Owl and the Japanese Circus (3 page)

He cut me off with a laugh so grating I winced. Was it just me, or was the room actually getting hotter?

He held out the egg and pressed three small pinholes in succession. The egg clicked and opened into three sections, like orange
slices. I hadn’t even realized the egg was a puzzle box. There hadn’t been any mention of it in the inscriptions.

Still chuckling, Mr. Kurosawa exposed an empty chamber for me to see.

“You misunderstand my intentions, Owl. I’m not angry with you for bringing me what was agreed upon—now that I am sure you did not steal the contents of the egg.” His eyes glowed red for a moment. “I wish to arrange a new contract with you to find the missing contents.” He must have seen my face turn white. In fact, I’m positive he saw my face turn white, because this conversation was heading into territory I was already way too familiar with and had had enough of to last me three—no, make that five—lifetimes.

I have a strict policy. No magic, no monsters, no supernatural clients. Ever. I stumbled into what I like to call “supernatural shit” on my third job. Completely by accident, I might add. If you were wondering what drove me off the grid into living in a Winnebago, using disposable phones and hijacked satellite internet,
that
was it.

The only reason my “magic check” hadn’t come back positive on this one was that someone else had beaten me to it a thousand or two years ago . . . wait, that was it.

“Mr. Kurosawa—”

“Please, Owl,” he said, indicating a fresh flute of champagne proffered by the Kabuki girl. “So rarely do I . . . entertain, so to speak,” he finished, and grinned.

I took the new glass. I wasn’t worried it was poisoned; easier to just eat me. I was having a hard time not cringing every time he smiled though. I started again. “Mr. Kurosawa, whatever is supposed to be inside that egg was stolen a few thousand years ago, maybe more. I don’t even know where I would start—”

He stopped me with his hand, now sporting claws. Three-inch black claws. He passed a folder to me across the mirrored table. “I believe this will help you decide where to start.”

I chewed my lower lip and opened the folder—it’s not like I had a
lot of options. Inside was a list of locations: China, Japan, Korea, and a few places in Indonesia. I knew all of them. I’d turned down jobs in each and every one because they were supernatural hot spots.

I closed the folder and passed it back. If I hadn’t been sitting in front of a dragon, I’d have thrown it as far away as humanly possible. “Look, Mr. Kurowsawa, I’m really sorry, but I can’t—”

“Are you happy with your existence?” he asked.

That caught me off guard. “Ahh, if you mean am I fond of living, yeah, I’m pretty attached to it.”

Smoke billowed out of his nose as he reclined against the white leather, his glowing black eyes boring into me. “The running, hiding, evading, knowing no one would ever believe you—doesn’t it get tedious?”

“Ummm, no offense, but that’s why I don’t do supernatural jobs—”

Mr. Kurosawa’s smile shifted from sinister to mocking. “And how has that been working out for you?”

I didn’t say anything. What was the point? He was right.

He laughed.

Dragon or no, he was starting to piss me off. Besides, this was turning into a lose-lose situation, and I’d rather be eaten by a dragon than chased down by vampires. For one, the dragon didn’t have a grudge. “Look, I have enough trouble with vampires right now, and I don’t need any more supernatural problems, and that,” I said, pointing to the open egg, “is a supernatural problem.”

“What is it worth to make your problem go away?” Mr. Kurosawa asked.

That got my attention.

“No more running, no more checking over your shoulder.” He leaned in. “No one hunting you down.”

The chance to go back to my place in Seattle, actually use my bank account without worrying a vampire or its lackey was going to jump out of the next alley I passed by . . .

“What’s the catch?” I said.

On cue the Kabuki girl handed Mr. Kurosawa a third bloodred folder that matched his ever-reddening skin. He removed a single sheet and slid it across the table.

My throat went dry. It was a contract written in bright red ink. The kind of contract you can’t break.

“As per our previous arrangements, payment will be given on the delivery of the missing contents of the egg into my possession. As a gesture of good faith I will negotiate a truce with the parties currently searching for you, from this date onwards.”

“I don’t do supernatural,” I said. Even I didn’t convince myself.

“My dear, you do not have the luxury of deciding that, not if you intend to keep your current hide intact.” He smiled and flashed me those black dragon teeth again. “You’re rather famous in my circles now. Accidently bathing a vampire superior in sunlight during an excavation will do that. Though I still haven’t decided yet whether you’re brilliant or miraculously stupid for managing to deliver the sarcophagus and collecting your pay. In the meantime, you’ve evaded their agents and completed seven contracts, five of them for me. I’d wager you’re about as deep into ‘supernatural shit’ as you can get. Besides that, you’re greedy.” His eyes took on a black glow. “And greed is something I can work with.”

I held the contract.
Yes or no?

“And,” Mr. Kurosawa added, glancing at his Rolex watch, “this offer will quickly expire.”

The Kabuki girl handed me a sealed envelope this time. Three photos were inside, all time-stamped a few hours before. It was the Paris boys; I’d recognize Alexander anywhere. They were in Vegas.

I had two choices: deal with Mr. Kurosawa, or take my chances with the Paris boys. Either way, odds were good I’d end up dinner. I thought about accepting for a minute. But that thought only lasted a minute. Supernatural shit got me into my Winnebago mess in the first place. Stacking a dragon on top of vampires was a stupid idea. I stood up and shook my head. “Sorry, no deal. I’m not working for you.”

“Are you not afraid I will kill you?”

I shook my head and shrugged. “You or the vampires. I’m not making the same mistake again,” I said, and started walking back towards the maze of slot machines.

“This one job, Owl. You need never see me or their ilk again.”

I glanced over my shoulder and he flashed me his black teeth, the height of Japanese fashion a few thousand years ago.

“Just this last contract, and I will deliver on my promise to intervene with the vampires. What do you have to lose?”

“I’d be off their hit list permanently?”

He nodded, once.

I rolled it over in my head. All I had to do was find the contents and I’d be rid of the vampires. It wasn’t digging myself in deeper. It was a way out. “One job, and only the one . . . ever,” I said.

Mr. Kurosawa smiled.

“And I have conditions.”

Another puff of smoke trailed out of Mr. Kurosawa’s nose, but he didn’t stop me, so I trudged onwards. Shit, what the hell was I doing, bartering with a dragon? “First, no eating me.
Even
after this contract expires or you terminate it. Second, you bankroll the equipment.”

“Agreed. I assume there is a third?”

I braced myself. “The vampire clause stands, even if I can’t deliver.”

His lips curled up at my last condition, and I wondered for a moment if I’d pushed dragon patience too far. I didn’t actually prefer being eaten to working for a dragon—not if he could get the Paris boys off my case—but I also wasn’t diving headfirst into a doomed wild-goose chase.

Mr. Kurosawa considered me from the plush couch. “Is that everything?”

“I want it in the contract.”

Three long seconds passed, during which I held my breath.

“Lady Siyu,” Mr. Kurosawa said. The Kabuki girl produced a red lacquer pen with a very sharp tip.

Oh hell no.

I went to shove my hand into my pocket, but she was too fast; a blur of red-tipped fingernails snatched my wrist.

I yelped as she pricked me with a needle and held my finger until a drop of blood fell on the page. She was strong for such a small woman. Lady Siyu said something in Japanese, and my conditions appeared on the bottom page. Just like that. Then she flipped the pen over and handed it to me. I kept her and Mr. Kurosawa in my sights as I signed. I thought I caught a glimpse of a slit eye as I passed the signed contract back to Lady Siyu. If she was human, I was a dancing unicorn.

“How does a dragon get vampires to back off dinner anyways?” I said.

Mr. Kurosawa frowned, as if my question was in line with what he’d expect from a four-year-old.

I held up my hands. “Just curious. They were pretty pissed off the last time we spoke in Egypt.” Thinking about my Egyptian run-in with the Paris boys was enough to give me nightmares for a week.

“There are courtesies and etiquettes to follow,” Mr. Kurosawa said. “If not, I’ve been known to eat the occasional vampire.”

I believed it. Dragons trump vampires in the supernatural food chain. Which only strengthened my conviction that I was completely and utterly out of my mind for even contemplating this job.

“So, just so we’re clear, tomorrow I can use my Visa and no one will jump out of an alley and try to kill me?” Oh yeah, vampires were loving the digital era.

“I suggest you set yourself up in Vegas to start, but yes. I’ve taken the liberty of having Lady Siyu check you into one of our suites. Your van was retrieved and is in the parkade.”

Lady Siyu passed me a receipt for my Winnebago, along with the red dossier. She turned on her spiked heels and motioned for me to follow.

Mr. Kurosawa regarded me. Even halfway to a dragon he still
looked every inch the rich businessman. “Words of caution, Owl: do not let yourself lose track of Lady Siyu in my private casino. People have a way of getting . . . lost.”

I scrambled; I was not about to get lost in a dragon’s lair—den—whatever you call it. But my business side took over. I glanced back over my shoulder at Mr. Kurosawa before Lady Siyu entered the maze. “How do I contact you?”

“It’s all in the dossier.” He got up to leave and had almost disappeared amongst the slot machines, but I couldn’t help myself.

“What would have happened if I’d said no?”

He flashed his vicious, razor-sharp smile once more. “Those Paris vampires offered an awfully large reward for you.
And
I eat thieves.”

With that, he was gone, and I ran to catch up to Lady Siyu, now almost at the end of the nearest row of slot machines. She hadn’t waited for me. My head was spinning—I was working for a
dragon
.

Lady Siyu led me through the maze of machines, and I kept my head down, not wanting to be distracted by the neon lights. After she’d turned down too many corridors for me to keep track of, she pushed open two heavy gold doors with old Japanese characters etched deep into the metal.

I didn’t realize how tense I’d been until we stepped into the hotel corridor. With just the brush of our feet against the plush carpet to indicate anyone was here, she stopped before a black unmarked door and opened it with a gold key card, which she handed to me.

I wouldn’t call it a room. Luxury designer condo was more like it. I whistled as Lady Siyu followed me in. I hadn’t been in a real room in over four months—not counting student and hostel dorms. It’d been camping or the Winnebago. I couldn’t wait to see the bathroom and take a shower—damn, I could soak in a bath.

Lady Siyu was about to leave when I remembered something. “Ummm, this might sound odd, but I have a cat . . .”

Lady Siyu turned and inclined her head, slowly. She had green, slitted eyes that reflected the light.

Yup, definitely not human. “Umm . . . yeah . . . I just wasn’t sure whether I was allowed a pet in here—”

“It’s not a problem,” she said with a perfect British accent. It took me aback; it was the first time I’d heard her speak. She glided over to my desk. French, Louis XIII, I’d bet on it. In fact, the room was full of antiques—I shook my head. I was
not
stealing from a dragon’s hotel.

She picked up a notebook and wrote two numbers down. “You may contact room service here, and secure internet access is available with this network and password. You will have to search for it—it is very secure. Everything else you need is in the file, along with your terms of employment. If you have any questions, contact me at this number. Please do not leave the hotel or casino this evening, as Mr. Kurosawa needs to . . . ‘negotiate’ your immunity. Will there be anything else?”

“Umm, no. That’s all I need.”

Lady Siyu bowed—barely, I noted. With a click of the door, I was alone.

On the corner chair someone had deposited my weekend supplies, complete with yellow bags. I pulled out one of my now warm Coronas and put the rest in the fridge. I sat on my bed and took everything in: vampires, contracts with a dragon, whatever Lady Siyu was. How the hell was I going to track down something that was stolen three thousand years ago?

I just had to keep telling myself this was better than running from a pack of vampires.

I cracked open my third Corona and pulled my wet hair into a ponytail. I was wearing only a casino bathrobe. After the shower, I couldn’t stand to put any of my old clothes back on. They just all seemed so dirty. I’d have to go shopping tomorrow. It wasn’t like I didn’t have the
money. I was sitting on over ten million dollars. A significant downside to my run-in with the Paris boy vampires a year ago was that I hadn’t had the chance to spend any of it.