Chapter 15
Thursday got off to a frustrating start.
Gemma still wasn’t allowed to ask Roger about the shielding devices and Mois remained AWOL in Argentina.
To complicate matters, the press learned the Maccabees were investigating an attack on Jared, sending him scuttling to do a million and one interviews where he refuted that he’d been the victim of any assault, much less a magic one.
He called his buddy, the mayor, and the investigation was shelved.
Everything was riding on Linda Aviyente leading me to the other matchmakers. It was too many eggs in one basket.
However, just because we couldn’t speak to Roger ourselves didn’t mean I couldn’t try a different tack to suss out his involvement with matchmakers.
I called Rukhsana while hand-washing my crimson sweater.
She had the inside track on what really went down with the debunked artifacts, and she’d been at the fundraiser. Too bad that when I asked her if she was watching Roger because he was part of that gallery heist, she laughed.
Apparently, about a year ago, Henderson caught a young man stealing his car and had him arrested. Instead of calling his lawyer, the thief called Rukhsana, since he’d intended to deliver the car to her chop shop. Not a brilliant move on the young man’s part, but if anyone could get him out of jail it was her. Rukhsana dug deep for something in Henderson’s past she could, as she put it, “trade him for the thief’s freedom.”
Roger’s worst infraction? He’d been late one year paying his property tax.
The thief went to jail.
Rukhsana couldn’t believe that Henderson was that squeaky clean, so she made a point of running into him and, in her words, “tried to corrupt him one night with an excellent bottle of vodka.”
The Frenchwoman had wryly added that unfortunately, the vodka was on a list of Russian items with sanctions against them and Henderson refused to partake.
“Whatever you think that Boy Scout has done?” Rukhsana said to me. “He hasn’t.”
I trusted her judgment.
That was that. Roger was innocent of the debunked artifact thefts and had only helped Chandra with her alarm system.
I draped my clean sweater over the shower rod to dry. Now to see what, if anything, Linda was guilty of.
Her new exhibit featured a group of sculptors working in the Cubist tradition and our host had gone to town with the theme at this opening. I’d just refused my third offer of appetizers cut into odd geometric shapes, preferring my coconut shrimp less blocky.
Silas and I circulated the large, packed space, my friend pointing out Cubist elements of various sculptures to me as we kept an eye out for the gallery owner. The west side crowd was a mix of artsy-bohemian and more conservative. Silas, in dark jeans and a fitted coral blazer that hugged his chest and biceps, hit the middle of the fashion spectrum nicely.
I shouldered through the crowd, holding Silas’s hand in a tight grip.
Some people gave him a wide berth, but that could have been due to his size rather than any sense of him being a vampire, while a few others eyed him like they hoped he was for sale. Gross.
Regardless, I was perfect arm candy. I’d opted for a rarely worn black mini dress with black tights and a pair of high black boots that belonged to Sachie. Darsh had made a snarky comment when he’d first designed my new persona that I’d never be able to re-create his contouring mastery, but I managed quite well if I did say so myself.
The chunky silver pendant I wore on a thick chain that did double duty as a spy camera was a fantastic accessory.
I fanned myself with a flyer for an upcoming exhibit that I’d grabbed on the way in, while I surreptitiously snapped photos of the crowd. Silas and I would examine them in the morning.
I’d taken a taxi here, and while I’d spotted an unfamiliar vamp on duty outside my condo tower, he hadn’t spared me a second glance. Had Alastair not recognized me (doubtful) or (more likely) had Natán issued orders to go along with the ruse?
Were we amusing that fucker?
I’d carried a low-grade tension from the succession of not-so-secret spies he’d set upon me, and being free from their prying eyes now, even in this crowded exhibit, allowed the tension to flow out of me.
A cool blonde in an asymmetrical linen tunic and trousers with a large turquoise ring on her middle finger gesticulated calmly while speaking to a small group of people. Linda Aviyente, our host and gallery owner, may have been younger than me, but she carried herself with unimpeachable confidence.
I watched her for a moment, then noticing an open window—hopefully with a breeze strong enough to cut the heat in here—I snagged Silas by the sleeve and tugged him toward the corner.
Amazing how people who didn’t move at my repeated “Pardon me” were like Olympic runners off the starting block when they saw Silas bearing down on them.
A reedy man with a pencil mustache gestured broadly at a sculpture that resembled a lumpy frog, making his party laugh. His “ugh” was loud enough to carry halfway across the gallery.
I accepted a glass of white wine from a server, took a sip, and grimaced, catching the gaze of a man also holding a wineglass who was in the process of coating it in ice crystals.
The very pretty human with the incredible cheekbones grinned sheepishly and shrugged, bunching the shoulders of his fitted blue suit.
I saluted him with my drink, wishing I, too, had orange flame magic. Or some ice cubes.
“Aviyente is either an incredible salesperson, or she’s using more than charm,” Silas murmured, one hand under my elbow to steady me through the crush so I could see what he was talking about.
Linda had joined the reedy man who’d been so dismissive of the lumpy artwork. One of her hands rested lightly on his forearm and he nodded along with everything she said.
“White Flame?” I frowned. Linda was a former member of the Eishei Kodesh Leaders of Tomorrow, but there was no documentation on her magic type. “You think she’d be massively successful if she could use her magic to sell every piece she curated.”
“She might be quite weak,” Silas said. “Only able to affect people naturally disposed to big emotions.”
Linda glanced at the bronze clock mounted above the reception desk, then shook hands with the reedy man and headed the other way.
“Help me find the washroom.” I added a grimace like I really had to pee.
Silas glanced at Linda, then back to me. “Sure thing, babe. I think it’s this way.”
We followed the gallery owner, who had a smile or a quick word and a laugh for many of the patrons. Except if you looked closely, her smile was strained and she kept darting looks back at the man in the blue suit who’d iced his tepid wineglass.
Was he a friend or a foe?
“Damn,” Silas said, stopping next to a life-size piece of two stocky figures embracing. “Maybe the restrooms are the other way?”
I peeked around the massive sculpture.
Linda slid a keycard along the mag stripe by a door reading “Employees Only.” The statues blocked it from view of the other guests.
I rubbed the stacking rings on my right index finger, having blinged up with thin gold bands to cover my habit of playing with my Maccabee ring, which was back home on my dresser. I didn’t feel itchy without it anymore, which was something, I guess. “Got an all-access pass to get us back there?”
“Let me see what we’re working with.” Silas circled the artwork, pretending to study it. “Amazing how kinetic stone becomes in the hands of a genius.”
I nursed my tepid wine, trying not to tap my foot impatiently. Why had Linda left her own party? “I’m more of a photography fan.”
Silas maneuvered himself behind the large piece and examined the door and electronic lock.
Correction: he manipulated the magnetic stripe with a plastic card.
“Jesus, Silas,” I hissed, checking no one could see us.
“Relax. I’ll scent anyone getting close enough to catch us.” He bent the card slightly and fiddled with the mag stripe again. “They need to update this system. It’s laughably easy to break into.”
“For you maybe,” I said. “Not all of us have your skills, pumpkin.”
“True. I am what you might even call an edge case.”
“Huh?”
“Coding joke.” He jammed his shoulder into the door and snapped the card up the mag stripe.
The door unlatched with a quiet click.
Silas went preternaturally still, then he whispered “Incoming” into my ear. Making sure I caught the open door, he stepped out from behind the sculpture. “Any idea where the bathroom is?” he said loudly.
I slipped inside the back room.
I was prepared for something nefarious: bricks of cocaine that could be shipped with various pieces, indentured art school students producing fake copies of great works, even a wall of love locks, but the large space was disappointingly unremarkable.
Aside from travel cases, packaged artwork, and several dollies for transporting pieces, there was a nicked table in the center of the room with an empty padded carrying tray and a discarded pair of white cotton gloves.
I passed the half-shut door to a staff kitchen, heading for the light that shone out from another room at the back.
Linda’s agitated voice clearly carried through the quiet space. “Please don’t make me do this again.”
The door from the gallery clicked open.
I dove behind a large wrapped canvas, barely even breathing, while steady footsteps crossed the floor. When they stopped, I crept toward Linda and the newcomer, hiding behind the door and peering through the gap in the frame.
The small office was comfortably cluttered with artbooks spilling off shelves and beautifully framed prints. Linda sat behind the desk, one hand resting on her closed laptop, and her phone cradled between her cheek and shoulder.
Pretty Boy slowly stroked her back. He leaned forward almost imperceptibly, body angled toward her, ready to offer support at a moment’s notice.
I positioned my spy camera necklace to capture the two of them and touched the chain to activate it.
“I know,” Linda said to the person on the other end of the call, “but…” Her voice was wavery. She listened a moment more then took a deep breath. “No, there’s no issue. It’ll be done same as always.”
The second she hung up, Pretty Boy plucked the phone away. “You’ve got this,” he insisted.
She leaned into him. “You say that, but it hurts so much. All the time now, not just when I use my magic.”
I frowned. What was she being asked to do?
Pretty Boy brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Where are your pills?”
“In my purse.”
I flattened myself against the wall.
From the kitchen came the sounds of a bottle rattling and a running tap.
“Here,” Pretty Boy urged, back with Linda. “Take them.”
“You promised me the stronger ones.” Linda’s voice was shaky.
I clenched the pendant camera. Was he dosing her to keep her carrying out orders?
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll get them by tomorrow. Now put your game face on and go back to your guests. Act like everything is fine.”
Linda’s heels rang against the floor as the pair returned to the main gallery.
I remained where I was for another moment, my hand clutched around my spy camera necklace. What were they up to that required high doses of medication?
When I was positive the coast was clear, I did a cursory search of her office, but the filing cabinet was locked, the inbox on her desk only held invoices, and I couldn’t figure out the password to her laptop.
I slipped back into the gallery and beelined for Silas, who stood a head taller than anyone, making finding him a breeze. Too bad we couldn’t risk having him hack in to her computer at this event.
“Get this.” I relayed what I’d seen. “Pretty Boy is an Orange Flame. You can thank the shitty wine for providing that detail.”
“Pretty Boy?” Silas raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you consider attractive?”
“His cheekbones are so pronounced. Objectively, yes, he’s pretty. Also, not my type.”
“Ez’s fragile ego will be relieved to hear it.”
“Back to the part where the dude is an Orange Flame? You know, like whoever attacked Jared?”
“Wasn’t that file terminated?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t mean Pretty Boy is not now a person of interest, given he’s also doping up Linda. I got photos.”
“Good. We’ll run down every last thing there is to know about him, but first, let’s corner Linda before someone else does.”
She was placing a red dot sticker over a card belonging to the piece that Reedy Man had disparaged, her smile once more in place. It didn’t look like armor or a mask now.
“She made a sale,” I said.
“And the meds kicked in,” Silas said. “Her breathing has slowed down. She’s stoned to the tits.”
“She’s okay though?”
“Yeah. Just very mellow.”
I snagged a couple of glasses of tepid wine and headed over, Silas dogging my heels. “Fantastic exhibit,” I said, handing her a glass. “You deserve this. Actually, you deserve better than this. Great taste in art.” I indicated a stone sculpture of a woman standing in a puddle of her own tears. “But room-temperature wine? Not the way to go.”
“Babe!” Silas cough-laughed. “Forgive my girlfriend who apparently has no filter.”
“Not when it comes to wine.” I shrugged unapologetically.
Linda laughed. “You’re not wrong. It was supposed to be chilled, but there was a last-minute refrigeration issue. I’m Linda, but you already know that.” She sounded perfectly normal, which made me wonder how often she took these drugs—or used her magic for whatever was happening tomorrow night.
“I’m Jackie,” I said brightly and looped my arm through Silas’s. “And this handsome hunk is Silas.” I giggled. “He’s very well endowed.”
Silas blushed fiercely and mumbled “Dear lord” under his breath.
I squeezed his arm playfully. “I meant your art collection.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said to Linda. “Jackie’s a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.”
Linda winked. “But very entertaining. So, Silas, what do you collect?”
“Trains.”
“I’ve not come across a collector with that interest before.” The glaze in her eyes wasn’t from the drugs.
This time when I squeezed Silas’s arm, there was nothing playful about it. “I like the painting you have by what’s his name again? The ‘not a pipe’ guy?”
“Magritte?” Had Linda been a cartoon character, her eyes would have bugged out of her head.
“I’m partial to the Hopper,” he said, “but that’s what’s so great about art. There’s something for everyone.”
Linda nodded. “Exactly what I always say.”
“That’s why I want to sell the collection. It’s time for others to enjoy those pieces.”
I swear, dollar signs danced around her head. “You’d want them to find the right homes though,” she said.
“Absolutely. I’ll have to really know and trust whoever I hand them over to. Make sure their vision aligns with mine.”
“I love how you put that,” she said.
Silas, you genius. Playing coy was the perfect way to snag her interest.
Linda had to mingle, but as the crowd thinned, she returned more and more frequently to Silas and me. I’d like to say that my sparkling personality was responsible, but while the three of us got on well enough, the carrot was Silas’s art collection. That said, even if Linda started the gallery with Daddy’s money, she was savvy enough to charm me to secure my boyfriend’s business.
We hung out with her as she closed up, then she proposed we move to Absolom, a members-only whiskey bar. More time together meant more opportunities to ply her for information about her parents, which we’d been unable to do with her coming and going at the exhibit opening, so we readily agreed.
Absolom was all art deco geometric designs and muted earth tones with comfortable leather chairs and tableside humidors. Silas commented that it reminded him of the hotel bar in Singapore, where we spent our first vacation together. Linda had been to the place he meant. I hadn’t, but I went along with it, adding fond fake memories that weren’t place specific.
Excited over our shared jet-setting—she’d probably have a heart attack were the Prime Playboy to join us—she treated us to a private whiskey tasting.
I feigned interest in the very detailed explanations of each small glass and played drunk, though I was burning the booze out of my system via my shedim magic. My ruse wasn’t just for Linda’s benefit either, because Silas still didn’t know about Cherry.
My partner remained sober. No surprise there. It took a lot to get a vampire hammered, especially one as big as him.
Linda, while she held her own, got very chatty the deeper into the tasting we got. We discussed magic types (a common new acquaintance topic for Eishei Kodesh), and I confirmed she was a White Flame.
It was a no-brainer to bring up Jared’s speech, since that still dominated the news. Linda was of the unsurprising opinion that he was a “shitty little worm with shitty little prejudices.”
We all drank to that, then I maneuvered the conversation to Mois.
The big twist of the night was that apparently her father shared her opinion of Jared. It took another whiskey and some delicate verbal dancing, but we learned that the only reason her dad donated to Casey was as a fuck-you to his ex-wife.
Did this fuck-you extend to Chandra’s murder? She’d been killed by a shedim, but if Mois knew about his wife’s matchmaking business—or was part of it—he could find a demon, no problem.
It’s not like shedim took much convincing to commit murder. Breaking the Ten Commandants on the regular was hardwired into their DNA.
Frustrated, I shot back some top-shelf whiskey and started coughing.
Silas poured me some water and shook his head. “Yo, lightweight. Pace yourself.” Once he saw I’d recovered, he offered a platitude about brutal divorces and asked what Linda’s mother thought of her ex-husband’s donation.
Linda replied with a terse “She died recently.”
I wasn’t supposed to know about that, nor could I just casually inquire whether Linda had knowledge of demons as a conversation opener to whether she was aware of what her mom was really up to.
How could I use Linda to flush out everything about matchmakers, including whether the shedim who murdered Chandra was a partner or an enemy?
Stymied, I invoked the time-honored Vancouver ritual of chatting about neighborhoods to buy time. (Me—west end, Linda—Southlands. Ooh là là.)
When she heard that Silas was a seasoned rider (I giggled knowingly, loving the bright red blush that produced in my fake boyfriend), she issued an open invitation to visit her place. She lived near one of the stables and some excellent trails in Pacific Spirit Park and we could saddle up together.
Since the closest I got to horses was a merry-go-round and I’d stopped riding those when I was ten, I said I’d come for the après ride drinks.
The night hadn’t been a total bust. The invitation was a big win, since it would allow Silas entry into her home at a future date. We’d also filled in some details about Linda and Mois, and had some promising photos to comb through, starting with Pretty Boy. However, after a long night of faking drunk and conducting a subtle interrogation, I was ready for bed.
The second I got home, I peeled out of my shapewear, scrubbed all the makeup off my face, and tore out my colored contacts, peering intently at myself to feel a sense of connection to me, Aviva, not Jackie with her strawberry blond hair and blue eyes.
Maud phoned, replying to my hello with a disgusted, “Why aren’t you having sex right now?”
I flopped onto my mattress. “Why did you phone if you thought I was?”
“It’s been over a day, and you didn’t give me details yet, sister dear. Are you and the Prime Playboy officially a thing?”
“Yes.” I let the silence hang, grinning when she finally exploded with something said in Cantonese. “Did you just swear at me?”
“I insulted you. Slight difference.”
“You suck.” I rested my arm under my head. “Aren’t you in Macao with your cousins?”
“I fly out tomorrow.” A kettle whistled loudly through the phone. “Jenny’s going to shove her fathead fiancé and perfect life down my throat.”
“She’s a dental hygienist. She has her hands in people’s mouths all day, how perfect can it be?”
“My mother was convinced the sun shone out her ass.”
Maud and I had commiserated over our mothers’ respective disappointments in us and the scarily similar upbringings we’d had where keeping our shedim side a secret was paramount.
Michael and Chongying would have liked each other, or at least had a lot to discuss between their half-demon daughters and their questionable choice in baby daddy.
“Did your godmother know what you were?” I said.
“I told her.” The sound of shuffling cards came through the receiver.
“How’d she take it?”
“Better than I thought, but she was dying so, you know, it put things in perspective. I think she was angrier at my mother for keeping this from her.”
Just like Keira and my mom with all those lost years of friendship. “I get that. I’m glad you told your best friend years ago.”
“What’s up with all the melancholy? You’re dating a hot dude. You’re a level three. You have the world’s best sister.” There was more card shuffling.
“All true. Don’t mind me. Melancholy officially banished.”
“Hmm. I don’t believe you. I’ll just have to do something to knock you out of that headspace. Oh, I know! How about I post on one of Ezra’s fan boards about the new love of his life? The Ezracurriculars will die of shock.”
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water.
Ezra’s reluctant agreement to keep us out of the spotlight would crumble. I could already see the hurt and betrayal in his eyes, thinking I’d allowed Maud to leak this for some Maccabee purpose when I’d banned him from doing the same thing.
My throat tightened as I imagined the flood of messages, the relentless whispered speculation among my colleagues, the paparazzi camped outside my apartment, and Natán’s retaliation.
Would I be known primarily as Ezra’s girlfriend, instead of for my own merits? I balled my fists. How long would the Authority even allow me to remain with the organization?
This was it, the moment where everything I’d worked for was shattered, including this fragile reconciliation.
“Maud! No!”
“I was kidding, Avi,” she said in a hurt voice. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Sorry. It’s just, we need to keep our dating quiet for now.”
The sound of shuffling cards abruptly stopped. “Ezra agreed to that?”
“He understands the reasons.”
“Okay,” she said dubiously.
“What’s with that tone?”
“Reasons or not, I’d find it hard not to take it personally if my romantic partner wanted to keep us a secret. It’s a lot of pressure to put on the start of the relationship, but again, that’s just me.”
I hugged a pillow to my chest. “Ezra and I are on the same page.”
“Great!”
I loved my naturally upbeat sister but that was said with overkill peppiness.
Our call ended soon after, but my phone buzzed again while I was brushing my teeth. I picked it up with dread, worried it was Maud for round two, or Ezra with, well…
It was Darsh.
Silas had sent him a selfie we’d taken after we’d finished our first flight of whiskey. Silas had his arm around me in the photo and was nuzzling the side of my head, but from this angle it looked like I was half in his lap.
Darsh had forwarded it to me, making an exception to his dislike of texting.
I spit toothpaste into the sink, laughing at his accompanying message.
Next time, leave room for the Holy Ghost .