Owl and the City of Angels (31 page)

“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 figured 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.”

13

I Hate This Arcade Shit

Time: Ahh, 2:00, 3:00 a.m.? Where did I put that spare Corona?

“Byzantine?” Carpe said over my headset as I rifled through my fridge. In lieu of beer, I went with soda, though all things considering, I needed a beer.

“What?” My God, if that turret re-spawned one more time . . . There were no gun turrets in ancient Byzantine. First moving architecture, now historically inaccurate spontaneous additions. The game designers had hit a new low.

“I’ve got the turret figured out I think,” Carpe said. “They looped the program in, assholes.”

I sighed and rolled the can of soda over my forehead. Yeah, well the programmers were pretty pissed at us right now.

If I have a religion, it’s World Quest, a perfectly accurate depiction of archaeological sites around the world, flying in the face of every last tenet of the IAA.

Real shame we had to break it.

But, like I kept telling myself, this was an emergency, and not just mine. If artifacts were left to flow unchecked out of the city, it was only a matter of time before the body count started.

Meaning I needed that fucking map yesterday.

Cold soda still pressed against my forehead, I sat back down and did my best not to think about the fever burning inside me. It wasn’t a malfunctioning air conditioner; I’d checked that when I’d first noticed the heat. It was the start of the curse.
Manage it, Owl, pretend it isn’t there. That’s the best way to deal.
“Well, you know, Carpe, we did hack their system.” Three hours ago. Initially Carpe figured it’d be a quick run in the park—he got rid of the bad guys, opened up the level, and locked the developers out. We should have hit the temple, retrieved the map, and escaped in half an hour.

The developers were better programmers than Carpe had assumed. It had cost us. Three hours, to be exact. Hence, me sitting in front of my laptop holding a can of cold soda against my forehead.

“No more bad guys?” The turrets had been a stroke of brilliance on the developers’ part in response to Carpe’s bunnies. From what I understood, Carpe had introduced a viral piece of code—my definition, not his—that turned all bad guys into bunnies. The game designers still hadn’t figured out how to remove it; the worst we’d faced had been a storm of bunnies—more annoying than anything else.

With the turret gone, I made Byzantine crawl up the escarpment. Another surprise—the developers had figured out how to collapse the tunnel after we’d dispatched the goblin horde . . . by turning them into bunnies.

“Oh shit—” I dodged Byzantine out of the way as another carpet buzzed me. The developers hadn’t figured out how to re-spawn monsters, but, between the turrets and the damn flying carpets, they had figured out how to make the game architecture lethal. I held the cold soda up to my forehead again. At least the carpets were marginally in keeping with the time period.

The designers were being unreasonable. Dying of magic curse or pissing them off. Hard choice, but I’d rather not be dead.

Besides, World Quest was about the only entity in the archaeology periphery I hadn’t pissed off yet. They’d been due.

“Byzantine, I think they might be through your computer’s firewall,” Carpe said.

“I thought they were after you. You know, after you dropped that worm in their server and took World Quest offline?” We actually hadn’t had a choice on that one. The developers had put a bounty on our heads after the first twenty minutes. It was the only way to lock out other players. Well, that or just kill everyone’s characters, but that’d take too long and probably ruin a lot of people’s nights, so, server it was.

“Weakest link. No offense, but your firewalls aren’t . . . well . . . mine.”

I focused back on the wall Byzantine was scaling. “I don’t care how, just fix it—I’m almost in the city.” That map was mere minutes away.

The World Quest version of the city predated the Christian Church and was all ancient stone walls and ominous caves and towers. Heavily guarded by the Byzantine army until Carpe turned them into—you guessed it—bunnies.

I swore again as the carpet wound back around. I rolled the Byzantine Thief over the ledge and onto the first of seven stone pillars, old and crumbling during the Byzantine Empire.

Byzantine dove and rolled as the carpet dive-bombed in, raining large, cannonball-shaped stones over the temple ruins. All this trouble just because the developers had been monitoring the entire Lebanon mountain range. I mean seriously, Carpe and I were two players . . .

“Lousy damn luck,” I said as another bead of sweat rolled down my lip and I chased it away with the back of my hand. When I got a couple free seconds, I’d crank the air conditioner again. In the meantime, I took another swig of cold soda. Should have gotten ice . . .

Hello, there, now what might you be? I peered at the game screen, where Byzantine had landed at the base of a ruined pillar. One of the tiles was cracked, and I could just make out a pixelated black patch underneath instead of the uniform gray of the rocks. Like there was a hollow space beneath.

“Carpe, get up here. I think I found us an entrance, but I’ll need you to lift this tile magically.”

“All right, wait five. Stand lookout for carpets while I get these guys off your laptop’s tail.”

I started to comb the area for sticks and anything else I might use to get the tile opened—or break it. My eyes blurred over, just for a second—goddamn it.

Figuring I had a breather while the developers fought a losing battle with Carpe in hacking lore, I got up and went over to the control panel, where I cranked the air conditioner from medium to high.