Owl and the City of Angels (47 page)

We’d reached L.A., but we still needed to find Cooper—preferably before he tried to raise a zombie army or figure out the pieces were no longer where he thought.

Me? I was trying my damnedest not to hurl in the back of the jeep seat I shared with Nadya and Captain. Amazing how much you notice the gas and motor oil when you’re sick, and, considering the world kept spinning, my insides were on fire. Not to mention Captain kept pawing at my face, punctuated with baleful meows. I pushed him away again.

Ever since we’d landed, I’d been trying to keep how bad my symptoms were to myself. I’d found new and entertaining ways to hide my coughs. Half the time I succeeded—though that could just have been me hallucinating.

I could hear Carpe clicking away at his laptop in the front seat. Now that he had his damned spell book, he’d decided to help us. I’m not exactly sure that was lucky on our part, but regardless, he was our best bet of picking up Cooper’s digital trail.

From the driver’s seat, Rynn was speaking supernatural bullshit over his phone to Nomun. The genie had stayed in Syria. There’d been no time or opportunity to close down the monastery before we fled, but now we knew it was effectively one big, ancient garbage pit, so the Jinn could “intervene” without getting supernatural panties in a bunch. Turns out we’d barely touched the surface of the stuff down there.

Rynn got off his phone and turned to face us at the stoplight. “New IAA showed up at the city. Russian and Turkish.”

Nadya sat up. “The Russian and the Turkish departments must have gotten through Cooper’s red tape.”

“It’s next to impossible to revoke permits on a dig without the professor who signed for it,” I added for Rynn’s benefit. And zombie Dr. Sanders wasn’t exactly available for a hearing.

“The IAA have surrounded it,” Rynn continued, “but Nomun and the Jinn will make sure they don’t get inside.”

Granted, the city would be safer in this batch of IAA hands than it had been in the last, but considering what still might be down there, I found my fever-addled brain siding with the genies.

I felt the buzz in my pocket, but it wasn’t until I heard the ’80s video-game dragon hiss that I realized my phone was ringing.

“Lady Siyu,” I said, stifling a cough as I answered. I hoped to hell she’d been able to make use of the pictographs I’d sent before leaving Syria. “Please say you’ve got a way to lift this curse.”

There was a soft, drawn-out hiss on the other end. “In a manner of speaking,” she said.

I think I preferred it when she got to the fucking point . . . “That sounds damn close to a ‘yes,’ but—”

“I believe I have a method to lift it. However, it requires the item that cursed you.”

That got me to sit up. We already had the bronze sword; Lady Siyu could cure me. For the first time in days, my hopes rose. “I can’t believe you did it,” I said with more energy and enthusiasm than my body had to give right now. Considering I was going to be OK, I could care less. “Grab the sword, get on a plane, and come meet us in L.A. so I don’t die.”

The silence on the other end curbed my elation. Lady Siyu wasn’t one for dramatic pauses or minced words. After a moment, she offered, “I am already en route to L.A. and will be landing shortly.”

Why the hell was she already on her way to L.A.? “What are you not telling me?” I said.

Another pause. “The siren retrieved the items from me a few days ago.”

“You gave them back to her? Are you out of your mind?” I screamed. Everyone in the jeep looked at me. My headache got worse.

“If you would allow me to explain,” Lady Siyu said.

“You had me run all the way to L.A., on pain of
death,
to retrieve a bunch of cursed artifacts—stolen under my name, I might add—and you
gave
them
back
?”

“She had the proper paperwork.” Lady Siyu’s voice was sharp, with thinly veiled anger.

I leaned back in my seat and ran a hand through my hair. It was greasy from the on-and-off sweating. “I don’t fucking believe this.”

“I did not have a choice in the matter. The siren admitted to deliberately misleading us, and clarified that you were not the thief she purchased from and are therefore not responsible for removing cursed artifacts from the city. As the major transgression we were accused of was having a human under our employ acquiring dangerous artifacts for public distribution—”

I made a derisive noise.

“She also offered a substantial monetary settlement. My hands were tied,” Lady Siyu added. “The siren is one of us. There are no rules against Daphne possessing cursed artifacts.”

Only humans acquiring them and selling them . . . a warped version of prohibition. Ever feel like a really expensive doormat? I didn’t say anything. What was I supposed to say—
Nice colossal fuckup
?

“If you had completed your task sooner, I would have been able to stall her,” she added at my uncharacteristic silence.

“Oh that’s just great—blame the human. Real mature.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Look, if I get the damn knife—
again
—can you get this curse off me? Yes-or-no answer.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. It is too hard to tell until I attempt it, but I believe so.” Her voice lowered, lending it a threatening tone. “I have yet to fail in one of Mr. Kurosawa’s tasks.”

Somehow not comforting . . . “All right, I’ll text you when we know where we’re headed. You can meet us there,” I said, and hung up before she could argue.

I couldn’t believe she’d given them back to Daphne . . . proper paperwork my ass. “Lady Siyu’s on her way,” I said when I realized everyone was still staring at me. “She thinks she can lift the curse.” I drew in a big breath to settle my spinning head. “We have a bigger problem though. She gave the items back to Daphne. Cooper still needs to test them out, and he’ll want to try it sooner rather than later.”

“Where would he take the artifacts then?” Rynn asked.

I shook my head. “Where Cooper can find a ton of zombies in waiting.”

“That’s all of L.A.,” Rynn said.

“That’s the point. So we have no idea.”

“Hollywood Boulevard,” Rynn said after a moment.

“Too predictable. Maybe he’s headed to the beach—less obvious.”

“Oh come on—the beach? It’s an army, not a vacation.”

“Hey, we’re talking about a zombie army. Raising them from a beach-partying crowd isn’t the most far-fetched part of that statement. And how do you know Cooper doesn’t want a beach-themed zombie army? Maybe he figures if he’s got to look at bodies, they might as well be cute and scantily clad—”

“Stop, both of you,” Nadya said, raising her voice over ours.

It did the trick. Only Carpe ignored us, staring at his computer.

As soon as she had our undivided attention, Nadya pushed on. “We are assuming he needs live victims—but the pictures under Deir Mar Musa only show bodies. What if Cooper isn’t after living victims? What if he only thinks he needs a repository of dead? Besides, a large living population would cause too much attention.”

I pulled out my phone and went over the pictures of the adapted rituals with the three artifacts. Nadya was right. There’d been nothing to indicate living sacrifices. In fact, if the stories Mr. Kurosawa had told me about the ancient Qaraoun stealing the dead of their neighbors had any merit . . .

“What’s the biggest graveyard in L.A.?”

“Doesn’t need the biggest, just the closest to Daphne and the artifacts,” Rynn said. “And that still leaves too many to search.”

“I found him,” Carpe said. “Hollywood Forever—that’s where he’s going.” He flipped his laptop around so Nadya and I could see the purple dot moving across the digital map.

Somehow, someway, the elf had managed to find Cooper’s airport rental car and was tracking it. Carpe tapped another part of the screen. “Hollywood Forever. It’s the closest cemetery—a bunch of actors from old 1920s Hollywood are buried there—and it’s right on his route.”

“How do you know about old cemeteries?” Nadya asked him.

I could have sworn the elf turned his nose up at her. “I like old black-and-white movies,” he said. “And I took a tour. Bugsy Siegel and Mel Blanc are buried there. They have old movie clips and documentaries on kiosks through the park. They even show movies—”

Yeah, and while they discussed Carpe’s dubious vacation choices, the purple dot was getting closer. “Look, I don’t care if they have rows of dancing bears, he’s getting closer. Rynn, step on it.”

“We won’t beat Cooper,” Carpe said.

“Then hope he doesn’t have the artifacts from Daphne yet,” I said as the car peeled off. I texted Lady Siyu.

On our way to Hollywood Forever Cemetery. We think Cooper’s meeting Daphne and maybe Alexander there, since, you know, you gave her the artifacts back.

I pictured her hissing—or maybe even throwing something on the other end . . . No. She’d never lose it enough to throw something. Her response flashed in my screen.

I will arrive shortly. You are ordered not to die before I can attempt to lift the curse—otherwise I will find a way to make your afterlife very unpleasant.

I wondered exactly how Mr. Kurosawa had worded his orders to cure me. If I liked Lady Siyu—or had an iota of professional respect for her—I might have felt sorry.

“There’s something I still don’t quite get,” Carpe said, and turned around in the front seat so he could face me. “Why have the vampire and siren involved themselves?” he said.

I shrugged. “Who can say why the hell Alexander does anything.”

Carpe frowned. Or I thought he frowned. Bad light, add curse—you get the picture . . . “Yes, but why would they want an army of dead?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think they have any idea what Cooper’s actually planning—Daphne and Alexander aren’t exactly high up on the supernatural food chain. Alexander knows some antiquities, but the sword and Neolithic objects are beyond him. I should know, I used to work for him. Regardless of what Cooper’s told them, my guess is Alexander figures at the very least this is going to cause one hell of a mess.”

“But to what purpose?”

Rynn took that one. “To orchestrate the kind of disaster we can’t possibly cover—not the IAA, not Mr. Kurosawa, not the Jinn, not me. They don’t want to come out in the open, they want license to kill humans at random whenever and however it pleases them.”

Nadya snorted. “I wonder what Alexander would think if he understood just what was about to happen to his local food supply.”

I laughed and wished I hadn’t; I had to cover my mouth to stop from puking. Still, what I’d give to see the look on Alexander’s face when he found out he was getting zombies—I was pretty sure vampires need living humans . . .

Come to think of it, why not ask Alexander himself?

I still had his number in my phone, so I pulled it out and dialed. Bindi answered the phone again in classic valley girl. “Hello?”

“Jesus, you’ve been at this what, three months now? I’d at least expect a
You’ve reached the phone of dick vampire, who may I ask is calling
—”

“What are you doing?” Rynn yelled from the front.

I covered the mic. “I’m calling Alexander to see if I can’t throw a wrench in Cooper’s plans.”

“Owl—” Alexander purred. “You are still alive. I see your old associate has just as much trouble trying to kill you as I have.”

“Hey there, asshole. Just wanted to know how it feels to be next on the vampire Grand Poobah’s shit list. Oh yeah—and Captain says hello.” I then covered the mic so I could cough.

“I suppose there is a point to this?” Alexander said. The drawn-out French accent told me he wasn’t thrilled, but he hadn’t hung up yet.

“You’re making a big mistake. Cooper is using both you and Daphne. That ritual he’s running? All it’s going to do is thin your food supply, unless zombies are some weird vampire delicacy now.”

Alexander sighed. “And here I thought you might have something useful for me. There is no ‘zombie army,’ Owl. How do I say this politely? Cease your feverish rambling and find some hole to crawl in and die with a smidgen of grace. I know—it is a stretch, but I have faith you will, how do you say—‘Give it your best shot’?” Then he hung up.

“Idiot. Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you, Alexander,” I said to myself.

I dialed Artemis next. On the fourth ring he picked up.

“My God, someone might start to think you were looking to trade up on my cousin. Well, I can’t fault your taste,” came Artemis’s smooth voice.

“Stuff the incubus shit. I need your help.”

“This ought to be good. You’re starting to bank a lot of favors with me.”

I ignored the innuendo . . . how best to convince Artemis to intervene with Daphne? “Hey, soooo—this whole artifact thing kind of stepped up a few notches. Daphne is about to help raise an army of dead.”

There was a pause on his end. “All right, a little disaster and mayhem I’ll give her, but Daphne is more of the devil-may-care fun sort—she’s not stupid enough to get involved in that much of a fuckup. She still remembers the fallout from Caligula.”

“Yeah, somehow I don’t think Daphne knows the full extent,” I said, and gave him the short-short version of what Cooper was trying to pull off. “Think of it this way, if a bunch of old Hollywood zombies start wandering through the Hollywood Hills, it’s going to be bad. The supernatural cat will be out of the bag in a bad way, and you’ll probably have to curtail your parties.” Not that I thought that was necessarily a bad thing, but I was looking for angles here . . . “Cooper is playing both of them, and they’re too stupid to realize it.”

There was a sigh on Artemis’s end. “Christ almighty—all right, no promises, but I’ll see what I can do.” There was another pause before Artemis added, “Are you certain you want to keep getting involved with this, Charity? It might be wise to save yourself and leave well enough alone,” he said before hanging up.

If it hadn’t been for the whole unleashing the army of dead on L.A. and needing my damn curse lifted, I might have agreed with him. . . .

What bothered me more and more though was the fact that Cooper was playing the supernaturals. I’d never counted Cooper as stupid enough to play these kinds of games. I don’t know what he’d offered them, but it sure as hell wasn’t an army of dead. Daphne and Alexander both wanted their leashes loosened when it came to the population at large, but I couldn’t see them signing up for something this reckless. Hazard of being on the low end of the supernatural totem pole—if humans thought they were a real threat, they’d take them out first.