Chapter 11

Director Abe snorted softly—and Ezra was nowhere to be seen.

Thinking fast about what could have happened, I traced a hand over the man’s shoulder. It was a slenderer frame, not Ezra’s brawny physique.

I experienced a brief, exquisite moment of panic at this monster of a social faux pas. Michael was going to lose it when Director Abe told her I’d felt him up. I wasn’t sure how I’d ever live that down.

Then a familiar voice said: “Got a thing for older men?”

“You’re the worst,” I growled at my glamored, highly-awful-for-not-giving-me-a-heads-up ex.

Chuckling, Ezra held the door open for me.

The strip of night sky visible above somewhat ramshackle bars was clear and the air was crisp. Neon lights from dozens of signs flickered and danced across the pavement and the bustling narrow street pulsed with a life of its own. It had been around 5AM Vancouver time when we left the Hell so was about 9PM here.

I swerved around a couple chatting animatedly in Japanese, darting glances into the windows of each tiny bar like I was opening the windows of a nativity calendar. One was dominated by an opulent chandelier, another boasted dozens of Troll dolls on shelves. There was kitschy folk art, wallpaper made from faded band posters, and one place, barely bigger than a closet, was adorned with plastic hangers. “Where are we?”

Inside one open door was a set of stairs leading to a bar on the second floor that were so steep, they qualified for ladderhood.

“Golden Gai district in Shinjuku. A former black market. It used to be a hub for the Tokyo subculture and underground arts scene. It’s also nice and close to Maccabee HQ.”

Lost to the charm of this area, I’d momentarily forgotten Ezra’s appearance as Director Abe. The disguise was unnerving, and a sober reminder of exactly what we were up against, but combined with the sense of untold mysteries hiding behind each door, it all left me breathless with anticipation. “How did you instaglamor?”

Ezra turned the corner onto another narrow road, deftly avoiding a man riding a bike that was hooked to a cart loaded with softly clanking boxes.

I picked up my pace to match his stride, catching a small vial that was a quarter full of murky liquid that he tossed over to me. “What’s this?”

“A certain kind of shedim sweat mixed with corn syrup. Disgusting but effective.” He pulled out his phone, quickly scrolling through until he held up a photo of a Japanese woman. “Drink it and focus on this photo. Himari Yui is a level three operative here in Tokyo.”

I shuddered down the concoction, which tasted like ball sweat with a sugary chaser. Icy prickles stung me from within, freezing me in my tracks with a full-body shiver. “For fuck’s sake!” I sniffled, swiping a hand at my streaming eyes.

Ezra handed me a pressed linen handkerchief. “You’re her spitting image.”

I dabbed at my eyes, loudly blew my nose, and then stuffed the hankie in my pocket to wash before returning. My hands appeared—and felt—smaller, as did my feet in their glamored, polished black lace-ups.

Ezra offered to show me my face with his camera, but I declined, not wanting any further sense of disorientation on this foreign mission. Putting the phone away, he turned another corner and pointed to a tower a couple of blocks away. “Tokyo HQ.”

I hurried after him. “You’ve ensured we won’t run into either the director or Operative Yui?”

“But of course.”

“How?”

His answering smile was a blade that I never wanted to see on the real Director Abe’s face. “I know many things. Including some very hidden peccadillos of Operative Yui’s.” He pulled a mock sad face. “They’ve just come to light, resulting in Director Abe’s presence on scene at an illegal gambling house to clean up a rather unfortunate mess.” He snickered. “I hope he brought gloves.”

What exactly—I shook my head. Better not to know. “You’re going to just stroll in as the director and have him release Silas? No one will buy that.”

“Of course they won’t. But they will buy that my trusted operative with a very public hatred of vampires and excellent aim has been brought in to subdue Silas enough to get him into a Maccabee transport van.”

“An execution vehicle, you mean. Being an operative has kept Silas alive this long, but vamps don’t even get the option of life in Sector A.” I kicked a rock against a building. “Poor Silas. It’s a shitty trick to pull on him. I know this ruse will save his life and we have to sell it, but I don’t like the idea of him being scared he’s about to die.”

“I like it less than you do, but it’s that or he really dies.” He paused. “Then we do.”

I held up a fist that trembled only slightly. “Sector A for me, boyo.”

Ezra chucked me under the chin. “I like your optimism.” His expression turned serious. “There’s no such thing as an infallible plan, and Sector A is a definite risk for you. You don’t have to come.”

The mere mention of that prison made my knees weak, but I wasn’t going to abandon Silas. Or Ezra. My ex and I were still going to have a serious talk about his behavior over the past couple months, but that was for later. Besides, Ezra was the house at the Copper Hell. He’d have made sure the odds were in his favor no matter what game he played.

“I’m in it to win it,” I said, jogging through the crosswalk and craning my head up at the slender tower. It was merely glass and steel with nary a hostile vibe emanating off it. In fact, the light streaming through the windows was a welcoming beacon in the night, and I even spied letters spelling out “Happy Hanukkah” in English and Japanese on some of the glass panes.

I notched my chin up, shoulders back, and marched through the motion-controlled front doors into the airy lobby.

Ezra headed straight for the employee door behind the reception desk.

My breath caught when the young man working there spoke to Ezra in Japanese, but he simply nodded and produced a security pass to buzz himself into the inner sanctum.

I didn’t speak until we were in the elevators heading down into the basement. “Glamors, security passes,” I murmured. “Someone was busy. And lucky that whatever the receptionist said was a yes or no question.”

One side of Ezra’s—Director Abe’s—mouth quirked up.

We stepped out of the elevator to a half dozen guards stationed outside the metal door of Silas’s cell.

One of them started speaking to Ezra in rapid-fire Japanese. Our luck had run out.

I inched my fingers toward the knife I had stashed in a wrist sheath under my sleeve that Sachie had pressed upon me before we broke into the Jolly Hellhound. Sector A pulsed against my brain like a death knell.

Ezra answered back. In calm and thoughtful Japanese. No hesitation.

The guard inclined his head and I swallowed my gasp. Ezra had trotted out his French before, which was impressive and sexy, but not that much of a stretch given the similarities to his native Spanish. Mastering Japanese well enough to fool everyone into believing he was Director Abe and send three of the operatives sprinting off to do his bidding, however?

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

Had he picked this up in the past six years? Learning Japanese at this level would have taken a long time and quite the dedication to his lessons.

How many hours that I’d blithely assumed he’d spent partying around the world or playing assassin for his father had been spent studying? Knitting, Japanese, Ezra was like a lantern where all I’d initially seen was a narrow beam of light, but where he kept sliding aside shutters to reveal more of his brilliance.

“Transport,” Ezra murmured in English for my ears only.

I stared blankly at him.

He shot me a “get it together” look.

One of the remaining guards opened Silas’s cell and Ezra marched inside, with me on his heels.

My heart sank.

It wasn’t enough that Silas’s magic had flatlined into the same dull ache that I felt under my skin, both his wrists were manacled to the wall with heavy iron cuffs, there were bruised smudges under his eyes, and he’d gnawed his bottom lip raw.

Shit! Nulling magic. I darted a glance at Ezra, then relaxed. Our demon magic glamors remained intact.

When he saw Director Abe, Silas’s face lit up with a wary hope. “Yuto. Good. I’d like to go through the individual charges and…” Silas trailed off at the sight of me, or rather, Operative Yui. “So that’s how it is,” he said softly in his Southern drawl. “No presumed innocence for vamps, huh, Himari?” He rested his head back against the wall. “You’re still Maccabees and I do hereby demand my due process.”

Had Darsh been here, he would have lost his shit at Silas expecting any form of justice, and even I wanted to rail at him to fight back with fists, not words.

Unable to understand Japanese and unfamiliar with my environment, I was more keenly attuned to everyone’s body language, homing in on any little twitch with the gaze of a predator.

“We’re going to unlock the manacles and you will come with us.” Ezra spoke English in his director impersonation without a trace of an accent. It was lower than Ezra’s normal voice but must have been accurate because none of the guards blinked. “You will wear nulling cuffs. Fighting is pointless.”

“I’m not about to confirm your opinion of me as a monster,” Silas said. “And for the record, neither is Ezra.”

My ex’s lips thinned. “This isn’t about Cardoso.”

Silas laughed without a trace of humor. “Tell yourself whatever’ll help you sleep at night, Yuto. The Authority wants him and they’re happy to throw away the life of an operative who’s served them faithfully to lure him out.”

The operative who unlocked Silas and put the new cuffs on him was gentle, apologizing quietly in English. He must have been one of the people Silas had worked with here.

Silas clapped his shoulder with a sad smile and the man stepped back, his head hung in shame.

The other two operatives had no qualms about viciously prodding Silas into the elevator, shooting me looks as if seeking Himari’s approval for their roughness.

I kept my face a blank mask, since I couldn’t exactly praise them in Japanese. In my head though? I hurled obscenities. Silas was an operative, same as them, but just because he was a vampire, law and order could be dispensed with. None of his good work over the years mattered.

Is this what awaited me when everyone found out I was an infernal? Would I be the one whose years of hard work keeping humanity safe suddenly became irrelevant?

I dug my nails into my palms to keep from reacting. The thing is, even if I had the abilities to fully embody my role, I was relieved to be relegated to a prop and that the Authority would never be able to prove that I’d been a part of this.

There were people out there who’d prioritize their personal convictions that justice be served over their personal well-being and part of me was ashamed I wasn’t more like them, but my pragmatic side knew that standing up against this travesty as Aviva would be a noble sacrifice on my part and not much else.

Moral lines were tricky, shifting bastards, but mine were solid. Should this operation go sideways, I’d fight tooth and nail to save all of us, but for now, I remained silent, my instincts on high alert.

Ezra headed around to the front of the transport van with one of the cruel operatives acting as our driver, while Silas and I climbed into the back of the panel van onto opposite benches. He was chained to a ring in the floor, but I had my doubts about whether that could truly hold him. Regardless, he didn’t make a move as we were locked in from outside.

“Sure wish I could see the sky one last time,” he said, then he lapsed into silence.

Unsure of what the driver could hear, I couldn’t answer Silas or assure him all would be well.

We traveled for almost an hour in stop-and-go city traffic before the van came to a stop.

Nothing happened for a few minutes, then the doors were flung open and the keys to Silas’s chains tossed inside. I unlocked him and we climbed out into the middle of a run-down industrial area with the lights of Tokyo blazing in the distance.

Silas stared up at the sky as if memorizing it, but I was glued to the sight of the operative crumpled on the ground next to the van.

“Is he dead?”

At the sound of my normal voice, Silas whipped his head to me.

“Sadly, no,” Ezra said drolly in his regular voice. He pulled out another vial, drank half the contents, handed it to me, and shoved Silas in the shoulder. “Pendejo. Next time you’re being transported to your death, don’t just comply.”

His glamor fell away, as did mine within seconds of drinking this second liquid. It tasted like bitter almonds so that was a step up.

“I wouldn’t have let it go that far,” Silas said, “but first I had to pursue avenues that kept my morals intact.”

“Your morals are going to be the death of me,” Ezra muttered. “I should have walked the other way when I found you trying to rescue that lame tiger and getting your hand practically torn off for your troubles.”

Silas rescued tigers? How sweet was that.

“Says the guy who got teary when we visited Javan at the sanctuary in Malawai,” Silas said cheekily.

“There was a five-hundred-pound beast bearing down on me,” Ezra said, opening a portal. “They were tears of terror.”

“Right. Hugs and ear scratches are primal fear responses when it comes to big cats.”

I gaped at them. Ezra got to hug tigers? I wanted to hug a tiger.

My eyes slid sideways to my ex.

“You going to keep busting my balls, chamo, or get the hell out of here before this one wakes up?” Ezra prodded the unconscious operative.

“I’m going. I’m going.” Silas patted my shoulder. “Thanks for coming to save me, Avi.”

“Sorry for getting you in that mess in the first place,” I said.

“Not your fault.” He walked into the mesh portal.

“You get thanked, and I get grief. What a friendship,” Ezra grumbled.

“You think that’s grief?” I flashed him a hard smile. “Strap in, Cardoso, because you and I have a lot to discuss.”

“Wonderful.” He heaved a dramatic sigh then winked at me. “But we had fun, right? Partners in crime.”

My answering grin was fifty percent me, fifty percent Cherry Bomb. “Crazy fun.”