Owl and the Japanese Circus

by Kristi Charish

  “They do. The girls are dealing blackjack.”

  “Smart. No human is going to be able to stay mad at a nymph, even when they’re on a one-way streak for the poorhouse.”

  I took in Nadya’s appearance again. She wasn’t just tired. She was worried. “Did you sleep at all?” I asked.

  She shook her head and pulled out one of the files.

  “Couldn’t. Not after I found this,” she said, and slid it across the table. It was a compilation of ancient accounts in Europe about a weapon, all in Cyrillic. An unmistakable diagram of the egg I’d fetched for Mr. Kurosawa, with inscriptions, was in the side margin.

  I grabbed it. “Where did you find this?”

  “Russian archives. One of Nuroshi’s cryptic notes hinted there was something there.” She shrugged. “They still don’t have the security there they should, so my old passwords still work.”

  “Shit, Nadya, they’ll know it was you who logged in and was sniffing around—”

  She waved a hand dismissively. “It was worth the risk.”

  Captain returned with the mouse and took up a position under my seat. I rewarded his obedience with another throw, and he waited until I gave the signal to chase it. Captain might be stubborn, but he sure as hell learns fast.

  “I know what it does,” Nadya said, the same flat edge in her voice she used when throwing out unruly Japanese men from her club. She slid the top file across the garden table, her mouth drawn in a hard line.

  I leafed through the edges. It was a collection of photocopied pages from old Cyrillic texts. I leaned back in my lawn chair. Captain trotted back under the table and dropped his mouse by my feet, swishing his tail. I packed it back into the plastic bag and slid it into my coat. Sensing playtime was over, he didn’t push, and instead curled up.

  “I’m guessing this doesn’t say it’s the equivalent of a ‘dragon happy meal’ toy?” I said.

  She shook her head. “Direct translation?” she said, and removed the first page. “Here they call it ‘Devil’s Vengeance.’ Owl, this isn’t some minor magic weapon, it’s a bad one.” She tapped the text. “This is a page from a collection of known magic, written by a priest from an offshoot Christian cult popular in Russia during the ninth century. The priests and friars used to entomb themselves and starve to death for penance. The priest who wrote this, Cervac, was the only one who ever came out alive. He was anointed a saint by his followers.”

  “Vampire?” I asked.

  Nadya shook her head. “No, vampires weren’t common in Russia then—too cold. Besides, there’s no mention of avoiding the sun or drinking blood. More likely a skin walker or genie possessed him and decided to have a little fun. There were lots of them buried in the tombs and caves throughout Russia and Mongolia, just waiting for someone to break their cages. We used to have to watch out for them—not always bottles either, more often half-cracked ossuaries. Just try moving one of those.”

  I cringed, glad I hadn’t spent my first year of grad school crawling around Russian dig sites. The Americas had their share of demons and mummies, but nothing as dangerous as genies or skin walkers. No wonder Nadya was so good at spotting supernaturals; first-year grad school in Russia weeds everyone else out.

  “The history of magic and supernatural creatures Cervac wrote down is mostly accurate, which is why I lean towards genie. After three or four days, skin walkers start to smell bad, like ammonia or old urine, and besides that, they aren’t much for writing, more like finger painting with blood.”

  “So what does the scroll do?” I asked.

  “From what I can tell, it’s a spell that when cast sends a sheet of magic in a radius of about a kilometer, give or take. The one holding the spell is fine, animals are fine, buildings are fine, but anyone in that kilometer radius disappears, like they never existed in the first place. It’s like a localized extermination. And all anyone needs to cast it is the scroll.”

  “Shit.” That was just what a psychotic vampire like Marie didn’t need. A magic atomic bomb. I also didn’t know how crazy I was about handing it over to Mr. Kurosawa either. The lesser of two evils? Maybe. But as fond as he was of his Vegas empire, I didn’t hold much hope that he’d think twice about blowing up a rival’s city, repeatedly.

  “What about destroying it? We could accidently light it on fire,” I said.

  Nadya shook her head and flipped to another page. “They tried that. It can’t be done. The scroll went untouched, but a nearby castle and town were leveled.” She leaned across the table and lowered her voice, as if afraid someone might overhear us. “I don’t know what’s worse. Finding it or not finding it.”

  I shook my head. As tempting as it was, not finding it was out of the question. A supernatural like Marie or Mr. Kurosawa reading a spell was bad enough, but a human? In general, when humans try to read written magic, the best you can hope for is an explosion. The worst? Well . . . let’s just say that if a human stumbled across the scroll, they were liable to blow up more than a city center. And what if a fire or bomb went off where the scroll was hidden? That could be just as bad. Either way, supernatural or human, it was lose-lose.

  “I really don’t like the idea of handing it over to either Marie or Mr. Kurosawa. And I’m not crazy about leaving it for someone to accidently trip over.”

  “Are you certain?” Nadya said. “Once we go after this, there is no changing your mind.”

  I thought about it. “Yeah, and not just because Mr. Kurosawa would eat me. He might blow a few cities up with it, but I guarantee Marie is planning to use it. And leaving it under a rock doesn’t solve anything. Besides, I’m not convinced we can’t figure out a way to torch this thing.”

  Nadya furrowed her brow but nodded. “I made the same decision. I just wanted to make sure you reached the same conclusion as well. We both have to live with the consequences.” She opened her laptop. “And I think I found it.”

  I sat up straight. “And you didn’t think to mention that first?”

  She shrugged and spun the screen around. “I wanted to make sure you understood the consequences first.” On the open page was an advertisement for a museum exhibit of the Dutch East India Company going on in San Francisco. “I think our ancient thief did bury the scroll in the Balinese temples. Remember I said the inscriptions on the egg were familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it?”

  “I figured you saw it where I did—the image of the Bali tablet in the students’ talk.”

  “I thought so too until I came across this.” She pointed to the Dutch East India Company exhibit. “I remembered I saw this exhibit in Moscow years ago. It’s mostly spices and records of the trading company as it established its presence in Asia, but there was a small section on items taken by Dutch traders in the early seventeenth century from the Indonesian islands, particularly the Besakih Temple.” She zoomed in on one of the images. “There was a series of scrolls recovered from Aruba and Curaçao in the Dutch Caribbean. I remember them because one was out of place. It didn’t have any of the native languages on them. The seal had the same kind of symbols as the tablet and the inscriptions. I think the Hindu priests found it in the catacombs when the temple was rebuilt in the eighth century and placed the scroll in the temple proper. The Dutch found it and thought it was treasure, not realizing what they had.”

  I went cold. Sebastian, Marie’s first thrall, had been an antiquities dealer in the Caribbean. He’d specialized in items from the British East India Company, but he’d dabbled in items that had made their way to the Caribbean from the Dutch traders as well. I stood up.

  “Shit, I think Marie knows more than we thought. We need to get to the Berkeley exhibit, now.”

  “Considering they’re moving the exhibit to Los Angeles tomorrow, that would be wise. They’ll start packing it up at four, when the museum closes for the day”

  I stood up and turned into a well-muscled, bare nymph chest. I swore under my breath and muttered, “Umm, sorry, I didn’t see you there.”


  He just smiled a perfect set of white teeth and handed me a manila envelope with my name scrawled across the front in black ink, reminiscent of calligraphy. I took the envelope with a good idea who it was from. “Umm, thanks,” I said. The nymph winked and without a word headed back to the pool house. I shook my head and waited until he disappeared inside before opening the envelope. “Man, that unnerves me,” I said to Nadya, and started to tear open the note inside. The paper had a heavy, weighted feel. Expensive. I have an aversion to people sending me expensive things. There’s usually a catch.

  “Beautiful men who smile and don’t speak? Only you would find something to complain about.”

  I glanced up from the envelope. Nadya was watching the remaining pool boys with a renewed interest and energy that hadn’t been there a moment before.

  “Down, Nadya, it’s a nymph. All the pretty pool boys are nymphs.”

  “I know he’s a nymph—I don’t have your blind spot. And I’ve never heard of a nymph killing anyone, only fu—”

  “Not now.” I opened the seal and unfolded the paper. Even the glue was expensive. As I’d suspected, it was a summons from Oricho. Well, technically a request for us to meet him inside, but I took “request” as a euphemism.

  “Well, at least Oricho made the effort to ask,” I mumbled.

  Nadya perked up. “What now?”

  “We have an audience,” I said, and handed her the letter. I caught her smile to herself as she read it, and she quickly fixed her hair as soon as she handed it back. I mentally kicked myself for not factoring Nadya’s weakness—scratch that, pathological death spot—for good-looking Japanese men. Add that to the absence of Japanese men fawning over her at the club . . .

  “Stop fixing your hair. We don’t even know what Oricho is—”

  She pursed her lips and gave me a derisive sniff. “He probably saved your life from the dragon. One of us should be nice,” she said, closing her laptop and tucking her files into her bag. She stood up and headed towards the glass sliding doors, as I followed closely. “Besides, I figured out what he is,” she added as the automatic door closed behind us. “He’s a kami, a Japanese justice spirit.”

  Damn it, why hadn’t I thought of that? I ran to catch up, Captain on my heels. I still had that mouse, after all.

  “Everything I’ve read about them says they aren’t dangerous to humans,” she continued.

  “Ummm, that’s a relative statement. Oricho isn’t as bad as the others, but he’s dangerous; trust me on this—”

  Nadya spun to face me, hands on hips. “You didn’t even know what he was until I told you.” She turned and stormed towards the lobby.

  I rolled my eyes. Fantastic. She wasn’t going to listen. She was counting Oricho as a good guy because he’d saved me—and he was cute. Nadya was better at spotting supernaturals, so she was blowing me off, but she didn’t have my experience dealing with them. Well, this would be a learning curve. I slid Captain’s leash back. “Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?” I said to him. He blinked and yawned.

  “Well, maybe you can convince Oricho to wrangle the private jet to take us to San Francisco.” I really hoped Marie’s plan was to head to LA and wait for the exhibit to arrive.

  I caught up to Nadya in the lobby. A rush of lily of the valley overwhelmed me. I jumped and swore, garnering dirty looks from guests having breakfast. I spun around searching for the vampire . . .

  My panic turned to anger, and I swore again. Two large pots of lily of the valley decorated the front of the restaurant. I glared at the flowers and contemplated tossing them in the pool. Of all the stupid, lousy . . .

  People were still looking at me. “Sorry. Wasp,” I said, raising my voice. If you substituted wasp for naga, you weren’t far off the mark. “I’m allergic,” I added. Everyone stopped watching me and went back to their breakfast, a few people nodding with understanding. I stopped by the hostess booth while Nadya kept going.

  “Excuse me, who does the flowers in the restaurant?” The hostess gave me an apprehensive look. I forced a smile and added, “They’re so beautiful, I’d love to get some for my room.”

  The hostess relaxed. “Oh, Lady Siyu does all the flowers in the casino herself. I can leave a message for her, Miss . . . ?”

  I should have known. I fixed the hostess with another smile. “Ms. Owl, and you do that.”

  Nadya raised an eyebrow as I rejoined her, shaking my head. “It’s nothing. Lady Siyu’s bad idea of a joke.”

  We didn’t have far to look for Oricho. He was sitting at a table in the corner of the restaurant, newspaper in hand. I noted that even though the restaurant was packed, everyone avoided the corner. My guess? The ink; even though Oricho wore business suits worth a small fortune, the tattoos threw people off. So they stayed away, nice and safe . . . beside Mr. Kurosawa’s casino slot machines . . .

  See, now this is exactly how I get my complexes. Not only couldn’t I walk by a pot of flowers without having a panic attack but I’d never be able to hear a slot machine chime without breaking a sweat. Oh well, regardless of the reason—fear, confusion—Oricho’s table was the only private place in the entire restaurant.

  As I approached it, the background noise of casino chimes and voices faded to a dim murmur. I slid into the chair directly across from Oricho, not bothering to wait for an invitation.

  Nadya took up a position behind me, standing. She’s a survivor with an abundance of common sense. I’m not.

  “Nice trick,” I said.

  Oricho didn’t bother putting the newspaper down. “It is fascinating how you continue to place yourself into more and more precarious circumstances, even after experiencing the consequences. You are proving an interesting study of ‘reckless abandon.’ ”

  I leaned back and crossed my feet to make the point. “I thought you samurai types appreciated bravery in the face of certain death?”

  “Bravery, yes. It is the lack of any forethought or direction I find disconcerting.”

  I shrugged. “Go ahead, beat me up and see how useful I am at finding your scroll.”

  The top of his paper snapped forward and he peered at me, the corner of his mouth turning down into the beginnings of a frown. “You brought that event upon yourself, despite my warnings to the contrary. I suggest you reflect on that detail, however small it may seem.”

  I sighed. Arguing and pressing Oricho’s buttons weren’t going to get me anywhere. While even I had to admit there was something gratifying about getting Oricho to break his deadpan, somehow I doubted playing the fly in his coffee was constructive to my well-being.

  I held up the note. “We’ve been summoned. Why?”

  “I requested you meet me so I could relay a message in person. Sabine’s thralls were spotted at the Tokyo airport boarding a plane for Los Angeles. Neither of you are to leave casino grounds without Rynn as an escort.”

  My stomach turned. I doubted Marie knew exactly where the scroll was—otherwise she’d have sent her lackeys to San Francisco instead of the exhibit’s next stop, meaning she would have had it by now. It was more likely the Berkeley exhibit was another box to tick off on her search list. I checked the clock on the wall. Rynn’s flight would be landing at McCarran in less than an hour. “Listen, Oricho, it can’t wait. Tell Rynn to wait at the airport, me and Nadya will meet him there—”

  Oricho shook his head as he interrupted me and began to fold his paper. “Rynn’s flight was delayed due to weather conditions. He will not arrive until late this afternoon. You may discuss your travel arrangements with him at that time.”

  I bit back the first response that popped into my head—Like hell—and put aside my irritation that Oricho expected me to defer to Rynn on how to do my job. “Can’t you find someone else, or can’t you come with us?” I said.

  Something close to anger flashed across his face, not directed at me but . . . well . . . at everything. “Rynn is the only person I trust with this, and I am needed at Mr. Kurosawa’s side.”


  Hunh. I hadn’t expected that. He didn’t look happy about it either. I filed that piece of information away for later. “Well, that’s a problem, because we need to go to San Fran. Now, not tonight. I think we’ve found the scroll,” I said, and filled him in. “I don’t think Sabine knows exactly where it is, otherwise she’d have headed straight there, but I’m not taking the chance that she stumbles across it.”

  The corner of Oricho’s mouth twitched and his frown deepened. “This does change things, but I cannot consciously send you without Rynn’s protection. Especially if, as you say, Sabine is aware of the East India connection. I will arrange travel first thing tomorrow morning and watch Sabine.”

  “You don’t understand. They’ll start packing everything up into crates right after the museum closes today. Have Rynn meet us in San Francisco. I promise we won’t do anything stupid,” I said, and crossed my heart.

  His brow furrowed, as if he was struggling with a choice between bad and worse. He was damned if he sent us and Marie showed up, and damned if he didn’t send us and let her get the scroll first. I wanted to say, Welcome to my world.

  Oricho excused himself. Phone in hand, he headed for the lobby, where he disappeared from view. I ordered a coffee.

  Fifteen minutes passed before Oricho returned, as tense and disturbed as when he’d left. “My sources say Sabine returned to Bali and sent her thralls in Los Angeles. It should be safe for you to go to San Francisco, but,” he said, frowning at me, “under the condition that you wait to enter the museum until Rynn arrives. I’ve rerouted him to San Francisco International and made him aware of the situation. He will land at one p.m.”

  “Oricho, that’s an awful idea. What if she shows up and gets the scroll first?” I said.

  Oricho fixed his level stare on me. “There will always be a chance to regain the scroll if she reaches it first. The cost of your life is not so easily recouped. Wait for Rynn.”

  I nodded, bit my lip, and thought sincere thoughts as I rammed my hands into my jacket pocket and crossed my fingers, twice. For a supernatural, Oricho wasn’t half bad. I hoped to hell I wouldn’t have to break my word.