I watched as another person tried to jump and fell as the wisps descended on him.
Oh, hell . . .
“It’s either jump now or become an icicle.”
I felt the ice trickle along my back as Captain howled. Out of time. I gripped Artemis’s wrist and leapt.
“Oomph!” The wind was knocked out of me as my midsection hit metal, my body half in, half out.
Artemis reached for me with the other hand and pulled me and Captain in, away from the wisps licking at my heels. I collapsed against the metal side of the empty car, breathing hard, and Artemis slammed the door.
Four shrieks pierced the night. My adrenaline spiked as I peered through the crack in the car door. The only thing I saw was the white glow of the wisps fading in the night as the train picked up speed.
We’d escaped. For now. It didn’t seem the consolation it should have been. All I could think about was the white shawl fluttering across the sand.
“We’ll need to get off in Dakar,” Artemis said, his eyes closed, “and fly to Turkey. Rynn and his mercenaries won’t expect that. They’ll still send someone out to look, but they won’t waste resources there. They won’t expect us to veer off the Silk Road, not with the ancient armor running the show. Then again, maybe he’ll damn it all and throw all his forces into Istanbul. Just sit and wait for us to deliver our lamblike selves to the slaughter.”
I shook my head, pulling myself out of my own shock, though I’m not sure how exactly my brain had been able to function. “They don’t have the map,” I said, my voice small. So much death in such a short time . . .
“Istanbul will be on their list. The Silk Road didn’t have that many other stops.”
I sat back and closed my eyes. Try as I might, I couldn’t get that white shawl out of my head. “Rynn sent the wisps.”
Artemis glanced at me. “Wisps are too unpredictable, too wild, unthinking. He never liked chaos on the battlefield. He’s not thinking like himself.” I shook my head, still processing not one but two supernatural massacres I’d seen in twenty-four hours. “Why? Why send something you can’t control?”
Artemis shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps he thought the wisp might be pushed to retrieve you without killing you, perhaps he decided just to outright kill you, maybe he was curious whether the wisp would kill you or leave you marginally alive. Or maybe he was curious to see if the wisps would kill your cat. Who knows what chaos he thought to flush out?” He shook his head. “There was something wrong with them. Wisps don’t behave like that. They lure their prey, they don’t attack.” His look went from pensive to suspicious as he regarded me from across the car. He turned it on me.
My heart rate spiked, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“First the skin walker singles you out, now the wisps,” he said. “What the hell are you not telling me about that device?”
“Nothing,” I said, and oddly enough it wasn’t a lie—I didn’t know what was so special about it. I wished I damn well did.
He snorted. I expected more of an argument as his eyes drifted to the pocket where I kept the silver ball. “Fine, don’t tell me, Hiboux, keep your secrets. But don’t blame me when they get you killed.” He folded his jacket behind his head and settled uncomfortably against the cargo hold. “Our next stop is Istanbul, and she doesn’t mess around.”
“The city isn’t sentient,” I said.
He opened a sleepy eye. “Of course not, but the Medusa of the cistern is. According to your Tiger Thieves and their map, that’s our next stop. Let’s hope she’s feeling agreeable to parting with her piece—and that it’s only her we need to deal with.”
I tried to copy him and get some sleep—for that matter, so did Captain.
I felt for the silver ball in my pocket and gripped it tight in my hand. Rynn was afraid, and I still had no idea why. It certainly wasn’t for something that could nuke a couple of vampires—which prompted the question, what else could it do?
I went back to staring through the cracks in the train car, watching for lights on the sand.
“You might as well get some sleep. The wisps will have lost interest by now. They have their fill to gorge on now.” I couldn’t read Artemis’s voice any better than I usually could, so well schooled was his indifference.
Either too tired or too numb, I didn’t argue. My silence only seemed to agitate him.
“You keep saying you don’t care what happens in our little war provided you save your wayward boyfriend. Well, this? The skin walkers, the wisps—this is exactly what will happen to your kind if the other side wins.”
I turned back to face him. “Don’t you dare try to guilt me.”
“Me?” He arched an eyebrow, making his face look more sinister. “Never. I’m just pointing out the choices you’re consciously making.” He settled in. “Sleep well, Hiboux. Or try—because I have no idea what’s waiting for us in Istanbul.”
I laid my head back, the silver ball cold and clammy in my pocket. If there had been any doubt before in my mind that the device could do something besides incinerate vampires . . . all those people, dead.
I clenched it until the grooves bit into my hand. If it saved Rynn before he could hurt more people than he already had, then it was worth the risk. I had to believe that; otherwise I really was no better than any other thief out there.
And once I got Rynn out? Then I’d destroy it—or hide it down a bottomless pit.
At least that’s what I swore to myself. Temptation was a powerful thing.
I pulled my jacket tighter as Captain curled into a ball on my stomach and drifted off into a restless sleep.
12
THE ISTANBUL OF CONSTANTINOPLE
Tuesday, 7:00 a.m., three days later: Istanbul, yet another hotel lobby.
I sipped my coffee and ate another of the baked delicacies the server had brought out. The coffee was different from what I was used to—thicker and sweeter than American or European espresso, and there was a hint of cardamom in it. Different but, I had to admit, a pleasant change. I could count the pleasant changes over the past few months on one hand.
We’d reached Istanbul late this morning. After spending a full day on the train, tired of both each other’s company and the complete lack of food and showers, we’d disembarked in Dakar and hopped on a flight to Istanbul. I’d checked my email at the airport during a spot of cell phone reception. It was maybe not the wisest course of action considering that a cell phone could be hacked and monitored, but being cooped up in a cargo container was a bit like being back in the Peruvian jail cell. Locking me in with my own thoughts and misgivings was never a good idea. I’d needed a distraction.
Granted, the communications I’d received hadn’t made things much better.
Oricho had warned me to avoid altercations with any more supernaturals; however, he’d offered no suggestions on how to do that exactly. And considering I had supernaturals chasing me down trying to kill me . . .
He’d also warned me to avoid pissing off Mr. Kurosawa and Lady Siyu. That was not nearly as easy a task. He had a point, though, as illuminated by Lady Siyu’s message. Hers had been short and to the point:
I assume since you are in North Africa you have a weapon to show for it. Mr. Kurosawa eagerly awaits your report.
I’d momentarily entertained the idea of a stopover in Marrakech to raid the museum, but there’d been no time. I’d stave off her emails in the meantime. Maybe I’d find something for her and Mr. Kurosawa in Istanbul—maybe a nice golem, a genie trap—those were always useful. There might even be an enchanted sword or two lying around the city’s underground network of cisterns.
The next location the Tiger Thieves map had pointed to was in Istanbul, the Basilica Cistern, to be precise. Istanbul was full of underground cisterns hidden all over the city; the inhabitants never knew when they’d dig under in their basement and fall into one. The Basilica Cistern, however, was the largest. Built in the sixth century by roughly seven thousand slaves du
ring the reign of the Byzantine emperor Justinian, it was an ancient water storage and filtration system that had supplied the ancient palace with water. It had been named for the basilica, a public building that had once sat on top of it. You could walk through it now, have coffee, sometimes even see a concert.
Oh yeah, and see the giant carved Roman-era Medusa heads at the bases of the pillars. Some historians claimed that they had been brought in as convenient building supplies during construction from another temple or building that had fallen out of use. Others claimed that they had been protection against bad luck. Both were somewhat true, but they missed out on the most important reason for the Medusa heads: they were the rental price the Medusa living in the cavern set.
As far as the IAA was concerned, there was still a Medusa living in the cistern. As to whether or not it was the same one, who could say?
The problem with Medusas was that they were a bit of a wild card. Like cats, Medusas tended to be solitary creatures, only occasionally cohabitating with mates or offspring—all female, so the legends always got it wrong, calling them sisters. They weren’t—once a Medusa reached a certain age, she became territorial and chased out her young or killed them—again, a bit like cats.
So chances were that there was only one there—more detail than that couldn’t be found in that short a period of time. Possibly it was even the same one who had originally bargained with the Byzantines for the place back in the sixth century. I sighed and closed the window on the cistern. Well, I wouldn’t get anything more than unfounded theories until I was there. Let’s just hope Artemis could talk her into seeing us—and letting us take the fourth Tiger Thief pendant out.
I sipped my cardamom-flavored coffee again and readied to shut my computer off. I found my cursor hovering over the World Quest icon.
It was a long shot that Carpe would rear his head in World Quest. Chances were good that the elves were very wrong about Carpe. Every way I’d thought about it, I didn’t see Carpe leaving Shangri-La alive; maybe we all just looked for threads of hope where there were none. If Carpe was really alive and sending messages, why the hell hadn’t he shown his face? Anywhere?
The only plausible reasons I could come up with kept getting more and more convoluted.
It was idiocy to hope I’d find anything—still, what the hell. I clicked on the World Quest icon and logged on.
I frowned as the log-in screen flared into existence. Frank and Neil had redesigned it with a Himalayan vibe—an ode to their internment in Shangri-La, I supposed. That wasn’t what had my attention, though; it was the flashing orange marker under my in-game mail tab—not the messaging window I used to talk with Carpe but where we sent each other in-game items.
It was from the dynamic designer duo, Neil and Frank, or, as I liked to call them, Michigan and Texas. Like all their communications with me, it was short and to the point: Call us.
I checked the hotel café to make certain no one was nearby, put my headphones on, and opened a new message window.
Texas answered on the fourth ring. “Before you start in, try sitting down and shutting up,” he began.
Glad to see we knew each other well enough to skip the pleasantries . . . oh, wait a minute. Still, I did as he asked.
There was a big breath on the other end. “All right, we looked into your elven friend’s account,” Michigan said. “As far as I can tell, there’s no sign of him logging in, but, there’s been some weird stuff going on behind the hood.”
“Define weird stuff,” I said, wondering how it related to Carpe.
“Ah—someone accessed his account using a back door. They didn’t take much—a few magic items, clothing, food, a scroll of resurrection—”
“We figured it was you,” Texas told me.
There was Texas, always thinking the best of me . . .
“But the signature is too subtle,” Michigan jumped in. “No offense, but you don’t exactly do subtle. A master programmer did this.”
Which Carpe was: a master hacker who’d gone by the name of Sojourn.
“It doesn’t make any sense. If it’s Carpe, why not contact me or log in to his account?” I said it more to myself than to them, but talking out loud helped me think.
“You ever think maybe, just maybe, your friend had enough of you? Let’s face it, Hiboux, you’re a walking fucking archaeological disaster,” Texas said.
“Okay, I will admit that my activities have led to some damage, but none of it was intentional or my fault. You especially can’t pin Shangri-La on me; that was the IAA, the elves, and the mercenaries.”
“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is!” Texas was shouting now. So was I, for that matter. “Wherever you go, mayhem, destruction, and legions of supernatural shit follow—in that order!”
“You know where you can go, Texas? You can go blow your—”
“Okay, enough!” Neil let out a long-suffering sigh. “Will you two just quit it? For my sake if no one else’s? Frank, just because Alix correlates with supernatural and archaeological disasters doesn’t mean she’s the cause of it, and Alix?”
“Yeah?” I said with more than a little trepidation.
“Just being honest here, but you’re kind of the train wreck of the archaeological world.”
I gritted my teeth. “So I’ve been told.”
Neil sighed. “Okay, now that that’s out of the way, check your inbox. I sent the email address they use to log in.”
I checked. Sure enough, it was there, a generic call sign with a string of numbers and letters.
“It’s a long shot, but it could be him,” Neil began, but Frank cut him off. “And now you’ve got his number—lose ours.”
With that the line went dead.
Short, far from sweet, but to the point.
I typed the email address into a new email. My cursor paused over the Send button. Nothing but a rabbit hole, and I didn’t need another one to jump down, not right now.
But it was the kind of sign I couldn’t just let go. As I’d said many a time before, what the hell?
I made up an in-game invitation, nothing too out of the ordinary, an invite to a map quest I’d had lying around—somewhere in the Nordic fjords. I hesitated over the Send button. But I couldn’t not try. Even a minuscule chance was still a chance. I hit Send.
I shut my computer and sat back to savor my coffee, eyes closed. I really thought Neil and Texas were warming up to me. Texas had insulted and threatened me only once, maybe twice . . .
I sat up with a start as a shadow fell over me—one heavy enough that I saw the change in light through my eyelids.
A red-haired man with inhumanly white teeth smiled down at me. Tall and attractive enough in a sporty, LA-bike-messenger kind of way, his red hair was his most memorable feature.
Hermes.
“Oh, for the love of God—not you too?”
His smile widened as he plopped the chair on the other side of the table and sat across from me.
“You kidding? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
A moment later the server brought over a second cup of Turkish coffee and placed it in front of him along with a plate of baked treats the same as mine.
I still wasn’t entirely certain what Hermes was. His moniker, that of the patron god of messengers and thieves, was appropriate, as he managed to be a bit of both, though I doubted very much that he was an actual god—the inspiration for one maybe, but a deity he was not. As supernatural creatures went, however, he was up there with the Red Dragon, Mr. Kurosawa, maybe even higher up in the food chain.
He also seemed to be in favor of monsters staying in the deep, dark closet . . . though exactly why I hadn’t quite figured out. Powerful he might be; altruistic he was not.
He held out his hands. “What can I say? You’re a popular girl. So,” he said, settling into his chair and grabbing one of the cookie snacks, “still plan on staying out of our little war?”
“Yes.” I said the word, I heard it come out. Hell, I
even believed it.
He grabbed another of the cookies and made a show of washing it down with coffee. “See, here’s the thing: you say that, but deep down I don’t think you have what it takes to be that much of a coldhearted bitch.”
I met his green eyes. “Why don’t you try me?” I don’t know what my goal was—to goad him? irritate him? piss him off?
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Here’s the thing, Hiboux, that right there is what’s making my bet that much better. Because I think you’ve already decided exactly what you’re going to do, you just haven’t admitted it to anyone, not even yourself.
“For example, let’s discuss your most recent activities and plan to get that delectable incubus of yours out of hock.” He held up a hand and began counting off on his fingers: “Bold, stupid—which I kind of expect from you—but bold and definitely on the reckless side.” He leaned in towards me.
“So I’ve been told,” I said through clenched teeth. “Let me guess, this is your attempt to dissuade me?”
He sipped his coffee. His face might be pleasant and affable, but his eyes conveyed something much more chaotic. “Now, granted, most of the other parties involved in this little bet figure you’re after the Tiger Thieves, which, for the record, will just as soon kill you as help you, but Rynn?” He tsked. “Got to hand it to him—as corrupted as that armor’s made him, he still thinks outside the box.”
He took another sip of coffee. “No one ever considers the nuclear option in these political skirmishes, but him?” He paused to take another bite of a cookie. “Though whether that’s because Rynn’s intimately familiar with your personal brand of bullshit or whether he’s just as crazy as you now is anyone’s guess.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
He arched a red eyebrow, more serious than mocking. “Yet here we are with you once again at the center, except you don’t have a clue what you stumbled on.”
Hermes’s brand of half truths and innuendo had outworn its welcome—not that I’d ever really welcomed it. “Hermes,” I said, “feel free to take this the wrong way, but unless you have something useful or can help—” I rose and made to go.
Owl and the Tiger Thieves Page 26
