Owl and the City of Angels

by Kristi Charish

  He smiled and stuck out his hand. “Hi there. Hermes,” he said, then took the seat across from me.

  “Umm, yeah, OK. Please, just take a seat.”

  Captain chirped again, louder this time, so I glanced down. He was alert and curious but not a frantic, hissing mess. OK, Hermes wasn’t a vampire. I counted that as a positive.

  “You realize finding this hotel wasn’t easy?” he said.

  I frowned. “That’s the point. And how the hell do I know you’re even Hermes?”

  Nonplussed at my question, Hermes waved a waitress down as she walked by. “Two Coronas—that’s what you drink, right?”

  I nodded. Slowly. I still hadn’t decided if I should run. I figured I could at least wait until the Corona arrived. Between me and my double on the cruise ship, I was having surprising luck in the weaponizing bottles department.

  “In fact, couldn’t track you,” Hermes said. “Had to track your boyfriend. Nice-looking guy, by the way, even for an incubus. He could do a lot better. You can’t.”

  “Ummm, fuck off?”

  He didn’t leave though, just leaned back in the leather chair. “So here’s my question: at what point did you wake up and say, Hey, I want to be a complete and utter fuckup?” he said, open, friendly smile still on his face.

  “All right, where do you get off calling me the fuckup?”

  Hermes ignored me and kept going. “Like seriously, out of all my clients—and trust me, there are some seriously messed-up cats on my list right now—you’re the one who decided to fuck the IAA. I mean, how does someone do that? Do you just wake up and say, Hey, I know, let’s fuck everyone’s business?”

  Oh for Christ’s sake . . . I was officially sick and tired of everyone—including the IAA—blaming me for a bunch of thefts that some asshole was pinning on me. “First off, whatever the IAA is saying, it’s not me—”

  Hermes snorted. “I know that. You wouldn’t have been asking about the pieces if you’d taken them. You’d be running—knowing you, really far, really fast.”

  “OK—wait a minute. Back up here. If you know it’s not me, why do you even care?”

  “Because you’re the one in the eye of the storm, so you’re the one they’re looking for, and not just the IAA. The supernaturals are getting pissed about it too, which, by the way, makes up a hell of a lot of my business. It’s not just you thieves.”

  Captain meowed from his carrier, probably wanting to know why no one was paying attention to him. Hermes reached in and gave Captain a pat. More surprisingly, Captain let him. “Like the cat, by the way. You realize if the IAA decides to crack down, I could be out of business?”

  I think I preferred Hermes as a digital entity. “Like I give a flying fuck. As you pointed out, I’ve got enough problems. Worry about your own skin.”

  “Seriously? We’re going there? Already? And where’s your sense of community?” That perpetual smile was starting to unnerve me. Botched Botox?

  “Hey, I’m all for honor amongst thieves, but the golden rule is watch thine own goddamn back.”

  A corner of Hermes’s mouth twitched up in sarcasm. “OK, that is so not the first rule of thieves—”

  “Prove it, Hermes—oh that’s right. You can’t.”

  For the first time since he sat down, his smile fell. “Goddamn it, the worst part about you thieves is you warp and twist the rules any which way that suits you. Jesus, I mean, who does that?” He paused while the waitress delivered our drinks. “No offense, kid, but you seriously need to start taking some advice.”

  I took a swing of my Corona. I needed it—though I briefly wondered how the alcohol, caffeine, and incense comedown would mix. “Really? Let me guess, yours is the advice I should take?”

  He shrugged. “Honestly? At this point, I think you could take anyone’s advice and it’d be better than your own.”

  I got up to leave.

  “Just relax,” Hermes said, pulling a small laptop out of his messenger bag, one that looked as if a grab bag of tech parts had been thrown together at a late-night engineering party—one with lots of beer. “I found something. I won’t even charge you for it as a sign of goodwill.” He shook his head while he typed, then passed the screen to me.

  On the screen was a job list I knew of but had never used—it was hosted on Black Pit Freelance, a website on the dark net, where people went to post illegal jobs and heists—either to recruit or off-load. It was a bad scene, and not because of the thieves. It was full of FBI and IAA agents setting up fake accounts and combing the posts. Only rookies and the desperate trawled for work there.

  Highlighted on Hermes’s screen was a post from about two months back, looking for someone willing to do a retrieval in Syria. The coordinates and photos in the bottom left no doubt about it—it was for a job at the Syrian City of the Dead.

  “Son of a bitch, you found the original job posting—”

  “Ah! Don’t get excited. It’s all bogus accounts. To be honest, I thought it was another idiot IAA or FBI agent trying to draw a few rookies out. Too high-stakes for the pros. The poster and the guy who responded—Red Shirt one—closed their accounts after a couple hours.”

  Set up a new bogus account for each job and delete it as soon as terms are agreed upon—preferably from a location the IAA had a hard time getting agents into.

  I had no way to trace the original poster, but at least I knew where the job had originated.

  “What about Daphne Sylph?” I asked.

  Hermes shook his head. “If she was involved, it was through an ­intermediary—and I doubt it, because I hacked her email. Just curious,” he added. “If she was behind it, she kept it quiet, and between you and me, I don’t think she’s that smart. In my humble opinion, she’s holding it for someone or bought it after the fact.”

  Which meant someone had not only targeted the City of the Dead but they also hadn’t wanted to end up on anyone’s radar. I swore. This was not the scenario I’d been hoping for. It neither cleared my name nor got me closer to the real thief. Guilty by default.

  Hermes put the laptop away. “Like I said, not much. Piqued my interest though. Especially with you involved. Seriously, Owl, people are pissed. There’s a reason I don’t deal in cursed items.”

  I glared. “Neither do I.”

  “Hey, not me you have to convince. It’s the supernaturals and the IAA.”

  Hermes shrugged, fumbled something out of his front pocket—an off-white business card with embossed gold lettering on both sides—and extended it to me, balanced between two fingers. “I wasn’t going to give you this, buuuttt I figure you deserve some kind of frequent flyer bonus.” He stood and added, “You’re turning into one hell of a long shot. Smarter people than me bet you’d be dead long before now.”

  Oh God, there was a betting pool on me now? “Let me guess, how soon until Owl ends up in jail?”

  “Dead, actually.” Hermes’s expression turned serious. “Just be glad you’re proving entertaining enough to attract some attention. If you’re going to be a colossal fuckup, might as well be an interesting one. Seriously, though—I’ve got big money on you coming through this game, and I’m going to be pissed if I lose.” He nodded at the card. “Just remember that, kid.”

  I took the card, and a static shock coursed through me. I suck at spotting the supernatural, but even I know magic when I touch it.

  Shit . . .

  On the card was Hermes’s name and number followed by the statement Good for one get out of jail free. All attempts to forge more uses will null and void this card. Yes, it’s been a problem, you fucking thieves.

  I turned the card over. On the back, in blue pen, was written, Stop fucking around, kid.

  Oh shit . . . Yeah, no, this wasn’t a dangerous situation at all . . .

  I looked up at Hermes. “What are you?”

  He grinne
d. It wasn’t unfriendly or friendly. “A bit like clothes with no price tags; if you have to ask, you probably can’t afford it.” He bent down to give Captain a scratch. “Just do me a favor and don’t waste the card, OK? It’ll piss me off. You get, like, one from me—and let’s face it, chances are good you’ll be dead before you rate a second.”

  The perpetual smile didn’t falter as he polished off the beer and headed out of the lobby.

  Fuuuccckkkk. Oh I was so not telling Rynn and Nadya about this . . . no way, I’d never live it down.

  “BTW?” Hermes said.

  I glanced up. He’d stopped a few feet away and turned back around to face me.

  “I’ll be really disappointed if you ditch the boyfriend. He’s one of the few things keeping you alive. Like I said, I’ve got money on this.” And with one last wave, Hermes left.

  Oh I was so screwed . . . I finished off my beer as I watched Hermes go. I hate it when people have a point. “What do you think, Captain?”

  In response, he gave me a forlorn mew from inside his carrier. If he’d wanted his litter box and food dish before, he really wanted them now. I took it as a sign to go back upstairs and try to act like an adult. Before any more supernaturals who found my current predicament mildly amusing walked through the door . . .

  I hate supernaturals.

  I’m out, Carpe, I typed into the game window. I’ve got things to do, and let’s face it, this quest blows. I closed the game screen before Carpe could respond.

  While packing up my laptop, I noticed a news alert tag on my phone. I monitor a handful of sites and accounts that report actual news, not the latest Voice results. “Unknown flu strikes two undocumented workers from overseas. Pathogen remains unidentified though authorities suggest it is not contagious. Any suspected flu cases should be reported to doctors immediately—”

  I opened the link, but the report was little more than a Reuters footnote. I shoved my phone in my pocket and headed for the elevator. There was no reason to think it had anything to do with the curse . . . still, I’d keep my eye on the news and tell Nadya to do the same.

  Time to be a grown-up and face Rynn.

  I didn’t even lose my nerve on the way to the room. Rynn was sitting at the desk, working on his own laptop.

  “Hey?” I said.

  He didn’t look up at first, just kept staring at the screen. “If you’ve come back to yell some more, please save it until I’m finished.”

  I drew in a deep breath. Come on, Alix—make the effort, open up . . . Who was I kidding? Rynn and I spent most of our time dancing around issues, and most of the time that was my fault.

  Why did adult relationships have to be . . . well, work?

  I pulled a chair up beside him. “On a scale from one to ten, how badly did I mess up this morning?”

  Rynn glanced back up from the screen and lifted both eyebrows.

  “All right. A scale from one to twenty, then?”

  He swore under his breath and went back to checking his email—a lot of names I didn’t recognize, and most of them from the last couple of days. Odd. Rynn wasn’t much for email . . .

  “I’m not playing this game with you, Alix. Not right now. I’ll probably say something I’ll regret, and I’m still set on only having one of us in the relationship who does that.”

  Straight, simple gray eyes.

  OK, first relationship, then everything else. “It’s not your fault,” I said.

  Rynn glanced back up at me, not quite able to hide his surprise.

  I shook my head. “What happened with Artemis? There’s no way you could have known exactly what was behind the door.”

  He shook his head and went back to an email. “I could have warned you he’d done something like that before. Should have,” he started.

  I shook my head. “No. You can’t.”

  Again, he couldn’t quite mask the surprise.

  “I don’t like it, and I doubt I’m going to stop asking questions, but I do grasp that most of whatever goes on in supernatural society isn’t anything I’m supposed to know about. I’m not an idiot.” Just dense, argumentative, and carrying a beacon over my head that broadcasts, Please, supernaturals, come fuck up my life.

  Rynn watched me, a frown touching his face. “Who are you, and what have you done with Alix?”

  Ha. Very funny. “It’s called making an attempt.”

  He held up his hands. “I’m not complaining—just surprised.”

  I sat back in the chair. “At what point did I completely fuck this up?”

  “The IAA or—”

  “I don’t mean Egypt. You were right, that was all me. If I had been honest, we might have avoided that fiasco. I was mad at you and Nadya for vetoing my jobs and wanted to lash out, so instead of talking I figured I’d get the message across by raiding a temple. Good idea on paper, bad idea in practice, I take responsibility for that one. I meant this—us?”

  He looked back at the screen before saying, “Caring about people and relationships comes with strings, ones you aren’t used to. And you still have issues with me not being human,” he added.

  True . . .

  “And more than half the time when I say something I’m right, and your ego doesn’t like being wrong.”

  “Yeah, OK, I get the point.” Why does the universe force me into situations I don’t want to be in—like the whole supernatural thing? It’s as if there was a goddamn new monster at every turn. “And it’s not half—maybe forty, and I’m being generous.”

  Rynn touched my mouth. “I’ve been keeping score. Closer to sixty.”

  . . . Because you like lying to yourself, Owl, and the universe probably thinks you should stop. It might have a point.

  “Only you would keep score,” I said.

  A silence fell between us as he went back to checking his email. Finally he broke the quiet by saying, “It’s not that I don’t trust your ­judgment . . .”

  It was my turn to look skeptical.

  “All right, I have issues with some of your tactical judgments, but it’s not just the IAA anymore. There are things going on behind the scenes in my world that you’re not aware of.” The computer chimed with another email, stealing back Rynn’s attention. He swore as he read it and shook his head.

  “Let’s just say Oricho’s stunt did more damage than any of us realized, and I fear there’s a chain reaction.” There was a defiance on his face I hadn’t seen before. “The thefts are related, though I don’t know how yet. You’re caught in the middle, but I’m finding more and more there’s very little I can do about it.”

  We were back to dancing around facts again, but maybe there was a way to help without breaking any of the supernatural rules. Isn’t that what Hermes had hinted at? Actually getting into the game instead of screaming foul at it and Rynn? “Does it have anything to do with Artemis?” I asked.

  Rynn snorted. “No, Artemis is the least of my worries . . .” Uncharacteristically Rynn trailed off. Again, we were delving into things I wasn’t supposed to know about.

  There were two possible reactions for me here. One was to get indignant and point out that the rules sucked and weren’t fair, but I was starting to think Rynn maybe felt worse about leaving me in the dark about his problems than I’d considered.

  “Alix? Whatever Artemis said, you’re not broken. Don’t ever forget that.”

  I felt the knot from earlier dispel in my stomach. Maybe there was something I could do . . . provided I kept to things I was already aware about instead of getting pissed about the things that I was in the dark about.

  “All right, let’s approach this differently than we have been.” I nodded at Rynn’s laptop. “Why don’t you tell me what you can?”

  He was silent while he considered it. “What have you gleaned about our politics from the elf?” he said finally.


  “You’d be surprised what I get out of the elf. He loses his temper every time I call the head elf a Grand Poobah.”

  Rynn frowned but nodded. “I think I can work with that.”

  9

  Rock Stars and Other Assorted Denizens of L.A.

  9:00 p.m., stealing artifacts; finally, my goddamned job

  Rynn stopped the car just outside Artemis’s mansion.

  “Are you certain you want to do this?” he asked me, mouth drawn in a tight line.

  If I thought this whole plan over any more, chances were good I’d back out. I shook my head. “It’s settled. This might be the only chance to get inside without orchestrating an out-and-out B&E. And I’d rather get the artifacts now, while I still know where they are—provided I can trust Artemis not to kill me or throw the crazy drug at me.”

  “You . . . can,” Rynn said, taking his time with each word. “Artemis is the black sheep of the family, but he’s never really hurt anyone. He’s not exactly what I’d call responsible, which is why you need to keep an eye on him. More likely he’ll get distracted and chase after some actress.”

  Somehow that didn’t have the desired effect of calming my nerves . . .

  We walked in silence across the front lawn, which was illuminated by motion-sensor floodlights. Somehow that just seemed . . . mundane for a supernatural. I mean, you pick those up at Home Depot.

  “You scare me when you stop talking,” Rynn said. “It usually means you’re about to do something stupid.”

  I didn’t have an answer to that one. Even Captain raised his head from my purse and meowed.

  I glared at him. “You’re supposed to keep quiet.”

  Rynn shook his head. “What happens if there’s a vampire at the party? You think you’ll be able to control him?”

  Control Captain at a cocktail party with vampires? Hmmm, let’s think about that one. “He’s not there as a party favor, he’s there so I get a head start.” I’d noticed that while Captain only had the urge to search and destroy vampires, he showed some interest in most supernaturals we crossed paths with. I was hoping we could use it to our advantage.