Artemis snorted. “Both of you would be suspicious, and knowing you, Daphne will not take kindly to whatever it is you have in store.”
“Artemis—”
“Oh stop worrying. I’ll get her in and bring her back in one piece as well—though I’m still curious as to why the hell for.”
Rynn didn’t answer. Artemis just shrugged and nodded at me. “Bring her back tomorrow night around nine p.m. She cleans up, I imagine?”
I snorted. “Do I clean up? What the hell is that supposed to—” But Rynn covered my mouth before I could say anything really offensive.
Artemis glanced up, apparently fascinated with a spot on the ceiling. “My God, Rynn, I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it for myself, but you actually seem to be getting more interesting with age.”
“Fuck off,” Rynn said, grabbing my hand before helping me out of the office. “And clean up your fucking mansion.”
Artemis just laughed and gave me a measured look. “Charity,” he said, and lifted the Jack Daniel’s. “Until tomorrow, and whatever nefarious deeds my illustrious cousin has you doing on his behalf.”
I was about to correct Artemis’s assumption that I worked for Rynn, but I stopped when Rynn gave a slight shake of his head. Maybe there was an advantage to keeping Artemis in the dark.
Old wise thieves proverb: Quit while the going is still good.
“Not even a thank-you?” Artemis yelled, leaning out his office door.
“You owe me. I’m doing you a favor.”
“This makes us square,” Artemis yelled behind us.
“Just be sober!”
“Don’t count on it!”
The incense hit me again. Oh shit . . . the party. I’d almost forgotten. I stopped in my tracks. “Whoa, hold up—”
“Just keep walking,” he said, stepping up our pace.
Yeah, this I was putting my foot down on. I dug both heels into the carpet. “No way. I’m not going back out there into kaleidoscope happy land.”
That earned me another laugh from Artemis, who’d come to watch us leave. “Kaleidoscope happy land—oh that’s good. I might have to use that for my next album title. Are you sure you plan on keeping her, Rynn? You can always leave her here. I’ll give you another one—Violet was quite taken with the family resemblance.”
Rynn shot Artemis a look of death and steered me out.
“Nice meeting you, Charity. Make sure you’re not late, I hate to be kept waiting.”
Rynn’s eyes briefly flashed.
Oh no, I’d had enough of the flashy eyes for one night. “Hey—yeah—just wait a minute.”
“I’m just making it so the incense won’t affect you as much—provided we move quickly.”
Yeah, not that I didn’t appreciate the sentiment . . . Using supernaturals to get me out of supernatural problems had indirectly led to my current predicament. Human Owl didn’t approve of the solution, thank you very much. There had to be an easier way than letting Rynn mess with my mind—however noninvasive and well-intentioned he was—or getting high as a kite and stumbling my way out. “The ballroom is the worst of it, right?”
Rynn nodded. Artemis was still watching us, amusement replacing the cruelty.
Great, just fantastic. Now I amused him. Well, let’s see if I could use that to my advantage.
“Hey, asshole incubus?”
Artemis arched an eyebrow.
“Got a back door? Preferably the opposite direction from the happy kaleidoscope crazy hour?”
Rynn swore, but Artemis laughed outright, pointing down the hall. “Through the kitchen, there’s a back door that opens onto the porch.”
OK, now we were getting somewhere. Fast, now that was the second thing. I pulled off my shoes and handed them to Rynn.
“Out the back door it is,” I said.
Artemis laughed behind us. “It’s been a slice, Charity. See you tomorrow.”
We exited back into the hall, and almost immediately the euphoria hit—though, as suspected, not nearly as powerfully outside the epicenter. At least I knew it was coming this time, so it didn’t have a chance to creep up through my thoughts.
“And Artemis thinks vampire pheromones are bad?”
Rynn frowned. “Similar effect—except this wears off almost immediately, and it’s not exactly addictive.”
“What do you mean ‘not exactly’?”
“You saw those people. They come back for more because they think it’s a good party.” I didn’t miss the vehemence in his voice.
“What does he do to them?” I asked.
Rynn didn’t say anything at first.
“Oh come on. He wouldn’t go to all that trouble if he didn’t get something out of it—”
“He feeds off of them, all right? That’s all.” He shook his head. “I’m not in the mood to talk about it right now. Ask me later.” Yeah . . . no one’s that angry about nothing at all.
We reached the kitchen—almost home free. I spun at the sound of humming and the smell of a heavy floral perfume.
A woman helping herself to a bottle of champagne emerged from behind the fridge. Her eyes widened with frantic need as she saw us.
It was the same girl who’d thrown herself at Rynn and practically confided her life goal of sleeping with as many rock stars as she could. Violet.
“I heard you met him?” she said, the fanatic euphoria lighting up her face. She reached out her hand and tried to brush my arm, but this time I managed to put Rynn between us. On the one hand, I felt bad for him, but on the other, I didn’t need another psychedelic trip.
Violet either didn’t care or notice.
“Violet? Violet dear, where did you get off to?” Artemis called out from down the hall.
She tilted her head towards the sound of his voice. With something besides Rynn catching her attention, she flitted back into the hallway like a vapid, drunk butterfly.
Not that I make a habit of being a good Samaritan, but Violet was in no condition to be doing anything. “Violet—hey Violet.” I tried going after her, but Rynn stopped me.
“You can’t. She’s here of her own free will.”
“This,” I said, indicating the house, “is not free will, and I think you know that as well as I do.”
His face darkened. “I don’t like it either, believe me, but there’s nothing we can do about it. Artemis is unfortunately not breaking a single rule.” He sighed. “I should have known better.”
I glanced back to where Violet had gone, but there wasn’t much I could do at this point—the only thing I was likely to do was crawl through the mansion looking for treasure . . .
Rynn made me look at him. No flash of blue, but still, it helped me focus.
“We need to leave,” he said.
I nodded. Whoever Violet was—to Artemis, to the people here, to people outside this warped playland—there was nothing I could do for her . . . not right now anyways.
We reached our jeep. I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy about being in the open air as I was when we pulled away from the Hollywood Hills and Artemis Bast’s mansion. It might have been the tail end of incense euphoria, but I had a lot of questions about the incubi I was going to need answered once I got my thoughts back together. I had a sinking suspicion Rynn had glossed over just how dangerous they could be. I know better than to start an argument half cut. Off-again lesson number two . . .
“How come the more I try to do the right thing, the more monsters I run into?”
“Because the monsters were always there.” He shook his head. “You just have a way of poking them where they least expect it.”
Somehow I don’t think he was talking about just Artemis Bast, and I remembered Nadya’s theory, born of her uncanny nose for trouble, that there was more going on than anyone was letting on.
“You know those things you keep asking me about the supernatural, and I keep saying you really don’t want to know?” he continued.
I ran over the biggest offenders in my head: goblin culinary habits in the modern world, vampire blood banks, ghoul feeding stations—I mean, they had to exist, how else would an entire corpse-eating species go unnoticed? With YouTube the way it was, all it’d take would be one ghoul dragging a body out of a morgue or graveyard, and all hell would break loose. Even the IAA couldn’t keep a handle on YouTube.
“This is definitely one of those things,” Rynn said.
I sat back in my seat and let Rynn drive, hoping what was left of the euphoria cleared the hell out. “Some party,” I said.
This time Rynn didn’t say anything back.
What the hell had I gotten myself into this time?
8
World Quest and Other Distractions
Noon, hiding out in the hotel lobby
I curled up on the chair and pulled my laptop closer to make sure the couple behind me couldn’t see what I was doing. Call me self-conscious, but I draw the line at letting people watch me play World Quest over my shoulder. I’m not that much of a social lost cause. Besides, there’s something to be said for a luxury hotel lobby; the Wi-Fi works, and the work areas feel like a higher-end version of IKEA.
The biggest reason for hiding out down here, though, was the fact that I was still fighting with Rynn. World Quest helps me think . . . and work through my thoughts. Like Nadya, Rynn didn’t maybe appreciate that as much as he should.
And for the record, I do not use World Quest to avoid adult conversations about my relationships with actual people—incubi included.
At least I felt better this morning in my black snakeskin leather jacket and matching leather boots. I still looked like I belonged here, just on my terms, not L.A.’s. I cringed thinking about last night’s outfit. “Never again, Captain,” I said, and he mewed from the carrier—the designer one Nadya had wrangled in Egypt.
Another perk about staying in high-end hotels—they were used to putting up with crazy people and their pets.
Oh God, I’m doomed to a life of playing video games by myself, except for my cat.
Captain looked around the lobby again and then at me—and mewed. His food dish was still upstairs . . . so was the litter box. He had a point.
“Look, we’ll go back up in another half hour. Just let’s give Rynn a while longer to cool off.”
FYI—that incubus incense shit Artemis laced his entire mansion with? Coming down’s a real bitch, and it leaves one hell of a hangover. I’d been in a bad mood and probably said a few things I shouldn’t have. You’d think someone like Artemis, who’d probably been alive for a couple hundred years, would have found something that didn’t mess humans up quite that much.
The worst part about the latest fight with Rynn was that I’d started it for no reason. I’d accused him of not telling me about the Artemis kaleidoscope crazy hour on purpose . . . and lying to me about incubi not being dangerous. After seeing Artemis, I’d called Rynn on that being a load of shit. It had been a low blow. Rynn hadn’t let me out of his sight while the damn incense worked its way out of my system, and he’d felt guilty enough about exposing me to it.
Goddamn it, why the hell couldn’t I pull my punches? At least the verbal ones? Rynn did.
It hadn’t been like this when he’d been in Japan . . .
And I’d only seen him every few months . . .
And I’d thought he was human . . .
And Artemis’s spectacle hadn’t demonstrated how harmless was open to interpretation . . . I was still seriously trying to process everything I’d seen last night, with mixed results.
I was starting to remember why I used to have that damn rule about no goddamned supernaturals. Because humans end up maimed and dead, that’s why!
I shrunk further into the chair. I’d tried to apologize after I’d yelled, but Rynn hadn’t wanted my apology. Empty promises don’t mean a hell of a lot to someone who can tell exactly what you really feel.
Artemis’s words to Rynn kept repeating in my head: “Slumming it even for you.”
Rynn had said something to me once about being attracted to things that were broken.
Normally I don’t care that I’m broken . . . I know it, I admit it, I embrace it. Let’s face it: I’m not normal. I don’t know how a normal relationship is supposed to work—hell, facing Alexander and his cronies would actually be easier than facing Rynn right now.
The thing that bothered me the most about our fight was that for once Rynn hadn’t called me a train wreck.
I hadn’t called him a whore either.
I held up my coffee mug for the waitress. More caffeine and World Quest, that’s what my god-awful hangover needed.
When I glanced back down, a message from Carpe was scrolling across my screen. The lobby wasn’t private enough that I could talk, so I’d limited our conversation to chat—I was starting to think it wasn’t that bad an idea in general. Carpe tended to keep his mouth shut about the damn spell book when he actually had to put in the effort to type it out.
OK, what the hell is up? Carpe wrote.
Nothing’s up. I just had a rough day at work. Except that we were trolling a goblin cave for loot. A nice, generic goblin cave, with no archaeological significance whatsoever . . .
This blew.
Captain picked up his head from his carrier, mewed louder this time, and began sniffing the air.
I hazarded what I hoped was a subtle glance around the hotel lobby, every nerve on edge.
All I saw were tourists and people on business, no sign of vampire junkies or the telltale scent of rotting lily of the valley. Not wanting to risk a scene, I grasped Captain’s red leash until he settled back down. Rynn had told me Maus were bred by the Egyptians to hunt vampires in packs. Captain disagreed and felt it should be a solo operation. It was still a point of contention and training between the two of us.
False alarm. Still . . . I fired off a text message to Nadya. Any pings on Alexander and the Paris boys lately? Better safe than sorry.
Technically Mr. Kurosawa had a truce with Alexander and the vampire powers that said they couldn’t kill me. In practice, that just meant Alexander couldn’t get caught. If Alexander got wind I was in L.A., he might risk it.
I was starting to wonder whether protection from the vampires was worth it. Three years, Owl—three years and then you’re free . . . provided I managed to clear my name and convince both Mr. Kurosawa and the IAA I wasn’t the thief breaking into the City of the Dead.
I put my forehead against my keyboard. This is exactly what I got for facing my problems and trying to come up with adult solutions. And Rynn wondered why the hell I avoided adult conversations . . .
My World Quest screen pinged again.
Hey? You playing or not?
I snorted at Carpe’s message and took one last look around the lobby. Considering Captain wasn’t growling and trying to chew his way out of the carrier, it was probably residual vampire he was picking up.
I went back to the game screen. Of course I’m still playing. Why wouldn’t I want to play? I mean, it’s generic goblins? What’s not to like?
Seriously, Byzantine, get your ass back in the game or fuck the hell off—this crappy quest is in fact entirely your fault and you don’t hear me bitching and whining.
Not what I need to hear right now, Carpe . . . yet another problem blamed on me. I counted ten goblins left.
I took a sip of my coffee and faded Byzantine into the shadows in preparation for a backstab. Then I came out with one of my most powerful attacks—a swipe of a magic staff I’d picked up on a much better and more lucrative dungeon crawl. One of those one-a-day deals that wipes out an entire playing field of enemies in a digital haze of lightning and fire.
Yes, it was overkill.
The screen lit up, and in a moment all that was left of the goblin cave was a few scorched skeletons and what treasure they’d been carrying.
Happy? I wrote back.
Stop being such a fucking princess.
I ignored Carpe and started to search the cave for loot. Maybe I’d get lucky and the goblins had killed a new player who’d gone out and supped themselves up with armor, weapons, and magic gear from the real-money in-game store.
My phone pinged before I could open the first bag. Carpe was pissed enough as it was, so I planned on ignoring the call—until I saw it was Hermes.
Keeping one eye on the screen, I checked the message.
Dear Owl—I can fit you into my schedule now. Hermes
Yeah, not likely. I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I ditched the game now, especially after that stunt I just pulled . . .
Bad timing, Hermes—Now’s no good. How bout 30? Better yet, pick a spot, I’ll come meet you. Giving my location out to relative strangers fuels my paranoia. Now . . . let’s see if there isn’t a secret stash in here somewhere . . . newbie players need loot drop too, right?
My phone pinged again with Hermes’s response.
Dear Owl, I think I’ll meet you. No offense, but you drag trouble behind you like a gator tows seaweed through a swamp.
Yeah, still not happening. You think I’m giving you the hotel I’m staying at you might as well pony up some cash for magic beans.
Dear Owl, Doing my best to stay polite here. Not asking again. Give me your hotel, I’ll swing by, we’ll talk.
Yeah. No. I started to type my response and noted Captain chirped. Probably a game light flashing . . . or he had to go to the litter box. “Dude, just give me a sec—”
“Will you just look the fuck up already?” said a male voice, medium tenor, with a mild American accent.
Son of a bitch. I looked up and swore at the guy standing in front of me: late twenties/early thirties, light red hair that came down just past his ears, dressed like a bike messenger, complete with bag, and perpetual smile filled with very good white teeth. Cute in an outdoorsy, nondescript kind of way, except for the bright red hair. That would have stood out anywhere.
Owl and the City of Angels Page 16
