Chapter 19
The conference room at Maccabee HQ crackled with unspoken tension as Silas and I filed in. On the upside, Troy hadn’t freed the demon prisoners, but on the very, very large downside, he’d gotten away—with the shedim locks.
Keira was next to Michael, her jaw clenched so tightly that a vein pulsed at her temple, while Olivier sat on her other side with his cop face on.
What were they doing here?
I slid into my chair, adding the commanders’ barely contained anger and disappointment to the stockpile Silas and I felt at our failure to apprehend our suspect.
Michael’s face was grim, her fist clutched around her Montblanc pen. “I’ve invited Chief Constable Davis here for a full debrief about the missing Orange Flame situation, as it poses a danger to both communities. Detective Desmond is the Trad officer taking point.”
“Now that the operatives are here,” Keira said, “what the hell is going on? Why does one Orange Flame require the combined efforts of both our police forces?”
“Aviva,” my mother said, throwing me under the proverbial bus, “why don’t you explain about the magic in our rings?”
I probed my molars with my tongue in case one of them had suddenly sprouted a dental emergency that would get me out of this. No such luck. I pointed to Michael’s right hand. The top of her gold ring’s round pillbox featured an embossed flame, the design circled by five tiny gems: one each in red, orange, yellow, white, and blue. “Maccabees get these rings when we graduate to level one operative.”
“We know all that,” Keira said impatiently. “Vampire powers interfere with the magic cocktail in the ring which is why they don’t wear one. They can kill shedim without it.”
I nodded. “About a month ago, we learned that the foundational strain that lets all five types of magic work together to kill demons was corrupted, and unlike vampires, human Maccabees don’t kill demons. Instead, we, uh, send them to magic prisons.”
“So? Locked up is locked up, right?” Olivier looked between Silas and me. “Not right?”
“You ever seen a love lock?” I said.
“Sure.”
“That’s the prison,” Silas said. “It’s controlled by other shedim, not Maccabees.”
Olivier did a double take. “Say what?”
“Think of them as batteries spreading evil vibes that can be hidden in plain sight and transported around to whatever fragile place is in need of exploiting.” I almost threw jazz hands to cushion the shock with a bit of levity, but at Michael’s glare, dropped them into my lap.
Keira gasped. “How long have you been helping demons create these batteries?”
“The Maccabees were never, at any point, willing accomplices to this,” Michael said.
“How. Long.”
“Since the 1600s,” I said.
Keira looked apoplectic. Still, I wished I had vamp hearing to check her heartbeat.
Silas caught my eye and discreetly rubbed his thumb over his inner wrist, sliding his eyes to the commander.
Damn. Her pulse was elevated.
“What does this have to do with Troy Abelman?” Keira said through clenched teeth.
The director nodded at me to continue.
I scowled at my lap for two seconds before complying. “There are Eishei Kodesh, who I call matchmakers, who know about these love lock prisons. They have a way to break prisoners out to sell to the highest bidder. Eishei Kodesh criminal bidders,” I clarified.
“Chandra Nichols is a matchmaker,” Keira said flatly.
“Was,” Olivier corrected, except he was glaring at me like this was my error.
I shrugged helplessly. “Yeah. Was. Past tense. What do you want me to say? It’s a high turnover profession?”
“Knowing all that, you let my officers take the case.” Keira smacked her fist against the table, sending a pen rolling off the edge and landing on the floor planks with a click as sharp as a gunshot in the charged silence.
“I did.” Michael showed no remorse. “Chandra was murdered by a shedim who was, in turn, sent into one of those prisons. Your officers weren’t ever in any danger.”
The line of Olivier’s shoulders had drawn tighter and tighter. “Maccabees kept this demon battery intel from Trad officers?” He shot me an accusatory look.
“It wasn’t my call,” I said quietly.
“Maybe not officially, but fuck, Avi, it’s not like we haven’t been hanging out shooting the shit when Sach and I—” He flinched.
I grabbed for his arm, but at the last minute pulled my hand back. “Please don’t be mad at her.”
Olivier half turned away from me.
“What would you have done?” Silas’s tone was mild, and he kept his posture relaxed, but his question was pointed. “No disrespect to you, Detective Desmond, or Chief Constable Davis, but how would it have made any difference to the way you police?”
The room crackled with an electric undercurrent and no answer to that question.
“Both forces will put out an APB on Abelman,” Keira said.
“And kick the media into an even higher pitch with a dangerous Orange Flame on the loose, after all of Jared Casey’s vile speeches?” Michael held out her hands like she was balancing a scale. “Danger to the public versus our city not exploding.”
“Fine. We’ll keep the hunt internal,” Keira said. “But top priority.”
“Your officers are not to approach.”
“How will yours?” Keira shot back. “Abelman has demon prisoners and your rings are useless.”
“Vampires aren’t,” Silas said. “We’ll marshal all the neighboring Spook Squads to find Abelman and kill any shedim.”
“Good.” Michael pointed at him. “You’re in charge of that.”
Silas eyed her like he expected a trap. “You sure?”
“Yes. Tell them about the missing locks, and for God’s sake, make sure the press doesn’t get hold of this. Go.”
Silas booted it out of the room.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” I said.
“Never noticed,” Olivier said wryly.
“But only a demon can break the wards on those locks.”
Michael massaged her temple. “Troy likely knows where Chandra’s shedim partner is.”
There was a rap at the door.
“Come in,” Michael said.
Gemma wheeled a dolly into the room with the box from Linda’s house. Behind her were two unfamiliar women: one dark haired, tall and broad, and the other so petite she was almost pixie-like, with bright platinum hair.
Michael motioned the pair to empty seats. “Joan, Ruth. Thank you for joining us. I appreciate you giving us your take on the items inside this packaging.”
Gemma, who hadn’t seen my disguise before now, subtly twirled a lock of her own hair and grimaced.
I scratched my cheek with my middle finger.
The other two women reached into the box for a couple of silver eggs.
“Joan and Ruth were the ones who verified that the artifacts in the Supernatural: Debunked exhibit a while back didn’t possess Eishei Kodesh magic,” Michael said.
Just shedim magic on Sire’s Spark, but hey, that omission didn’t make what the director said any less true. Still, they were experts at this kind of thing, and verifying Linda’s magic on the household goods would cement our proof.
Joan, or maybe it was Ruth, read one of the scrolls, while the brunette licked her fingertip and ran it around the glass of a hand mirror.
“Clever bit of business,” the dark-haired woman said in a raspy voice. “The white flame magic contained inside is touch activated. There’s enough power to give people a jolt of fear six or seven times.”
Her colleague nodded. “Combined with the false provenances and cursed history, it sets into the brain as a cohesive whole. No one will doubt its cursed nature.”
“Unless the owner tries to sell it later,” Keira said. “Once the item’s been depleted.”
The brunette shrugged. “It’s a scam. The White Flame who did this has been paid, and if anyone comes back to them, who cares? It’s not like cursed items behave according to any scientific method.”
“Thank you for verifying the magic,” Michael said.
The experts nodded and stood up. Gemma, who’d been standing by the door, opened it like she was going to leave as well, but Michael asked her to remain a moment.
“Operative Huang, tell Chief Constable Davis what you reported to me.”
Wait. She’d gone over my head to report something directly to Michael? I tried to catch Gemma’s eye, but she deliberately avoided my gaze.
“Roger Henderson, Casey’s head of security, purchased magic-shielding devices for his team from Troy Abelman,” she said.
I crossed my arms to hide the fingers on my left hand that had busted into claws. I couldn’t lay into my mother—my director—for deciding that Roger was once more fair game for questioning, so I focused my anger elsewhere.
“You mean my suspicion that I asked you to chase down?” I said icily. Gemma, you brown-nosing cow. She was happy to call me boss and then take credit for my ideas when it mattered. I saw how it was. “When did you confirm that?”
Gemma notched her chin up. “When you were staking out Linda’s house.”
Forcing my fingers back to normal, I slid my phone out of my pocket, making a big production of checking it for texts or missed calls. “Nope, no messages letting me know.”
“Enough, Operative Fleischer,” Chief Constable Davis said.
I blinked. What the fuck? The chief constable had leave to dress me down? I pressed my lips together, my angry retort lodging in my chest like heartburn.
Gemma smirked.
I narrowed my eyes at her, and her expression faltered.
“Will that be all?” She addressed both leaders equally.
“Will it, Michael?” Keira said with a hard edge to her voice.
“Operative Huang,” my mother continued, “please provide Chief Constable Davis with a full report about Henderson and the shielding devices.”
No mention of giving me the information. Was I even on this case anymore?
I waited until the door had closed behind Gemma to speak. “My hypotheses tied Henderson to Troy Abelman, who is connected to Linda Aviyente. A woman I also pushed to investigate. And, oh yeah, Abelman has two love locks in his possession, which circles us back to Chandra Nichols, Linda’s mother, a confirmed matchmaker. Again, thanks to me.” Screw modesty right now. “Could someone explain why I don’t seem to be leading this investigation anymore?”
Michael clicked her Montblanc pen. “You lost Abelman and the locks.”
I flinched, staring down at my feet with flushed cheeks.
“Why did you react so badly to those locks when the rest of us were unaffected, Aviva?” Keira said.
“My blue flame magic.”
She shook her head. “That illuminates weaknesses in people. I may not have magic, but I’ve cracked enough suspects to tell when someone is lying.”
There was another knock, and Silas slipped back in holding a form. “Spook Squad is good to go.”
“Sachie?” Olivier and I said in the same worried tone.
“She’s sitting this one out,” Silas said. He handed the paper to Michael. “I need your John Hancock to transfer vampires from Seattle and Portland HQ here since all vamp operatives not on active investigations are on shedim duty.”
Michael grimaced at the form. “More paperwork?”
“Louis sends his apologies but says it’s absolutely necessary.” Silas placed it in front of Michael.
While she signed it, Keira once again asked me why I was affected by the locks.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. I shouldn’t have been, not without Sire’s Spark magic turning me into a shedim magic detector.
“She’s telling the truth,” Silas said. Vamp magic was pretty good at sniffing out the internal tells for when someone was lying.
I smiled at my friend, but he regarded me with a frown.
“Was that the first time you’d seen one of those lock prisons?” he said, the insanely polite vampire taking the signed form from Michael without thanking her for it.
It was like the molecules in the room rearranged themselves into new clusters: Silas, Olivier, and Keira in one, and Michael and me in the other.
“No,” I said steadily.
“She saw one before,” Michael said. “An empty one. As did I. She wasn’t affected by its presence.”
“Silas?” Keira said.
The vamp tilted his head. “Aviva isn’t lying. Director Fleisher isn’t either, but she’s not telling us the full truth.”
“How did deciding what I should and should not know work out for you back then, Mickey?”
I tugged on my collar, glancing at the door to measure how fast I could get out of here, while Silas took in the signed form like it was the most fascinating relic he’d ever encountered, and Olivier stared straight ahead, his expression an unreadable mask.
Michael threw her pen onto the table. “You could never accept the truth of my world. Has that changed?”
“What’s changed is you can’t refuse me full transparency,” Keira said.
Michael raised her eyebrows. “Is that a threat?”
I fiddled with my Maccabee ring—except it wasn’t my ring. It was the gold stacking bands I’d put on for this disguise. My heart sunk at the realization of why I’d reacted to the locks in the metal case as if I was driven by the crystal’s magic.
Ignorance really had been bliss.