About twenty meters in, the tunnel walls smoothed out and the first pictograph relief came into view.
One thing about the supernatural is that it never ceases to surprise me. I guess if I was desperate for a positive thing to say about the supernatural, that might count. The relief was painted in white—maybe a faded light blue, but with my flashlight I couldn’t tell for sure. It depicted a dragon rising out of the ocean in a crested wave towards a circle of nagas holding a sacrifice—read: victim.
A water dragon in a volcano. Well, that explained all the damn water.
I followed the pictographs with my flashlight, keeping my eye out for any hints of booby traps, ancient pits, pressurized hydrochloric acid, as well as the fork Red had mentioned. With the uneven flooring in the dark, a fork would be easy to miss.
Besides the usual “Beware, trespassing in dragon’s home,” there wasn’t anything that jumped out. Why wasn’t I worried about running into a dragon? Since the archaeologists who found the tunnel aren’t dead, I’m betting dragon Naga Besukian is long gone . . . or dead. I prefer to think it moved out; however, I didn’t favor the thought of stumbling into something that could kill a dragon in a narrow passageway.
Out of nowhere, Captain laid back his ears and hissed. I swung my flashlight around as the scent of fermenting lily of the valley hit me.
Vampire.
Sabine? How the hell had she found me so fast?
I dropped my backpack and dug out my gas mask, the kind that heavy-duty painters use and makes you sound like Darth Vader.
I fastened the catch around my head and checked the seal, when the hackles on Captain’s back shot up and his warning growl morphed into a battle howl.
“Captain! Stay—” I whispered as loud as I dared and reached out to grab him before he did something stupid.
But he darted down the tunnel before I could grab hold of his red harness. I checked my phone to see if I could get a message off to Rynn or Nadya. No reception again. Talk about déjà vu.
I powered on my UV flashlight and pulled out a squirt gun filled with garlic water. Why do I always carry a squirt gun filled with garlic water? Because I’m paranoid.
I don’t carry stakes for the same reason I don’t play with guns. Unless you happen to be Buffy the Vampire Slayer—and if you think you are, I strongly suggest you get help—chances are very good the vampire will take said stake and ram it through your heart. I hear they get very touchy around people who carry stakes.
Captain yowled up ahead—the sound cats make when another cat makes the mistake of crossing into their territory. I shoved the squirt gun into my pants and flipped my UV flashlight onto flood before running after him.
The tunnel made a series of S turns. As soon as I caught sight of Captain’s flicking tail, it disappeared around the corner ahead of me.
Shit, he was going to get us killed.
Captain was in hunt mode and well past listening. I swore and sped up. I should never have let him off his leash; if he got hurt, it was going to be my fault.
Egyptian Mau cats are bred to smell vampires, which makes for a fantastic warning system. Unfortunately they’ve also been hardwired to hunt them, and once they pick up the scent, it’s next to impossible to get one to stop and think. What worried me was that they’d been bred to hunt in packs, not take them head-on like Captain was trying to do.
The tunnel straightened out and my flashlight picked up the fork. Captain had stopped, his nose in the air, trying to pick the scent back up. There was also an opening in the ceiling, roughly five meters off the floor, reminiscent of the naga burrows in Sanur. I skidded to a halt and pressed myself against the wall.
“Captain,” I whispered.
But he’d picked up the scent again and didn’t give me a second glance as he leapt up the wall like a mountain goat and shot through the opening. His growls echoed in the chamber above.
I readied my squirt gun and waited. Nothing moved up ahead, so I continued on until I was a few feet away from the naga burrow. I half expected Sabine to drop down any second. A little closer, a little closer . . .
A sharp shriek that could only be from Captain echoed through the catacombs above, about ten feet away, I’d guess.
I tried not to breathe—mostly because of the raspy sound the mask makes—as I aimed the flashlight up where Captain had disappeared. Still no Sabine. I stepped into a foothold and pushed myself up, edging the flashlight around. The burrows were only wide enough to crawl through. Great for a cat, but not me.
I slid down and crept along the right fork, where Red had indicated the tablet was. It was also where I’d heard Captain howl. Sabine must have gotten there ahead of me and laid a trap. Well, she clearly didn’t know me very well, because she was about to get one hell of a garlic UV surprise . . .
It was a dead end. And there was no sign of the tablet. And where the hell was she?
Something hard and heavy slugged into my left calf, more than enough to knock me off my feet. I grabbed at the wall, but it was too slippery to get a grip. I landed on my ass in a puddle, my flashlight rolling out of reach. Rough hands reached under my arms and pulled me up. A man holding a baseball bat and wearing an expensive suit and even more expensive leather shoes stepped out from a hidden alcove and retrieved my flashlight as if it were a distasteful piece of trash.
I swallowed at the sight of his shoes. These were vampires all right . . . and far too familiar to be Sabine’s. The one holding me under my arms half carried/half dragged me down the left fork—the one Red had warned me about. A shove sent me stumbling into a side cavern. Another shove from behind forced me to my knees. Trying not to fall flat on my face, I scrambled to the far wall as fast as I could in order to put as much distance between me and the vampires as possible. My efforts only brought on laughter. In spite of the situation, that pissed me off. I pushed my back against the wall and slid my hand to where my water gun was. Laugh it up, boys, just makes it funnier when I soak you in garlic.
There are a few misconceptions about vampires. Whenever people think vampire, they think of some superstrong, enigmatic, romantic, gorgeous monster that drinks blood and only wants to fall madly and tragically in love with the first pretty high school girl who swoons their way. Sunlight, garlic, holy water, and wooden stakes burn them up into a pile of ash. A more accurate image is a moth careening into a flaming blowtorch. Vampires are the blowtorch. They aren’t nearly as susceptible to light and garlic, but I’ll get to that in a sec.
Another vampire approached from the side, wearing the same expensive shoes, his face hidden in the shadows. It dawned on me that they were fencing me in. He crouched down in front of me, his face peeking out from underneath shoulder-length brown hair. Alexander smiled as I recognized him, and two tiny fangs peeked out. He still didn’t look a day over twenty. He was still beautiful, except for the thin scar that ran from just under his eye to the corner of his mouth. Alexander grabbed the front of my gas mask as a handle so he could tilt my head back.
Meet the Paris boys, vampire Eurotrash extraordinaire at its finest. Alexander was the ringleader and my least favorite of the bunch.
I stayed where I was and checked the cave out of the corner of my eye. There were three vampires, two guarding the exit and Alexander.
The third vampire stepped into view and said something in French to Alexander. I noticed the scratches down the side of his face and the shredded front of his suit, then caught my breath. He was dragging Captain’s limp body behind him like a spoiled brat drags a stuffed toy he doesn’t care about. I straightened and had to stop myself from pulling my water pistol out right then and there. If I wanted to get us out alive—if Captain was still alive—I had to wait for my best chance.
Alexander smiled, showing off his incisors again. Most people miss them completely; the supposed size of vampire fangs is overblown, one of those bigger-is-better things . . .
Alexander was all smiles for me today. I smiled back through my mask and did my best not to look at Captain. W
hy the hell hadn’t I kept him on the leash? I knew exactly why; my guard had been down because Rynn was here with me. I hadn’t been thinking in survival mode, and it had cost me.
“So kind of you to join us today, Owl,” he said with the slightest trace of French accent.
“Go fuck yourself. We’ve got a truce.”
The smile on his face faltered for a second before turning vicious. He pressed his face up against my mask. “That’s only a problem if we are caught—and if they find your body.”
I refused to look him in the eye. He unclipped my gas mask, and I took the last clean breath I’d get. I made it a good one and held it as my mask was pulled off.
“Though I think it will be much more fun to turn you into my next lapdog. Hmm? How do you like that, Owl? Clip your wings, so to speak?”
I kept holding my breath and glared at him. Come on, Alexander, look away at one of your stupid cronies, just for one second, that’s all I need . . .
He did it. He couldn’t resist the audience. Thank God I knew Alexander.
I spit in his face and, when he looked back, unloaded my water pistol in his eyes. It feels good to watch a good-looking vampire scream as his face has one hell of an allergic reaction. He grabbed his eyes, dropping my gas mask in the process. I slid it back on and set my sights on the two remaining and very surprised vampires.
Vampires really are like cockroaches. Bug sprays are supposed to work, but in reality they’re just mildly irritating and piss them off. Same with garlic, holy water, and sunlight on vampires. Sunlight only has the cool vaporizing effect on the really old ones. In reality, they’re little more than glorified thugs that drink blood and excrete that lily of the valley narcoticlike pheromone. They aren’t even that pretty or strong—it’s the pheromone talking, a potent aromatic that hits you with euphoria akin to heroin and weakens you everywhere so you can’t lift a finger to resist. They heal a bit better than we do, but a stake through the heart works as well on vampires as it does on people. So does an AK-47. The old ones get powerful, but they also have to deal with the spontaneous combustion thing. I know; I’ve seen it firsthand. The point is the garlic wouldn’t down Alexander for long, so I had to move fast.
Next on my radar was “Vampire stupid enough to hurt my cat.” I unloaded the rest of the water gun into his face, grabbed Captain—still warm, which was a good sign—and tried for my pack. But the vampire who’d been holding Captain was down, not out. He growled something in French and held onto my pack for dear life. I cut my losses and grabbed my UV flashlight by his feet, turning it on Eurotrash vampire #3. He didn’t go up in flames, but he screamed as I gave him second- and third-degree burns. As soon as he huddled in a fetal position to escape the light, I bolted down the fork.
And slammed right into Red’s six-foot frame.
“Kid, run, run now,” I said, recovering from the impact.
He smiled but didn’t make a move.
A sick feeling hit my stomach. Red had set it up from the start. I shook my head and took a step back. I only had a minute tops before the vampires were back on their feet.
“Out of my way, kid. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Or what? You’ll shoot me? With your water gun?” To make his point, he swung his dig pickax at my head. I ducked and felt the air stir above as it bit into the wall.
I took another step back, my precious escape window disappearing. Then I remembered Captain concentrating on scent in the jeep: vampire traces, of course.
“You don’t want me on your bad side, and you’ve got no idea what those people are capable of doing. I do. Out of my way and we can both walk out.”
Red just smiled wider and shook his head. I could hear the vampires regrouping behind me. I’m lousy with French, but the words I recognized were not indicative of happy captors. Maybe I could knock Red over. Captain stirred and I folded him into my jacket. I made ready to rush Red. Better the pickax than the vampires.
I faked to either side, and just as Red spaced his legs apart to stop me ducking around him, I kicked up. Really, really hard.
I hopped over him and broke into a full-out run. I didn’t know where this tunnel led, but if I could get ahead, even without my backpack, I was better off in here and better equipped . . .
I sailed a foot into the air as I tripped over the trip wire and landed on all fours. At least I didn’t crush Captain. The wind knocked out of me; it took me a second to stand.
That was all the vampires needed. Before I could get back into a sprint, I heard a growl and was yanked back by my jacket collar.
Funny thing, even though technically I’m a criminal, I’ve never actually been in a fight before. In my life. I’ve always run—really fast and really far.
Physical altercations are something I’ve always dreaded. I get roughed up occasionally, it goes with the job, but I’ve always managed to make myself scarce by the time people start throwing punches or firing guns.
It was worse than I imagined.
Someone delivered a boot to my head and my mask went flying. Two thoughts ran through my head as I passed out. The first was to cover my mouth with my hand to cut down on the pheromones I’d breathe in. Not useful if I’m passing out. The second was that I’d been so mad at Rynn that I hadn’t bothered setting up a meeting time or plan if I didn’t show up. I had no way to warn him about the vampires . . . Shit.
And this is why I don’t let people come on jobs with me.
8
COCKROACHES, VAMPIRES, AND OTHER ASSORTED PESTS
My face was wet, and I hurt.
Everywhere.
And it smelled like flowers that had been rotting in a pond for a few days. . . .
Bali, the catacombs, vampires—everything flooded back to me like a bad hangover. I lifted my face out of the puddle and groaned. Even with my eyes closed, the world was spinning. I barely had enough strength to hold my head up.
I coughed, and someone prodded me with a sharp stick. Captain wasn’t tucked into my jacket anymore, and a wave of panic hit me. I hoped they hadn’t killed him; vampires like Alexander don’t kill things mercifully. I had to know, so I forced my eyes open and batted the stick away.
My hand connected with it, and a chill crept over me. A wooden stake. Shit.
“I remember hearing that you assholes had a thing for stakes. What, vampire S&M?” I said.
Laughter.
Well, if I kept entertaining them, maybe they’d keep me alive long enough to figure something the hell out.
I propped myself up on my forearms and gritted my teeth through a wave of nausea. My arms wouldn’t hold me up and I fell right back down, face-first, into the puddle.
More laughter.
I started to drift off again, and I forced myself to snap out of it and stay awake. When they’d knocked me out, they must have given me a concussion. Not good. No more drifting off. I had to stay awake, or I might not get up ever again.
Alexander’s expensive leather shoe moved into my line of vision. I noticed it came as close as it could without touching the puddle, followed by Alexander crouching down. I made eye contact, and a flicker of euphoria washed over me. Shit, that meant I’d been breathing in the pheromones for at least half an hour—maybe more. Well, it explained why I was so weak and sick.
I hoped to hell Rynn had started looking for me.
One of Alexander’s goons grabbed my wrists and pinned them behind my back, tight. There was no sign of my water gun or backpack. One thing I’ve got to give Alexander is that he learns.
Alexander leaned in close enough that I could smell the blood on his breath, like raw ground beef left on the counter for a few hours. I cringed. From the smile and peek of fang, I think Alexander got off on it.
“Alexander,” I managed, holding my breath. “Why don’t you come a little closer so I can puke on your shoes?” Oh God, I hoped to hell he stopped breathing on me soon.
“Owl,” he said, giving me a little more glimpse of fang. “Fancy meeting you here
.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I said as another rotten lily wave hit me. Yup, that’s me with a concussion and high on vampire pheromones. Eloquent.
Alexander just smiled and adjusted his angle so he could get a better look at me without getting mud on his suit. I wished I had something in my stomach so I could puke on his shoes.
He took a cell phone out of his pocket—my cell phone.
“Exactly who is this Rynn person? He keeps messaging you. Should we go after him next?”
I kept my mouth shut. If he didn’t know Rynn was in the tunnels with Bindi, I sure as hell wasn’t going to enlighten them.
Alexander continued. “Every time I see a message come in, I wonder to myself, ‘What would the great Owl say in reply?’ Shall I be coy? Offensive? Or ‘smart-alecky,’ I believe you Americans like to say.”
Something must have passed over my face, because Alexander smiled and nodded. “Yes, I think offensive is more your style, is it not?”
He started to click at the tiny keypad and recited each word back to me. “ ‘I’m still busy. Go to hell. I will let you know when I’m done.’ Yes? Does that sound enough like you? I would hate to misrepresent you in your own personal dealings.” The smile turned sinister. “Now let’s get down to business, shall we? Maybe then I won’t need to hunt down every one of your friends, so conveniently listed in your device.”
The way his goon held me, all I could see was Alexander. Vampires have a talent for staging if nothing else.
Alexander stood, and the lily of the valley hit me like a wave; part chloroform and part elation. With enough exposure, the pheromones that vampires excrete from their skin can be more addictive than heroin. I nuzzled my mouth and nose into my shirt collar so I’d have a marginal filter at least. I needed to fix a lock on my gas mask straps.
I didn’t trust myself to say anything coherent, so I spit where it would hurt him. On his shoes. Alexander wiped it off on the front of my jacket and backhanded me.
“Always such a pleasant young lady. Now, why don’t you tell me what you are here looking for?”
Owl and the Japanese Circus Page 13