Owl and the City of Angels by Kristi Charish Page B

closet and shoved me inside. There was a duffel bag tucked in the corner, hidden behind the floor bucket. Nadya had it open in two seconds, revealing two smaller, brown-paper-wrapped packages.
    “Here, put these on,” she said, handing me one and taking the other for herself.
    Inside I found a long-sleeved white shirt, bright blue tank top, oversized sunglasses, designer jeans, and a pair of sandals—all overtly designer, and not in a subtle, well-put-together-look way but more like an “Oh my God, who exploded the label gun over your outfit” kind of way.
    Nadya was already out of her own khaki jacket and halfway into a pair of shorts covered in CC letters . . . well, everywhere.
    I held my cruisewear up. “OK, I suck at fashion on a good day, but even I know these are over the top—”
    Nadya glanced at me as she slid on one of a pair of stiletto sandals. I’d gotten flats instead. At least some practical thought went into this . . .
    “Just put them on—now! We don’t have much time.”
    Great, my ass was about to turn into a walking advertisement for Chanel. Fantastic, just what I always wanted . . . I changed into the clothes.
    “And here, put Captain in this,” Nadya said, and held out the last item in the duffel—a designer leather pet carrier, complete with logos. I had to hand it to her; when she picked a theme, she saw it through. I opened the new carrier and held it open for Captain. After a careful sniff, he chirped at me.
    “You heard Nadya,” I told him. “It’s this or face her.” Captain decided the new bag would be just fine.
    No sooner was he inside than Nadya threw the closet door back open.
    The nearest cruise ship, the one with brightly colored lettering and ribbons everywhere, had begun loading.
    I lowered my dark sunglasses to get a better look. Two IAA agents in suits were waiting beside the customs booth.
    Shit. “It’s a no go,” I said, “they’re already there.”
    But she only grabbed my hand and dragged me behind her. “I swear to God, if you don’t keep walking and pretend like you belong in first class . . . Put those sunglasses back on and stand up straight,” she scolded as she continued straight on past the line and up the stairs. I glanced at the agents. They were looking at us now . . . along with everyone else at the cruise terminal, and not just because of the spectacle Nadya had dressed us in. We’d completely bypassed the line.
    “They’re looking straight at us—”
    “Just keep walking ! And smile,” Nadya hissed out of the corner of her mouth, her smile fixed as we climbed the stairs.
    Two Egyptian officials were waiting at the top, accompanied by a cruise ship official holding a sign with KUROSAWA HOLDINGS scrawled across the side in red and gold letters.
    Nadya saw her too. Nadya jumped and began waving her hat, revealing her natural brown hair—normally she wore a neon red wig. That was beside the point—if people hadn’t been looking at our spectacle before, they sure as hell were now . . . even the IAA agents were tracking us visually if not physically.
    There went my comfort zone. “All right, I’m all for hiding in plain sight, but there’s supposed to be a goddamned element of hide in there— oomph !”
    Nadya jabbed me in the side with a well-placed elbow. “If you mess this up, so help me.”
    “This is the worst plan ever.” I noted a fishing boat off to the side. If we ran now, pushed a few people over, we might make it . . .
    “For God’s sake , smile —and let me do the talking,” Nadya said.
    “Mrs. Voldynova?” the cruise woman said, fidgeting with what looked like passports in her hand.
    Nadya extended her hand and turned her full-wattage hostess smile on the Egyptian customs officers.
    “We’re so sorry to be late. We got caught behind the crowd while walking the museum,” Nadya said, laying her Russian accent on thicker than usual.
    Relieved, the woman handed the Egyptian officials the two