Chapter 16
Sach handed me coffee the next morning with a humph. “Why aren’t you still sleeping, given how late you got back?”
“Are you bummed you didn’t have time to lizard yourself up another wall and test my battle-readiness?” I joked.
She turned around to refill her own mug, back tense.
Uh-oh. That wasn’t a good sign. I stirred in sugar and milk and pondered my next move. “Did something happen with your parents?”
“No, we’re still in polite small talk territory.”
“Did I wake you last night?” Odd, since she could usually sleep through anything.
“No.” She pulled omelet ingredients from the fridge with the single-minded focus of an action hero choosing which wire to cut with five seconds left on the timer.
The cause of her grumpiness became apparent two minutes later when her bedroom door opened, and Detective Olivier Desmond strolled into the kitchen. In rumpled clothing.
Ooh. The boyfriend had spent the night for the first time.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I said, the sight of Sach squirming doing more to perk me up than my first sip of caffeine.
Olivier, to his credit, did not backpedal or justify his presence. He cut through any potential awkwardness of this first morning-after encounter like a shark, walked straight over to Sachie, and kissed her.
Good man.
He took the mug from my gobsmacked friend’s hand, then blinked at me. “Solid disguise. Morning, Avi,” he said, in his calm Nova Scotian voice. “Heard the chief constable personally handed over the Nichols murder to your director. Those two personalities butting heads?” He made a “yikes” face.
I chuckled. “It was something else.”
Sach peered at me suspiciously for a moment, but when she saw I wasn’t going to get snarky (because I didn’t have a death wish), she relaxed.
“We looked into the Ashbishop last night,” Sachie said, shredding cheese.
I cracked eggs into a large bowl. “You did?”
She’d just shared this information with Olivier without asking me? I’d been the one determined to hunt down the missing half-shedim blood and find whoever had ordered those murders. I’d led every step of this investigation, and yes, I’d asked her to research the Ashbishop—with Darsh’s permission to share what he knew of the vampire—but bringing her new boyfriend into it was a whole other matter.
I snatched a whisk out of the drawer.
“Vamp procreation poses a bigger danger to Trads than to Eishei Kodesh,” Olivier said, splashing milk into his own cup of coffee.
“That’s true,” I said tightly.
“Olivier, do you mind seeing if there are any napkins on the dining room table?” Sach said.
“Sure.” He left the kitchen at a fast clip.
She crossed her arms. “Do you want this vamp found or do you want to play team leader and invoke chain of command and a billion other bullshit procedures?”
I beat the eggs, working through how to phrase my thoughts without insulting the man she was in a first blush of feelings with. A man, whose intelligence and police experience were part of why I’d even matchmade them in the first place. Why I’d been interested in him at one point.
“Involving a Trad cop, when our communities are so ruptured, wasn’t ideal in terms of timing.” I frothed the eggs so viciously that yolk splatted onto my hand. Swearing, I grabbed a paper towel to clean myself. “I understand you’re spending a lot of time together but?—”
Sachie gave an incredulous laugh. “This is the Jessica King stupidity all over again.”
I gasped, once more furiously attacking the eggs. “I am not jealous. Also, may I remind you that you were the one who freaked out about me still having contact with your parents when you first started fighting a couple months ago. And you’re thirty, so don’t throw an incident from when we were twelve in my face.” I shook my head. “There’s a lot at stake here and?—”
“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Aviva.” She didn’t unearth any weapon but her low, dangerous tone and the anger clouding her eyes were scary enough.
I dropped the whisk in the bowl and sighed. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. Look, I miss hanging out with you, but I’ve been busy with work so it’s not just you.” I looked up at the ceiling like a summation of the feelings swirling inside me would be helpfully inscribed there. “This all started with the murdered half shedim, a case that was very personal to me.” I glanced at the doorway. Olivier was far enough away at the dining room table that he wouldn’t hear this quiet conversation, still I was careful with my phrasing. “Now you and Darsh understand how personal it is.”
“Olivier doesn’t know any of that and I’d never tell him.”
Still.
… retreating to your hiding-in-plain-sight fallback … Ugh. Get lost, Ezra’s voice.
I was making great strides in terms of being more open, both with others and about my life in general, but prudence was wise, and I prided myself on working smart, not hard.
Ezra could let it all hang out in the spotlight because he was famous. Yes, he’d done a lot of legwork to make his strategy possible, but the structures I’d built were dependent on me being less obviously recognizable.
“I spent so long being so careful to keep any iota of Cherry hidden,” I said. “It makes sense for you to bring Olivier’s experience and intelligence to help find the Ashbishop but…” I exhaled. “It’s hard for me to not control the flow of information.”
“Okay.” She dumped the shredded cheese in the bowl with the eggs. “I’m sorry too. I should have taken that into account. Olivier was just a second brain to help me research, not there in any official Trad cop capacity, but I won’t ask again for his help without checking with you.”
Should the multiverse be real, there was a version of me where I assured Sachie that I trusted her judgment and she didn’t need to run things past me that would help us stop vamp procreation.
Instead, I quietly said thank you and made us the best damn cheesy omelets ever.
Over breakfast, Sach detailed the wide swath of senseless killing and terror done by the Ashbishop. He first popped up in Ireland about seventy years ago, slaughtering a small village, then spread like a blight, eventually making his way to North America and killing any human or vampire who got in his way.
“He had followers though?” I said, thinking of Patrin and wondering why the Ashbishop inspired loyalty to the degree that Darsh’s brother wouldn’t give him up, even when facing his own execution. It had to be fear-based. “What a brutal leader he must have been.”
“On the contrary,” Olivier said. “By all accounts, the Ashbishop was good to his crew of vamps.”
“A real mensch,” I said dryly. “Though Ireland fits. I figured his name stemmed from Catholic guilt.”
“There wasn’t a religious element to this Ashbishop’s dealings,” Olivier said, “and in fact, he burned down more than one Catholic church, but his desire to procreate could tie into a mutation of Exodus 13:2. ‘Consecrate to Me all first-born.’ He’s not offering to God per se, but the devil.” He frowned at my puzzled look. “What? Not plausible?”
“There’s no single all-in-charge devil as described in the Bible,” I said. “Not that we know of. It’s more that we don’t get a lot of quoting the Old Testament off the top of one’s head around here.”
Sachie salted her eggs. “Olivier was raised Baptist. It would be weird if he couldn’t quote this stuff.”
“Thank you for the helpful explanation of this very specific detail about Detective Desmond,” I said, my lips twitching.
She threw her napkin at me. “Go find somewhere new to live.”
I threw the wadded-up ball back at her. “Give me written notice and two months’ free rent according to the law.”
“I don’t see why I should be out of pocket,” she grumbled. “Stay. Whatever.”
Olivier followed our exchange with a grin. “Back to the Ashbishop. Where’s he been all this time and why come back now?”
“I’m not so sure his return is super recent.” I set my fork down. In for a penny and all that. “The missing infernal blood.”
Sachie looked up sharply, but I shook my head that it was okay. I was only going so far with this, still, for someone who’d avoided all discussion of infernals and infernal-adjacent topics most of her life, it was a big deal for me to broach the subject with Olivier.
It was also a test to see how he reacted to that word.
“Infernal?” He looked between Sach and me, his brow wrinkled. “Is that another term for shedim?”
“Infernals are humans who are half-demon,” I said.
“It’s a shit slur,” Sach said. “Don’t use it. Refer to them as half shedim.”
“Okay.” Olivier looked lost.
I, however, smiled at my best friend. “We had a case a few months back where six half shedim were slaughtered in ritual killings. They were exsanguinated but their blood was never recovered. A vampire Maccabee called Roman Whittaker teamed up with an Eishei Kodesh to kill them, but the operative confessed to someone else being behind it.”
I left out Roman’s murder and that Dr. Metaxas was also a halfie. Even Sach didn’t know that part.
“Somebody had to find those half shedim in the first place,” Sachie said.
That had been Metaxas, but blood called to blood, and the Ashbishop had a way to find my kind. Or, the good doctor had provided the Ashbishop with a helpful list of names before she bit it.
It wasn’t like the Ashbishop was a half shedim. Vamps didn’t keep demon magic once they were turned, even if they’d been a halfie in life. Ezra had confirmed that detail through sources at the Copper Hell.
“These victims lived all over the globe so identifying them took time,” I said. “But their blood is going to be used in the ritual to achieve procreation.”
“Which also involves a power word,” Sachie said.
I nodded. “Obtaining that word involves a magic test and the most recent supplicant was one of the Ashbishop’s followers. Who knows how many other vampires the Ashbishop has sent to try and procure it? He could have been at this for years.”
“We can’t let this vamp have kids who he can raise to be an evil immortal army,” Olivier said.
“Absolutely not,” Sachie said.
Olivier offered to clear up the dishes, so I went to get dressed.
Silas and I were working at Darsh’s place today. Silas had set up a bunch of computer equipment there and didn’t want to lug it to my place.
I was applying mascara when Ezra texted me that there was a vampire at the Hell who was a longtime but infrequent visitor. He suspected she was acquainted with the Ashbishop and invited me to come to the Hell and ply her—or play her—for information. He added a “Hurry so you catch her before she leaves.”
I replied he should open a portal in my back alley in about ten minutes and quickly texted Silas I’d be a bit late. I raced into the living room, throwing my hands over my eyes with an “Ack! Sorry!” at Olivier and Sachie kissing.
“Avi, you don’t need to keep your eyes averted,” Olivier said, laughing. “We can exercise self-control.”
“Unlike some,” Sachie said sweetly.
“At least I didn’t drench you when I caught you.” I glared at her.
She mimed firing a pistol at me. “My aim got really good that summer, but man, did I have to keep topping up that Super Soaker.”
I slid on my boots and snuck out the fire exit of my condo tower to avoid Natán’s minion. While there was no point pretending the cat wasn’t out of the bag on my disguise, they didn’t need to know Ezra was opening Aviva-only portals.
Too bad that when he opened this one, I simply bounced off the mesh light.
The portal shut down and my phone rang.
“I don’t want to leave it open,” Ezra said. “If you need more time, call me when you’re ready.”
“I can’t get through.”
“Huh. Okay. Hang tight. Let me see what’s up.”
I returned to the warmth of the lobby, sitting on the uncomfortable furniture by the front window while I waited for his call.
“Fucking Delacroix,” Ezra said when he phoned back.
“What now?”
“He’s banned all Maccabees from the Hell. No exceptions. Apparently, Director Abe and some of the Tokyo chapter Maccabees had a sting operation planned on the yacht.”
I white-knuckled the phone. “Abe found out Silas came there after he escaped. If he has any proof that we were involved?—”
“He doesn’t. The Hell was the safest and most obvious place for Silas to retreat to. This was a fishing expedition. What’s bothering me is that I had no idea this raid was in the works and Delacroix didn’t see fit to inform me. He invoked a safety override on the magic security system which drains his powers. I can’t get you in and I can’t talk to him because he’s disappeared again.”
“There goes my invitation to come over for a glass of port.”
Ezra gave a pleased hum. “I like that that’s your first thought.”
“Followed quickly by what is dear old Dad up to that he’s paranoid enough to make himself even the slightest bit vulnerable by draining his magic to amp up security?”
“I’ll sort this out. Meantime, I’ll see what I can get from Irene.”
“On a first-name basis with this infrequent visitor to the Hell, are you?” I teased.
“I am nothing if not a conscientious host,” he joked back.
Even with my trip to the Hell thwarted, I was in a good mood as I headed out to my Uber, and the middle finger I threw to whichever minion was on shift was decidedly cheerful.
Darsh threw open his front door before I’d hit the top step. “You’re lucky I’m reasonably fond of you,” he huffed and marched past me to work.
“Good morning to you too?”
“That was fast,” Silas said, walking into the foyer.
“Delacroix fucked things up.” I stepped inside. “What’s with Darsh?”
“There’s something you need to see.”
“Okay,” I said warily. I toed out of my shoes and lined them up next to the closet.
Silas opened a browser on his phone and showed me a photo from the gallery event of us holding hands and laughing. It was posted on an Ezracurricular fan site, with people writing mostly positive comments that Ezra’s best friend had found love.
My real name wasn’t outed nor was there a ton of speculation on who I was. I was merely the best friend’s new girlfriend. Yet, that “merely” embodied much of why I’d hate going public with Ezra. Ironic that I’d want to be recognized for my own accomplishments when my primary objective had always been to hide, but I was complex woman.
“The disguise holds up nicely and it cements your undercover persona,” Silas said.
“True.” The incongruence of my fake persona in this fake relationship was at odds with the memory of Ezra’s kiss. I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Don’t worry, Natán didn’t orchestrate it,” Silas said.
That hadn’t even occurred to me, which was unsettling. I had to stay on my game.
“One of Ezra’s fans was at the gallery and recognized me from photos taken of us before.” He flexed a biceps, making a duck face. “They love action shots.”
I gagged loudly. “Darsh knows this is simply work.”
“He’s not jealous,” Silas said, leading me upstairs. “Just sad that we have to keep our status on the down-low until this is over. He gets it, it just sucks, right?”
Had Ezra seen this photo? I had no idea how much attention he paid to his fans’ postings. Did I owe it to him to check in?
“The sooner we wrap this case up, the better,” I said noncommittally.
“No kidding.”
I entered the guest room and whistled.
Silas’s set-up was impressive. Half of the space was taken up by a large desk cluttered with two cobbled-together computers and three monitors, while cables and spare parts littered the desk and floor.
I sat on the edge of the bed since Silas occupied the only chair that fit in the room. “Darsh doesn’t come in here, does he?”
Silas wound a cable away from my feet. “I almost had to give him smelling salts the first time he saw it.”
My partner had compiled a decent profile on Pretty Boy—aka Troy Abelman. The thirty-two-year-old was a former MIT grad student who’d dropped out during his doctorate on integrating magical cognition with AI to develop sentient machines capable of performing advanced magical tasks.
“AI and magic. That’s not terrifying or anything,” I said.
“I’m all for higher learning, but this is one time I’m glad someone didn’t stay in school,” Silas said. “And the school agreed. The project was kiboshed due to ethical concerns.”
“Hence him dropping out.” I tapped my finger against my lip. “How did Troy get from MIT to Vancouver? Was he already dating Linda and he moved here to be close to her?”
“It doesn’t seem that way.” Silas consulted the document on his left monitor. “Troy isn’t even from Vancouver. He was raised in Milwaukee. His parents are still there, but there’s nothing to suggest they’re close. He started working at the Lions Gallery shortly after he left MIT.”
“I wonder if that timeline coincides with whatever Linda is using her magic for?” I said. “Who else was at the event last night?”
Three hours, a stack of photos, and a delicious Thai food lunch later, Troy and Linda remained the only ones of interest from the exhibit opening.
Darsh phoned me with a terse command to make sure the big lug had some of the disgusting synthetic blood from the fridge since he hadn’t stocked it for his own benefit and if Cowpoke got hungry and fed on me because I was running him ragged, Darsh would replace me as his second-favorite friend without hesitation.
I planted a hand on my hip. “Second-favorite?”
Silas gently plucked my cell away to say, “You take care of yourself too, Rapunzel.” He listened for a moment before hanging up with a dopey look that made me grimace.
Should I have checked in with Ezra?
“Focus.” I snapped my fingers in front of his face. “We’re swinging by the address on file for Troy then we’ll stake out the gallery.”
If whatever Linda was using her magic for tonight was: a) illegal, and b) happening at her gallery, we intended to suss out as much intel beforehand as possible. If it was occurring elsewhere, then we’d split up and follow Pretty Boy and Linda until we had the location.
Sending up a silent wish to the universe that tonight’s assignation involved love locks and matchmaking, I followed Silas to the SUV that he’d rented, fired up with purpose.
I ducked into the passenger seat, but instead of hitting comfy leather, I fell into a portal made of red and purple light, tumbling out the other side onto the hot concrete outside Flaming Flapjacks.
Rubbing my bruised hip, I sprinted for the portal to get back to the stakeout, but it winked out.
I was going to kill Delacroix.