Chapter 21
Ezra sat alone on his balcony, every inch the Lord of the Copper Hell from his crisp suit that was black as pitch to the sharp gold glint of cuff links and his jet-black curls ruthlessly slicked off his forehead.
The floor of the gaming hall wasn’t visible through our video call, but an excited cheer from one group of players rose above the chime of slot machines and the whir of spinning roulette wheels, then a sudden pained roar cut through the symphony of sound.
My boyfriend didn’t flinch at the noise; he didn’t even glance over. He stifled a yawn, his lids heavy.
I pushed out the door of the autobody repair shop, waiting for my car to be brought around. “When’s the last time you slept?”
“And here I was hoping for some sexy talk,” he said with a wry smile.
I frowned at him. “Ezra.”
He looked up at the ceiling as if searching for the answer there. “Yesterday? Seeing you energizes me.”
“Points for sweet-talking, but you need to take care of yourself. Fit in those catnaps of yours.”
The mechanic rapped on the window and held up my car keys.
I motioned I’d grab them in a minute. Much as I longed to see Ezra, asking him to come with me to charm Rukhsana was placing yet another burden on him.
“What do you need, mi cielo?”
My insides went gushy at the nickname that was being used in sweet seriousness instead of like a weapon. Then they turned into a pretzel because I was making him keep us a secret.
“Nothing,” I said. “I just miss you.”
“I miss you too, but I recognize that look. Out with it.”
I sighed. “I was hoping you’d come with me to Rukhsana’s.”
He pulled a mock aghast face. “You’re pimping me out? So soon into our second act?”
“Yes.” I walked around to the side of the garage. “But also, I want you with me tonight when I fall asleep.”
Our call went fuzzy, the screen filling with static before it went black.
I swallowed. Had Delacroix decided to be a dick and mess with our cell reception or had another crisis happened at the Hell?
“Ezra?”
A familiar mesh portal opened up and Ezra strode toward me, his trench coat swirling around his legs. He planted a hard kiss on my lips.
“Best idea I’ve heard in ages,” he said.
“I’m sorry about the photo,” I blurted out.
Ezra furrowed his brow, then shook his head. “The one with Silas? Documentation is good. It helps your mission.”
I probed his words for any subtext or snark, but he appeared to be genuine. “It does, but I’m sorry I ended up in that public position. With Silas,” I repeated.
“That isn’t a chargeable offense,” Ezra said wryly. “Seriously, the photo is irrelevant.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
A vise around my chest loosened. “Okay, I’ll go get my car.”
He leaned against the brick wall, sin and sensuality wrapped in cashmere. “I’ll be waiting.”
I looked back only three times, amazed that this gorgeous incredible being—that the former love of my life—was mine again.
While I gritted my teeth and paid for the repairs, I texted Sachie, Darsh, and Michael that I had proof the Ashbishop was dead, though I left out Silas’s role. I added that we were searching for a copycat vampire, from here on out to be called Ash Lite.
Forty-three percent less evil , Cherry joked. For a smoother, less cloying, evil chaotic taste .
Moments later Ezra and I were on the road, making excellent time to Rukhsana’s new chop shop.
After also filling my boyfriend in about the Ashbishop, I glanced over at him. “Are you really okay with keeping us on the down-low?”
He hit a stereo button, skipping songs on my playlist. “I said I was.”
“Yeah.” But there was a difference between truly accepting something and capitulating. I returned my attention to the road.
The scent of motor oil and the rhythmic clanking of tools greeted us as we stepped into Rukhsana’s new chop shop. Ezra’s eyes darted around, taking in the organized chaos of partially dismantled vehicles and gleaming parts.
“Avi!” A booming voice echoed through the garage. Jordy’s coveralls were smeared with grease, his beard once more growing in dark and bushy. “Didn’t expect to see you today.” He saw Ezra and stepped back with a nervous bob. “Crimson Prince.”
The one other time they’d met, Ezra had almost choked Jordy out. My boyfriend had an amused glint in his eyes, but just in case, I muscled between them and tossed Jordy a paper bag. “I brought you a little something.”
He caught it deftly and peered inside, his eyes lighting up. “Apple fritters.” He yanked one out and took a bite, closing his eyes in bliss. “They’re still warm. Uber Eats has nothing on you. You here to see the boss?”
I nodded. “Is she in?”
“Up in her office.” He headed toward a rusty intercom on the wall and pressed a button. “Hey, Rukhsana. Avi’s here.” His expression turned sly. “She brought a variety of treats.”
I winced.
“I better rank above the doughnuts,” Ezra murmured into my ear.
A honey-rich French-accented voice crackled through the speaker. “Send them up.”
We climbed the metal staircase, the steps creaking under our weight, and entered a plush office that stood in stark contrast to the gritty garage below.
Rukhsana Gill sat behind her desk, her multiple piercings catching the light. She’d dyed her inch-long hair since the fundraiser. The blue more thoroughly obscured the snake tattoo on her skull than her natural color. “Ezra Cardoso, how delicious.”
Her sultry smile packed the force of a nuclear weapon.
I clasped my hands behind my back against the urge to hustle Ezra out of here, lest he succumb, and took one of the two chairs across from the Frenchwoman.
“That color is horrible on you, chère.” She patted her hair. “Maybe use a brush now and again? Let me give you the name of my stylist.”
I caught a glimpse of myself in the window overlooking the shop below. My hair was a mess, and my makeup was mostly gone. I smoothed my locks down, more upset that I’d let Ezra see me this way than that Rukhsana had.
Screw self-consciousness. I had more important things on my plate. I dropped my hand. “I’m good. Hope you don’t mind us stopping by unannounced.”
“Mind? How could I possibly mind when you brought such exquisite company?” She wagged a finger at Ezra. “Though it’s unfair of you to show up when I don’t have a shot at you.”
My heart stuttered. She knows .
Ezra’s expression smoothed out into a polite smile. “I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t be coy.” She looked at him with her eyebrows raised, but at his baffled shake of the head, smirked. “Check the web, chèr.”
Ezra and I reached for our phones at the same time.
Photos of him cozying up to a gorgeous redhead in a 1940s-inspired dress were splashed all over gossip sites with headlines like “The Perfect Couple” and “Two Vampires; One Heart.”
I couldn’t make sense of this. Had they pulled out some old pictures of Ezra? Why publish them now?
“Irene and I are just friends,” he said.
This was the Irene he’d met with? I practically strangled my phone. Then I kept reading. Oh good. It got worse.
She wasn’t merely some random beautiful vampire, she was a famous ballet dancer with a slew of star performances to her credit. She was poised, elegant, and exactly the kind of public figure Ezra would have on his arm.
The logical part of my brain piped up that this was great. It threw Natán a curveball and helped hide any trace of my reconciliation with Ezra.
Cherry had a different take.
A cold, irrational jealousy slithered through me, coiling around my heart and whispering doubts about my place in Ezra’s world.
My boyfriend hooked an elbow carelessly over the back of his seat. “If anyone has a shot with me, it’s you.”
“Flatterer,” Rukhsana said. “I hope you’re not just here to tease me with promises you won’t keep.”
“I never make promises I don’t intend to fulfill,” Ezra replied, his voice low and inviting. He added something in French that resulted in her husky chuckle.
I tried not to gag. Or stab them.
“You’re terrible.” Rukhsana trailed her fingers along her décolletage.
“And you’re brilliant,” Ezra replied. “Perhaps the only one who can help us.”
“Don’t overdo it, chèr.” Rukhsana winked and grinned. “Go on.”
“Have you heard of Chandra Nichols?” I said, taking back control.
Rukhsana shook her head. “Should I have? Is she missing?”
“No, she’s dead. What about Linda Aviyente? She owns the Lions Gallery.”
“She is missing?” Rukhsana made a face. “It’s not much of a loss to the art world, but if you really need to find her?—”
I leaned forward. “Not her. Her lover and employee, Troy Abelman.”
“The one with the magnificent cheekbones?”
I clapped my hands together. “Yes!”
“They can’t be that special,” Ezra said without ever having seen the man. “They’re cheekbones.”
Rukhsana and I turned twin looks of pity on him.
Ezra crossed his arms, throwing in an eye roll for good measure.
“Why is Troy of interest?” Rukhsana said.
“He’s disappeared with some sensitive items.”
Rukhsana’s eyebrows shot up. “How sensitive are we talking?”
“Sensitive enough to cause a lot of trouble if they fall into the wrong hands,” I said carefully.
She smiled slowly. “Now that,” she said, “is much more interesting than a pretty face. You want me to put out feelers?”
“If you could. We need to find him fast. But warn anyone about approaching him directly.”
Rukhsana tapped her chin, her lips pursed. “It’ll cost you.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Not money. Information. Tell me specifically what these artifacts are.”
I hesitated, my mind racing through the potential consequences of revealing too much.
Troy was on the run with two prison locks. A shedim had been incarcerated in each one, but who knew if that was still true?
Rukhsana was resourceful, as was her network of spies, but if human operatives didn’t have a way to kill demons, regular people, magic criminals or not, didn’t either.
Plus, I didn’t want Rukhsana interested in those locks and telling her they were demon artifacts would set her on their trail. “That’s above your pay grade. What if I triple your fee?”
She sat back and crossed her legs. “Not interested.”
“You want information,” Ezra said, “I’ll give it to you. A one-time favor where I’ll obtain information for you. Not about this case though.”
I shook my head at him, but he ignored me, his focus on Rukhsana.
“Do we have a deal?” he said.
She drummed her fingers on her desk. “Yes, but I’ll also take triple my fee.”
“Done,” I said, opening the app to transfer money to her offshore account. The Maccabees could pony up for this bribe.
“I’ll put the word out,” she said. “If anyone’s seen or heard anything about your man Troy, I’ll get it out of them.”
Relief washed over me. Even if Silas and the other vamps found Troy first, I didn’t consider this gamble a waste of money. “Thank you.”
She nodded and opened an old-fashioned leather accounting book, the two of us dismissed.
Ezra and I walked downstairs to the garage.
Jordy rolled himself out from under a car, lying on a mechanic’s dolly, and threw me a big wave, whistling cheerfully along to the Rolling Stones song playing on a battered radio.
I grinned and waved back before stepping into the night and taking a deep breath of fresh air.
“That went as well as it could,” Ezra said.
I pulled my car keys out of my coat pocket. “Did it?” I said waspishly.
He stepped in front of me. “You’re mad at me? The only reason I was with Irene was to help you.”
“I figured you’d play her for the info, same as I was supposed to.”
“She insisted on having a drink while we spoke. We never even left the Hell and I didn’t have any fans on board, which means Natán got to one of my staff.” He curled his hands into such tight fists that blood dripped from one palm. “How about you focus on that?”
It pissed me off even more that that hadn’t been my first thought. “I can multitask.”
He glared at his bleeding hand, where the skin was already healing, like it was the force of his anger, not his magic, that was closing the wound. “What do you want from me? I can’t help people taking photos of me without my knowledge or consent, and I can’t set the record straight because that’s what you wanted.”
“Finally, the truth comes out. You hate keeping our relationship quiet. You’re a fucking Prime, Ezra. You don’t need the spotlight to keep you safe.” I stepped around him and continued on to my car, feeling hollow.
I nursed my anger and hurt—rational or not—all the way back to my car, where he caught up with me.
“When I was a kid, Natán did this bullshit interview about our happy father-son dynamic.”
I opened my car door but didn’t get in.
“He showed the article to all his cronies, so proud of how I’d answered the questions. How well I’d conducted myself.” Ezra gazed off, his jaw tight. “It was shortly after Mamá died and I got it in my head that here was a way I could make my father stick around.”
I reached for him, but he brushed away my hand.
“Somewhere along the line, wanting to make him proud turned into wanting to keep myself safe from him. Maybe it’s childish and I should have outgrown that long before I did, but for someone so smart, you got what was happening here all wrong.” His lips twisted and his gaze held no trace of softness. “I don’t want the world to know about us because I’m scared. That ship sailed a long time ago.” He brushed his fingers over his pec, his tattoo hidden by his coat. “I was hoping that the person I saw as my world thought enough of me to openly acknowledge I was hers.”
I pressed against the cool metal of the car door, the weight of Ezra’s words overwhelming me. A mix of shame and regret churned in my gut. I’d profoundly misunderstood his motives and wounded him in the process.
“I want that too,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry for hurting you. For putting this investigation above us.”
“You put yourself first. And you had every right to. I love that you refuse to give up your dream of making this world better for half shedim, and I’m sorry for how I behaved.”
I caught his hand. “You do mean the world to me, Zee. I’m all in and?—”
He gently laid a finger against my lips. “Hearing you say that is enough.” He ducked his head, a shy smile on his lips. “It’s everything.”