17

THE GUNS OF SHANGRI-LA

And this is why we can’t have nice things . . .

“I could have sworn there was a passageway there a moment ago,” Rynn said as we made our way back from a dead end.

“That’s because there was,” I told him. Like Texas and Michigan had insinuated, Shangri-La played fickle. Moving passages, disappearing doors, appearing dead ends. I checked the now-dead-ended wall. Sure enough, my chalk mark was still there. Xs for doors, Os for dead ends; this one had been marked as a door. I’d started using the shorthand as soon as we’d realized the temple was playing musical chairs.

I stopped Rynn before he could step on an inconspicuous square stone floor tile that was just a little more elevated than the others—not that any of them were exactly flush. I waved him back and knelt down, clearing the dust out of the grooves. Sure enough, it wasn’t cemented in like the others.

Captain, curious and getting bored in the canvas bag, decided to stand on my back while I worked. I noted that not even he wanted to jump to the floor.

“My guess is it only takes a light touch.”

“On account of the city?”

“On account of Captain not wanting to get out and wander around.” He normally explored these kinds of places ahead of me, but not today. He knew something was up.

I tried to lift the tile, but it wouldn’t budge. Well, if I couldn’t disarm the trap . . . I searched the walls and surrounding tiles until I found what I was looking for. Three holes set into the murals—the tigers’ mouths in this case. I handed Captain to Rynn and edged myself as far back from the tile as I could before laying down on the floor. When Captain and Rynn were well out of range of the tigers’ mouths I reached forward, pressing my cheek into the floor, and pushed down on the tile. In quick succession, not one but six darts shot out and clattered harmlessly against the opposite wall. I tested the tile again to make sure it was inactive before retrieving one of the darts. The tip was white—a sharpened tooth. I held it up to Rynn. “Well, at least Shangri-La is thematically consistent,” I said.

He took the dart and held it up to his nose. “Poisoned,” he said.

“That’s just the welcome mat. Wait until we get close.”

“Just find the tomb so I can set the dynamite,” Rynn said, crushing the dart beneath his boot.

“At least the suit isn’t trying to take me over again.”

“Yet. Which in my mind isn’t comforting, Alix. It only means it’s biding its time.”

We made our way around a fallen piece of wall and found another chalk marking. This time there was a passage where there hadn’t been a moment before. Not that I didn’t agree with Rynn, but at the moment, the only option I saw was to continue onward and hope the city stopped playing games.

I checked the floors—no trap this time. Wonder what the tunnel held up ahead.

There was a whisper of something dark at the back of my mind. The armor wouldn’t be safe here; someone would dig it out. Better to take it with me . . .

I paused for a moment and closed my eyes, pushing the thoughts out. We were burying it in here. A grave under a pile of rubble in a pocket universe—or whatever the hell this was. That wasn’t negotiable.

I felt cool hands on my chin. I opened my eyes to Rynn’s blue. “Speak of the devil?” Rynn asked.

I shivered as Rynn’s eyes flared brighter—but I also felt the armor unwind its claws and retreat back. “I hate it when you do that,” I said.

“Better than the armor taking over and convincing you to brain me over the head with a rock.”

As much as I would have liked to argue I’d never go through with it, it fit in line with something the armor would try—and maybe succeed at. Instead I asked, “How did you know?”

He shrugged. “Movement. Your scent changes, so do your breathing patterns. It’s nowhere near as subtle as it thinks.”

I was about to comment that I didn’t think the armor cared one lick about how subtle it was provided it got a chance to get back to pillaging and maiming, but a noise ahead made me pause. Rynn stopped as he heard it too; it was faint, but the echo of shifting tiles carried our way. We both stayed perfectly still and waited until Rynn broke the silence. “What do you think Shangri-La is up to?” he asked.

I shook my head. I was getting a really bad feeling. Even Captain let out a warning mew from inside my backpack. “Nothing good.”

There was a shift in the stone up ahead, as if the temple was opening up another passage. I started to creep forward, angling my lamp around the tunnel so as not to miss anything.

Sure enough, a panel was sliding open, as if entirely on its own.

“Magic?” Rynn asked, keeping his voice low.

“Or mechanics of the city—wheels and pulleys.” Or a combination of both. Shit.

A light escaped through the cracks as the panel continued to shift open. A light that uncannily mirrored mine. We backed up, but not in time.

“Stop!” someone shouted.

We ignored the command and kept running until two bullets struck the passageway unnervingly close to our heads.

“Can you survive a bullet to the head?” I whispered to Rynn.

He shook his head at me. “Don’t know an incubus or succubus who’s tried it, and I’d rather not be the first,” he whispered back.

“Hands above your heads,” the Zebra shouted as more footsteps filled the still-opening passage.

Without any other options, we complied. The city just had to keep screwing us . . .

“So we meet again, Hiboux,” came Williams’s distinct voice. I glanced over my shoulder. He was standing a few feet behind us, well out of reach, flanked on either side by his mercenaries.

Not wanting to run from bullets, I faced him. “I thought you were here to retrieve the World Quest dynamic duo.”

I don’t know if it was my imagination, but I could have sworn I saw Williams’s expression turn dark.

“Plans have changed, I see?” I prodded. “I’m guessing one archaeology thief and an ancient and very dangerous suit of armor have been added to the list? Should have asked for more money.”

“Oh, you can rest assured they are paying us for the change in directives. On your knees—both of you.”

This time I didn’t comply. “You’ve got to know by now that the IAA isn’t running this pony show anymore.”

“But they are signing the checks. On your knees. I won’t ask again.”

“Planning on shooting off our kneecaps?” I saw a plate on the floor, set just a few steps away and apart from the rest of the stone floor tiles.

“I don’t need to shoot your kneecaps off to get you to kneel.”

I glanced at the plate then at Rynn, hoping he got the message. I took the way he clenched his jaw as a sign he wasn’t exactly thrilled with my plan but would go along.

“How about you go your way, Williams, and we’ll go ours? Call it a day, no one gets shot?” I said as Rynn and I both kneeled.

Williams shook his head. “Can’t let you do that, Owl.”

The plate was within arm’s reach. All I had to do was throw myself forward . . . But what kind of trap? I searched the walls for holes, but I couldn’t find any—and the murals of baboons swinging through a jungle gave no indication what the trap might be either.

Well, beggars can’t be choosers when it came to setting off ancient booby traps . . .

“Yeah, I figured you might say that.” And here’s to hoping I didn’t get shot . . . I drew in a breath and threw myself at the plate. The tile sunk under my hand, scraping against the stone. The Zebras’ guns came up as they searched for the danger—all except Williams, who kept his eyes on me.

“Oops,” I said.

I’m sure Williams would have had something to say to me, but the tunnel around us started to shake. While the others searched the walls and floors, it was Williams who looked up; none of us could see the ceiling, even when everyone had their flashlights aimed up. Williams gave me one last look before whistling at his men. In rapid succession, every last one pressed themselves flat against the walls. A moment later I saw why as a stone cannonball suspended on a rope came pummeling down the center of the high-ceilinged tunnel toward us.

I swore and dove for the floor, a wisp of air stirring my hair as the cannonball passed too close for comfort. I lifted my head only to find it was coming back. I ducked my head out of the way, but one of the mercenaries wasn’t nearly so lucky. I heard his gargled scream as he was pummeled down the hall.

“Now,” Rynn said, and the two of us darted down the tunnel before it could return.

Oh no . . . “Rynn!” was all I managed to shout before throwing myself down as another cannonball came swinging from the other direction. Rynn shone the flashlight he’d managed to hold on to ahead. Sure enough, the entire passage was lined with cannonballs—all swinging in a homicidal arc. I also noticed that a side passage had opened up beside us. I shoved Rynn and started crawling toward it. I don’t think I let out a breath until we were both in.

Then the passageway slammed shut.

“Shit.” I checked the wall, but there was no trace of the doorway we’d just walked through. Maybe it was an illusion. I dug my fingers into the seams . . .

“Alix,” Rynn called again, more insistently. “You might want to turn around.”

Oh goddamn it, the last thing I needed was another trap. “Oh sweet Jesus,” I said as I saw what was behind us.

Illuminated by Rynn’s flashlight was treasure. Bowls, vases, dishes, jewelry—lots of it, all lined up on shelves that had been roughly carved into the walls. And not from one place either; if I had to guess, I’d say there were pieces from the medieval ends of the globe.

I stood and wiped my dusty hands on my pants in order to have something to do with them besides reaching for the treasure while Rynn examined one of the shelves—without touching.

“Trip wires,” he said, “fixed into the back. Another trap.”

Could be anything—falling ceilings, collapsing floor, more of the swinging cannonballs, a pit of lava. I shivered. Shangri-La had given up on the obvious and was setting out lures. A deadly trail of golden bread crumbs . . .

“Not even a little tempted to line your pockets?” Rynn asked.

I shook my head. “Only when it won’t kill me. I think I’ll just leave everything where it stands.”

Rynn stopped partway down the path of deadly treasure and torqued his head. “Buzzing—magical, I think, coming from that direction.” He gestured down a side corridor, then frowned. “It’s thrumming, like it’s tuned off key.”

That sounded like the armor or Shangri-La. As far as the magic running them went, off key was a more generous euphemism than I would have come up with. I crept down the tunnel until I found what was reflecting the light back—not off the carved stone doors that lined the tunnel or the treasure but off a polished metal door.

I tried to check the seams, but as my fingers brushed the metal, an impatient desperation coursed through me. I pulled my fingers away. “It’s definitely behind there—and the door’s been sealed.”

There were no inscriptions, no latches, no locks, no etchings. The copper-colored metal had been welded into the stone itself, which should have been impossible. I checked the surrounding walls. Still no indication of how to open the door.

Rynn did say he’d scented magic.

I knelt down in front of the solid metal door and breathed in deep. Mixed with dirt came the familiar tang of metal mixed with blood.

And me without my spray bottle of chicken blood . . . I searched the wall until I found a sharpened piece of stone. “Rynn, you might want to step back,” I said before sliding my forearm across it until droplets of blood ran free. Rynn swore behind me.

I hoped the door didn’t blow up . . . I took a deep breath, held it, and pressed my arm against the door.

The door didn’t light up—not immediately. Instead the blood pooled on the metal, circling around until it formed one dark red glob, made darker still by the copper. It ran to the center and then seeped into the metal, as if the door had been porous.

“Was it supposed to do that?”

I shrugged. “Beats me—shit.” I dropped to the ground as the metal door flared a brilliant red. When it didn’t explode and I convinced myself I wasn’t blind, I peeked at it through my fingers. Rynn was just standing there, looking at it—then frowning at me. I stood and wiped the dirt off my pants. He could frown all he wanted. He didn’t have my mortality issues.

I looked at the images. Chinese characters, old ones, dating back to the Mongolian rule.

“What does it say?” Rynn asked.

“As best as I can tell? ‘Here lies General Jebe and his curse for whoever dares to broach this door.’ ”

I took another deep breath, pressed both hands against the door, and pushed. It slid silently open, showing a darkened room.

“After you,” Rynn said, aiming his flashlight inside.

It was filled with tables and chests of treasure—weapons, gold, jewels, clothes, furniture, and artwork from all over the world. And right in the center was a sarcophagus carved out of planks of hardwood and sealed together with inlaid metal that made it look like a strange broken artifact.

“That’s got to be Jebe,” I said.

I crouched down and checked the doorway for traps. Either ­Shangri-La had given up, or it had decided we deserved a reprieve.

Either way, the treasure room—or tomb—looked relatively stable. I stepped inside and picked my way around the treasure, heading straight for the sarcophagus.

The sarcophagus itself depicted a warrior who had Mongolian features and was dressed in a suit of black armor, similar to the ones I’d seen in the Guge murals. On his chest was clasped what was left of his bow. Definitely Jebe . . . Though the paint had long since begun to chip, I could still see the whites of his eyes, which had been left open, as if on watch eternally for intruders.

An involuntary shiver traveled down my spine. A hell of a way to go. Buried alive inside a sarcophagus to keep the armor from ever finding another victim.

I hoped I’d be that brave, but I doubted it.

I turned my attention away from Jebe’s. The sarcophagus was made of pieced-together thin planks of hardwood, the cracks sealed together with molten metal. I brushed my fingers against it. Warped and twisted. Just like Jebe had said in his journal.

It hadn’t been carved that way—it had split, multiple times, if the difference in metals was any indication. “Looks like it tried to break out a couple of times,” I said. My fingers caught on the newer cracks that hadn’t been sealed. “Looks like it’s still trying.”

“All the more reason to keep it locked up in here and throw away the key,” Rynn said.

That I could agree with. Regardless of the danger hidden inside, I couldn’t see any obvious traps in the tomb.

“I think it’s safe,” I called to Rynn, who was still hanging back by the doorway. As if reading my thoughts, the lanterns lining the walls—magically imbued ones, I assumed—flared on, bathing the room in an inviting, soft yellow light.

As soon as Rynn stepped over the tomb threshold though, the metal door slammed shut. Rynn tried to push it back open, but it was no use.

I abandoned the sarcophagus to see if there was some kind of inside latch to the door of the tomb. Nothing. I ran my fingers along the copper. It looked like it did before, welded into the stone. “Probably takes more blood—or there’s another exit,” I told him.

I don’t know why, but I expected Rynn to be more upset than he was.

“This might actually work in our favor. I’d like to avoid a second run-in with the Zebras. They won’t be caught off guard next time. See if you can find another exit,” Rynn said.

While Rynn started setting explosives around Jebe’s tomb, I began searching for another exit. I found one—a small crawl space at the back corner. Either that, or Shangri-La was back to playing its tricks.

“Found it,” I called. “Though it’s going to be a tight fit.”

“Tight fit we can handle. We’re not taking anything out of here.”

Despite the fact that I couldn’t tear my eyes off the sarcophagus, I agreed completely. Maybe it would stop haunting me once it was buried. It would lose hope, just like Jebe had. . . .

I stopped cold as I heard a banging sound. Rynn stopped what he was doing as well. It was coming from the sealed metal door.

Rynn was closest to the entrance. He dropped what he was doing and listened against it. “It’s them.”

Guess the cannonball didn’t give them nearly as much trouble as I’d hoped. They couldn’t get in here though, not without knowing how to activate the entrance.

The banging stopped.

But before I could breathe a sigh of relief, the entire room shuddered as explosives rocked the door.

Rynn wasn’t finished setting his own explosives yet. “Nitroglycerine,” Rynn called. “I need you to stall them!” Apparently there was a way to unseal magic doors . . .

“Stall them? How?”

“I don’t know—talk to them?”

Talk to them? The mercenaries with guns? What exactly did he expect? Hi, I have the suit of armor in here, but in the meantime let’s play I spy?

“It’d all be easier if you opened the case and took me out.”

The armor. “Yeah, you’re so not convincing me to take you out for a test drive,” I thought back.

I grabbed one of the tables least covered in treasure and pushed it over. I found a second one and did the same. Figured it couldn’t hurt to “talk” to the mercenaries from behind cover.

There was another blast from behind the door. This one left a dent. Nope, definitely not going to hold. I crouched down behind the thick table as the third and final blast blew the metal into a shredded mess.

I waited for the smoke to clear. Four Zebras came through. They were wearing gas masks, so I had no idea which one Williams was.

Rynn asked you to stall, Owl. Speaking of which, he was nowhere in sight. “Ah, hi there,” I called out. “Can I help you with something?”

I was answered with a round of bullets that were surprisingly accurate at hitting the table.

“I promise, I can get you out,” the armor prompted again.

I glared at the sarcophagus. I won’t lie, I was tempted . . . “Just because I didn’t have refreshments ready is no reason to open fire!” I yelled at the mercenaries.

I ducked as they responded with more gunfire.

Well I suppose this encompassed both “talk” and “distraction” Rynn wanted in spirit . . . “Williams, you there?” I shouted. “Tell me, was it the IAA payment plan that roped you in, or did you know you were working for the elves from the start?”

One of them removed his mask. Sure enough, it was Williams. “I admire your tenacity, Owl, but you have no chance of escape—not unless there is a portal hidden in there. Why don’t you and the incubus hand yourself over? I hear the IAA is still willing to negotiate.”

“Was never impressed with the IAA grievances policy. Figure I’m better off taking my chances with the ancient booby traps.”

He didn’t look angry—more disappointed. “Do the sensible thing. You won’t get a better deal.”

“You’d be amazed how many times people tell me that, but it seems like my life turned around when I stopped doing the sensible thing.”

Williams might have said something else, but at that moment, a sizzling ball of cloth—silk, maybe—sailed over my head and landed in the doorway.

I took that as the signal to get away from the entrance. I dove for the treasure. There were shouts behind me, and I could have sworn I heard bullets striking loose treasure and stone tiles equally.

The gunfire was interrupted only by the explosion. My ears rang as the entire temple shook. I looked in time to see the doorway collapse, blocking off the entrance, the mercenaries on the other side.

My ears were useless, which is why I didn’t hear Rynn calling for me—not until he was directly behind me, pulling at my arm.

I let him help me up. Where was Captain? I found him cowering at the bottom of the canvas. I glanced back at the entrance, the metal door now reduced to layers of rubble. “Think it’ll keep them out?”

“Provided there isn’t another entrance? Yes.”

We bolted for the tunnel.

“You’re making a big mistake,” the armour pleaded.

“Yeah, well you can fuck off.”

I crawled into the tunnel, Rynn behind me. Ten meters in I spotted light up ahead—sunlight. I sped up my inelegant shimmy until I reached an overgrown pathway. Rynn spilled out behind me.

“Quick, help me set the next two,” he said, and hefted the dynamite in his hands, as if weighing it against the tunnel. “If I’m right, two more should collapse the entire tunnel.”

I hesitated. Should. What if the mercenaries and IAA wouldn’t dig it out?

“The smartest thing we can do is get away. There’s too many of them.”

I knew he was right, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was leaving the job half-assed done.

Rynn set the explosions—two rolls of dynamite wrapped in silk, which he threw into the tunnel. “Run,” he said.

I didn’t need to be told twice—my ears were still recuperating. We bolted through the brush until we found steps, then headed downward into the city proper. I spotted the yellow-and-blue temple Michigan had instructed us to run for. I hoped to hell they’d gotten out—and that Carpe had kept the gate open.

We ducked behind a set of statues to avoid a pair of mercenaries patrolling the market, then bolted for the temple, jumping the stone fence and landing in a garden overcome with weeds. Michigan was standing at the edge of the courtyard, his back to us. The gate wasn’t open.

I started for him, when Rynn stopped me. “Why isn’t he moving? And where are the other two?” Rynn whispered.

He was right. The hairs along the back of my neck prickled. Something didn’t feel right.

Captain let out a low growl.

I was about to bolt—until I saw Carpe.

“Was that who you were growling for?” I whispered to my cat, who had crawled out of his bag and was perched on my shoulder, watching the clearing, his ears set flat back.

Man, at times like this did I ever wish he could talk. Carpe was searching the foliage and spaces between the buildings. He was looking for us—or someone . . .

Go to Carpe, or sneak around?

A scuffle on the other side of the clearing, which was hidden by foliage, stopped me moving. None other than Dev shot out.

He looked ragged, panicked, as he searched the courtyard. His hands were bound behind his back. “Run, Owl, it’s a trap!” Dev shouted before two Zebras caught up and pinned him to the ground.

“Let’s get the hell out of here now, Rynn—”

I didn’t get the chance to finish my sentence. A safety clicked off behind my ear and the cold barrel of a gun pushed into the base of my skull.

I started scanning the ground for a rock—anything I could use.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Hiboux,” the familiar voice of Dennings said behind me. “The incubus might survive a gunshot, but I assure you, you won’t—and he won’t be able to put you back together this time.”

There were smart things that went through my head, like striking up a conversation with my newest captor, or trying to gain a better position. Hell, even collapsing in a heap on the ground would have been a better idea.

But I couldn’t pull my eyes off Carpe as he stood there in the courtyard, mere feet away as the Zebras filtered out of the brush around him.

Son of a bitch. He’d done it again. Despite everything he’d said, he’d gone and screwed us over again. Only this time he’d betrayed us. It was like having a knife turned in my gut. Sense went out the window.

Before Dennings could do anything, I ran for him. “You no-good, lousy excuse of an elf,” I snarled.

He looked shocked, then sheepish at my outburst. “It was to save the world. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would be you—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish before I slammed into him, knocking him to the ground.

Carpe hit the ground—hard. I didn’t waste any time straddling him and getting my hands around his throat. “Alix, I had no choice! It’s for the better good—oomph.”

“What did you do?” I shouted as I struck his face, which he had the sense to block.

One of the Zebras finally reacted and delivered a nasty shot to my kidney.

I doubled over. Contrary to popular opinion, that’s about all you can do when someone hits a kidney hard enough. I rolled over on my side. Oh, I was going to be feeling that for the next few weeks. That and my ears . . .

“I told you things would go badly. You had your chance to do it your way. Now we’ll be trying mine,” the suit keened in my head as Carpe scrambled out of my reach.

The mercenaries, a dozen or so, were all pointing guns at me now. I raised my hands and put them both on the back of my head before turning around.

Someone dragged Dev over and deposited him beside me, looking much worse for wear than when I’d last seen him. Rynn followed, though Michigan was nowhere to be seen. “Dev. How you holding up?”

He inclined his head. “Still wishing I’d ditched Nepal a few hours earlier. You?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, well. What do we have here? Finally, the dragon’s thief,” the owner of the dry, reedy voice said, stepping out of the blue-and-yellow temple. Nicodemous. This time his hood was lowered. “Allow me to introduce myself and clear up any imminent misunderstandings,” the elf said, approaching me. “I’m Nicodemous. Leader of the council of elves.”

“I’d say it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but I’d be lying through my teeth.” I winced as Dennings pressed the barrel of her gun into my back.

Unperturbed, Nicodemous crouched down in front of me. I held my breath against the scent of decaying leaves and trees that emanated off him. “I’m the one you’ve been chasing after that suit for.”

“You can’t have Owl, Nicodemous. I won’t let you take her,” Rynn said, not making any effort to veil his hostility.

Nicodemous turned his red eyes slowly to Rynn, regarding him, then back on me. “You’re here because I decided I’d rather have you in my sights for the next while.”

“He means he’s going to try and screw us over.” Rynn bared his teeth as he spat the words at the elf.

Nicodemous seemed to find that entertaining more than anything else. “Oh, on the contrary. I’ve already reported to the dragon that our terms have been met. Rest assured our representatives are entering into an agreement with Mr. Kurosawa and his Naga as we speak.”

“Fantastic. Then untie the ropes and let us go,” Rynn said, and held out his hands, which had been bound.

Instead of addressing Rynn’s question, the elf smiled, and I got the first glimpse of his teeth. They were tinged pink, the gums a bright red, as if eternally bleeding. “The dragon and Naga never specified they required either of you back,” Nicodemous said to me as he examined my expression. “The elves never work on assumptions. A lesson the dragon will be wise to learn.”

Well, now I knew how the elves expected to stick me in the suit. They’d planned on trapping me before I ever made it back to the Japanese Casino.

“I thought you said they could go,” Carpe said from the spot by the wall where he’d retreated. A blossoming fat lip took the edge off my anger at the fact he was still standing. He made a point of skirting around me—and Captain. Captain gave him a warning growl, then threw a deeper one at Nicodemous.

Nicodemous looked less than thrilled—with my cat or Carpe, but Carpe plowed on.“Once you had the armor, you said you’d let all of us go—that was the agreement.”

“Why you sneaky, no-good—” I started to stand, but Dennings buckled my knees with a well-aimed kick.

Nicodemous shrugged. “That was your ideal outcome, though as circumstances have changed, I am no longer able to let all of them go. If it makes you feel better, most of them will go free. Eventually.” Funny, he didn’t look the least bit put out by that fact.

“Most of them?” Carpe said, clenching his fists. “Fine, take me then.”

“Not you, you self-centered idiot,” Rynn said. “He needs a body. Maybe a few, isn’t that right?” he added. If looks could kill . . .

Nicodemous glanced at Rynn, and his carefully schooled expression fell for a moment. “I remember you being more agreeable, Rynn. And asking fewer questions.”

“I used to hold elves in higher esteem.”

I glanced around. Dev, Rynn, Captain—there were too many of us to do something reckless and stupid, and Michigan and Texas were nowhere to be seen. Damn it—I really didn’t want to end up the newly damned Electric Samurai. Despite what the armor seemed to think, I was a thief. I’d make a lousy warlord. . . .

“Look, there’s no reason to keep all of them,” I said. “If it’s me you want, then leave them here and take me.”

“Alix, no—” Rynn shouted. He tried to break the mercenaries’ grip, but it was no use. They only hit him, again. That made Nicodemous laugh.

“If things had worked out differently, I would have been considering your generous offer, Owl. However, circumstances have taken an unexpected turn, so we’ll be taking a different approach. May I call you Alix? Owl is such a . . . strange name.”

“I’d actually prefer it if you didn’t say that much to me at all, to be honest. Especially since you plan on sticking me in that cursed metal death trap.”

He tilted his neck to the side, reminding me of a long-necked bird, something Carpe had done on occasion. “Well, we can’t always have what we want. And who says I want you for the . . . Electric Samurai,” he said, stumbling over the foreign words.

“Either you elves are more arrogant than Rynn said, or you just couldn’t be bothered to do your research. The suit decides who wears it,” I told him.

“Mmmm. I suppose it does have a history of being obtuse when it comes to satiating its hunger for violence and blood.” He glanced over his shoulder at Rynn then, his red eyes catching the sunlight like sickly jewels, unlike the rest of his pale self, which seemed to suck the light away. “But who said I was going to let the suit decide anything? I’m not accustomed to letting inanimate objects dictate the terms of use, despite how animated they’ve become.”

I felt the first pang of uncertainty from the armor.

Texas and Michigan . . . that must have been why they weren’t here. “You want to stick someone else in the suit? Fine, but do you really want to go out on a limb and say two archaeology school dropouts are going to satiate whatever sick and twisted mind-meld blood lust preferences the Electric Samurai has? The suit’s had six hundred years’ worth of explorers paraded in front of it, and not once has it lowered its standards. You think you can convince it to take one of those two?”

Rynn, seeing my logic—that there was more than the elf to rattle in the immediate vicinity—jumped in. “You only have four humans, Nicodemous. After the armor burns through them, the only humans you’ll have left are the mercenaries. Somehow I doubt those mercenaries are going to volunteer to step in the suit. Williams’s men don’t strike me as idiots. They do strike me as types who settle workplace disputes with flash bang grenades and bullets.”

A few of the Zebras glanced between each other and Nicodemous, readjusting their firearms. They trusted the elf about as much as I did.

“I remember you having fewer opinions, Rynn” was all Nicodemous said in reply as he turned and headed back for the center of the small square. “You’re right. None of the specimens here are ideal, including the mercenaries.” He fixed his red gaze on me. “And it does seem to rather like you. Though for the life of me I can’t fathom why.”

It was probably the suit, but the idea of putting on the armor and frying Dennings and Nicodemous—and maybe Carpe—was growing on me.

“Let them go and I’ll volunteer, no tricks. Promise.” Hell, the suit already loved me; I throw punches, pick bar fights, and tell every supernatural I come across to fuck off.

But Rynn was less than impressed with my plan to get everyone out of harm’s way. “You can’t have Alix,” Rynn said again. “Whatever scheme you have planned, Nicodemous, I won’t let you take her.”

Nicodemous didn’t seem to take Rynn’s threat seriously, but the mercenaries did. The ones flanking Rynn readjusted, and one hit him in the back of the head with a gun.

“And what exactly do you plan to do about it?” Nicodemous asked him.

“You know me, I have a reputation for being resourceful.”

Nicodemous nodded, as if he’d expected such an answer. “Yes, you do. A frightening reputation, all things considered. If we wanted the girl, you wouldn’t be able to do much about it.” He turned those red eyes back on me, the polite expression replaced with a cold one. “As it happens, I don’t want the girl.”

We all stared at Nicodemous, but it was Rynn who looked the most wary.

“No. The council of elves is not about to stick a thief into the Storm Armor. We need a warrior—one of unparalleled character, one not corrupted by thieving and selfish tendencies.”

I went cold as I processed his words. But no—that wasn’t possible . . . “It won’t work—it wants me,” I said, my voice thinner than it had been a moment before.

“Normally that would be the case.” Nicodemous held up a worn leather book, one I recognized. How could I not? It was the same one I’d retrieved for Carpe a few short months back. The spell book.

All this time, they’d never wanted me to put the armor on. They’d wanted Rynn.

Worse, I’d led him right to them—and the suit.

I wasn’t the only one who was hit hard by that revelation. I felt the armor’s surprise, which fast morphed to outrage and anger. My expression must have betrayed me, because the next thing I knew Nicodemous was smiling, his pink teeth looking unnaturally sharklike in his pale face.

As one of the mercenaries produced a syringe and pressed the tip into Rynn’s neck, I strained against Dennings, but she wouldn’t let go.

Rynn managed to knock out one of the mercenaries restraining him, but the narcotic they’d used was fast acting. He stumbled as he reached for a still-standing mercenary, who wisely kept his distance. Dennings, figuring the damage was done, released me. I ran for Rynn, hoping to hell I got a bright idea real fast.

Rynn grabbed my shoulders in an attempt to stay on his feet, but the drugs had hold. He sunk to his knees. “Alix, it won’t work,” he said. “The suit doesn’t want me, not when you’re this close. The plan is doomed to fail. He just doesn’t know it yet.” He tried to say something else to me but his eyes rolled up, then shut.

Two Zebras towed his unconscious body back to the stairs and up, toward the temple.

It was madness. I wasn’t the only one who thought so.

“You can’t put him in the suit!” Carpe started. “It’s disastrous for supernaturals. The suit is made for humans—it’s human magic.”

Nicodemous barely glanced at Carpe as he followed where his prize was dragged. “You played your part well, Carpe. You’ll be rewarded.” It was a dismissal.

Carpe didn’t take the hint. Fists clenched, he tried to follow Nicodemous but was blocked by a mercenary. He looked so strange, his slight frame against the much larger Zebra. It was pathetic. “You promised!” he shouted after Nicodemous.

That made Nicodemous pause.

“If we got you the suit, you’d find someone else—besides Alix,” Carpe screamed.

“And so I did,” Nicodemous said. “We’re elves, Carpe. We trick every­one, and if you’re only learning that lesson now, then I’ve done you a favor.” And with that, Rynn, Nicodemous, and a guard of ­mercenaries left.

Leaving us with the rest of the Zebras. And Dennings.

I looked at her over my shoulder. She was smiling in a way that in my experience usually precedes grievous bodily harm. “Is this where the IAA reinstates me as an archaeologist?” I asked.

Her smile was made vicious against her severe hair and lawyerly black suit. “Should have taken our deal from the start, Hiboux. And now it’s going to cost you.”

Captain hissed at Dennings as she hit me over the head with the butt of her gun. My head hit the tiles while my eyes were still open, and the very last thing I saw before everything faded to black was Rynn disappearing up the steps of Shangri-La.