Read Online Owl and the City of Angels by Kristi Charish - Free Book Online
Authors: Kristi Charish
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head. “Leave my cat the hell alone!”
The goon’s footing had been tentative at best. The rock only stunned him, but it was enough to set him reeling . . . well, that and Captain had managed to tear a hole in the backpack large enough for his head to fit through. There was a blur of white and brown fur as he tore deeper into the thug’s hand, which was met with shrieks. Captain had drawn blood in three different spots, and it mixed freely with grime, making a reddish-brown mess.
“Serves you right trying to steal a girl’s backpack—never know what’s in there,” I said, but I doubt the man was listening even if he did speak English.
Now if my damn cat would just let go so we could get the hell out of here.
The man reeled back precariously, but Captain wasn’t having any of it. No way in hell was he letting go now that he figured he had the upper hand.
“Let—go—you—stupid—cat,” I said, and wrenched the bag with both hands, trying to get Captain to let go so the man would fall already. Captain only growled and the thug’s shrieks pitched an octave higher as Captain did more damage. The other two were scrambling at the bottom of the pile, yelling at him and each other.
The bag gave an inch as a strap sheared under pressure, and I almost stumbled back over the other side of the rubble pile. Out of shock more than anything else, Captain lost his grip.
I wrapped both arms around a half-bagged, indignant Mau cat and ran—or rolled—down the other side of the rubble, leaving three angry Egyptians screaming in my wake.
I landed in a shallow, stagnant puddle. Great, all that effort to avoid the sewers . . .
I turned back to grab my backpack. Captain was sitting beside it . . . on the ground . . . glaring at me.
I held up the backpack—well, between the struggle with the Egyptians and Captain’s handiwork, what was left of it. “Come on. I don’t have time for this. Back inside.”
Captain just glared at the backpack, back at me, and let out a drawn-out meow.
“Look—I get it. Locked in backpack bad. I’ll make a note of it and put a head hole in, OK? Now just get the hell back in and stay there before they figure a way over or around.”
Captain snorted but hopped back in. To show I was keeping my end of the deal, I made sure he had enough room to stick his head out.
Time for me to do what I did best: run like hell.
I got Nadya back on the line and set off at a jog, doing my best not to try to think of the waterborne diseases I’d just soaked my shoes in. Instead, I wondered what the hell I’d stolen over the past few months that had the IAA this riled up.
3
Old Enemies, New Friends
1:30 p.m., still running in circles around Alexandria
I peeked over the top of the stone fence and swore.
Past the gate and across the street was my route to the docks, but the dig guards and Mike were still milling around the site. At least there was no sign of IAA suits, but that in itself didn’t exclude them from being somewhere out of sight.
I dropped back down to the ground. Well, I could jump over and make a run for it—if I was fast enough, they might not react before I was out . . .
“What the hell did I ever do to you, Egypt?” I said.
“Besides stealing priceless artifacts?” came a familiar male voice.
I frowned. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
I spun on my heels and came face-to-face with a man not much taller than me, with a suntanned face and wearing the more traditional Egyptian garb you see at the dig sites. Except this wasn’t an Egyptian.
“Benji,” I said, and unceremoniously pulled off his headscarf. “I should have known they roped you into this.” Benji was an old colleague of mine, one I’d gone out of my way to help when he’d stumbled onto Chilean mummies. Except he wasn’t happy about owing me some help navigating the odd dig, so he’d backstabbed me in Bali a few months back.
We weren’t on good terms.
He held his hands up and
The goon’s footing had been tentative at best. The rock only stunned him, but it was enough to set him reeling . . . well, that and Captain had managed to tear a hole in the backpack large enough for his head to fit through. There was a blur of white and brown fur as he tore deeper into the thug’s hand, which was met with shrieks. Captain had drawn blood in three different spots, and it mixed freely with grime, making a reddish-brown mess.
“Serves you right trying to steal a girl’s backpack—never know what’s in there,” I said, but I doubt the man was listening even if he did speak English.
Now if my damn cat would just let go so we could get the hell out of here.
The man reeled back precariously, but Captain wasn’t having any of it. No way in hell was he letting go now that he figured he had the upper hand.
“Let—go—you—stupid—cat,” I said, and wrenched the bag with both hands, trying to get Captain to let go so the man would fall already. Captain only growled and the thug’s shrieks pitched an octave higher as Captain did more damage. The other two were scrambling at the bottom of the pile, yelling at him and each other.
The bag gave an inch as a strap sheared under pressure, and I almost stumbled back over the other side of the rubble pile. Out of shock more than anything else, Captain lost his grip.
I wrapped both arms around a half-bagged, indignant Mau cat and ran—or rolled—down the other side of the rubble, leaving three angry Egyptians screaming in my wake.
I landed in a shallow, stagnant puddle. Great, all that effort to avoid the sewers . . .
I turned back to grab my backpack. Captain was sitting beside it . . . on the ground . . . glaring at me.
I held up the backpack—well, between the struggle with the Egyptians and Captain’s handiwork, what was left of it. “Come on. I don’t have time for this. Back inside.”
Captain just glared at the backpack, back at me, and let out a drawn-out meow.
“Look—I get it. Locked in backpack bad. I’ll make a note of it and put a head hole in, OK? Now just get the hell back in and stay there before they figure a way over or around.”
Captain snorted but hopped back in. To show I was keeping my end of the deal, I made sure he had enough room to stick his head out.
Time for me to do what I did best: run like hell.
I got Nadya back on the line and set off at a jog, doing my best not to try to think of the waterborne diseases I’d just soaked my shoes in. Instead, I wondered what the hell I’d stolen over the past few months that had the IAA this riled up.
3
Old Enemies, New Friends
1:30 p.m., still running in circles around Alexandria
I peeked over the top of the stone fence and swore.
Past the gate and across the street was my route to the docks, but the dig guards and Mike were still milling around the site. At least there was no sign of IAA suits, but that in itself didn’t exclude them from being somewhere out of sight.
I dropped back down to the ground. Well, I could jump over and make a run for it—if I was fast enough, they might not react before I was out . . .
“What the hell did I ever do to you, Egypt?” I said.
“Besides stealing priceless artifacts?” came a familiar male voice.
I frowned. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
I spun on my heels and came face-to-face with a man not much taller than me, with a suntanned face and wearing the more traditional Egyptian garb you see at the dig sites. Except this wasn’t an Egyptian.
“Benji,” I said, and unceremoniously pulled off his headscarf. “I should have known they roped you into this.” Benji was an old colleague of mine, one I’d gone out of my way to help when he’d stumbled onto Chilean mummies. Except he wasn’t happy about owing me some help navigating the odd dig, so he’d backstabbed me in Bali a few months back.
We weren’t on good terms.
He held his hands up and
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