Owl and the City of Angels by Kristi Charish

guns, and second, the IAA has been blissfully oblivious to the existence of my vampire-attacking cat. Them knowing would be bad for both of us.
    The agent spun me around, and I came face-to-face with a six-foot-tall woman in her late thirties, dressed in the requisite black suit, her gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. The gun was now aimed at my chest.
    The best way I’ve found to deal with abusive authoritative figures is to show ambivalence in the face of threats. Chances are good I’ll get hurt, but it pisses them off enough that they start making mistakes. I glanced down at the gun, then up at the agent’s face, arching an eyebrow. “I thought you guys were supposed to capture me alive,” I said.
    She shrugged, keeping her temper in check, and leveled the revolver down at my leg. “Alive and shot are two very different things,” she said.
    “Madam?” I heard a second, younger, less-jaded-sounding voice ask over the communications.
    “I’ve apprehended Owl. Let Director Brook know and send backup to my location—”
    I inched my foot away from the wall, hoping the audio distraction might give me a chance to run.
    A knee connected with my midsection faster than I could have dodged, and I doubled over in pain. The agent continued with her conversation as if nothing had happened. With minimal wincing, I pushed myself back up to standing and bit back the first smart-mouthed response that came to mind. This one wanted an excuse to beat me up; worse, she knew what she was doing.
    Finished with her check-in, she stood in front of me. I didn’t like the smile that spread across her face. “You know, come to think of it, you do have a reputation for running,” she said, taking the collar of my jacket and forcing me to face the wall. “No reason you can’t be shot in the process, considering the trouble you’ve caused.”
    I winced as she shoved me hard into the wall. “OK, I don’t care how many of you the IAA overstaffed, there’s no way a Medusa head and Moroccan death mask warrant this level of make-work—”
    I didn’t have a chance to finish as she hit the back of my head. God, do I hate IAA muscle. Impossible to have a civil conversation . . .
    If I ran, she’d just beat me up more before shooting me. Wincing, I stood still and braced myself for another smack to the head or the sound of a gunshot.
    Crack —
    Funny . . . that didn’t sound like a gun. Smack to the head? No, I’d feel pain by now.
    I opened my eyes. The agent was lying on her side in a heap. Nadya stood in the doorway, holding a cricket bat over her shoulder.
    “You wouldn’t believe what the kids down the street charged me for this thing,” she said as she discarded it back inside. “Come on, help me move her.” Together the two of us dragged her none too gently inside the doorway. We both heard the female voice over the comm.
    “Roger that. Team three, two, and five, head off to main entrances while we attempt to establish visual. Please respond, team four.”
    Damn it, I hate organization. They’d know in a matter of seconds I was back on the run. Nadya swore. “Come on, we need to get to the docks.”
    “Wait.” I crouched down and rifled through the woman’s pockets. Now, if I was an evil agent, where would I keep a covert walkie-talkie?
    “Alix! I agree with principle, but we don’t have time to rob her right now—come on.”
    “Just a second. Trust me, this’ll be worth it.” My fingers brushed against something. “Found it,” I said, and held up my prize as a woman repeated her request for team four to respond. Catching on, Nadya nodded. A heads-up might help us.
    By chance the agent’s wallet was in the same pocket, so I lifted that as well. Not for cash, though; out of principle, I’d put any I found towards beer and cat food, but it was also useful for tracking. There were wonders you could do with someone’s name and credit card if you knew the right people in low places.
    Nadya glanced at her