Chapter 9
Sach greeted me like a normal person when I got home, not perched in a corner like a ninja gecko, but rather on the sofa sharpening her large collection of knives. Hmm. Normal for her anyway. Though the gecko impersonation might have been the better option. “Hi, honey,” she said. “How was your day?”
“I need a shower to wash off vampire ash and my encounter with Jared Casey.” I’d run into Sach at work earlier and updated her on my new investigation.
She dragged a thin blade against a whetstone. “Sucks to be you.”
“Your concern is touching.” I rubbed my throbbing temples.
Sach chuckled.
“Well, in one piece of good news, I’ve been given leave to convince Silas to work with me.”
“He’d come back?”
I held up my crossed fingers. “Here’s hoping.”
I woke up Tuesday morning to a steady stream of sirens, but also a reply from Silas saying he’d meet with me though he wasn’t promising anything.
I hustled to have breakfast and tidy up because first I had to pop into Maccabee HQ and brief my team. I smiled. My. Team. That was never going to get old. Sadly, there was no cool uniform or jewelry to denote my higher rank, more’s the pity.
My good mood plummeted on the drive over because sound clips of Jared’s slimy, hateful speech from last night were all over the news with nary a report of the attack. His fanatical delusions shouldn’t have been given any platform, instead of free airtime that lent weight and credence to them.
I wrenched the radio button off. I should have held the bastard in place, chanting encouragement for the Orange Flame to ice him into oblivion. Instead, he’d recovered from his “heart condition scare” enough to double down on his hateful rhetoric, intensifying the mistrust in the city between the magic and Trad communities.
A car almost clipped me—honking at me like I was at fault—and it wasn’t an isolated incident. My entire drive to work was one long hostile stretch of road.
The ratcheted-up tension had seeped into HQ. After the hit our morale had taken due to the corrupted shedim magic in our rings, Casey’s brimstone oration added to the pressure cooker of stress and unease.
I greeted a couple of level two operatives holding a serious, subdued conversation, and made my way to the kitchen on the third floor.
At least my involvement in uncovering the corrupt magic and the existence of those love lock prisons had been kept mum. The Authority took full credit for that.
“Good job, Fleischer,” Gemma sneered, placing her coffee cup in the dishwasher.
What now? Nope. Didn’t matter. I walked past her and grabbed a mug from the cupboard, shutting it with a forced patience. Do not engage . Do not engage . Gemma had risen to a new level of needling since I became a level three, and she remained a level two, not even working with her mentor of choice.
She grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. “You should have stopped Jared Casey from delivering his speech. That Orange Flame attack was the perfect opportunity to shut that asshole down and you blew it.”
“His camp refuses to acknowledge there was any magic—” I almost dropped my mug. Operatives were gossipy but that info was on a need-to-know basis. “Wait, you’re on my team?”
Talk about her not working with her mentor of choice.
“Do you have any concerns that I can’t do the work?” Crunching plastic sounded with each of her water bottle biceps curls.
“No, you’re a smart operative.” She was, though it galled that I had to bite back “just a massive bitch.” I turned my back on her to pour my coffee.
“We’re in Conference Room B,” she said in a voice devoid of any inflection.
“See you there.” I didn’t turn around until she left. What was Michael thinking?
Half an hour later it was clear that my director was thinking I needed reliable people who could take instructions and run with them. And yes, that included Gemma, along with Albert and a recently promoted level two called Fyodor.
I started from the top, starting with why the chief constable turned the Nichols murder case back over to us. While I still didn’t disclose my presence at Chandra’s death, I did explain that she gave the Authority the info about our corrupted magic and the existence of the prison cells. I explained about matchmakers, using my previous case with Bratwurst Demon and the drug lab bust to illustrate that.
“We’re hunting for any other matchmakers in addition to Chandra’s killer,” I said.
“What about Henderson?” Gemma said.
“Michael’s ordered us to stay away from him until we have proof. That’s where you come in. Gather all CCTV footage from the protest last night and manor grounds. Get reports from all the operatives that were patrolling in the park, run down local Eishei Kodesh criminals with anti-Trad sentiments.”
“This is just for the attack, right?” Fyodor said. “Matchmakers would be smart enough to not have a rap sheet.”
“It’s mostly for the attack, but keep an open mind because a seemingly inconsequential detail can be the thing to break a case open.”
He nodded, writing down my words.
Gemma made kissy lips. She was the worst.
“We can also look into Eishei Kodesh who donated to magic politicians with anti-Trad stances,” Albert said.
I tore my thoughts from the list detailing all the ways that Gemma sucked. “Good thinking.”
Next, I tasked Fyodor with booking plane tickets and an all-inclusive reservation in Punta Cana as my cover story while I went undercover. Since I couldn’t show up to HQ in my new disguise, I proposed an encrypted channel to communicate with Gemma while I was in the field.
She looked up from her laptop with narrowed eyes.
“You’re in charge here,” I clarified. For all her faults—and they were legion—she was smart and extremely capable. I’m sure Albert and Fyodor were as well, but I didn’t have time to vet them.
Gemma held her suspicious stare for a moment longer like she was being pranked then shrugged. “Got it.”
Oh joy. Still, we set up our communications, with Gemma saying she’d check in before end of day with their progress.
I left them to it and headed home to meet Silas.
To kill the last five minutes before his arrival, I scrolled to the end of the text chain that Maud and I had going. Ever since I’d admitted to being her sister, we’d corresponded in a steady stream of snarky memes, sibling shit talk, and checking in, with the occasional video chat. Our Brink adventure had been the first time we’d seen each other in person, and while it had its dangers, deadly situations was our schtick.
Annoying Junior: Your city is making news in Hong Kong and not in a good way - you okay?
Me: Shiny Jimmy is a fond memory right now . I wanted to tell her about working this case, but texts weren’t secure, and she wasn’t need-to-know.
Annoying Junior: Good thing you have dinner with E. You need to get some! She added a gif of a cheesy cartoon character flashing his thong at a woman posed seductively on a bed.
I sent back a gif of a woman’s mouth with her biting down on her bottom lip, but I wasn’t feeling very lighthearted after the way Ezra and I had left things.
Speak of the devil, a text from Ezra (via a very secure channel that Silas had set up for the two of us) showed up moments after Maud’s.
Count von Cardoso: Spoke to Silas this morning . Mazel tov. Exposing the matchmakers will take your career to new heights once you crack it.
I overthought all the hidden meanings in his message and whether he was being snarky before deciding to take it at face value like a normal grown-up. I appreciate the vote of confidence. I just wish the whole situation was a little less horrifying. And potentially explosive for me, you, Silas, and Michael.
I’m sorry about the other night , I added.
Don’t worry about it . You were stressed .
Yeah, but my stress didn’t give me carte blanche to be mean to you .
The three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. Delacroix is still disappearing on mysterious errands.
I tapped my thumb against my phone. Was he still hurt over my comments? He didn’t seem to want to discuss it, though, so I went with the change in topic.
For former royalty who rarely left the safety of the megayacht other than for Brimstone Breakfast Club, my father had been away a lot. Ezra and I couldn’t pinpoint a reason for it, but whatever it was, it didn’t bode well.
Delacroix had allowed Ezra to use Gimli’s forfeit to track down the power word necessary for the vampire procreation ritual, but he also knew that Maccabee magic imprisoned demons in jail cells disguised as love locks. His comings and goings could be related to either of those things. Or something else entirely. I had too much on my plate to worry about it. Much.
I fired back my reply . It would be so sad if Delacroix never returned.
That seemed to be the end of the exchange except a moment later Ezra added: Reschedule if you need to.
I ran my thumb over the message. When I’d sent Ezra a screenshot during a playful text exchange showing that I’d changed his name in my contacts to Count von Cardoso, he’d replied: The von implies more undead and teeth than the average vamp. I am very scary.
To which I’d quipped back: Or 50% more marshmallowy treat .
His indignance that he wasn’t cereal made me laugh, but for all that the world saw him as the Crimson Prince or Lord of the Copper Hell—for all that I saw him that way—my ex had a gooey center. I grimaced. Phrasing, Fleischer . I’d bailed on him three times and yet he was big-hearted enough to not just congratulate me but let me put my career above him with no hard feelings.
It was just that, right? And not him having the same doubts as me? Maybe that was a good thing, though, because then we could talk this out.
But only if we met face-to-face.
This is important to me. I’ll be there, come hell or high water.
He hearted the message less than a second after I hit send, and a knot in my chest unwound.
My intercom buzzed. I shoved my phone in my pocket and let Silas in.
The vampire was so jacked that my arms didn’t close around him, but he was also a gentle giant who softly patted my back with the hand that wasn’t holding a laptop.
“I’m glad you’ve come back.” I motioned for him to take a seat.
“I think I am too?” He dropped into a dining room chair and opened his computer. “This isn’t a long-term decision yet, but Michael’s groveling was a good start.”
“Will you be traveling back and forth from the Copper Hell?”
“Not exactly,” he hedged, running a hand over his short dark copper hair.
I sat back with a grin. “Staying at a hotel, then. Perhaps a rustic Airbnb.”
“There are hospital corners,” Silas huffed. “On his guest bed.”
“Guest bed.”
He crossed his arms. “The only one I’ve seen.”
“Beds aren’t a necessary component of?—”
Silas shook his head. “You and Ezra deserve each other.”
“I’m sure you mean that in all the best ways,” I said.
“His level of fastidiousness is…” Silas threw up his hands.
Ezra’s? Oh no, not him. Hospital corners again. “Sach and I have our suspicions that Darsh is part cat. You couldn’t pay me to live with him.”
“Look, besides the laundry situation, the fridge rules for where I can stash my synthetic blood, and the standards he lectured me about for using the shower, he’s not that bad.”
Okay, besotted boy. “Michael gave you the file?”
“Yes, and I read through it already.” Silas was aware of the love lock prisons, but I answered all his questions, including ones about Chandra, trusting him with the information that I was present at her death.
Silas raised his eyebrows. “Shit, Avi, you kept mum ’cause I sent you to her, didn’t you? Bet you told the Authority it was an anonymous source.”
“None of that was your fault,” I said heatedly. “They railroaded you and would have killed you, just to get to Ezra.”
Sorrow pinged through my chest but I locked the emotion down tight. “It is what it is. I didn’t report the death, and by the time they knew I’d questioned Chandra, they also knew that our magic didn’t kill shedim. Fair or not, they would have added that I’d sent her killer into a prison to my list of infractions.”
I brought Silas up to speed on going undercover and my earlier team meeting. He laughed when he heard about Gemma.
Next, we started on the guest list I’d been emailed.
“Not all the attendees were Casey fans, or even Trad,” I explained. “My informant, Rukhsana Gill, was there, and I’d swear she’s Eishei Kodesh.” She’d been to the Copper Hell and that wasn’t somewhere Trads were invited. Or knew about.
“Magic isn’t monitored,” Silas said, typing in the first name on the guest list.
“Not unless Casey gets his way,” I said bitterly.
My friend threw me a sympathetic smile. “I might be able to get a bead on any other Eishei Kodesh who saw fit to attend. A suspect meaning to flaunt their presence.”
“A suspect who wasn’t Rukhsana,” I said. “She didn’t bother with a fake name and didn’t try to hide from me. That woman is not someone to be messed with. If she intended to attack Jared, no one would ever find out.”
“Could she be Trad and a supporter?”
“Trad is unlikely, though technically possible. Support Casey though?” I shook my head. “Rukhsana didn’t use an alias but others might have. We need to verify every guest’s identity.”
Silas typed swiftly, his laptop keys clacking.
Roger’s crew had vetted everyone quite well. We had names, photos, and contact information, but we had to compare it to security footage of the guests’ arrival at the manor that I’d requested from Michael, and that took time.
Three-quarters of the way through the list, I was almost numb with boredom. This part of my job was the worst, but Silas was better positioned than my team to help me on this task.
He backspaced twice. “Aviyente with an ‘E,’ I think,” he muttered under his breath.
“Wait. Who?” I squinted at the screen. “Mois Aviyente? Why do I know that name?”
“Beats me.”
The timer on my phone went off and Silas smirked. “Dance break?”
“Yup. Shake off our brain fog.”
I grooved around the living room while Silas did jumping jacks for the three minutes that “Crazy on You” by Heart played.
Silas sat back down at his computer. “Did that jog your memory?”
I paced around the dining room table. “No.”
“Is this Mois an Eishei Kodesh suspect in a different case?”
“I don’t think—oh!” I frantically did a Google search. “Fuck me,” I muttered. “He’s Chandra Nichols’s ex-husband.”
“That sure put a burr under the saddle,” Silas drawled.
Didn’t it just? Damn.