7

THE PARIS BOYS

1:00 p.m. The Cambie, Vancouver East Side

We ditched the jeep in a downtown parking garage. Rynn hadn’t found any bugs or tracking devices, but we couldn’t be certain one hadn’t been placed since someone had tracked us to UBC. I’d skimmed through Jebe’s journal in the jeep, but I wouldn’t have a chance to take a much more thorough look and crack at a better translation until later.

From the garage it was a short hike down the street, our heads down and sweatshirt hoods pulled up, until we reached a bar that doubled as a backpackers’ hostel. Right in the downtown core of Vancouver.

“A little odd location for a dive bar,” I said as I pushed open the beaten metal and wood door. Vancouver has a certain expensive veneer to it . . . and a strange dichotomy. A forested, picturesque city built for outdoorsy hikers who couldn’t actually afford to live here. The hiking pathways and park trails that wound through most of the city had an abandoned feel to them, even on a Sunday afternoon. Don’t get me wrong—it’s very pretty, a lot like Seattle. If you like the abandoned zombie apocalypse feel.

Except for this part of town. As we’d entered the waterfront district, the people packed the sidewalks—younger and less polished-looking than everyone else in the city. And as for this place? The Cambie was the ugly duck hanging out with the swans, but rather than trying to fit in, it had accepted its status in the world as a dive bar and embraced it.

It wasn’t like there was sawdust strewn over the floor or drunks from the night before passed out under the lip of the bar, but the old wood floorboards, picnic tables, and booths hadn’t been refinished in decades, and the scent of almost a century worth of spilled beer had permeated them. As I followed Rynn inside, the scent of stale beer hit me—but, pleasantly and surprisingly, not the scent of urine.

Lucky for us, 1:00 p.m. on a Sunday was slow. Besides a few backpackers who’d managed to crawl out of bed to nurse their Saturday night hangovers, there was no one here.

Even so, I pulled my hood down further over my face and slouched over as we headed for the bar. I glanced over at the open garage-style windows, open to the street outside because of the warm weather. “Are you sure no one will find us here?” I said to Rynn. We still had no idea who had tried to sabotage us at the university.

He shook his head. “Not even the elven spy networks. They hate this kind of place. Even if they know we’re here they won’t do much.”

“Why do they hate bars?”

“Not bars, this kind of bar. Old, historied, human. Besides, it was built at the turn of the century from the old-growth forests. It takes centuries for the feeling it gives elves to fade. Even if they wanted to, they won’t come in. We’re safe for now.”

I shook my head—not just at him but at the beer selection. Corona was not on the menu, so I settled for a lager on tap. We took our drinks and slid into one of the many empty booths in the back, as far away from the windows as we could get.

“All right, so spill. Who do you think tried to sabotage us?”

Rynn had refused to tell me on the way over. “The elves,” he said now.

“What? Why?” My paranoia was rubbing off on Rynn. “That makes no sense. They’re the ones who hired me to get the armor.”

“Why do the elves do anything? Different factions, a disagreement amongst themselves on policy. Back at the university when we were leaving the museum I picked up on their scent, and it’s faint but layered on the journal. Green, not unlike the forests and trees. It fits with their methods; elves like nothing more than to control the flow of information.” He nodded at the book. “It also explains why they didn’t outright steal Jebe’s journal. Elves can’t steal, not outright—or lie. They use other forms of deception. There is something inside there they don’t want us to find.”

Considering the sparse dossier they’d given me, it wasn’t so far-fetched. “Okay, I get that they want to keep information hidden, but then how do they expect me . . . us,” I corrected, “to find their damn suit?”

“Because human bureaucrats make so much more sense?”

He had a point. I felt Rynn nudge me with something under the table. It was a gray-blue windbreaker he must have brought with him from the jeep. Not a bad idea. Blond girl in black hoodie and cargo jacket walks in; generic gray-blue windbreaker walks out. “My methods are starting to rub off on you.”

“I’ve never had a problem admitting the things you have a talent for. Hiding in plain sight and getting lost in a crowd are two of them. It’s your lack of planning.”

I took off the pink hoodie and slid the windbreaker on. “Like I said, your lack of planning is my thinking on my feet.”

Normally Rynn would have continued to argue against my more laissez-faire methods, but this time he sat back and took a pull of his beer. I could count the times on my hand we’d been out at a bar and Rynn hadn’t been the bartender.

“In this case your thinking on your feet might have been the better set of methods. I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on them from the start.” He took another drink and hazarded a glance outside the large windows. “They know me and my methods too well.”

I frowned. I could also count the times on my hand Rynn hadn’t been a step ahead—of me or the competition.

He glanced back at me. “I rarely dealt with them one at a time. The elves like to pretend they are a unified mind. They aren’t. There are layers and layers to their dealings with outsiders.”

“No offense, but the elves don’t strike me as the most competent bunch when it comes to dealing with the real world,” I said. That was certainly the impression I’d gotten from Rynn, and the one elf I knew, Carpe, hadn’t exactly challenged that perception. Carpe might be a world-class computer hacker and programmer, but when it came to the real world, well . . .

“Incompetent isn’t the right way to think about it. The elves are individuals, just like you or me. The trick with them is that they always pretend they are one unit, even when they’re trying to stab each other in the back.”

I frowned. What was it Rynn had said about the elves? That they ended up tying up any and all of their regulatory responsibilities in what amounted to parking fines? “So they spend just as much time fighting amongst themselves as the rest of the supernaturals?”

Rynn nodded. “They never break the rules, but they are masters at figuring out how to bend them to their whims. It doesn’t always work out in their favor, but that doesn’t stop them from trying.”

“So what? One of them wants us to find the suit, another one doesn’t?”

Rynn inclined his head. “It’s hard to say. Think of it as a chessboard. It could be someone doesn’t want us to find the suit at all, or that someone else doesn’t want us to know anything about it—and that’s only considering two differing opinions. It could be a third group or individual hopes we stumble into something completely different. Hiding and censoring information using minor rule infractions is the easiest way for them to disrupt the chess pieces while still playing by the rules.”

The more I learned . . . “How did you end up working for them in the first place? I mean, no offense, but you—” I’d been about to say that he hated backdoor espionage almost as much as thieves. “Your code of ethics doesn’t seem to fit.” I didn’t know if that was an incubus thing—not if Artemis was any indication—but it was a Rynn thing.

“Because you don’t figure it out until you’ve been working for them for a few decades. They’re as good at hiding their intentions and lying to your face as they are at disrupting the chess table, all while you’re sitting across from them, watching them do it.”

“Why play chess when you can win by moving the chessboard and distracting the players,” I said. Rynn nodded.

The more I learned about the elves, the more I was starting to wish I’d avoided this job. “Is there any way to know what they’re after?”

Rynn shook his head. “No. They lie about everything with half-truths and wording. The ones in power can’t be trusted. It’s layers and layers of games and manipulations with them; not even the best spies in the supernatural world ever truly figure out what the elves are really up to. Most of the community never sees the duplicity, only a subtly incompetent group of politicians enforcing parking tickets—and even that I think is an intentional device. They know me. They’ll be more careful than usual.”

Wait a minute . . . that was assuming we didn’t have someone on the inside who owed me one hell of a favor. “What if we knew an elf we could ask to snoop around for us?”

“Carpe?” Rynn snorted. “Alix, I think you’ll be surprised how little you’ll get out of him.”

Yeah, we’d see about that. I took out a cell—a burner for this exact purpose—and entered Carpe’s number. “Watch me.” The elf owed me, especially considering he’d almost gotten me killed—twice.

The phone rang twice before Carpe answered. “If you have this number there’s a good chance I don’t want you calling me,” he said.

“Fuck off, Carpe. I’m calling in favors. Multiple favors.”

There was a pause. “What favors?” he said, in a decidedly unfriendly voice.

What favors? That’s what I got for socializing with good-for-nothing World Quest sorcerers. “That favor for coercing me into getting that spell book for you. The one you never paid me for. Doesn’t that go against your elven creed or code of ethics?”

Silence. And another pause. “That was a matter of life and death,” he said, his voice still carrying that formal and distant tone.

Oh for crying out loud. “So is this, you Lord of the Rings reject. Mine if I don’t deliver.”

There was a drawn-out sigh on Carpe’s end. “The dragon isn’t going to kill you if you can’t retrieve—whatever it is you’re after this time.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But he will kill me if I don’t put in the effort. So start spilling on what you think you know about my job. And while you’re at it, you can tell me what the hell is going on with all of your bureaucratic elven Grand Poobahs.”

“Look,” Carpe said, raising his voice to cut me off. “I sympathize with you, Alix, really, but I had to get you to steal that book because the world was at stake. Don’t you care about saving the world?”

The condescending tone in his voice made me just about throw the phone. Who the hell did Carpe think he was?

“Told you so,” Rynn mouthed at me before taking another sip of his beer.

I settled for glaring at him instead of throwing the phone. I put the receiver back to my ear. “No. Frankly I don’t care about saving the world, I care about my own skin.”

Carpe snorted. “Okay, I know you’re selfish, but even you and your friends need somewhere to live.”

Who the hell was the person I was talking to, and what had he done with Carpe? “Maybe I think the world could deal with a little reshuffling.”

There was another pause. For a second I thought Carpe might have hung up, then he responded. “Good thing I made you get me that book then.” His voice was cold, as if we barely knew each other. I think that pissed me off more than the refusal to even entertain my favor.

“Why, you—” I stopped myself. Whatever was going on with Carpe, yelling at him wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

I lowered my own voice. “You know what, Carpe? We didn’t have to stick around and help you. We could have stolen a jeep, a boat, had Rynn call in a few favors. I helped you because you were supposed to be my friend. I figured if you had gone to all those lengths, it had to be ­important—so important that as your friend I didn’t even consider leaving you on your own, because as my friend, I assumed you’d do the same thing.”

“You punched me in the face and threatened to shoot me!”

“Yeah, because you fucking deserved it!” People were looking again.

“See you in World Quest, Owl,” Carpe said, no trace of my gaming buddy of the last two years in there at all. I heard the line disconnect as he hung up on me.

“I don’t want to say I told you so,” Rynn started as I sat there staring at the burner.

I downed a large portion of my beer. “No kidding.” I am a fucking lousy judge of character. . . .

Rynn sighed. “I hate to say it, but it might not be entirely him. I don’t like him better than the others, but he didn’t strike me as a political climber. Chances are good whichever elf or elves are involved know of your connection. Since you have the journal now, it might be that they’ve upped the stakes, or maybe they thought of it and cornered him earlier.”

So much for loyal friends. I swear to God, if you can’t get to know a person’s soul raiding dungeons in World Quest, where the hell can you?

“I just expected more from Carpe,” I said, glancing back up at Rynn. “Does that make me an idiot?”

Rynn had known me long enough not to toss me empty platitudes. “No,” he said, considering his words carefully. “It means you don’t know elves.”

Maybe Rynn was right. Maybe the elves were putting the squeeze on Carpe, or had something on him. Maybe I’d do the same thing in his case.

I didn’t think I would, though. Not even if push came to shove. There are just some things that aren’t worth it. Or maybe I just don’t have a hell of a lot left to lose. . . . Funny thing about having the carpet yanked out from under you. You start to reevaluate your priorities in life.

Maybe I’d start my own smear campaign at the Dead Orc . . . tell everyone Carpe had a couple resurrection scrolls lying around for the taking . . . he was a powerful sorcerer, it might take an army of newbies to defeat him, but where there was the empty promise of treasure and a litany of new players, there was a way.

“Well, now what?” Rynn asked, breaking my musings over ways to mete out righteous vengeance on Carpe.

I sighed and took out the card Bindi had delivered to me. Despite not having any trace of pheromones on it that Rynn could detect, I still gave an involuntary shiver as I opened it and placed it between us on the table. “Well, since I’m getting desperate . . .” I waited for a nod from Rynn before I typed Alexander’s number into my burner and hit the Call button.

The phone barely made the second ring before someone answered.

“Why, hello, my little bird. Fancy hearing from you, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Alexander said in his thick French accent.

Rynn rolled his eyes.

“Cut the crap, Alexander. I’m not in the mood—but you probably knew that, otherwise you wouldn’t have sent Bindi to come find us.”

“My, my,” Alexander tsked. “Someone certainly has you in a fury. I’m going to wager a guess your problems are of the . . . long-eared variety?”

I snorted but exchanged a glance with Rynn. Like I was giving him anything that good information-wise in an opening shot. “How the hell did you know we were in town, Alexander?”

He feigned a sigh. “Can’t I keep tabs on my favorite birds?”

“No. You can’t. You’re a vampire. ‘Bird’ is just a euphemism for fried chicken. You’ve wanted to kill me for almost two years, Alexander. I fail to see what’s changed.”

“Perhaps I’m willing to bury our differences. Maybe I have simply bored of our game.”

“Game? Trying to assassinate me is not a fucking game, you toothless French dandy!”

“Just a minute, Alexander,” Rynn said, interrupting me before I could do any more damage. He then reached across the table and muted the phone. I knew Alexander would bait me, and I knew I should have kept my cool. It’s always harder to follow advice than give it. A game trying to kill me and Captain.

Rynn arched an eyebrow, asking if I was ready.

I took a deep breath and counted to five—long counts—before nodding. Rynn took it off mute.

“All right, Alexander,” Rynn said. “You’ve had your fun. You have five seconds to tell us what it is you want before I hang up the phone.”

Alexander sighed. “For a species who feeds off lust, you incubi are as boring—”

Didn’t get to hear what Alexander was going to compare incubi to. Rynn hung up.

A moment later the phone rang. This time I picked it up.

Alexander didn’t bother with the niceties or insults this time. “I want a truce.”

Yeah, not falling for that bait again. “We have a truce, one you interpret as provided you or one of your minions doesn’t get caught—”

“And I acknowledge that I am fully the party at fault for said transgressions and offer my sincere apologies.”

I pressed Mute and glanced up at Rynn, whose expression I couldn’t quite read. To actually get Alexander and the Paris boys off my case, not just pretending to not be trying to kill me in public, but actually not trying to kill me . . . Or torture my cat . . . But there’s a saying about three times and a fool.

It was Rynn who unmuted the phone. “Vampires don’t need to keep their word, Alexander,” he said. “Nothing that starts off human does,” he said in an even, neutral voice—no confrontation, simply stating a fact.

“Ahhh” came Alexander’s smooth voice. “But there are other ways.”

Rynn muted the phone again and glanced up at me. “He’s not lying,” he said grudgingly. “There are types of magic that can force all parties to keep to the deal. They’re expensive though.”

Expensive. “In other words, Alexander is going to want something awful good out of this.”

Rynn gave me a single nod.

I thought about it. What the hell, I had nothing to lose from listening. I unmuted the phone. “All right, supreme cockroach, you’ve piqued my curiosity. Hypothetically, suppose I’m entertaining the idea of believing you. What do you want?”

To his credit, Alexander ignored my jibe. “It is really not so complicated an arrangement. I wish you to make sure certain parties do not succeed in upsetting our current . . . status quo.”

Alexander had said as much in his letter. “Would have pegged you as the kind of vampire who’d like being out in the open. Munch on whoever you want, lacing entire cities with that god-awful pheromone, star on a reality TV show.”

“Those of us who have survived a few hundred years have no interest in becoming the outlet for righteous human vengeance. It is a simple equation: we’re high enough up on the supernatural food chain to prove a challenge, with enough weaknesses to exploit. We like the supernatural community, but . . . Do not let your incubus take offense, but . . . how do you say? We don’t like them that much.”

I couldn’t help it—I snorted at that. Selfish preservation and looking out for number one. Sounded like Alexander and every other vampire I’d met. Still . . .

“I don’t know, Alexander. I have the utmost faith in your ability to crawl back into the woodwork when the need arises.”

“Ahh, you wound me,” Alexander said, adding his brand of false drama in. “Though I suppose some vampires might adapt, what with the current cultural predisposition to violence and technology. Some may do quite well and run over the cities. The food supply would become a concern, ‘dry up,’ so to speak. Then we’d turn on each other; as I’m certain you’ve ascertained, we are not the most altruistic bunch. I suppose it would be no time until a vampire got hungry enough to feed on another, then well— Oh, my goodness, I forgot!” he said with feigned surprise. “My apologies, Owl. You know exactly what happens when we begin to feed off each other. You do remember how well that went last time, with the vampire Sabine.”

Yeah . . . a new vampire that had become incredibly powerful a lot faster than she should have been able to. And gone crazy. Not a good combination.

“Trust me, Owl, despite our many differences and mutual dislike, we have a mutual goal. Being killed by a self-made vampire hunter while I sleep or having to fend off my own crazed starving kind does not appeal to me. I like the world the way it is,” he said, dropping the thin veneer of civility he usually used with me.

“Alexander,” Rynn warned. “You’ve told us why you want to help us, but not the how.”

“No fun,” Alexander tsked. “Suppose, Owl, you are starting to walk in your namesakes’ footsteps and philosophize—or whatever your foul-mouthed brain calls it—apologies,” Alexander said. “Old habits die hard, even for vampires.”

“No shit.”

“The question you need to ask yourself, little Owl and decidedly dour companion, is what the elves who do not wish this current status quo want. And, to show how sincere I am in this venture, I will offer you a clue. They were the same ones behind those artifacts emerging from the City of the Dead.”

I frowned at Rynn and muted the call—again. “For a group of supernaturals who feign neutrality, these guys suck. Or don’t care whether they’re caught anymore.”

His eyes narrowed. “I hate to say it, but in some ways it makes sense; they are the ones with the archives. If there was any mention of that place and what it held, it would have been kept there.”

And Alexander had been screwed over by whoever had been behind the attempt to raise a zombie army in L.A.—and kill me with an ancient curse. If it had been the elves . . .

Rynn took the phone and unmuted it. “An accusation like that, ­Alexander, would need proof.”

“And I am willing to bargain it—and so much more—if you accept my truce.”

Rynn gave a reluctant shrug. Not the most ideal scenario, working with Alexander, but it wasn’t like we had a lot of options—or ­supernaturals—offering help. There was one more thing I needed to ask though. “Why? Why me, Alexander? You hate me.”

“Because begrudgingly I have to admit that you have a bad habit of following a code of ethics the opposition has no intention or interest in observing. Sometimes it’s better to side with an honest enemy than entertain a camaraderie with parties who may or may not stab you in the back.”

While I was still processing that answer, I heard a click on the other end.

“Goddamn it.” He’d hung up on me. Fantastic. I didn’t know if I was more concerned that Alexander got the last word in or that I was seriously considering striking a deal with the homicidal cockroach. I finished off my beer while I mulled it over a little more. “What do you think?” I asked Rynn once I’d put the empty glass down.

Rynn opened his mouth to offer his insight, but he didn’t get the chance to say anything before my own phone began to ring. I pulled it out of my pocket; probably Lady Siyu to yell at me again, damn it.

I frowned as I got a look at the screen. Instead of the hissing cobra icon I expected, there was a number I didn’t recognize. I turned the phone around and showed it to Rynn. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

Shit, what now? “Hello?” I said.

“Alix Hiboux” came the clipped female voice.

I recognized the voice, and it definitely wasn’t a pleasant memory. It was a female IAA agent, the same one who’d been waiting for me at my apartment in Seattle a month ago. The one who’d pulled a gun on me and tried to recruit me to go after World Quest with the promise of a blood money pardon.

“I take it your trip to India and Nepal was productive?”

She’d also never given me a name.

“Why hello, Black Suit Number 31, and how might you be hoping to ruin my day today?” I mouthed, “IAA” at Rynn. He took another swig of his beer and swore. I agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment, and if I’d still had a beer, I might have joined him.

We were having enough trouble with elves and vampires; the last thing I needed was to toss the IAA into the mix right now.

If the IAA suit was at all rattled by my less than respectful tone, she didn’t let on.

“You can call me Agent Dennings, Ms. Hiboux.”

Rynn gestured for me to hurry it up. Probably worried about them tracing my phone. I’d be ditching it after this. “Your name doesn’t answer my question, like, at all.”

“It’s quite simple. This is a progress update call, you’ll remember those from your PhD?”

Oh, that was a whole new level of reminiscing anxiety. “I think I’d rather deal with the vampires.”

“My superiors have decided you’re not moving quickly enough on the World Quest project.”

I snorted. Rynn once again made the gesture for me to wrap it up. I held up my hand, placed the phone on the table, and set it on speakerphone. “Ummm, apparently there’s been a huge fucking misunderstanding,” I said.

“I assure you, there isn’t.”

“Yet you just spoke to me as if I was your employee. Let me clear that up for you real fast. On no planet, in no universe, on no deserted island where the IAA is the only source of clean water and I’d be sentenced to a slow dehydrating death, could you convince me to work for the IAA.” Rynn was checking the rest of the bar now.

Dennings was stalling.

Even so, I needed to know what it was she thought she had on me. She was many unpalatable things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. If she was acting like I was back in the IAA fold, she—or the IAA—figured they had leverage. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t take your job—because, you know, your organization has an abysmal track record of paying the fuck up.”

“We prefer the term contractor in this case, not employee.”

“No benefits and crap pay? Yeah, that sounds like the IAA.” Rynn was scanning the windows now. He’d seen something. “Ah, let me think about that. No. Besides, I already have an employer. A Japanese red dragon who won’t be very happy with your assumptions. Neither will the Naga dressed in a suit. You might think you have teeth, but let me assure you, she does. And they’re actually poisonous.”

“Be that as it may.” She cleared her throat, and I detected a nervous hitch in her breath. “We wish to see more results.”

“Well, sometimes I wish I had a pink unicorn and free rein of the British museum, but as neither of those are likely to happen—”

“The terms and our conditions are nonnegotiable,” she said.

Rynn got my attention and shook his head at me, brow furrowed. Time was up, we needed to move.

I cleared my throat. “Apparently, Agent Dennings, you are under the impression that I am your bitch. Let me assure you, I am not.”

Dennings let out a dramatic, exasperated breath. “Yes, well, I told my supervisors you would say something along those lines. Good thing we have backups.”

I snorted. “I saw your mercenaries. A little rough round the edges, definitely not into preserving archaeological sites, but then again, they actually think you might pay.” For all I knew the IAA did pay them, what with their being small and heavily armed private armies.

“Funny you should say that. And you’re right. I don’t think they can find the World Quest designers either.” And with that, Dennings hung up.

I stared at the phone, then at Rynn. “Am I missing something?”

Then it occurred to me. The IAA made no bones about their displeasure with my motivation, and they’d admitted they weren’t thrilled with the skill set of the motivated folks . . .

If you were a soulless, evil organization that wanted things to move faster, what would you do? Shit.

I grabbed Captain’s carrier and strapped it on fast. “We need to go—now,” I said. I could feel my hands shaking. Captain, either hearing something in my voice or sensing something was wrong, let out a soft, inquisitive mew.

“Alix, what do you know that I don’t? You’re terrified,” Rynn asked, but he also threw his jacket on and once again scanned our surroundings.

I checked the door and the open garage windows. There was no sign of the zebras, but then again, this is what they did. “Rynn, I think the IAA sent the mercenaries to find—”

I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence, on account of the pinging clink of something metal striking the floor. Both of us turned in time to see a round metal ball roll through the doorway. The bar was quiet enough that everyone heard, and for a moment deadening silence filled the floor as everyone fixated on the tennis-ball-sized silver canister. The vortex of the storm, where nothing moves or happens.

It didn’t last long.

The first shouts sounded as the metal canister hissed. Smoke billowed out the sides, filling the bar. The violent scrape of chairs and tables followed as people clamored for the two exits, managing to block both of them. A few bright people squeezed out the open windows.

I started that way, but Rynn grabbed me and pulled me back, pushing me under a table as two more smoke grenades landed in the bar, further obscuring the scene of panic unraveling. I pulled the blue windbreaker hood down over my face and rifled through my bag. Good thing I came prepared for this sort of thing. I pulled out my goggles and gas mask, usually for dealing with vampires, and fixed them to my face.

The chaos intensified as folks from upstairs got wind of the smoke. Convinced there was a fire, they began flooding the stairs, putting more pressure on the exits, limbs and shouts mixing with the thick smoke coiling through the room.

A few people tripped over tables and chairs. It wasn’t an attack. It was exactly what it seemed like—a smoke screen. Which begged the question; where were the mercenaries?

Problem with a smoke screen was the prey could use it too.

I turned to Rynn under our still-standing table. “Well, if there was ever a good time to see how well my hide-in-plain-sight plan works—”

Rynn stopped me. “It’s a trap, Alix. They’ll be waiting outside.”

“And they can take their chances spotting me amongst all the other backpackers.”

But Rynn gave another shake of his head and nodded toward the windows, where people were scrambling out now. I still saw no sign of the mercenaries, or whoever had lobbed the smoke grenades.

I spotted a group of students moving in a herd and holding hands so as not to get lost in the smoke as they moved toward the back door. I was sure they wouldn’t mind another fellow backpacker joining in. Again I started for them but Rynn stopped me, more forcefully than he had the first time.

“Come on, I see our opening,” I told him and nodded toward the students. In a few moments they’d be out.

But Rynn only shook his head. “They won’t be looking for you. They’ll be looking for me. They probably already have an idea where I am depending on the range of the equipment they’re carrying.”

I swore. “What about splitting up and meeting at a rendezvous?”

Another more insistent shake of his head. “If the IAA gave them halfway decent intelligence on you—” He gave me a hard look. “These are professionals, Alix, they won’t give you a chance to escape. If you think the IAA is bad, these people really won’t take no for an answer.”

Well, regardless of chances, we were fast losing our window of opportunity. Against all odds the bar and hostel had emptied, and soon the smoke would clear enough for anyone waiting to come inside.

I caught sight of a group of men across the road exiting a fire truck. But there were no sirens, and though the men milling around were dressed in fireman gear . . .

“Shit. Rynn, it’s them—the firemen across the road, the Zebras. I recognize the big one from Nepal,” I whispered. The one who’d passed me on the stairs.

Rynn swore. “I figured as much. I think I have a better way,” he said, and pulled me behind him as he started for the stairs that led up into the old hostel.

When there’s smoke, typically people don’t run up into a burning building, they run down; we could use it for cover. Not a bad idea, all things considered. I checked to make sure Captain was still okay. He was not happy with the smoke, but otherwise . . . well . . . himself.

When we reached the first landing I hazarded a glance back. Whether they’d seen us run or it was a matter of timing, the fireman-dressed mercenaries entered the bar. It looked like five, but with the smoke still filling the room, I couldn’t be sure.

Regardless, the smoke had no effect on my ears. I heard orders—not in English but in Afrikaans—being barked out as we disappeared around the corner. Rynn tried the first door we came across on the windowed side of the hostel. “Locked,” he said, and moved on to the next. I followed his lead. The first three I tried were locked as well. Locking your door in the middle of a fire—shows how trusting the hostelling world is. . . .

I heard the lock break as Rynn lost his patience and forced one of the doors open.

The room had been abandoned quickly, clothes left in piles and bags upended as people scrambled to grab their valuables and electronics before leaving. The window to the dorm room was bolted down to prevent exactly what we planned to do, but Rynn made short work of the latches before I could reach for my lock picks. Benefits to being an incubus with inhuman strength.

The window opened up to an alley—not droppable, but then again, that’s what rope is for, which Rynn had had the forethought to pack for just such an emergency.

“I think it’s clear,” Rynn said after taking a quick survey out the window. “Regardless, even if they are watching, they won’t be able to maneuver in the alley.”

Rynn was testing the rope attachment when my phone buzzed. I swore and pulled it out to silence it; I did not need the mercenaries hearing it.

Carpe. Son of a— I should have known. Lousy timing; I was thinking it was a species trait.

I declined the call, only to have a text appear next.

Not that way. They’re covering the windows.

Oh for Christ’s sake. I hit Redial.

He answered before the first ring had a chance to go through. “Now you want to help us, you miscreant elf?”

“Can the insults and just listen. I’ve been watching the South Africans online for a couple days now. I don’t think they’re on to me, but these guys are packing some serious tech and muscle, and they’re totally on to your boyfriend.”

I heard noise on the stairs. “We figured that out, thank you very much,” I whispered into the phone. Rynn nodded to me to close the door and I did, as carefully and silently as I could, then reinforced it with one of the cheap metal chairs that furnished the dorm. “And why the hell couldn’t you have mentioned the South Africans were watching earlier?”

“Because unlike you, they aren’t fuckups. They’ve been using code words and keep radio silence. And I couldn’t tell you before because I’m being watched.”

I paused. That was what Rynn had suggested.

I heard footsteps in the hall, followed by the sound of metal jarring against wood. The South Africans were trying the doors now. “Carpe, if you are trying to fuck me over, I swear to God—”

“If you don’t do exactly what I say right now, you’ll be in no position to exact revenge from whatever cage the mercenaries put you in.”

I covered the mic and turned to Rynn, who’d been listening. He was watching the commotion on the street below. “As much as I hate to admit it, the elf is right, Alix. The mercenaries have the streets and external building covered. We need another way out.”

Rocks and hard places . . . I uncovered the mic. “All right, Carpe, shoot.”

“Okay, I’ve got your location. There’s a side passage in the room, inside the closet.”

I checked. Besides some towels, bags, and bed linens . . . “I don’t see it,” I said.

“It’s behind the wall. An old laundry chute that was covered over—accident hazard—but the pulley lift was never removed. Too expensive. The side passage below is covered over too; it’s behind the walls and was taken off the official blueprints decades ago to avoid building code questions.”

Rynn pushed me aside and checked the wall. Then he took a knife out and started to cut through the drywall.

I listened for the mercenaries. The sound of doors being tried was getting closer. I fixed my eyes on the door and hoped that the door handle wouldn’t start turning.

There was still something bothering me about what Carpe had said. “Carpe,” I said while waiting for Rynn to cut through the drywall, “why would the elves care about you warning me about the IAA?”

“Because who do you think told them you were there?”

I went cold. Rynn was almost through now, but I could have sworn I heard the door across from ours being tried. We were next. “That makes no sense—the elves hired us to get the suit.”

“And some of the higher-ups really don’t want you to find it. I don’t know why. I just know they’re watching me close and passed on your whereabouts to the IAA.”

Son of a bitch. Why the hell would they hire us to get the suit, then try to stop us?

I heard the door to the dorm turn then jiggle as it met with resistance from the lock, then the metal chair. The attempts abruptly stopped, but instead of shouting, silence filled the hall. I think that made it worse; the shouting would have been easier. I was really starting to hate competent bad guys.

“Just a sec, Carpe,” I said, and put the call on hold before shoving my phone back in my pocket. “Found us,” I whispered at Rynn.

He abandoned the knife and, holding onto the closet doorway, kicked the drywall in. “They can bill the South Africans,” he said.

Sure enough there was a passage inside, along with an old rope-and-pulley-system metal laundry bucket. Rynn slid through first, testing the rope and rusted metal crate. It held. He waved for me to join him. Not exactly the most stable getaway, but it had to be better than facing off with the South African mercenaries. I grabbed Rynn around his middle before stepping onto the bucket. It rocked and squeaked on the rusted hinges, but it held both our weight and Captain’s.

“How far a drop?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t look.”

I swore and made sure I had a good handle on Rynn’s jacket.

“Since when do you have a fear of heights?”

“Since I started letting you come on my jobs. Shit!” The sound of wood cracking and the pop of metal hinges came from inside the dorm room.

Before I could register anything resembling an opinion on the matter, Rynn cut the pulley’s anchoring rope, and the bucket started its rapid descent down.

“Son of a—” Rynn clamped a hand over my mouth to stop me from yelling anything more. I think I heard a commotion above us, but I was too busy hitting the ground. The bucket struck the basement floor, and a cloud of dust rose up around us. For the most part, Rynn absorbed the shock from the impact—wonders of not being human. Captain, not impressed with either the landing or the cloud of dust, let out an indignant mew.

“Sorry, buddy, trust me, neither of us wanted that to happen. Blame him.” Captain snorted—whether in agreement with me or dust in his nose I didn’t know and didn’t care.

I took a look around. From what I could see in the very low light coming down the hole in the shaft, we were down in the closed-up guts of the building, amongst stuff that probably hadn’t been seen for a good few decades. The rodents, bugs, and dust had had a field day. I found a spot under the rafters that was out of the way and hopefully out of sight of any flashlights from above. If the mercenaries weren’t in the room yet, it would be moments.

Now where to go? I pulled my phone back out. “Carpe, are you still there?”

“To your left—there’s a shortcut, it’ll circumvent the mercenaries.”

I felt around in the low light. “It’s a wall, Carpe, a stupid wall. I’m not magic.”

“Feel around the corners—there should be a latch at the top. It’s an old rum runners’ route from Prohibition. It’ll take you out to the water. They won’t know it’s there, I promise.”

They might not know now, but they would soon. I made Rynn check, since I’m all of five four. He found said latch, and, with a push from both of us, the hinges creaked and the door swung open, sending a metallic, moldy taste of stale air our way. I covered my mouth and nose with my sleeve and pulled my gas mask back out. I ducked out of the way as flashlight beams were aimed down. The last thing I needed was to be hit with a chemical dart of unknown origin.

Rynn stepped into the passage and shone his flashlight, illuminating a brick tunnel that was damp and slick with groundwater from above and a shallow run of water pooling in the bottom. We could see cracks where the bricks had buckled from decades of settling, but otherwise it was empty. More importantly, it continued as far as the light path stretched.

“It’ll take you to the freight docks,” Carpe said.

“And from there?”

“I got you out. If you two can’t handle it from there, then you deserve the mercenaries. See you on World Quest, Byzantine. Carpe out.” And with that lovely sentiment, my World Quest buddy extraordinaire hung up.

With friends like Carpe . . .

More banging sounded upstairs, and a pair of light beams shone above before being aimed down. No time for considering our options. I followed Rynn into the tunnel and shut the door.

I started to search for something, anything, to block the door. Rynn found it—a pile of broken and discarded crates. Good enough. I grabbed one of the pieces and wedged it in as tight as I could on the hinge side of the door, then followed it with two more. I stepped back and regarded my work. It’d keep them out for a while, but not forever.

I refixed my gas mask and goggles before turning my flashlight on so there were two sources of light.

Definitely time to run.

We set off at a jog. Carpe hadn’t said how long this tunnel was, but I hoped it wasn’t more than a few kilometers. If it was, well, my cardio had improved over the past few months, but it was far from good enough to handle a serious run.

I also really didn’t want to see what the mercenaries wanted with me—or Rynn. I forced myself to keep pace as we ran for the end and the water, hopefully without the South Africans trailing behind us.

Carpe hadn’t sold me out. Part of me was happy about that. The other? Maybe I was just being paranoid, but Carpe had played his part on the phone just a little too well. I wondered how far our friendship stretched when it came to the elves..

For once I’d survived an encounter with the bad guys without being beaten up. That had to be a win for me, but then again, I now had both the elves and the IAA to contend with. Two birds that were going to require two very different stones.

I sure hoped Nadya was having better luck in Tokyo.