.” He’d even had the nerve to smile and pat me on the back. Made me furious just thinking about it . . . my God, have I ever really been that stupid and naïve?
Sensing my mood change, Nadya switched tactics. “He might not be involved or even know about the dig, but his signature didn’t get on the paper by itself. It’s a lead. All we have to do is determine where all his postdocs are, and we should be able to figure out which one is running the dig.”
“Except there’s no guarantee the thief is using an IAA contact.”
Nadya shook her head. “They have to have some connection with the IAA, otherwise they’d never have kept the theft this quiet. We just have to find it—”
“And hope to hell they’re not as good at burying their past as I am.” Still, a needle in a haystack was better than no lead at all. And Sanders’s postdocs wouldn’t be hard to find—all the university websites listed them.
“I will do my best from my end and see what more I can find out—both from these files and ones that might not be so obvious.”
“I’ll see what I can dig up about the sale from Hermes before I go to L.A.,” I said. Needles in haystacks, but you work with what you have.
Nadya gathered up the papers—none of the maps or diagrams, mostly notes and references about the researchers involved. “There were some prominent Russian professors who wrote on the city and the plague. They should still be on the server—I’ll see if I can dig them up.”
The Russian university servers were notoriously unsecure due to staffing. They didn’t have a budget to wipe old access codes, a fact Nadya exploited every chance she got.
“They’re going to plug that hole eventually, Nadya.”
“You don’t know Russian academics. The loophole will be fixed, just not soon. My nose will tell me when to stop.”
She might have an uncanny ability to sniff out trouble, but I doubted it would warn her about the servers. Then again, it had warned her to get out of archaeology six months ahead of me when it’d still been a smart idea.
“I also have some contacts in Japan still who might be able to help. They keep their eyes out for new digs like this—for their clients. I’ll see if anyone has been trying to offload pieces in their networks.”
Speaking of offloading other artifacts . . . I rifled through the folder and pulled out the list of thefts the IAA had attributed to me. If Hermes turned up nothing on Daphne Sylph’s purchases, I’d shoot these by his way too.
I handed it to Nadya. “See if any of your Japanese contacts know anything about these thefts—the ones I didn’t do,” I said, and gathered up the remaining files.
I don’t know whether it was the way she glanced back at her computer screen or how she fidgeted with the stem of her cosmo—both uncharacteristic for Nadya, who was a tyrant of etiquette—but there was something she wasn’t saying.
“Spit it out, Nadya.”
“Why are they sending you?”
I shrugged. “Because I’m their resident thief and they expect bang for their buck?” I’d been running over my meeting with the two of them. The more I thought about it, the less I was convinced Lady Siyu really believed I was the thief. This was just her sick and twisted way to get around the fact that Mr. Kurosawa wouldn’t let her kill me.
Nadya shook her head. “That just proves my point. All they need to do—all you need to do, for that matter—is send those files to the IAA, find out who is in charge of the dig, and forward the tip to them. They could have an agent walk in five minutes later and confiscate her entire collection. That would be the simplest solution to the problem. Why send you?”
“Because they want the items for their own collection? For Mr. Kurosawa’s section on ‘rending, gutting, and other assorted ways to torture your human?’ I didn’t ask, Nadya, I was too busy worrying about my neck. Maybe they just like to see the IAA with their panties in a bunch as much as I do.”
“Then why do they need you to find the real thief?”
“They said they don’t want more pieces coming out of the city—and for the record, I agree with that one. Whatever that curse does, it’s not fun.”
Nadya pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, but it looks more like Mr. Kurosawa and Lady Siyu are placing chess pieces on a board.”
“If they are, they sure didn’t bother to explain the rules.”
Nadya arched an eyebrow over the rim of her sunglasses. “You assume there are rules. There is something bigger going on here, and let’s face it, you are not exactly one for looking at the big picture.”
“I am looking at the big picture. Cursed City of the Dead artifacts, bad. Find thief raiding the place, good.”
“More like flashing the big picture the finger before throwing a paint bomb at it.”
“Paintballs, Nadya. And glad to see the faith from my friends—really, it’s touching.” I gathered up my stuff and turned to go.
“Alix?” Nadya said as I reached the door. “Just be careful. Things are not what they seem with this one.”
My first inclination was to argue, but stupid and reckless is the one who ignores Nadya’s instincts. And yes, I’ve been guilty on more than one occasion. I nodded and pushed the door open.
“And you should really talk to Rynn!”
I winced. Yeah, Rynn. Following the theme of my complete and utter failure to avoid the supernatural despite my best efforts, I also happen to be dating an incubus. On and off. But he was like the ultimate, extreme exception to the rule . . . and we’d been friends before I’d discovered what he was . . . and as far as supernaturals were concerned, incubi and succubi were on the less malicious side of the scale.
You know, sometimes I think the universe sits around waiting for me to say I’ll never do something, then comes up with fun and interesting ways to throw me in that exact situation. You suck sometimes, universe. Seriously.
Anyway, it wasn’t like he excreted a pheromone that was a more addictive and potent narcotic than heroin and smelled like rotting lily of the valley—which vampires do, in case you were wondering.
I gave a noncommittal wave to Nadya and headed back inside. As I exited the casino side of the Garden Café, I chanced a quick look at the neon-lit bar just past the entrance. Besides serving as temporary security, Rynn had also taken over Mr. Kurosawa’s bar, and one of the renovations was a replica of the neon bar at the Gaijin Cloud, a host bar Rynn used to run in Tokyo that catered
to foreigners.
I glanced back down as I saw him making small talk with a customer—or thought I saw him. I glanced away too quickly to be sure.
What am I, five? Damn it, come on, bravery, grow a pair. I couldn’t duck around the nearest corner every time I thought I saw him. Besides, it wouldn’t work; he knew where my room was and had a key.
Get it together, it’s a goddamn conversation . . .
I took another look.
It wasn’t Rynn, just another blond, who, from a distance, bore a passing resemblance to him. Probably another one of his new hires . . .
Have I mentioned yet I’m not good with people? That’s kind of been an underlying theme in my life.
I made it to the elevators. The mirrored glass on the inside was decorated with replicas of ancient Japanese artwork that reminded me of the painted tunnels beneath the Circus garage, the ones Oricho had kept over the centuries.
God, I hoped Lady Siyu and Mr. Kurosawa had at least had the decency not to completely trash them after Oricho’s betrayal. Then again, I was dealing with supernaturals.
Right before the doors slid shut, someone shoved their hand inside, holding them open.
Rynn.
“You know, by the way you’re acting, one would think you were trying to avoid them,” he said, and slipped inside the elevator, leaning against the opposite wall of painted glass.
My brain froze for something useful to say. I’m not kidding when I say I don’t do well with people. If there is a way to stick my foot in my mouth, I’ll find it.
The whole on/off thing wasn’t helping either . . .
Rynn stood there watching me as the elevator started to count through the floors. “Well?” he said, not making any move to close the distance. “That’s normally the cue for the other person to continue the conversation.”
I picked up Rynn’s sandalwood-scented cologne. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I screwed things up without trying. I’m guilty of a lot of things—self-sabotage, recklessness, not giving people a chance. I was trying not to add tanking a perfectly good relationship.
“You’ve got about ten floors left,” Rynn added.
I looked up at his face and his gray eyes and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I missed you.” I’d actually planned on starting with Sorry I may have gone off the grid for a few days, since under the circumstances that seemed the most appropriate, but I could go with my brain’s spontaneity if not its complete lack of tact.
Rynn arched a blond eyebrow, somewhat surprised. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought I’d have gone with something else.
The question was, had it been the right thing? Something else I’m guilty of is a deep routed fear of rejection. Ever since I’d first met Rynn, my reluctance to put myself out there emotionally—even when I’d still thought he was human—had been an underlying theme.
Rynn still didn’t make any move to close the distance.
I breathed again. OK, five floors left. Come on, Owl, grow a backbone and make an attempt here. Brain, don’t fail me now . . .
“On a scale from one to ten, exactly how mad are you at me right now?” Again, I blurted it out before my filter kicked in, not that it exercises much judgment on a good day.
Rynn hit the emergency stop. “On a scale from one to ten?” he said, repeating each word carefully.
“Are you supposed to do that?” I asked, nodding at the red light.
That threw him off, and he gave the light a brief, quizzical look. “I’m head of security. I can do whatever the hell I want, and are you certain you don’t want to add a few more numbers on there?”
I winced. You had one job, brain, one goddamn job . . . No more relying on my subconscious to do the right thing. “OK, what I meant to say is I’m sorry about Egypt. I should have brought you into the loop. But in my defense, I had no idea the IAA was looking for me—”
“Tell me, Alix, when did you finally call? Was that before or after they started shooting at you?” he said, the dark expression back.
“Actually, it was when the mummy tried to eat me—”
He snorted, then ran a hand through his cropped blond hair. From where I stood, it looked like he counted silently to three.
“I’m disappointed in you, but I missed you too, and I’m relieved you’re still alive. From a professional standpoint I’m furious, because everything you’ve done in the last three months seems solely directed at making my job a living hell. Do you have any idea how hard it is to account for someone who goes off the grid? You try telling Mr. Kurosawa and Lady Siyu ‘Sorry, she took off’ when they ask for a progress report.” He closed his eyes. “We said you weren’t going to do this again.”
He was right. That was exactly what I’d said. I just hadn’t thought it would be so hard to follow through on . . .
“Technically I told Nadya, so . . .” I winced as soon as I said it. Brain, please quit trying to make decisions for me while I’m ahead.
Rynn narrowed his eyes at me before turning to face the elevator console. He punched in a code, and the elevator resumed its climb. “In fact, I’m so furious at you—for that Algiers stunt especially—I’m doing everything I can to keep it outside our relationship.” He glanced up at me, and for a moment I thought I caught a flash of blue, something incubi did when they were either using their innate abilities or trying to rein them in. “You aren’t making it easy.”
The elevator chimed and the door opened onto the penthouse floor. Rynn stepped out first and set a fast pace for my room.
“Look, I can explain,” I called after him. I wasn’t trying to make his job impossible on purpose. I don’t do well with authority figures on a good day, and having Rynn trying to tag me wasn’t helping.
He reached my room ahead of me, the one I kept while I was at the Japanese Circus on business, and opened the door. It was more an apartment than a hotel room, with an office/living space, dining room, half kitchen, bedroom, and luxury bathroom. Whereas most of the high-end rooms at the Circus were fitted with antiques carefully selected and curated by Lady Siyu, it had not escaped my notice that they were completely absent from my room. Not surprising, since I’d trashed a Louis XIV dinner set on the first supernatural job I’d done for Mr. Kurosawa. Trust me, I’d had my reasons.
At least Lady Siyu had fitted it with cat supplies, including a tree, which Captain emerged from chirping. He took one look between me and Rynn and, instead of begging for food, disappeared into the bedroom.
Great, Captain would rather forgo dinner than stick around for this conversation. I followed Rynn in and dropped my folder on the table before leaning against it.
“Good, you can start with Algiers and explaining these,” he said, and retrieved a set of heavy gold chains from a box by the desk, dropping them on the kitchen table. The chains held both a collar and matching cuffs the right size for a child. They were engraved in Latin with the name Cleopatra Selene.
I’d almost forgotten about Algiers . . . damn Hermes and his efficiency.
My eyes drifted from the cuffs back up to Rynn, who stood close to the door. Not a great sign. “I can explain,” I said.
“I’m waiting.”
I swallowed and stared at the cuffs. Honesty, Owl, honesty. “Those are the chains that Cleopatra the Eighth, the daughter of Cleopatra the Seventh and Mark Antony, was dragged through the streets of Rome in by Octavian after Cleopatra and Antony were defeated.”
“And what, you just couldn’t help yourself?”
I cleared my throat. “No, they were the first thing I ever excavated and were supposed to stay in a museum, not end up in someone’s private collection. They hold sentimental value,” I added.
Rynn’s mouth dropped open a little, as if not quite believing what I’d just said. “Sentimental value?”
I nodded and held my chin up a littl
e higher as I crossed my arms. “Yes. Sentimental value.”
Rynn stared at me, frowning before shaking his head. “That . . . is so completely uncharacteristic for you, I think I believe it.” He lowered his head, reminding me of a predator stalking prey—not far off. “That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me.”
“Honest answer? I didn’t tell you about Algiers or Alexandria because I knew you’d try to talk me out of it.”
“So you knew it was dangerous?”
“My job involves calculated risks. Unfortunately, most of the calculated risks I take fail whatever bar you’ve set.”
“So let me get this straight, just so we’re both on the same page here—the risks that I consider too high to take from a professional standpoint, you’re arguing are in fact your job?”
“Actually, that’s pretty damn accurate,” I said.
“I’m not being unreasonable, Alix!”
“Oh come on. You almost wrote off Morocco, and you’d have written off Egypt if I’d told you—and don’t try to tell me your feelings don’t spill into it!”
Rynn looked back up at me, even more the predator with a flash of blue; brief, but it was there.
I wasn’t completely immune to it. In fact, a number of things crossed my mind that I’d like to do with Rynn, and fighting wasn’t one of them . . . well, probably not the kind of fighting you have in mind.
“Alix, if I let my personal feelings spill into my work, I wouldn’t approve any of your projects.”
Another thing we had yet to resolve. My profession. And just for the record, I’m not exactly a thief. I steal artifacts from the IAA . . . considering how much they screwed me over, I figure it’s my own personal brand of grievances and pay retrieval. Besides, Serena and Charity always work for free. It’s like I’m volunteering.
Yeah, Rynn hadn’t gone for that either.
“Just be glad you didn’t make the meeting this afternoon with Lady Snakebite and Mr. Kurosawa.”
Owl and the City of Angels Page 11
