Showtime . . .
I forced a wide smile onto my face and waved at her. Whether she recognized me or not, the friendliness did its job well enough to assuage her curiosity. A lesson I learned a long time ago is that it’s amazing what pretending you belong does to the reactions of others.
Now, where the hell was Artemis?
I found him on one of the benches, reading another gossip rag. He seemed to have an endless supply; every time I found him, there was a new one.
“Research?” I asked, sagging onto the bench beside him.
He shot me a dirty look. “Wallowing in my misery. I can’t believe you made us fly economy. And pull your hood back up. My powers are not infinite, and Oricho told you to lie low.”
I obliged. Oricho had been right about one thing: the fact that Rynn was on my trail was not good: especially if it was the armor trying to stamp me out. Rynn might resist for a while, but, as both Artemis and Oricho had pointed out, he couldn’t do so indefinitely.
I smiled once again as another aid worker waved at me. I’d sat near her on the plane and she’d been wearing way too much perfume. Still I smiled.
“A few more like that, and one might begin to think you’re becoming a people person.”
“Just tell me you found our hotel,” I said.
“And a ride. Worry less about our accommodation and more about the temple.”
The temple was where we figured, from the da Vinci notes, the next Tiger Thief clue should be—and hopefully with better instructions this time.
“Come on,” he said, shouldering his own bag and discarding the magazine in an ashtray, something long since banished from most airports around the world—except at the ends of the earth, apparently. “We should stay with the crowd.”
“You sound scared.”
I said it lightly, but Artemis leveled one of his rare serious looks at me. “Mali is one of those places where the supernaturals scare even me.”
I picked up my own duffel and Captain’s carrier and headed after Artemis to where the rest of the aid workers were hanging around. I noticed that my phone had a few messages on it—I’d had it off for the majority of the day, so no surprise there.
I checked and found messages from both Nadya and Oricho. The one from Nadya mentioned that she hadn’t found out anything relevant regarding the Tiger Thieves but was hopeful she’d uncover something useful in the Russian archives. Oricho’s was a little more ominous.
I waved my phone at Artemis. “Oricho says there hasn’t been much movement in Tokyo with the Come-Out-of-the-Closet crowd, but he’s got a line on Rynn. Apparently he’s already in Morocco.”
Artemis snorted. “Everyone in the supernatural community has a line on Rynn at the moment. He’s fucking terrifying. Your boyfriend is making quite a name for himself, usually prefaced by ‘Run for your lives.’ ”
I didn’t add anything. What was there to say? To be honest, the fewer details I knew about Rynn’s escapades, the better. Every minute he was left in that suit running an army . . . there was only so much guilt the Corona could suppress.
There was one thing, though, that Oricho had mentioned in his email that had me worried. “He says Rynn can use his powers of persuasion on supernaturals.”
That got Artemis’s attention, and he shot me a sideways glance over the trashy magazine he was leafing through. I wondered where the hell he found them all.
He seemed to consider it. “Makes sense; the more powerful he gets, the further his talents reach. I don’t envy the elves the political fallout.”
“I figured the ‘Run for your lives’ trumped any infighting at this point.”
Artemis smiled. “Ah—that’s where you’re wrong. Just what exactly were the elves planning on doing with a warrior who could exert his power over the rest of us? Hmmm? One they and they alone controlled?”
Nothing good . . . I might have said as much, but I was distracted by a commotion up ahead by the main doors. Some of the UN workers were arguing with a local, and considering the piles of suitcases and the bus parked outside, I figured it was an attempt by the driver to renegotiate the transportation price.
I looked but didn’t see anyone paying particular attention—or really any attention—to me and Artemis. Everyone was focused on yelling at the driver. I realized Artemis was still speaking to me.
“The takeaway point is that your boyfriend is redefining our version of the bogeyman—which you seem rather oblivious to.”
For a moment I thought the man behind the coffee and food kiosk might be watching us, but his eyes passed over us as he served the next customer.
To Artemis I said, “Well, maybe it’s about time you guys got a taste of your own medicine.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Now, that’s interesting. Tell me, do you always throw rocks when someone lobs a spitball your way?”
“I prefer Molotov cocktails—and sometimes the means are justified.” I wished I’d given more than I’d taken from the IAA, and by the time I’d realized it, it had been too late. Hindsight is 20/20.
A half smile spread across Artemis’s mouth. “People who say that have almost never actually seen the means they’re talking about.” He nodded to where the UN relief workers were gathering their things and heading out of the building. “Come on, it looks like our ride has finally finished haggling.” Artemis grabbed his small bag and started for the crowd of UN relief workers now gathered around the back of the transport, what was in fact an old school bus.
“Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I said, chasing after him. We got into line behind a couple of medical students I recognized from the plane. They’d been sitting in front of us and discussing their various plans. They’d struck me as adrenaline junkies, more interested in the challenges of practicing medicine without support or equipment and potentially under gunfire than anything else. My impression had been that they figured patching up gunshot wounds in the inner city had prepared them to do medicine in a war zone—and their jovial manner as they climbed onto the bus didn’t change that view. They would soon find out that it hadn’t—prepared them, that is.
“It means that it’s very easy to say that the means are justified in a given situation when you have neither experienced nor witnessed said means,” Artemis said. “I have. Trust me, they’re almost never worth it—or never enough to justify using them. Take the Electric Samurai. The elves still claimed that the end justified the risks, though most of them are terrified and in hiding now. Apparently Warlord Rynn has taken issue and offense with their entertaining the idea of controlling him. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Yeah, just peachy . . . I pushed past Artemis and hopped onto the bus first. I was completely ignored as I took a seat near the back, conversations going on around me as if I weren’t there. I would be just a minor blip on their memory that might or might not resurface twenty years from now. There was a sense of relief about not being the object of people’s attention, even if just for a brief interlude.
Artemis slid in beside me, also not eliciting a single look as he dropped his bag into the aisle. The next person simply stepped over it, as if there was nothing strange about leaving a bag in the aisle. I glared at Artemis, but it had more to do with the fact that I admired that he didn’t need to care about what everyone around him thought.
“The first thing you need to understand about the situation with Rynn and the rest of the supernaturals is that it is a complete fucking mess. Yes, my cousin is currently running an army, but we have no idea whose. Originally we all thought it was the elves pulling the strings from behind one of their twisted curtains, but without Nicodemous running the show, they’ve all gone cowering back to their catacombs and trees. Which means that no one is running Rynn’s army except Rynn and the armor, which is truly fucking terrifying since no one knows what he wants. No demands, no ultimatums, no grabs for territories. Everyone is on edge, and, knowing Rynn, I’d say it’s on purpose.”
The bus sputtered and coughed bef
ore lurching into gear and pulling away from the dusty airport. “He must want something,” I pressed.
“Yes. A fight. With anyone.” Artemis glanced at me before turning back to his trashy magazine. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I said I wanted a good seat to watch Rome burn. Not when I’m in the firestorm’s path. And mark my words, there’s only so much more Lady Siyu and Mr. Kurosawa will be able to cover up. The whole thing is likely to spill into the real world soon if Rynn can’t be stopped—and though I’m all for chaos—”
I undid Captain’s compartment so he could stick his head out, which he did, testing the air for supernaturals. “Well, that’s what the IAA is for. They’ll have a chance to earn their keep hiding Rynn’s antics.”
“They’re staying out of it—too many supernaturals fighting—and you said the elves were manipulating the ranks. The stunt you pulled in Shangri-La likely scared them off.”
Great, fantastic. A supernatural war on three fronts, and the IAA was still finding a way to blame things on me. At least some things never changed.
“What do you think he’s after? In Morocco.”
Artemis shrugged. “My guess? There are a lot of powerful artifacts hidden in Morocco. The Moroccans spent enough time invading northern Africa during the Middle Ages.”
That they had, including Mali and Timbuktu.
“There are a handful of scrolls that went missing around then,” Artemis mentioned. “A few weapons, all supernatural. Mr. Kurosawa’s list even has a few of those listed—oh, don’t glare, I was bored, and you left your laptop open. My point is that there are things in Morocco that would put Rynn ahead in the arms race.”
I sat back. One could hope. If all Rynn wanted with Morocco was weapons, I’d be breathing a sigh of relief.
“Or,” Artemis mused, “he may have decided that was the best way to pick a fight. Everyone else is clamoring after any supernatural weapons left lying around, why not him? He’s bound to run into more than a few of our kind trying to clear the playing field.” He looked at me. “And then again, maybe he decided he’d hit Morocco on his way to take care of you. Sends an interesting message.”
There went my relief—down in a trailer park bonfire of tires. “Which is?”
“That Rynn isn’t worried one bit about stopping you.” His eyes narrowed as he regarded me. “Are you certain there isn’t anything else you’d like to tell me?”
Yeah, Artemis, I’m pretty sure Rynn’s figured out a way to get into my head and scramble things around. No way was I divulging that, not unless it happened again. Artemis had said it in Peru: I was fast becoming a liability; I didn’t need to help myself onto the tire bonfire.
“By the way, don’t you need to at least make a passing attempt to find artifacts?” Artemis asked. “So as not to give Lady Siyu any more excuses to render your hide than she already has?”
I gritted my teeth. “We’ll go after what I say we go after, and when.”
Artemis didn’t bother disagreeing. Instead he said, “Or maybe she’ll just feed you to the vampires.”
I saw Timbuktu looming ahead on the road, a sleepy town with huts in the outskirt sands along with a few permanent concrete-based buildings. It wasn’t what I had expected from an ancient metropolis, certainly not the end of the Silk Road.
“Oh, how the mighty can fall.”
I shot Artemis a dirty look before turning back to Timbuktu. I sure as hell bet the original inhabitants had never considered that the city would end up like this one day.
As we entered the city center, I spotted our hotel—at least I assumed it was the city center, as the majority of merchants and businesses seemed to be concentrated around the small square.
The bus pulled off to the side of the road in front of what I guessed had to be a government building. With an unhealthy bang the driver released the door and the UN relief workers and Doctors Without Borders volunteers began to file off. It was a surreal experience as not a single one of them looked at us. They simply got out of our way, knowing we were there but unable to pay us any attention. Granted, it was due to Artemis’s powers, but I couldn’t say I hated it. There was something appealing about having not a damn person see you. We passed the people waiting to collect their larger pieces of luggage and headed for the white adobe–style hotel across the road.
For a place that existed at the run-down end of the world unnervingly close to a war zone, the three- or four-story hotel was well built. There was a red, yellow, and green colored rooster painted on a placard that hung over the entranceway, the colors of the Malian national flag, and two short flagpoles bearing the three-striped Malian flag of the same colors flanked the wide entrance. I say entrance because there was no door proper, only a metal gate that I imagined was closed for security during the evening and a series of thin curtains that alternated to let us pass unfettered but blocked a view of the hotel lobby by passersby. Unlike the other buildings that flanked the square, the hotel also had potted plants inside and out.
It was a veritable oasis. Only the government building across from us was as well put together.
The lobby was small but matched the outside. The interior decor was inviting; brightly colored textiles in dark pinks, whites, and reds had been used to upholster the soft parts of the furniture and drape the windows and walls. Wood furniture polished to a shiny gloss had been used, and there were even some tile murals in matching colors. It reminded me of Morocco—it wasn’t opulent, but it was also a far cry from run-down. A comfortable Goldilocks just-right. I was pleasantly surprised as I joined Artemis by the counter. The reception was clean and well maintained, and the hotel owner had even seen fit to install an air conditioner and fans.
There was a single young man behind the counter, who smiled at us both as Artemis checked us in, but the way his eyes glazed over as he looked at us, I got the impression that Artemis wasn’t letting him see a lot of memorable details. We took our keys and headed for a generous staircase as there was no elevator, or not one we could see—not surprising since there were only three or four floors.
Or I headed for the staircase. Artemis saluted me and, duffel bag still over his shoulder, headed for a set of curtains that, from the noise drifting our way, I imagined separated the bar and restaurant from the rest of the hotel.
“I’m off to drown my sorrows at the bar,” he said.
The melancholy way he said it . . . I made a face. We would have a retrieval as soon as the sun set, only a few hours from now. I knew incubi didn’t get drunk like humans did, but with the mood he was advertising . . . “The world isn’t burning yet,” I said.
He pivoted and held up one of the many gossip rags he’d accumulated over the past few days at hotels and airports, brandishing it like a stick he’d like to throw. “Mine is. I’m not bloody well mentioned anywhere, not even the gossip I leaked about my rehab stint and resulting bender in Europe.”
He said something else under his breath that I didn’t catch as he headed for the bar, but I was fairly certain I’d heard “Hollywood casting tar pit” and “degenerate reporters” more than once.
“Well, Captain?” I said. “What do you say? Kibble and nap, or follow Artemis and try to keep him out of trouble?”
He mewed from inside his carrier, long and drawn out. I decided it was an affirmative on the kibble and nap. Also, I still had prep to do before we hit the temple tonight, and considering how close Rynn was, I didn’t want to take any chances.
I started to climb the wide white steps.
She was on her way down, face buried in a handful of papers, reading glasses askew on her nose and threatening to fall off. Middle-aged, brown hair peppered with white that she hadn’t bothered to dye away. I recognized her from the bus, so she had to be with the volunteers. A doctor or nurse maybe, or an academic. She wasn’t dressed conservatively enough to be a bureaucrat. I guessed she was someone who worked behind the scenes to keep things moving. Unremarkable—except for the overwhelming quantity of perfume she was
wearing. My God, it was all I could do not to cover my nose right there. Something mixed with roses . . . a lot of roses and maybe patchouli? It just about made the air unbreathable.
I drew in air through my mouth. Still the rose-drenched perfume penetrated my defenses. Captain sneezed once, twice, three times from his carrier.
The woman’s eyes brightened as she glanced up, and she offered me a warm smile. “Hello, there,” she said with the mannerism and enthusiasm of a cheerful grandmother. I doubled down on my nurse guess. It also occurred to me that Artemis wasn’t shielding me from view anymore if she was stopping to talk to me on the stairs.
She peered at me, her brows knitting together like friendly gray caterpillars. “I recognize you from the bus,” she continued. “I’m Sandra, I’m one of the relief effort coordinators. Are you one of our new volunteers? I don’t recognize you from orientation.”
Interesting. However Artemis blocks us from view, it isn’t permanent. They eventually remember. I filed that tidbit away as very important.
I did my best not to show just how much her perfume made it difficult to breathe. “Ah, no—here to see the ruins—anthropology,” I offered. It was safer than archaeology, and I knew enough from my own studies and my father’s long career in the field to fake it. “I’m working on cultures of ancient metropolitans.” It amazed me how easily the bullshit flowed off my tongue.
She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You’d never have known we were in a war zone by her demeanor, more like that of someone on a Mediterranean vacation.
“I’m off to see the city. Make sure you don’t miss the sightseeing tour this evening—I imagine it will appeal to you.”
“Sightseeing? At night?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Best time to see the night sky, plus it’s not nearly as hot. Plus I rather like the idea of seeing the old ruins at night—brings the ghost stories to life.”
I tried not to grimace as she laughed. Yeah, right. Until you stumbled into real ghosts, that is. I smiled and nodded affably, and she continued downstairs. She headed past the front desk and into the street, stopping to fix a bright blue hat over her salt-and-pepper bob. If she’d noticed the concerned look from the young man at the front desk, she didn’t show it. I shook my head as she headed out of the hotel onto the street. Hopefully she wouldn’t get herself mugged or wander into an impromptu war-zone gunfight . . . Captain made a curious mew. “No accounting for tastes, Captain,” I said, and continued on my way up to the third floor. I found my room easily enough and was once again pleasantly surprised by the room decor, in keeping with the white, red, and pink patterned theme used in the lobby.
Owl and the Tiger Thieves Page 19
