Owl and the Japanese Circus Read Free Page B

holding other forms. Mr. Kurosawa was holding the rest of his form pretty well, but I figured the only reason he hadn’t done the full dragon in front of me was the ten-thousand-dollar suit he was wearing. Dragons really love their treasure—more than eating humans, I hoped. I squirmed and couldn’t help myself from checking where the exits were. There weren’t any. Shit. If I got out of here alive, I’d have to look up whether there had been any interesting missing persons files around the casino. I could see the appeal to a dragon to set up shop here. No shortage of thieves with “dragon food” stamped on their foreheads in Vegas.
    Mr. Kurosawa laughed, and smoke streamed from his nostrils. Well, at least he was enjoying himself. I held up my hands and chose my words very carefully. “My sincerest apologies, I didn’t mean to insult you with damaged goods, it was a complete accident on my part. You can keep the egg and I’ll even return my fee. I don’t want there to be any . . . bad feelings—”
    He cut me off with a laugh so grating I winced. Was it just me, or was the room actually getting hotter?
    He held out the egg and pressed three small pinholes in succession. The egg clicked and opened into three sections, like orangeslices. I hadn’t even realized the egg was a puzzle box. There hadn’t been any mention of it in the inscriptions.
    Still chuckling, Mr. Kurosawa exposed an empty chamber for me to see.
    “You misunderstand my intentions, Owl. I’m not angry with you for bringing me what was agreed upon—now that I am sure you did not steal the contents of the egg.” His eyes glowed red for a moment. “I wish to arrange a new contract with you to find the missing contents.” He must have seen my face turn white. In fact, I’m positive he saw my face turn white, because this conversation was heading into territory I was already way too familiar with and had had enough of to last me three—no, make that five—lifetimes.
    I have a strict policy. No magic, no monsters, no supernatural clients. Ever. I stumbled into what I like to call “supernatural shit” on my third job. Completely by accident, I might add. If you were wondering what drove me off the grid into living in a Winnebago, using disposable phones and hijacked satellite internet, that was it.
    The only reason my “magic check” hadn’t come back positive on this one was that someone else had beaten me to it a thousand or two years ago . . . wait, that was it.
    “Mr. Kurosawa—”
    “Please, Owl,” he said, indicating a fresh flute of champagne proffered by the Kabuki girl. “So rarely do I . . . entertain, so to speak,” he finished, and grinned.
    I took the new glass. I wasn’t worried it was poisoned; easier to just eat me. I was having a hard time not cringing every time he smiled though. I started again. “Mr. Kurosawa, whatever is supposed to be inside that egg was stolen a few thousand years ago, maybe more. I don’t even know where I would start—”
    He stopped me with his hand, now sporting claws. Three-inch black claws. He passed a folder to me across the mirrored table. “I believe this will help you decide where to start.”
    I chewed my lower lip and opened the folder—it’s not like I had alot of options. Inside was a list of locations: China, Japan, Korea, and a few places in Indonesia. I knew all of them. I’d turned down jobs in each and every one because they were supernatural hot spots.
    I closed the folder and passed it back. If I hadn’t been sitting in front of a dragon, I’d have thrown it as far away as humanly possible. “Look, Mr. Kurowsawa, I’m really sorry, but I can’t—”
    “Are you happy with your existence?” he asked.
    That caught me off guard. “Ahh, if you mean am I fond of living, yeah, I’m pretty attached to it.”
    Smoke billowed out of his nose as he reclined against the white leather, his glowing black eyes boring into me. “The running, hiding, evading,