Owl and the City of Angels

by Kristi Charish

  “It’s temporary,” I told her. “And if there’s so much as a scratch on him—”

  Rynn added something I didn’t understand, but to be honest, I didn’t care. Captain let out another distressed meow, and it was all I could do to keep staring at Lady Siyu’s face.

  She hefted the carrier over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said. Spinning on her heels, she headed back outside.

  With my cat.

  Figuring something was up now, Captain howled and began to ­attack the carrier door. “Captain, I’ll get you back, I promise,” I yelled. Yeah, I know cats don’t speak English. I didn’t care.

  Rynn stopped me from following her outside. I think he knew I was close to breaking my bargain. “We’ll get the cat back,” he told me.

  I didn’t break away as Lady Siyu drove off with Captain. I just hoped to hell I’d put my trust in the right person this time—because if I hadn’t, I didn’t know if I’d be able to live with the price.

  Epilogue

  Crawling Out of the Woodwork

  Two weeks later, early June, Seattle

  I wound my way past the early weekend tourists out of Pike Place Market, red flames baseball cap pulled down and cargo jacket on. I fit right in. Damn, it was good to be back.

  I’d been back at my apartment for a couple days now without Captain. It’d taken almost two weeks to recover from the curse, and Lady Siyu had refused to let me out of her sight. Trust me—neither of us had enjoyed a minute of it, but she takes her orders very seriously. Good thing Rynn had been there, because I’m pretty sure I would have hit her. If I never hallucinate again, it’ll be too soon—that goes double for evil incubi and curses.

  Man, if Mr. Kurosawa ever gives her the OK to kill me . . .

  At least a long scratch on Lady Siyu’s arm told me Captain had gotten a good swipe in, letting her know who was in charge. Lady Siyu might have my cat now, but she wasn’t keeping him. Not if I could do anything about it.

  On the way back home, I passed by a pub TV screen recapping what had been dubbed the “L.A. summer zombie fiasco of 2014,” Cooper’s face pictured in the upper left corner. At the next red light, I stopped to check my news feeds. Some people said it was an elaborate publicity hoax perpetrated by Zombie Walker, while others said it was a small-scale terrorist attack. There were two things everyone agreed upon though; a citywide dispersal of LSD and the involvement of former archaeologist Dr. Cooper Hill . . .

  I shook my head and kept going. Same old IAA . . . at least they’d found Cooper where Rynn and Lady Siyu had left him. Lady Siyu had wanted to kill him, but Rynn had managed to convince her the IAA would do much worse. He was right—they would.

  Though I have to admit, Cooper in Siberia brightened my day . . . and it being June, Seattle was having its brief run of sun. My week was looking up.

  I lugged my groceries back into my building, restocking the fridge—with food, not beer. Rynn was arriving this afternoon. I’d spent the last three nights playing World Quest—true to their word, the game designers had left our characters intact. I’d been getting back at Carpe in my own way. I’d had an item in my inventory for a while—a pair of gloves called Black Friday. They let me pilfer from the loot piles before Carpe could see what was there. Byzantine had been bleeding him dry.

  I won’t pretend things were back to normal, but I think by now we’ve established I don’t do normal. I’d settled on calling this downtime. Rynn was still working for Mr. Kurosawa, but they were looking for a replacement now. And Rynn was taking a step back from overseeing my projects, instead acting as a consultant. I think Rynn might have been happier about that than I was . . .

  To be honest, I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to the whole “relationship thing” . . . but maybe that’s what makes it special? Who knows? I’m done with philosophizing about the ins and outs of the human mind for a few months—I’d leave that to Rynn’s hobby and worry about pretending I’m a responsible adult in a mature adult relationship.

  I don’t think I’m fooling anyone, most of all Rynn.

  Regardless, I’m not going to run, and Rynn will stay out of my work.

  We’ve agreed to that much.

  I give Rynn two days past my next job . . .

  The only thing I hadn’t talked to him about after the zombie fiasco was what Artemis had told me about Rynn and incubi in general. Not for the reasons you might think though. Oh I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t wedged somewhere in the back of my head, but if I started listening to every crazy supernatural who shot their mouth off while they were trying to kill me, well, I’d go nuts . . . or take their advice and proverbially jump off a cliff.

  Besides, it brought up things that went well and far past my comfort line in the sand.

  As far as Cooper, Odawaa, and the lamp? It’s a hell of a lot more boring than you’d think. Rynn and Lady Siyu eventually caught up to Cooper, took the lamp, and—at Rynn’s insistence and against Lady Siyu’s inclinations—left him tied up like a present for the IAA. Like the genie legends of old, as soon as the lamp changed hands, the magic animating the zombies was broken. The invasion was over. Odawaa got away—not surprising, considering he’s a pirate. The more unsettling question was who the hell was pulling all the strings.

  Someone had told Artemis how to make wraiths, a trick that had long been forgotten . . . for good reason. It drove the incubi and succubi nuts. Artemis included. The same someone was behind Cooper, and Alexander and Daphne as well.

  I did my best not to think about it. If I could help it, I planned on staying the hell out of supernatural politics. Note I didn’t say never—see? I’m learning.

  The kitchen light was on when I opened the door to my condo. I could have sworn I’d turned it off.

  “Rynn?” He’d texted me when his plane left a couple hours ago, but he shouldn’t be here yet, should he?

  My phone rang with the ’80s video-game chime and snake hiss before I could consider it more. Damn it, my day had been looking up.

  “Lady Siyu,” I answered.

  “I instructed you to call once a day.”

  Come on, big breath, Owl. She’s in Las Vegas, she can’t hurt you . . . much.

  “I did. I texted you this morning.” Besides, the headaches left over from the curse had ebbed off, along with the dreams. I barely needed her help anymore. What I needed was my cat . . .

  “Clearly you do not grasp the difference between a phone call and a text. I suggest you familiarize yourself with those terms—the internet should prove useful.”

  Now she gets a sense of humor . . . “My apologies, oh great Lady Siyu, for assuming a text would be adequate when you requested a phone call.”

  I dropped my groceries on the counter, headed to my kitchen window overlooking Seattle harbor, and grabbed a beer from my fridge.

  “See that it does not happen again. I have sent a list of instructions for your recovery.”

  “Got it,” I said. Basically a list of approved things for me to eat and not eat. Let’s just say I was glad to be as far away from her as possible. Beer was not on the approved list.

  “I took the liberty of having tea delivered to your residence,” Lady Siyu continued.

  I noticed the paper bag on my counter and opened it. Inside was a large glass tub of tea, along with other packets. “Found it,” I said. More out of curiosity than anything else, I opened it up and took a whiff. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is in here?”

  “You will drink that tea three times a day.”

  “Like hell I will. Have you smelled this?”

  “I do not care what you do, or do not wish.”

  Goddamn it . . . just when you think you get away . . . “This must really kill you, being forced to keep me alive. I mean, does Mr. Kurosawa enjoy sticking the knife in and turning?”

  “Silence,” Lady Siyu said
. There was a brief pause on the other end, which I used to gulp my beer. “Unlike you, I possess not only your cat but honor—” she continued.

  She had to rub it in.

  “As such, until I deem you fit from your most recent self-inflicted disasters, I am charged with administering your care. You will make a full recovery as per my instructions from Mr. Kurosawa, which means you will follow my diet and drink the foul tea. Do I make myself clear?”

  There was a threat in her voice I didn’t like. Only Lady Siyu could turn being some kind of supernatural healer into a threat. “Or else what?” I asked.

  There was that hiss—long and drawn out. “If for one moment I get the impression you have deviated from my instructions by even a fraction, I will have no choice but to travel to Seattle. You do not want me to have to travel to Seattle,” she said, and hung up.

  I stood there and stared at my phone. I’d worry about Lady Siyu when Rynn got here. He’d know how serious her threat was.

  I headed to my office. I was still hoping I could find something in my collection Lady Siyu wanted more than Captain, though I hadn’t had any luck so far . . .

  I stopped in the doorway. Now, I know I hadn’t left that open.

  Shit.

  Sitting in my office chair was the IAA woman with brown hair wrapped in a bun, who’d been tailing me in Egypt and shown up at Alexander’s bar on the Sunset Strip. I took a step back and glanced at the kitchen . . . where the hell did Rynn say he’d ditched the knives? The not kitchen ones . . .

  The woman stopped me though by raising and aiming a small black handgun. She was as bad as Nadya; the gun matched the suit.

  I noticed my gold cuffs—Cleopatra II’s, the ones I’d lifted in ­Algeria—sitting on her lap.

  I frowned. I hate it when people touch my stuff.

  “I’m just here to talk,” she said, returning my cuffs and standing up, leaving the shadow caused by my office’s artificial lighting and lack of windows. I take preservation of my artifacts seriously.

  Yeah, IAA. Just here to talk. I took another step back. Damn it, I wished I had Captain here—or Rynn, or Nadya . . .

  I swallowed. “You always bring firearms to friendly conversations?” I did my best to keep my voice civil as I checked the doorways. No shadows, and they hadn’t bothered to kill the lights . . . apparently this was the only IAA suit here. I still had to stop myself from running for the front door. I would have if I hadn’t thought there was a slight chance she’d shoot me.

  She smiled at that. “Never hurts to be cautious. Where’s the incubus?”

  “Coming from the garage,” I lied.

  There was that smile again. “We can kill him, you know.”

  “Doubt that very much.”

  She smiled. “I can kill you.”

  I shrugged. “You’re welcome to try, though in all fairness, two vampires, a crazy, power-mad incubus, and a pack of Somali pirates didn’t manage it. My boss the dragon will be pretty pissed too.” I noted the black comm piece. Someone above her pay grade would be listening in. “Go on, check with your bosses. I’m betting you aren’t cleared to do anything more than talk to me.”

  Well, maybe rough me up, but nothing serious. Kidnapping was out. Again, angry dragon.

  As I suspected, someone confirmed more or less what I’d said, and her smile faltered. OK, I was on better ground than I thought.

  She switched tactics. “The incubus left the airport twenty minutes ago, though my operatives are tailing him.”

  Yeah, somehow I didn’t think they were tailing Rynn as much as they would like to think they were. I’d be willing to put money on them being in for a surprise.

  “And you are correct. Incubi are notoriously hard to kill—even when they’re weakened like our reports indicate he is.” Her eyes perked up with renewed interest as she regarded me.

  Maybe supernatural wasn’t above her pay grade.

  “Is that why he’s hanging out with you?” she asked. “We’ve been ­trying to figure that one out. Never ceases to amaze me how far off psych exams can be. Never pegged you for someone to fall in with an incubus, but then, one never can tell. We never figured you for someone to go rogue.”

  “What do you want?” I said, pronouncing each and every syllable so she got the idea I wasn’t interested.

  She pulled out a folder and placed it on my coffee table, one that ­Alexander’s vampires had trashed with knives and I hadn’t yet had a chance to fix.

  “You’re a very difficult woman to find, Ms. Hiboux. If it hadn’t been for your escapades through Bali last year, we would never have picked your trail back up.” She looked up at me. “Lucky us.”

  I wracked my brain. I’d covered my tracks well—I know I had. Hell, Carpe had even said I’d covered my tracks . . .

  On top of the file was the one thing I hadn’t counted on. A printed cell-phone snapshot of me getting off a flight in Bali as my alter ego, Charity.

  “How?” I said, holding up the photo.

  “Oh it took us a while to piece everything together. That’s why I wasn’t here two months ago. You’re very good.”

  Not fucking good enough apparently . . .

  “We want to hire you,” she said, and pushed the file towards me.

  I snorted. “Go to hell.” Like hell I was working for them. I’d be better off having them ship me off to Siberia and throwing me in a jail cell. At least there was a chance I’d escape from Siberia. Working for them? That’d be like letting a cancer keep growing.

  My refusal didn’t bother her one bit. In fact, she smiled. “We thought you might have that sort of response, which is why I have leverage to negotiate.”

  She pulled a file out of a black leather briefcase and handed it to me. It was a professional folder, expensive and leather-bound. Inside was a contract.

  “It is perfectly legal,” she said. “I suggest you have your current employer vet it so you can be assured how serious we are.”

  “What is it?”

  “A very detailed and complex legal document.”

  “The short version. For the disgraced and retracted archaeology thief in the room, please.”

  “It is a contract exonerating you from any wrongdoing during your research tenure and in any of your activities since then. It also includes a provision to accept your thesis, as well as award your degree and admission back to the IAA ranks.” She paused to let that sink in. “It also gives you the choice of several project sites, fully funded. The Ephesus site you applied for during your last year is listed there as well.”

  The contract felt hot in my hand—and not some remnant from the curse but because the IAA didn’t make deals like this, regardless of whether they were in the wrong.

  This was blood money.

  On top of that, I didn’t for a second believe they had any intention of keeping their word.

  I glanced back up at the agent. “You can walk yourself the hell out of my apartment before I throw you out.”

  “Don’t you even want to hear what the job is first?”

  “No, you already know too much about me, and I already know too much about you.” I tossed the contract back on the table. “And you forget; I know you guys don’t keep your word. I signed one of these two years ago.”

  Her smile faltered at that. “That contract was unfortunately never recorded by Dr. Hill and was missing until quite recently. We regret any inconvenience that might have caused you and as a result are waiving responsibility for your activities over the past two years. Of which there are many.”

  I pointed down the hallway. “Right now I want you out of my apartment,” I said. The woman smiled and stepped by me, gun still out but no longer aimed. “I’ll just leave this with you, shall I? In case you change your mind.”

  There was a threat veiled in there. “Just remember, lady, I’ve got more
problems with supernaturals than I can handle. You barely rate a sweat.”

  The smirk was back but not nearly as pronounced as before. “That’s right, you do have a habit of pissing off . . . well, everyone.”

  I watched her until she reached my door, then she slowly turned on her heels. “Aren’t you even curious what we want?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “World Quest,” she said.

  I shrugged, trying to convey nonchalance. “Open the computer and log on. Can I have my IAA pardon now?”

  “Not the game,” she said. “The IAA wants you to find the developers.” And with that, she let herself out.

  Shit. I locked the door behind her and ran a program that swept my place for bugs before picking up the file and opening it.

  Two hazy head shots that looked vaguely like the developers’ characters, a list of IP addresses of last known locations . . .

  I had no interest in finding these guys. The IAA could take their shiny get out of jail free card and stick it back through their black hearts. I knew from experience their deals weren’t worth the paper they were written on.

  I’d have tossed the file in with the rest of the garbage except for the note at the bottom. “Oh you got to be fucking kidding me . . .”

  They weren’t just contacting me. If it had just been me, I’d have had no problem ignoring it.

  They’d opened up a bounty on the World Quest developers.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks go out to my husband, Steve, and my friends, Leanne Tremblay, Tristan Brand, and Mary Gilbert, who read each and every chapter. I don’t know if I would have finished the book without their feedback and encouragement.

  I also have to thank my agent, Carolyn Forde, who picked my manuscript out of the slush pile; Alison Clarke and Adam Wilson, who both saw something in Owl; and my editor, Sean Mackiewicz, for his keen eye and hard work. There are many other people who have mentored and encouraged me in my writing career over the past few years, but this space is small. Thank you all!