“Depends. I can’t see them using more than a skeleton crew in the middle of the mountains, even for a site that dangerous.”
Nadya nodded. “In this terrain, a large team of guards would attract more unwanted attention than it would turn away.” She gave me a pointed look. “They might be keeping the archaeologists working through the night however.”
I’d been worried about that. Because of the time frame . . . and well, now that Nadya’s Russian contacts were well and thoroughly breathing down their necks, they’d want to finish as soon as possible.
“OK, so, let’s say a handful of guards and a night crew of archaeologists—probably half with a shift change.”
Rynn nodded. “Let me worry about getting them out of the way; you two worry about getting in and out again.”
“That still leaves of course the small matter of getting into the mountains without people shooting at us.” It was Murphy’s Law that most of the places in the world with the really cool dig sites were in the middle of civil wars. In that case, both sides figured they had something to gain by shooting the foreigners—either because they didn’t like you, or because they could pin it on the other side . . .
“What about entering as medical? Doctors Without Borders or Red Cross?”
Both Nadya and I shook our heads.
“We’ve tried that—better on paper than in practice. For some reason, everyone still shoots the doctors. Nadya was right on that point—livestock is way better.”
“No one ever shoots livestock—too valuable. Stomachs over curing bacterial infections any day,” Nadya concurred.
Rynn closed his eyes. “I’m going to ignore how much sense that just made. Well, I’ve still got a few favors owed and a contact on that side of the continent who will be interested in what’s occurring in the city. I’ll come up with something that hopefully doesn’t involve being shot at or hiding under the feet of ruminants.” He shook his head.
“There’s one more thing that none of us has touched on,” I said. “Any resident or interfering supernaturals.” I looked hopefully at Rynn.
He shook his head. “My contact can help us get in, but I’m afraid his knowledge of the city is as limited as mine. And there is no guarantee Daphne and Alexander won’t make a claim.”
I also wasn’t comfortable with how little I knew about Alexander and Daphne’s interest in the pieces. “I have an idea how to keep those two occupied for the next few days and out of my hair,” I said, and fished the note Alexander had left me, cringing as I touched it. Before Rynn could stop me, I dialed.
A tentative female voice answered the phone. “Hello?”
Bindi. “Does Alexander still have you answering the phones?”
“You? How dare you disturb—”
“Oh knock it off, princess. Look, I don’t want to talk to your boss, I just want you to give him a message for me.”
She swore, but I was pretty sure I heard the crinkling of paper. “What?”
“Tell your asshole boss Daphne Sylph is buying more pieces. They should be arriving any day.” Before Bindi could slide in any questions, I hung up.
“Call up Artemis for me,” I said.
When Rynn opened his mouth to argue, I added, “Trust me.”
He pulled out his own phone and dialed. I put it on speakerphone.
“Hello?” came a woman’s light voice on the third ring. There was a slight laugh to her voice. I thought I recognized it. “Violet?” I asked.
“Speaking,” she said, laughing again.
“Violet, put Artemis on—tell him it’s Charity.” While I waited a few moments, I heard muffled voices in the background.
“It isn’t enough to ruin my weekend—what the hell do you want now?” came Artemis’s voice.
“Wow, what is this? Violet’s second, third night in a row? Not your style, Artemis.”
“Styles change,” he said, not even slightly perturbed.
“Is she drunk?”
“Secret to tolerating anyone past a few days is to get them good and drunk—besides, she’s not nearly as interesting as you. And you still haven’t told me what the hell you’re bothering me for.”
“Real simple. Deliver a message to Daphne for me. You two are still on speaking terms, right?”
“Marginally. What is it?”
“Tell her the vampire Alexander, den on the Sunset Strip, has the City of the Dead artifacts and is planning on intercepting more coming into the city,” I said.
There was a pause on the other end. “I thought I made it perfectly clear to my cousin we were all squared up.”
Rynn opened his mouth, but I held my finger to my lips. “Yup, you are, Artemis—but this is a message you want to deliver.”
“And why, pray tell, would that be?”
“Well, for one, it’ll put you back in her good books. But two, and this is the real kicker, so you can see the look on her face when you tell her the real Owl sent it.”
With that, I hung up the phone. Rynn glared at me and shook his head. “It’ll never work. They’ll figure it out.”
“You’d be surprised. Neither of them will be able to resist checking it out, and as soon as one of them throws the first punch?” I shrugged. “They’ll figure it out eventually, but hopefully not until the curse is lifted and the other thieves are shut down.”
And the dig site closed . . . there was that small matter . . . I still wasn’t sure whether the IAA could be trusted to do it themselves anymore.
Now here came the fun part. I drained my beer-and-tequila numbing goodness number four. “While we’re still on the topic of stupid plans, how do you two propose we sneak past the pirates and into Syria?”
Do you ever feel like you’re having the same conversation over and over again without getting anywhere new?
Smart person would say it was time to change the conversation. Or that was my plan when I closed my hotel room door.
Nadya was smart. She’d stayed downstairs . . . OK, well, not smart, since this was her Hail Mary to get Rynn’s bartender . . .
God, I hope she and Rynn hadn’t bet money on it.
I frowned when I saw Captain sitting on the kitchen table. Not howling for food . . . I picked out the green plastic shrapnel scattered across the carpet. It was his toy—something the vet had convinced me to buy, a ball that doled out treats in reward for exercise.
“You destroyed the toy and ate all the treats?” I said.
He mewed.
Figured. “I can’t leave you anywhere.”
I dumped my laptop on the kitchen table, ignoring Captain’s run for the kitchen. Yeah, not going to happen.
“What’s up with him?” Rynn asked when Captain darted around his feet as he entered. He glanced between the toy and Captain. “It is impressive the cat was able to get it in that many pieces.”
“Yeah, don’t give him ideas.”
All right—important conversations . . .
“It’s not so much the important aspect, Alix, it’s altering the conversation we’ve been having,” Rynn said, kneeling in the kitchen, where he was now petting the damn cat.
Damn it. Sometimes, especially when I’m nervous, Rynn picks up on my emotions and figures out what I’m going to say before I do. I hate it when he does that.
“You don’t hate it. You figure I won’t give you credit for it,” he added.
I leaned against the kitchen table and forced my brain to reorganize. Think Zen thoughts—alcohol-fueled Zen thoughts . . .
“You know I pick up even more when you’ve been drinking?”
One bonus to dating an incubus was that I never lied about what I was feeling.
That streak didn’t go both ways though.
“You know, it wasn’t until this afternoon I figured out what was really bothering you about Los Angeles,�
� I said.
Rynn came over until he was close—touching distance but not quite touching. Again, he knew my personal quirks; I don’t like having important conversations when I’m touching him. Obvious reasons, the whole incubi thing puts me at a hell of a disadvantage. I took a deep breath and focused on his face. Still the same as when I’d met him at Gaijin Cloud in Japan almost two years ago, except wearing a less amicable expression than he used to . . . then again, maybe not. I’m pretty sure I had heavy champagne glasses on a few times . . .
I don’t know why it occurred to me now, not before, but I wondered if Rynn even did age. Mortality and imminent death do crazy things.
“Alix, you can’t break up with me when you’re drunk and upset. It doesn’t go well.”
“OK, I did that—once—and I said I wouldn’t do it again, so I’m not.”
Rynn watched me, still wary. “You were thinking about it.”
“OK, I do not act on every impulse that filters through my brain—and that was before I realized that you weren’t mad about the curse, you were upset about something else,” I said.
I watched his face as he went on the defensive. Me talking about his emotions was, well . . . let’s face it, I don’t read anyone’s emotions well.
“Alix—” he started, but I kept going. It was my turn to show some semblance of maturity in this relationship.
“It took me a while to figure out—till this evening actually—that you weren’t angry at me. You were pissed off at yourself.” My God, for someone as halfway to stumbling drunk as I was, my brain was fantastically lucid—a side benefit of tequila? One can hope.
OK, here goes. Honest conversation . . . “Why didn’t you tell me how many supernaturals were involved in this? From the start?” I asked, careful to keep my voice neutral.
“Alix—”
And there was the wariness I’d picked up in his voice before and mistaken for anger. Funny how sometimes perception is everything.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know, it’s why you’ve been touchy since Mr. Kurosawa and Lady Siyu accused me of stealing the artifacts.”
“My hands were tied. If it got back to anyone that you knew and I’d told you—”
I’d heard this part before, so I didn’t wait for him to finish. The one thing I’d learned about supernaturals in the last few months was that you sure as hell had to read between the lines.
“There is no actual rule about telling humans about the supernatural, is there? Not in any official capacity, anyway.”
Sometimes silence is a more powerful affirmation than words.
When I’d finally figured it out—through Artemis, no less—I’d felt betrayed, hurt, just sick to my stomach more than anything. I don’t like being lied to. It’s kind of a sore point with me.
But then I’d realized I’d created part of the problem—not on purpose, but inadvertently. I breathed and forced my temper to step back from the precarious ledge it was threatening to leap off of.
“You still think I hate supernaturals?” I said.
Rynn gave me a measured stare.
“All right, most supernaturals. I’ll give you that. Though I’d argue it’s a little more case specific than across the board.”
Rynn shook his head. “The more you know about our world, the more you’ll be held responsible by others who are less than kind.” He reached out to touch my face. “You chose not to participate. Vehemently, as I recall.”
I closed my eyes. “Which means anything to do with the supernatural becomes your responsibility.”
Like I said, it’d taken me a while to read between those lines. Rynn had taken it upon himself to act as filter between me and all the supernatural . . . well . . . bullshit. The problem was we both still had to deal with it. I’d been doing so since the day I’d pissed off a pack of vampires. Pretending none of it existed just turned me into a pawn. Just like I’d been in archaeology. I’m starting to see the wisdom of the statement “History repeats itself.”
Sticking my head in the sand doesn’t make the monsters go away. It just means I get blindsided and Rynn has to run interference. All right, Alix, let’s see if we can curb that trend, shall we?
“I’m not saying I want, need, or am ready to know everything, but the way we’re going now is making both you and me miserable.” Different reasons, mind you—me because it had likely gotten me killed, and Rynn because he was getting sick of holding all the responsibility for the entire supernatural world’s response every time I gave it a good kick in the balls—which I had a habit of doing.
“What sucks the most about this is it’s taken me three months to wrap my head around it. Why the hell didn’t you say something?”
“I told you I was selfish,” he said. “I thought if you knew how entrenched in this world you’d become—”
“I’d leave.” If Rynn had a relationship fear, that was it.
“Well, actually, you’ve left on a number of occasions—”
“OK, enough about the on-off thing—” I took another breath though and changed the subject back to the issue at hand. “The less I knew, the less I could be held accountable for.”
He nodded again and watched me, his eyes a solid gray.
I knew I’d been spending too much time with supernaturals; the logic made sense.
“I knew you’d figure it out eventually, I just never thought—”
“Never thought I’d end up cursed?” Yeah, neither had I. “Hindsight really is twenty-twenty,” I said. My emotions were already coming up to the forefront, a place I was not comfortable having them. I tried to break away. Rynn wouldn’t let me.
“You avoid these conversations like the plague—no, I’m not criticizing you, that’s the way you are.” Rynn stepped in close enough so I could feel his breath on my face. I wondered sometimes if I could feel the whole energy thing, but my imagination plays tricks on me at the best of times. Rynn touched his forehead to mine. “Why are you bringing this up tonight?”
I cared about him. I didn’t want him to leave. I wasn’t ready for that yet, for all my complaining and arguing. I’ve had enough people try and succeed at using me, so I could make a few accommodations to one of two people who were on my side. The supernatural thing? Well, that had fallen to the wayside three months ago.
Come to think of it, I’m amazed how much I’ve grown over the past few months. I’m becoming an interesting person. Not well adjusted, but someone who occasionally sees through the messes they create.
Be damned if I was smart enough to say any of that. My decision-making skills rival that of a sea slug . . . the sea slug might win, since it usually runs from danger, or at least has the whole poisoning capability . . .
I managed to look Rynn in the eyes. “Because it’s important. For all I know, the first symptoms of the curse could start tomorrow, and trying to have any serious conversation then? Well, it’d fall into my bad idea category.”
“What’s the first sign?” he asked. When I didn’t say anything, he kissed me—the kind that’s designed to show the other person that the giver doesn’t care what’s actually at stake.
I bit my lip and pushed him away. “Fever and hallucinations, Rynn.” If you were looking for the match that lit my tequila/Corona streak, that was it.
I sat down at the computer so I had an excuse not to look at Rynn.
“Alix?” he tried.
I frowned at the reflection in the computer screen. Captain had elevated his mooching to the next level and was standing on the counter, dragging the cat food bag out of the cupboard.
Not important, don’t turn around, let him do it. The next owner—Rynn or Nadya—would probably do a better job regulating his food. Let’s face it, I’m a pushover.
“Alix?” Rynn said again.
“What?” Please don’t make me turn around, not right now . . . I figur
ed if I thought it loud enough in my head, Rynn was bound to pick something up. See? Not only have I accepted the whole supernatural boyfriend thing, I’ve found a use for it.
He didn’t turn me around, but he did come up behind me and lean his chin on my shoulder. “You aren’t going to die. Nadya isn’t going to let you die. She’ll have no one to drink with except older Japanese men and attractive young hosts. Besides, I think you owe her money.”
That I snorted at.
“I’m not going to let you die either,” he added. That was all he said, and I had to admit I was thankful. Some things I was ready for—other things, well, not so much. It’s still me, after all.
“Are you coming to bed?” he asked.
I shook my head, still not willing to look at him. “I just have a couple things I need to do on my end.”
Rynn retreated into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. I still didn’t look away from the screen. If I didn’t turn around, I could still treat this like a game. And right now that was exactly what I had to do.
The World Quest login screen flickered into existence. I logged the Byzantine Thief in and pinged Carpe—in rapid succession, to get my point across.
While I waited, I pulled Hermes’s card out of my pocket. The message on the back had changed. Better, but still the long shot. I shoved the card back in my pocket. Either the hallucinations were kicking in, or I was on the right track.
My computer chimed. OK, Owl, nut up, and get your damned map to the City of the Dead. Like hell I was dragging Nadya and Rynn into this blind—not if I could help it.
I still don’t have anything new. As soon as I do— Carpe wrote.
Besides, I had something to barter.
Carpe, you still want me to get you that spell book? I wrote.
A few moments later, my headset chimed as Carpe turned on sound. “Is that a trick question?” he asked, his voice loaded with suspicion.
“No trick. But you’re going to have to do something for me—and it’s big, so listen real damn close.”
“Name it,” he said.
“Make World Quest your bitch.”
Owl and the City of Angels Page 24