Owl and the City of Angels Read Online Free PDF

it again?” I got a good look at just how many black teeth he had. “Takeout.”
    I eyed the flashlight, wondering if I could reach it in time. “They won’t like you eating one of their archaeologists,” I said.
    I could have sworn his empty sockets glittered.
    “You really think they’ll care what I’ve done with your corpse?” he said. “Only a decade or so ago I had the pleasure of drowning a young man who swam through my lower catacombs. He thought your superiors might care what I did to him as well. Your very presence here disproves that theory spectacularly.”
    That made me pause. OK, the IAA was evil, but they weren’t in the habit of feeding archaeologists to the odd supernatural . . . Were they? “I don’t believe you. It had to be an accident.” OK, even I can admit that sounded naïve.
    Caracalla laughed and picked up what I thought at first was a rat. It was a black walkie-talkie, an old one. “Oh I think not. Not the way he screamed. I ate him very slowly, and all the while they listened on the other end. Chatted with me even, until the ‘batteries’ died.” He pronounced the word batteries as if it were still strange and foreign to him.
    The IAA was made up of a bunch of bureaucratic assholes, but I’d always assumed their particular brand of fuck-off only extended to throwing miscreants like me under the bus. Not actively sacrificing the ones who toed the lines . . .
    “Why the hell would they do that?” I said.
    Caracalla inclined his head at an unnatural angle, as if considering my question. “Hard to say, but I suppose they hope I’ll one day tell them where my treasure is buried. Or maybe they hope I’ll tell them the incantations for immortality.” He leaned towards me. “I’ll let you in on a little secret before I kill you. I won’t tell them. Eating archaeologists like you is much too much fun.”
    Somehow I thought I should be a little more surprised, or angry. Then again, it was the IAA . . .
    “Well, not that it hasn’t been a nice chat,” Caracalla said before disappearing under the surface. I launched myself at the flashlight, but he was faster underwater than I’d wagered. A desiccated arm covered in sinew and tattered linen wrappings shot out like a viper.
    Before his hand could close around my neck, I grabbed his wrist and started tearing through the skin and what was left of his wrappings. He smiled and leaned in to smell my skin. “I haven’t killed anyone in years. I eviscerated the last fellow. I wonder what I’ll do to you? Shame you don’t seem to have one of these,” he said, shaking the old walkie-talkie. “I would have preferred an audience.”
    I grunted and kicked at his midsection. Something gave way, but it did nothing to dissuade him. Come on, Owl, think. You studied the Pharaonic cults, for Christ’s sake . . .
    “You could always start to scream, beg for your life?” Caracalla suggested. “The noise might make it more interesting.”
    I snorted. I had a better idea. I tightened my grip on my bone—it probably belonged to one of the archaeologists he ate.
    “Or you could simply accept the end of your life and worthlessness to the IAA. Just another disposable archaeologist,” Caracalla continued.
    I may suck with supernaturals in general, but I’m an expert on mummification. Caracalla might be walking and talking, but there was one thing the Romans hadn’t bothered to do.
    “You’re wrong,” I said, now struggling to keep his hand at bay—there wasn’t much left to peel off.
    What was left of Caracalla’s lip curled up.
    “About the incantations,” I said. “That’s the last thing the IAA wants from you, on account of how much you screwed them up.”
    The muscles in his face contorted into a snarl. “And how would you know that?”
    “Because if you’d gotten the incantations right, I wouldn’t be able to do this,” I said, and rammed the femur through one of his eye sockets.
    Caracalla screamed and grasped