Owl and the City of Angels (15 page)

“Either way it involves sharp teeth!”

“Trust me, they’ll be expecting me. They broke an agreement with me, and you’ll quickly learn supernatural species don’t tolerate broken agreements. It’s about the only thing holding our tentative society together.”

Wow. Shame Rynn didn’t lose his temper more often, because I’d gotten more on how their society even worked in the last five minutes than I had in three months.

“I’ll be back after I deal with the mess those two have gotten themselves into,” he said, then added something under his breath in supernatural, or that’s what I figured it was. “Lady Siyu can make whatever case she wants. They know it wasn’t you, otherwise you’d be dead already. Nadya is right about one thing, Owl. There’s something else going on here besides the theft. I’ll try to get us out of this L.A. fiasco.”

“Why do I get the impression there’s something important you’re not telling me?”

He glanced back over his shoulder. “Because there is.”

Great. More supernatural bullshit.

Rynn turned towards the door, and I thought he was going to leave—but he didn’t. Instead, he stopped short of opening the door, and almost as an afterthought he managed to close the distance between us in less than two steps.

I let out a yelp as Rynn pushed me up against the wall. He traced the side of my neck with his breath, though his lips never touched my skin. Adrenaline coursed through me as he chased his breath with the tip of his finger, tracing a path from my ear to my shoulder. I gave a small gasp as Rynn’s knee slipped between my legs and pushed up, forcing me to stand on my toes. His lips hovered a hairsbreadth from mine.

Oh this was new—more aggressive than I was used to from Rynn, but that didn’t mean bad.

You can forget most of what you think you know about incubi. They feed off attraction, all the better if it’s directed at them, but their power’s passive, like breathing. It was one of the reasons Rynn used to work in a bar. Incubi are also very attractive. Rynn had light blond hair he kept short, and high cheekbones and light gold skin tone that had convinced me he was Slavic. And then there were his gray eyes, which shifted to a bright cobalt blue every now and then. That’s where an incubi’s real trick comes in; they can manipulate human minds and emotions. Point in case, I didn’t notice Rynn’s blue eyes until he stopped tweaking my head to forget. That was a deal breaker.

Rynn turned my face to the side, further exposing my neck, then this time trailed his lips all the way up to the corner of my mouth.

I drew in another breath as Rynn found my mouth and kissed me.

Yeah, this I could get used to . . .

Before anything really got going, it was over. Rynn broke off the kiss and pulled his body away from mine, including his hand, which a moment ago had been doing something really nice to the spot between my chin and neck.

I waited for Rynn to pick up where he’d left off. Nothing happened. I opened my eyes. Rynn was staring at me intently, his hands braced on either side of the wall as he loomed over me.

Just like that. Staring at me, his face betraying nothing.

I think every nerve in my body revolted at once. “Ah . . . no offense, but you think you might want to keep going, with, you know—?”

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, drinking in the attraction pouring off me.

OK, I was done with the whole anticipation thing. Patience is not my virtue. I leaned forward and reached for Rynn’s face.

Drawing in one last breath, he stepped away from the wall and crossed his arms. “Now you have an idea how I feel when you
don’t fucking tell me where you’re going,
” he said.

Oh you have got to be kidding me
. I leaned my head against the wall and ran my fingers through my hair. “Seriously? OK, there is no way that’s playing fair,” I said.

He leaned in again, so close his lips almost brushed up against mine. “You’re right. It’s not. And think about this, Alix. It would have been easier to make you feel what I’ve felt for the last three days, but I didn’t. I respect your boundaries. The least you could do is consider mine. See you in a couple hours.” Then he shut the door behind him.

You know, I think I hate it when he has a point.

I closed my eyes and attempted to reign in the thoughts that were still revolting and frolicking in a Rynn-populated fantasyland . . .

Oh this blew. Mark my words, at some point in the future I was going to get even.

Well, I had a few hours at least to check my email and do some reconnaissance on Daphne Sylph. But first a shower—a very cold shower—then coffee, then the one thing that would settle my nerves while I did my best not to think about the fact I was being blamed for the one theft I didn’t actually do: World Quest.

I swore as I almost tripped headfirst on my way to the computer desk.

Captain let out a long, drawn-out meow from under my feet. Then he swished his tail before jumping up and heading for the kitchenette.

“The vet said no. You’re on a diet.”

He yowled, letting me know what he thought of my diet.

“No. No more food.”

Captain trotted back out of the kitchen, his tail up in the air, and meowed again, louder and longer than before.

Oh for . . . Our begging sessions had become a nightly occurrence; Captain begging me to feed him, me begging him to shut up, usually with a pair of moccasin slippers thrown across the room.

According to Captain, clearly the problem was I didn’t grasp just how hungry he was. I’d woken to half a pair of slippers—the front halves. Apparently it was harder to shred the fronts.

I didn’t have time or patience for this. I sighed and followed him into the kitchen.

Hair still wet and with a fresh cup of coffee, I logged into World Quest and pinged Carpe. I’d been avoiding him in what I like to call TOFC, or Time Off From Carpe. It also stood for Turn Off the Fucking Computer, which was also an accurate description. See? Multiple and related contexts.

Hey. Asshole. Ready to play, or do you want to whine about your book some more?
Got an easy quest to do.

Carpe’s answer appeared in the dialogue box a few moments later.
I’m not talking to you, Byzantine.

Yeah, like he hadn’t said that before.
You know, I’m sure some things don’t translate fantastically into elvishness, or whatever the hell it is you guys speak—but you realize by writing that you’ve already proven that you are in fact speaking to me, albeit passive aggressively.

A few moments passed with no answer.

Seriously Carpe, I haven’t been ignoring you. I’ve been playing online when you’re offline. There’s a difference—again, one of those subtle elf/human differences. Kind of like how you call cyber stalking being a friend.

Another few moments passed before his response appeared in the window.

Fuck you.

Great.
Now grow a pair and either actually start to shun me or open the goddamn map I just sent you.

I didn’t wait for Carpe’s next response. Instead, I logged into World Quest and used a transport scroll to get myself to the treasure map I’d just sent Carpe, something from my collection of potentially interesting in-game locations—the Syrian monastery, to be exact.

I needed a better idea of what the Syrian City of the Dead actually looked like on the inside—the real one, not the incomplete diagrams Mr. Kurosawa provided me.

And that meant World Quest.

I snorted, remembering what Nadya said about not using the game to pillage dig sites. I paid my monthly membership—I’d do what I damn well liked.

While I waited for Carpe to stuff his nonexistent pride and show up, I started to look around the ancient site—Byzantine, to be exact. The game designers had done a nice job.

While I scoped out the area and waited for Carpe, my phone buzzed.

It was a message from Rynn.

See? Not one word about the damned elf before I left. Compromise and change are attainable goals for you too, Alix.

I snorted. I don’t know what it was, but Rynn had serious issues with Carpe—

Incubi weren’t jealous—not a species trait. No, it was more of a deep-routed hatred of elves.
He’s an elf,
as if that explained it. I was deciding on something less than elegant to write back when Rynn beat me to it.

Train wreck
appeared in my phone’s text window.

Before I could think twice, I typed
whore
and pressed Send. Some things between us might change, but hopefully not everything. Maybe some change would be good for me.

Provided Rynn and Nadya weren’t asking for a whole Owl makeover, I could possibly, maybe, give it a shot.

6

Karma’s a Bitch

12:00 a.m., getting my World Quest fix

I sat up with a start and looked around my desk. I could have sworn something hit me in the face.

Captain chirped in my ear from his perch behind my shoulder. He readjusted himself, fixated with something on my lap.

I glanced down; there was a cork mouse floating in my coffee, the one I’d balanced in my lap before nodding off.

I held the mouse up. “Did you seriously just throw a mouse in my coffee?”

Captain chirped again in response.

I pulled the mouse out and launched it across the room. Captain took off, his hind legs skidding out as he tried to make a turn.

He’d have better coordination if he ate less . . .

I checked the clock. Midnight. I’d fallen asleep for twenty minutes. Why hadn’t Carpe woken me? I swore as I saw my headphones and mic were on the desk. Must have taken them off. I slid them back on and woke up my screen. There were, like, five blinking messages from Carpe.

“Hey, still there?” I asked.

“Hey, snoring beauty. Want to do me a favor and move your fucking avatar?”

Shit. “Sorry, dozed off.” My character, the Byzantine Thief, was standing wide-eyed in a cave with a team of dead goblins around me.

“No worries. In fact, I’m thinking you might have discovered an awesome game plan for the future. You fall asleep, monsters come out to attack your undefended avatar, and I smoke them and get all the XP. Win-win, Byzantine.”

“Yeah, yeah—I said I was sorry already. What do you want from me? And don’t say that fucking book.” Coffee. That was what I needed, more coffee . . .

I set my avatar on autopilot and, headphones still on, headed to the kitchen. “Yell if something attacks us,” I said as I turned the water on and filled the pot.

My guess was Carpe heard the running water, which was why he didn’t add any other snarky comments.

Ever since my early days in grad school, I’ve played World Quest. It’s a fantasy MMO based on real archaeological sites and monsters, and it’s damn accurate. It’s also one of the most punishing games out there, which is probably why there are only a hundred thousand or so players worldwide. You die without a resurrection scroll or someone willing to use one on you, and your character is done—game over. And trust me, resurrection scrolls were a bitch to come by. My character, the Byzantine Thief, has two. That’s it. Two. I’d almost had to use one a few months back when our previous teammate, Paul the Battle Monk, had tried to off us and steal all our in-game shit. You know, since he’s too busy driving his kids to soccer practice to grind, and since Carpe and I have nothing better to do with our time . . .

Asshole.

I hadn’t seen Paul in game lately, probably because Carpe had posted a hit on him at one of the most-frequented in-game pubs, the Dead Orc. I’ll let you guess the secret ingredient in their soup. Having said that, the Dead Orc provided gamers an interesting, albeit unorthodox, way of grinding for in-game gold . . .

Point being “Where’s Paul” had become a form of jackpot grinding for thousands of new gamers. Have fun running, Paul. World Quest is a cruel, vindictive mistress.

“So, Byzantine, want to explain what the hell we’re doing under this mountain?” Carpe asked.

The spot I’d transported us to was a series of tunnels running underneath the mountain range that bordered modern-day Lebanon and Syria. The version we were under, however, was set in the early Byzantine Empire, when they’d ruled the greater part of the Mediterranean.

“I told you, there’s a ruin on the other side.” And an army which I hadn’t realized was there before I teleported over. Live and learn.

“You didn’t add treasure onto the end of that phrase,” Carpe said.

“It’s World Quest, it’s implied.”

“Kind of like you implied you were going to get my book—”

“Enough! Knock it off about your damn book and kill some goblins already.”

For the past two years Carpe Diem and I have played on the same team with a roster of revolving third and fourth parties. We originally agreed to only meet online in World Quest—and I’d planned on keeping it that way, an anonymous haven from my real life of running away from the IAA and vampires.

Until Carpe had broken our no contact rule. At the time I’d been pretty pissed, but I’d more or less gotten over it. That and I needed someone to play World Quest with.