10

Vampires of the Sunset Strip

Time: No fucking clue

Place: Urine, beer, and gross negligence of eardrums say nightclub

Or the basement of a dive bar, take your pick. It was the mix of beer and urine that gave it away. Funny how alcohol dulls the smell of urine . . . I’ve never wondered about that relationship before, but there you go.

I leaned my head back against the concrete wall as Captain let out another forlorn mew.

Only his head poked out the top of a burlap bag. He wasn’t impressed. So unimpressed that a few minutes earlier, he’d decided to pee all over the bag. And himself. I added ammonia to the regular dive bar smells that permeated the closet-sized room. Way to get the message across to our vampire captors, Captain. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

“You realize this is all your fault? You were supposed to find us an exit, not vampires.”

He meowed again and looked at me expectantly.

I held up my hands, both tied with a zip cord. “I get it, you want out, but I can’t exactly help you here.” I’d already tried slipping out of them, but the vampires had gotten smart since last time. They’d switched from plastic to metal.

Assholes.

At least I couldn’t smell any rotting lily of the valley, though that could just mean they had something worse in store.

Try to think about the positives, Alix . . .

Well, Captain was in here with me, but my bag, along with the two cursed items and one very authentic-looking fake, was gone.

That was positive, right? I couldn’t accidently curse myself anymore.

Oh hell, I give up.

The door opened and Bindi stepped through. I held my breath against the pheromones that assaulted my nose.

Vampires . . . how do I say this accurately? They’re like the cockroaches of the supernatural world. Vampires hold the exalted position of being one of the only supernaturals that starts off human. Most of what you’ve heard in the movies or read in stories is exaggerated and overblown. First off, vampires don’t have superstrength. They excrete a narcotic-like pheromone that delivers their victims into a euphoric high where they’d be hard-pressed to throw a punch, let alone run. It’s also more addictive than heroin. Vampire junkies, as I like to call them, are those who follow their vampire sugar daddies around waiting for the next hit.

As for the rest of the legends? Holy water is a complete bust, so are crosses, though sunlight has its uses. It depends how old the vampire is—the really old ones go up in seconds, but the young ones still sustain nasty burns from a good dose of UV light. Same thing goes for the allergic reactions to garlic.

Like cockroaches though, you might kill a few, but most just crawl off into a dark hole to lick their wounds, breed, and return another day.

Oh yeah, and they hate Captain. Maus were bred by the ancient Egyptians to attack vampires on sight. Their bites are poisonous to vampires and elicit one hell of an allergic reaction. As evidenced by the scar left on Alexander’s face, the poison nullifies some of the healing—and Alexander was a few hundred years old.

They like to play dress-up too; designer suits, expensive shoes—you know, Eurotrash. Though apparently Bindi was in a class of her own. She was still dressed like a university surfer chick in a pair of dock shorts, tank top, and flip-flops, with her shoulder-length blond hair in tangled waves.

“Wow, they let you walk around dressed like that? What, did ­Alexander add a surfing department to his cronies? You look ridiculous, by the way.”

As I expected, Bindi didn’t take the jab well. Her mouth twisted into a snarl—not a subtle one but a full-on, fang-baring snarl.

Bindi was what I like to call batshit crazy. She’d been a few baskets shy of a picnic when human, and vampirism hadn’t helped. An archaeologist PhD student by trade, she’d been roped into a plot to steal artifacts for a powerful vampire in exchange for being turned. Already well on her way to full-blown sociopath, Bindi had killed a bunch of her innocent dig mates to prove just how dedicated she was.

She balled up her fists and stepped inside the closet, but she was very careful to stay out of range of Captain, who, for his part, had ­doubled his efforts to tear his way out of the bag. He’d escalated from hissing to spitting.

“I was sent to tell you the master is on his way,” Bindi said.

I made a derisive noise. “The only people in the world who call ­Alexander ‘master’ are you and him, and that includes vampires. Now, go woman up and start calling him ‘dipshit’ and ‘asshole’ like the rest of us—”

She snarled and took a step closer towards me. “Stop screwing your face up and show some respect.”

I snorted. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll eat your cat and make . . .” Bindi suddenly looked disgusted and glanced around the room. “What is that smell?” she said, and covered up her nose.

“What—the cat pee? Your fault for not including a litter box.”

“Oh my God, that is the foulest—” I didn’t hear the rest as Bindi succumbed to a coughing fit.

Hunh. Note to self: Captain’s pee was bad for vampires too.

Being a young vampire, Bindi’s pheromones hadn’t hit me full force yet. With her doubled over, maybe I could crawl out of here—at least until I could find some wire cutters.

Captain wiggled in his bag and bunny-hopped towards a still-­doubled-over Bindi. I held my breath, hoping she didn’t notice as he made two more hops, each time wiggling furiously, then launching the sack towards his target. He latched on to her bare leg.

Bindi straightened, the anger and viciousness replaced by panic and excruciating pain. She shrieked and dropped to her knees . . . which was a stupid idea on her part, since it allowed Captain to sink his teeth in deeper—which he did.

Her leg began to turn an unhealthy shade of purple. “Get it off me, get it off me!” she yelled, batting at Captain’s head.

“You know that only pisses him off,” I offered. “If you stay still, he might let go.” He wouldn’t, but hopefully the level of pain was high enough that Bindi would believe anything.

She continued to shriek, but her struggling lightened a notch and she stopped smacking him. “It’s not working!”

Let’s hope the pain was real bad. I held up my hands. “Untie the zip cord and I can get him off.” I’d actually untie Captain so he could get his claws in. I’d seen vampire’s pass out from Captain bites before.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” she said.

Considering you let the vampire-hunting cat bite you? “It’s that, or let him keep going,” I said. The entire calf and knee were purple now. “You know his bites leave scars—look at Alexander’s face.”

That did it. Red tears streaming down her face, she leaned towards me. Nothing like pain to cloud judgment.

“Enough!”

I turned my attention to the doorway, where Alexander stood in all his Eurotrash glory. Bindi looked too, but she was still whimpering and grasping her leg, trying to block the purple color now creeping up her thigh.

I gave Alexander my best nonchalant look, but the sickly sweet lily of the valley ebbing off him hit me. So much so that Alexander, with chestnut hair that fell a little past his shoulders, struck me as moderately attractive, even with the pink scar marring the right side of his face. His expensive suit and leather shoes were worth more than my Winnebago.

Like Bindi, Alexander noticed the smell, barely hiding his disgust as he pulled out a handkerchief and held it to his nose.

I nodded at Bindi, still whimpering with Captain attached to her leg. “You’re really letting the dress code slide, Alexander.”

He frowned and tsked as he took in the room before turning to Bindi. “I thought I told you to stay away from the Mau,” he said, his thick French accent on full display. As far as I could tell, Alexander had been made roughly three hundred years ago in Paris. He’d picked up English but had never lost the accent.

Bindi stopped whimpering long enough to snarl at me. “She tricked me.”

“I tricked you? Oh come on, Bindi.” I held up my wrists. “I’m a ­prisoner—of vampires. Of course I tried to trick you.” I turned my attention to Alexander. “Come on, you must be desperate if you let her in—”

He strode over to where Bindi—weeping now—was cradling her leg, then he picked up Captain by the scruff of his neck. “Get the cat off, or I will do it for you.”

I swore under my breath and hoped Captain listened this time. I whistled twice. Captain turned his bright yellow eyes on me. “Captain, heel—let go of the vampire,” I said.

He growled, deep and throaty.

“Let go now, otherwise the other vampire is going to eat you.”

That did the trick, but not the way I’d hoped. Captain had been so wrapped up in trying to devour Bindi’s leg that he hadn’t noticed ­Alexander. Now he did. Captain released Bindi, let out a howl and, contorting his body, made a grab for Alexander.

Alexander shook Captain and held both my cat and the cat pee–drenched bag away from his suit, thereby avoiding Captain’s teeth. I breathed a sigh of relief. As much as I would have enjoyed seeing ­Alexander’s hand ravaged by Captain’s teeth, there were now two vampires, and I was still tied up and starting to feel the effects of pheromones. I didn’t like Captain’s odds right now if he pissed off Alexander—as it was, I already didn’t like our odds.

Alexander deposited Captain’s bag beside me and turned to deal with Bindi, who was still weeping. I couldn’t see or hear what was said, but she immediately got up and fled the broom closet.

Alexander closed the door behind her, drowning out the music as Captain continued to growl. He removed something from his pocket . . . it looked like something to fit over my mouth.

In spite of my haze, my panic nerves still lit up. I twisted away as Alexander fit the contraption over my head, but that’s the bitch about vampire pheromones—they zap your strength.

I held my breath until my lungs were burning and I couldn’t hold out anymore . . . there was no more trace of rotting lily of the valley. A gas mask? I tested the air, taking in a deeper breath. Sure enough, it was clean.

What the hell was Alexander giving me a gas mask for?

It must have registered in my eyes, because Alexander said, “See? I am not unreasonable. Now we may have a civilized conversation on . . . how would you say? Fair ground?”

I glared. Alexander planned on having a civilized conversation with me about as much as Captain planned on curling up on his lap. “What the hell are you up to?” I said.

Alexander tsked as he pulled up a footstool and sat on the far side of the room— about as far as he could get from a screeching Captain. “So skeptical and angry for one so young.”

Alexander and I have a history. Before I’d known Alexander was a vampire, he’d been a client of mine. A good client; he’d never asked questions, paid me on time, and had been gifted with more money than sense. Or at least that’s what I’d assumed when he’d asked me to retrieve a sarcophagus from underneath Ephesus, telling me under no circumstances to open it because of a vampire. This part I’m not proud of: assuming he was short a few baskets of a picnic, hiding treasure, or both, I’d opened the sarcophagus. In broad daylight. The ancient vampire had dissolved into ash, putting me on Alexander’s shit list for vaporizing his Grand Poobah.

Resealing the sarcophagus and collecting payment before they could get the lid off probably hadn’t helped matters.

Regardless, I knew from experience that the best way to get information out of Alexander was to piss him the hell off. Vampire Psychology with Owl 101.

“Go to hell,” I told him.

Alexander didn’t get mad. He smiled, just enough to expose the tips of his fangs, and held up my purse-turned-cat-carrier. “I wish to know why were you stealing these particular artifacts from the siren this evening.”

Now, that was unexpected . . . and, to be honest, threw me for a loop. What did Alexander care about Daphne’s artifacts?

He jiggled the bag, waiting.

Alexander and his vampires hadn’t been at the party for me, they’d been after the artifacts as well. Now I knew why the case had been open and who was likely responsible for the fake. “What the hell do you want with the artifacts?” I said.

The smile on Alexander’s face fell, but only for a moment. “Never mind my concern,” he said, albeit more strained than before. “I am asking you.”

This nice version of Alexander was unnerving me. “You don’t do questions; you do threats and intimidation. So I’ll ask you again, what the hell do you know about the pieces?”

Alexander’s mood was falling. “Would you prefer it if I started straight off with the torture and threats?”

I gambled. “You guys beat me to the exhibit. You put the fake knife in there, didn’t you? What, did I stumble in before you could get the rest of them?”

Alexander frowned. “Never mind my interest, the topic at hand is yours.”

“No. You want to have a civilized conversation with me? Fine, you go first.”

He swore in French. “This is getting us nowhere—tell me what you were doing.”

“Or else what?” I snorted. “Come on, you gave me a gas mask, for Christ’s sake—what kind of vampire does that?”

“I’m trying to be reasonable so we can come to a mutually beneficial exchange of information.”

“How stupid do I look? You don’t do reasonable.”

Captain bleated, as if in agreement.

Alexander sighed, closed his eyes, and counted to ten. I think he added something derogatory in there, but my French is bad on a good day.

After he finished counting, Alexander opened the bag. “Since you wish me to start and I have no wish of remaining here all evening in you and your horrendous cat’s company—” He pulled the bowl out first, holding it too close to my face for comfort. I drew in a sharp breath and leaned back.

Alexander smiled. “Ahh. We both see you are not so ignorant,” he said, and placed the bowl near my feet. Alexander and his cronies had removed my shoes when they’d placed me in here. Restrained bare feet on wet floor that near a cursed item—you do the math. I felt a bead of sweat form on my neck.

From what Lady Siyu had suggested, only the higher-up supernaturals should be able to handle the cursed items. Alexander as a vampire had started off as human—that type of supernatural tended to have a harder time with magic. Hell, magic curse was how they ended up not human in the first place. “How come you can handle those?”

Alexander’s smile widened. “Because, ma chérie, as a vampire I am already cursed. Only one curse at a time, you could say—rather like one of your ‘coupons.’ ”

I would have rolled my eyes at his attempt at colloquial phrases—a bad habit of his—but I was too busy watching the bag and the remaining items.

Vampires feed off fear. They live for it, they can smell it. Alexander was practically salivating. “However, you do not have the same . . . ­immunity.” He withdrew the flint next and arranged it on the other side of my feet, corralling them between the cursed items. He leaned as close as he dared without coming in range of Captain. “Now, unless you wish to test the truth behind the curses, you will tell me where you found them and why you deigned to remove them from their resting place.” He extended his foot so it was almost touching the bowl.

Oh for God’s sake, not Alexander too . . .

“If by ‘resting place’ you mean Daphne Sylph’s display room, I found out about it like everyone else in this century. Google.”

A sharp breath escaped between his pursed lips. “I think you take me for a fool, ma chérie.” And with that, he pushed the bowl forward with the tip of his expensive Italian leather shoes. “Now, their proper resting place?”

Shit. I curled my toes back out of reflex. I was watching his feet, not his face . . . “Look, I know you’re probably going to find this hard to believe, but I didn’t actually break into the City of the Dead. It was someone else—pretending to be me.”

“You who takes me for the idiot again.” This time he pushed the flint closer, and once again I shifted my feet. I’d run out of space soon.

“Look—I realize everyone is having a hard time believing it wasn’t me, especially since apparently some asshole is selling artifacts under my name, but this is some other asshole . . . impersonating me . . .”

“Then why are they now again in your possession? I find that a rather unlikely coincidence.”

“Because I had nothing better to do on a Friday night—hey!” I yelled as he pushed the bowl closer.

“Whereas others may find you funny, I do not.”

Asshole. “If I was the thief who stole them in the first place, would I bother breaking into Daphne’s—a siren, I might add—to steal them back?”

Alexander regarded me, a frown touching his face. “If the dragon was angry enough? Perhaps, especially if you did the theft behind his back, which I well know you are wont to do.”

Open one sarcophagus . . . I shook my head. “OK, despite the fact that was the most intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say—the answer is no, for one very good, logical reason.”

“And what would that be, chérie?”

This time I leaned in, just so Alexander could see I meant it. ­“Simple—­if the dragon thought for one second I actually stole those items and sold them behind his back, I’d be dead already—or halfway across some deserted wasteland.”

Alexander sat back, considering what I’d said. “Agreed. The dragon would not suffer you to live for taking these items without his approval.”

If it hadn’t been for those last few words . . . “Oh come on—you seriously think the dragon would want those things unearthed?”

“If he thought they posed a greater threat running wild and free? Certainly.”

I rolled my eyes. “OK, yeah—” Especially since Mr. Kurosawa had done almost that exact same thing before making me fetch the scroll. “But that’s not the case here. And you still haven’t told me what the hell you want with them.”

Alexander still looked skeptical. He reached out and pushed the bowl closer again.

I swore. The worst part was Alexander wouldn’t be breaking rules if I ended up cursed. He wasn’t allowed to kill me, specifically—where supernatural deals were concerned, “made me touch an ancient cursed artifact” was gray area.

He edged his foot towards the flint piece.

OK, now time to panic . . . “Look, Alexander, my phone is in the front pocket. Call Mr. Kurosawa, he’ll back up my story.”

Instead of pushing the piece of flint towards me though, he pulled it back and placed it back in the bag. I didn’t like the smile that spread across his face or the blackening of his eyes.

“From what I understand, Owl, I believe your agreement with Mr. Kurosawa means that you need to retrieve the three items? Yes? Then find the thief?”

I hadn’t told Alexander about the thief. A cold chill ran up my spine.

Alexander continued. “I wonder what will happen if I call Mr. Kurosawa and mention I saw you take the pieces and disappear. I am certain Daphne will back up the story. Why have suspicion fall on me and my vampires, when you were so conveniently in my way? And as for what I want with the pieces, it is, as you say, none of your goddamn business.” The evil look I expected from Alexander filled his eyes.

Great, one thief uses me as a scapegoat, and everyone else figures it’s a free-for-all. “You goddamn low-life son of a bitch—let me out and give me those pieces back.”

Alexander held both hands out to the side. “Or what? What do you suggest you can do from there?” He crouched down inches away from me. “Absolutely nothing,” he said, and tapped the top of the gas mask. “I believe I shall leave this on. I wonder whether letting my children bite first will be more painful that way.”

“You son of a bitch—I helped you in Bali—”

His polite demeanor fell as he snarled, “You locked us in a pit for days while you paraded the fact outside. We vampires have some pride.”

“Oh get over yourself. You’d have backed yourself into a corner with the Contingency if it hadn’t been for me.” The Contingency being the group in charge of vampires.

“Consider this my retribution for the embarrassment. Let us see how you like being locked up and useless in a hole for three days.”

Evil, fucking, no-good vampires. Not that I’d really expected anything else, but still . . . “Retribution? You assholes were trying to kill me. Hell, I handed over Bindi and Red. I ought to get some credit for that—”

Alexander spread out his hands. “What is the expression? Ah, I know, ‘Like I give a flying fuck.’ ” He made sure to flash his teeth, just to remind me what he could really do if he wanted. “And perhaps after a little misuse at the hands of my fledglings, I shall let you and your wretched cat roam free.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps you will be a vampire by then, who can say?” And with that, Alexander got up to leave, bag in hand.

“Hey! Come back and say that when I’m holding a UV light and my cat isn’t tied up, asshole!”

But having made his point, Alexander left.

I leaned my head against the wall and started to work on my restraints. I wouldn’t break them, but maybe with enough sweat I could pull my wrist through—minus some skin. Or, if I was really lucky, Rynn had been able to GPS my phone, unless Alexander had buried me and it under floors of concrete with no reception.

Damn it, when did Alexander get smart?

Captain mewed.

“Yeah, I know. Not exactly how I’d hoped to see the Sunset Strip, either,” I said. At least the gas mask meant I couldn’t smell Captain’s retaliation urine anymore.

Small comforts.

By my guess, roughly an hour had passed. The music was still going up top, so not closing time yet—if the Sunset Strip ever closed. . . . That was a sobering and unsettling thought.

Oh yeah, and my hands were bleeding. Did that count for progress? Probably not, since my hands were still bound by the metal twist ties.

Captain, however, was sitting on my restrained legs, wondering why the hell I wasn’t up yet. Apparently no carrier or burlap sack could withstand the determined wrath of Captain. Now, if he could only pick locks . . .

Hermes’s comment about me being a fuckup came to mind.

However long I’d been here, my ears were on edge, and I heard the scrape against the door before the handle began to turn.

Feeding time, and me with my wrists all nicely bloodied up as an appetizer. Captain, also hearing the noise, wriggled his hind end.

Maybe there’d only be one or two. I nodded to the spot behind the door, and Captain obliged. The one bonus to being in a vampire den for the past hour was that Captain had acclimatized to the pheromones and had stopped growling at everything.

The door creaked open an inch, and Captain readied himself.

“Wait,” I mouthed. Another few inches open . . .

The door opened and Captain pounced, claws first, as Artemis stuck his head through.

Captain, realizing midair he wasn’t attacking a vampire, sheathed his claws and more or less bounced off Artemis’s stomach. I say more or less because Captain packs a punch.

Artemis and Captain watched each other, Artemis wary and ­Captain . . . well, Captain just waiting. “Did the cat . . . ?” he said, pointing.

“Long story. Short version: he thought you were a vampire.” My relief at seeing him and not a vampire was warp-speed short-lived. ­“Artemis, you had one lousy job to do! Warn me if anyone was coming!”

Artemis raised a finger. “I said I’d keep watch—which I did. It just so happens I also said I wasn’t going to risk my neck saving you, which, by the way, confronting Daphne would have been.”

“Then why the hell did you offer?”

“Because I didn’t actually think she’d come herself! Besides, I came to get you out, didn’t I?”

I shook my head and held out my wrists. Worst incubus escort ever. Well . . . no, not in that way—forget it. “Just please say you have a knife.”

Artemis pulled out a box cutter and slit the metal binds. “Come on, we need to leave now,” he said, pulling me up and out the door.

“One second. I need my bag.”

“Seriously? Get my cousin to buy you a new one. We’re not rifling around a vampire den.”

“Yes seriously.” I pulled away, towards a side door. Artemis tried to grab my arm again, but I danced out of the way.

“Shit,” he said. “Look, the only reason I’m here is so my dear cousin doesn’t kill me for letting you out of my sight. Now come on. I have no intention of tangling with a pack of vampires. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly my cousin.” He snarled the last few words.

I didn’t budge. “Well, I’m as good as dead without the items, so consider it saving your own skin.”

Artemis swore, but instead of trying to grab me, he checked the hallway. “All right, this way. I think I saw an office when I came in.”

“How did you make it past the vampires anyways?”

“Hmmm—oh I got one of the girls to bring me down. They’ve got human employees—for the daytime shifts they have to. The young vampires get cranky during the day, and it’s bad for business when beer delivery men keep disappearing. Vampire pheromones coursing through their blood does make them easy targets though. Doesn’t quite seem fair.”

“Wait—you got downstairs seducing some poor bar staff?”

Artemis glanced over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t be so quick to the pity party. She did say she was a big fan.”

Even if Artemis saw me roll my eyes, somehow I doubted he cared.

He shoved me into a side storage room full of beer kegs as a pair of girls came down the stairs. The growl I had to muffle from Captain told me these were vampires—or at least full-blown junkies.

As soon as they turned the corner, Artemis led me a little ways up the hall to a door marked OFFICE. Through the window I could see my bag sitting on the desk. I tried the door. Locked. “Shit—got a lock pick handy?”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Artemis said, and forced the door open. He shrugged when I stared at him. “Being stronger than humans occasionally has its uses.”

I ducked into the room and grabbed my bag first. Now for the ­artifacts . . . I started searching the drawers.

“Hurry it up, more people are coming.”

“Vampires, not people.”

“In this instance, the difference is a moot point. I told Rynn I’d get you out, not save you from a horde of vampires.”

“Great, go on. I’m out, so not your problem.”

Artemis snorted. “If only. Unfortunately my cousin will beg to differ.”

I ignored him. Come on, brain, if I were a bag of loot, where would I be? My World Quest reflexes kicked in and I started opening the closets and throwing books off shelves . . . I spotted a white satchel behind a row of books on the third shelf.

Artemis was still keeping watch and swore. “There’s two coming down the stairs,” he whispered. “I can hear the panic and adrenaline—and what the hell are you doing?”

“Making sure everything is still here.” Inside the bag were the bowl, flint, and fake sword. I shoved them inside my bag and thought about giving the room a cursory look for the real sword, but Artemis motioned for me to squat on the other side of the door while team number two walked by at a crawl. They began sticking their heads in each room. Shit . . . The woman looked through the office window but didn’t spot us. I tightened my hold on Captain’s scruff, doing my best to muffle his growl until they moved down to the storage room.

Artemis grabbed me and shoved me out of the room. “Up the stairs, before they get thorough.”

Vampires shouted behind us, but we had the head start. Captain squirmed under my arm as I pushed the door to the upstairs club open. The place was packed—mostly a punk crowd here to see the punk band on stage. I could barely hear the lead singer screaming over the drum and guitars—though this was a bar band, and that might have been the point.

Well, best way to lose the vampires was to blend in with the flock of sheep.

It was standing room only, so I pushed my way in. Artemis, figuring I wasn’t moving fast enough, darted around me. Why the hell hadn’t I thought to grab my damn shoes?

I did my best to make sure no one jostled the artifacts or Captain too badly. If I was smart, I’d have given the bag to Artemis to carry, but visions of the pieces rolling across the floor coming into contact with multiple people stopped me.

Even in the dim lighting, Artemis still managed to garner looks from the crowd. “You stick out like a sore thumb,” I said.

“That’s because when I’m in a dive bar, I’m usually drinking,” he yelled over his shoulder, and reached back to grab me. “Hurry it up—I’m not about to end up on the vampires’ shit list.”

We were getting close to the front of the club and hadn’t been spotted by the vampires yet. We probably would have made it to the door in a few more steps if I hadn’t caught sight of a familiar face; a petite brunette in a lawyer-black suit, the same one who’d been standing outside the catacomb dig in Egypt.

Our eyes met, and she lifted her hand, signaling to other agents.

Shit. And me with the bag of goods slung over my shoulder . . . I grabbed Artemis by the collar of his jacket and ground to a halt, almost slipping on spilled beer in the process.

Off balance, Artemis glared at me over his shoulder.

“IAA,” I shouted, and pointed at the entrance, where more suits had appeared.

Artemis swore. “Is there anyone you don’t manage to piss off?” He altered our course towards the signs that indicated washrooms.

Fantastic; more urine and stale beer.

I did my best to keep up. Artemis wasn’t exactly in “let’s keep the band together” mode; more like “save my own goddamned skin.” Considering how often his band Kaliope split up, that didn’t surprise me.

I slid across spilled beer to a precarious stop behind Artemis before ducking after him into a washroom.

He raced to the cracked porcelain sink. It groaned under his weight as he used it to get a look outside the small bathroom window—the kind you find lining the top of a basement wall.

“It’s only a small drop to the fire escape,” he said, and held out his hand for me.

There was a loud bang on the washroom door. IAA or vampires—
either one was a problem at this point. Didn’t need to warn me twice. I was a little more cautious in my bare feet, but I managed to scramble up. The pipes groaned again under the added weight. Somehow I didn’t think the sink would work quite the same after this.

“You’ve got a lot of experience sneaking out of bars,” I said.

“Necessity breeds expertise,” he said, and braced both hands to push me up. “Come on, that lock won’t hold long.”

Like Artemis said, the fire stairs were only a three-foot drop. You’d think that’d be a concern for a bar, but this place was cash and carry. I dropped down on bare feet and held up my hands for Captain, then the artifacts. I was already racing down the stairs when I heard Artemis drop down behind me.

“Run before the vampires wise up and run out the back,” he yelled down the stairs after me. Ignoring the protest the soles of my feet were making, I concentrated on taking the steps faster until I reached the pavement. Artemis had almost caught up, but I heard a door break up above. Shit. I hoped it was the vampires—the IAA was worse; they had guns.

“Which way?”

Across the road, a car lit up and gunned its engine. I shielded my eyes against the floodlights—UV floodlights . . . a jeep, military grade, with an open hood easy to jump into, and able to go off-road if needed.

Rynn.

I bolted for the car, not bothering to wait for Artemis. I needn’t have worried; Artemis outpaced me and hopped into the front seat. He wasn’t kidding when he said he had no intention of being caught by vampires.

I tossed the bag of artifacts and Captain in before diving into the backseat. I saw a group of people braced at the front of the bar, staying out of the range of the UV headlights. As soon as I was in, Rynn hit the gas, and the jeep careened through the crowd of vampires, who scattered. Like I said, not supernatural juggernauts. Cockroaches. I didn’t bother looking to see if the IAA made it out the bathroom window.

Only once we were woven into traffic did Rynn glance over his shoulder at me.

“Are you all right?” he said, his face knit with worry.

“She’s fine. I told you I’d get her out,” Artemis said.

Rynn glared at him, not bothering to hide his anger and something else—disgust, contempt. I wasn’t certain, because those weren’t things Rynn usually expressed. “I’m fine,” I said, and held up the bag. “Guess who else was after these?”

By the time I finished catching Rynn up, we were well on the highway, heading towards an airfield, and no one was following us.

We still had a ways to go before we reached the plane, where we’d ditch the jeep—and Artemis—and be on our way back to Las Vegas, the first half of my problem solved. . . . Well, partially solved, since I only had a fake sword . . .

I opened the bag—carefully—and removed the sword, now wrapped in an archaeology-grade muslin. Credit where credit was due; at least Alexander knew how to take care of the shit I used to steal for him.

I started to unwrap it, thinking I’d get the flashlight out and examine it once it was sitting in my lap. Might give me an idea who Alexander had on his payroll as a forger. The muslin came loose, and I reached to turn the bronze sword over. If the artist left a mark, it’d be on the handle . . .

It tingled as I touched it, and a shot of static electricity traveled up my arm and didn’t stop until it transversed my entire body.

Captain’s head perked up and he chirped, ears tipped forward. Both Rynn and Artemis turned in their seats, nostrils flaring and eyes glowing blue and green, respectively, at the scent of magic.

Unbelieving, I took another look at the sword in my lap. “No, No, No . . .” It wasn’t possible—I’d been sure . . . I rifled through the side pocket of my purse until the flashlight was in my hand.

“Alix, what the hell did you just do?” Rynn said.

I would have said something, but panic set in first. “No, this isn’t possible, this is a nightmare.” I turned the flashlight on, still shaking my head. “I don’t understand, I checked the sword,” I added, still trying to convince myself that what just happened hadn’t.

Sitting unwrapped in my lap was not the fake I’d taken from Daphne’s collection but the real, cursed bronze sword. I spotted a note written in tight script.

In case you do manage to escape my den, my dear Owl—which, knowing you and your infernal cat, is a distinct possibility—I took the liberty to reunite the true sword with its friends in hopes your reckless nature will prevail. If I cannot have my revenge, I can take comfort knowing you’ll die a painful death. Beneath Alexander’s scrawled and overly fancy signature was a ten-digit L.A. number and P.S: Give me a call. No hard feelings. It’s never personal.

“Not personal?” I crumpled up the note and shoved it back in my pocket. “Goddamned vampires. Psychos, every one of them. The son of a bitch cursed me.”