Chapter 19

Ezra vanished through the portal before my shock wore off.

I stumbled to the sofa, fighting past my icy panic that Delacroix was waiting to ambush me with the information about me being his daughter. Think logically about how Ezra found out .

He must have seen Delacroix’s demon form and put two and two together from our shared toxic green eyes, frosted scales, and those crimson spikes around demon daddy’s neck that matched Cherry’s hair.

Is that why Ezra asked if I’d kept Maud’s status a secret from the Maccabees? I’d shared my wish of having grown up with a sibling with him when we were together. Obviously, I’d protect my sister—especially one with the same secret as me.

I grabbed my phone off the coffee table, but I knew Ezra wouldn’t answer if I reached out. Fine, he could have his little mic-drop moment, however, we were revisiting this. Besides, there was only one person I was in the mood to speak to.

“Aviva?” Maud’s worried face filled the screen. “Is everything okay?”

“Where are you? It’s very loud.”

She held the screen up for a moment, revealing a large food court that was bustling with people. “One of the hawker centers,” she said. “I had a craving for roast duck. Hang on.” She shouldered through the crowd until the sound of conversation was replaced by traffic. “Okay. Did you find out why the blackmailer was…you know. Am I going to be targeted again?”

“Tell me about Darby Connor.”

“Never heard of him,” she said.

“I see your bluff and call.”

“That’s not how it—” She shook her head. “I don’t know him.”

“Bullshit. You said no one other than me knew what you were, but Darby Connor was friends with your blackmailer. They met in prison. This is not a coincidence. You came to me, Maud, so you don’t get to withhold important details now.”

“Darby…” She slowly lowered herself onto the bench, her movements stiff and heavy, and tightened her fingers around the edges of the seat, her nails digging into the wood as if seeking some sort of anchor. “He was my boyfriend. We broke up before his arrest.”

“You told him. You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie. I said no other living human knew. He OD’d after he got out. A couple months ago.” Her expression twisted. “He told that vampire about me? Did he tell anyone else?” She looked over her shoulder.

“No.” I squelched any uncertainty about that fact, infusing my voice with steel. “You’re safe.”

“Safe?” She laughed bitterly. “He swore he’d never say anything.” The look in her eyes was a mix of shock, hurt, and betrayal.

One I’d seen in the mirror more than once. It was a shitty way to learn about knowing who to trust, but I’d come out the other side stronger and smarter.

“I appreciate that you need time to grieve,” I said, “but you’ve got to move on with your life.”

“I wish I’d never gone down this road. Never told Darby, never gone after Delacroix.” She paused. “He came to see me, you know.”

I straightened up from my slouched position. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. He took me for breakfast at this demon pancake house.” She shook her head, but chuckled. “We played poker.”

A tinge of jealousy shot through my chest, a tendril of resentment creeping into my mind. I shook it off, annoyed with myself. The last thing I wanted was for Delacroix to know I was his daughter, nor did I have any desire to endure the Brimstone Breakfast Club again.

If he took Maud, all the better. I was no longer a person of interest to him. He’d leave me alone.

“Does that bother you?” she said.

“Who said it did?”

Maud peered at me intently, then her brown eyes clouded and she shrugged. “My mistake.”

In my head, Cherry sighed.

“I’d rather Delacroix leave us both alone,” I said. “But if he contacts you again, or bothers you in any way, tell me.” I paused, intending to simply say bye and end the call, but that wasn’t the sentiment pulsing inside my skull or the words rising in my throat, demanding to be let out.

“You’re awfully concerned about me,” Maud said. “That’s not my experience with Maccabees.”

I dug my nails into my palm.

Cherry kept silent, waves of longing rolling off her. I snorted softly. Rolling off me . If I couldn’t tell Maud, what hope did I have of showing my true self to anyone else?

I let out a deep breath. “I hear it’s an older sister’s job to look out for her reckless younger sibling.”

Maud didn’t react for a moment, and my stomach twisted with the fear I’d gotten this all wrong. That she didn’t suspect I was her sister and I’d just outed myself as a half shedim.

Then she smiled, wide and bright. “Yeah, well, I hear it’s a younger sister’s job to annoy the shit out of her older sibling.”

“Try it.”

We grinned stupidly at each other.

“We should get roast duck together sometime. I know a good spot,” she said. “Later, sis.”

“Bye, munchkin.”

Natán didn’t know about Maud, and no one would be coming after her. My sister was free to annoy me for the next fifty years. Or longer.

I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

I slept so well, in fact, that I missed my alarm on Friday morning, racing around like a chicken with its head cut off to get out the door in time. While I was walking across the parking garage, I called the security company about resetting the mezuzah ward.

An employee explained they were fully booked today, and since tonight was Shabbat, and they didn’t work on Saturday nights after Shabbat was over, they couldn’t get to me until Sunday afternoon.

I made the appointment—agreeing to emergency pricing—and even got to work by 9:10AM. With Sachie on night shift, she’d been asleep when I headed out, but I’d left her a note about the progress of resetting the ward.

Gemma confronted me the second I entered the conference room that Marv’s team had commandeered. “Must be nice to waltz in whenever and know Mommy will protect you.”

Marv wasn’t around, and two of the operatives ignored her, but one woman, Alison, snickered. She was tight with Gemma.

Normally, I’d clap back, but Gemma wasn’t doing lunges or tricep curls or climbing a wall like a lizard, as per usual. She sat in a chair, surrounded by paperwork, her normally chic nails bitten to the quick. The strain of jockeying to be Marv’s mentee was wearing on her.

I didn’t have the heart to grind her down that much more. Though the second that position had been determined, she was fair game.

Marv rushed in, waving his hands, enthusiastically explaining about a break they’d had in the case. Apparently, our suspect had been working with a rogue vamp.

“Let’s Sector A the bastard!” Marv high-fived one of the operatives.

Alison leaned over to her friend. “I heard those anti-magic collars prisoners have to wear drive them mad.”

“I’d take insanity over some of the experiments they do on them,” a male operative replied.

“Or Arcane Rot,” Alison said. She shuddered. “Gemma, can you imagine a dark energy seeping into you, twisting and warping you down to the marrow of your bones?”

I swallowed down the taste of bile. Here it came, Gemma’s razor-sharp description of all the gross torture that she no doubt delighted sending criminals to. Wonderful. My stomach started aching.

“That’s truly horrible and actually kind of unethical,” Gemma said. “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

“Yeah, right,” I said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said.

The entire team, including Marv, looked at me curiously and a little excitedly like they were pumped for some Aviva/Gemma cage match.

I should have dropped it, kept things professional, but with Sector A hanging over my head and the endless needling I’d taken from Gemma over the years, I’d had it. “It means,” I said evenly, “I figured the suffering at Sector A would be right up your alley.”

Since Marv was present, I didn’t add that she was an A1 bitch who enjoyed other people’s suffering.

Gemma crossed her arms. “I don’t punch down.”

“The people in Sector A deserve it,” one teammate piped up. “They colluded with shedim or rogue vamps.”

“They deserve a regulated prison,” Gemma corrected. “Not some secret facility with such a lack of transparency that all we have are rumors and speculation and where every sentence is for life.” She glared at me. “Quit staring.”

Marv set me to work after that and things got crazy, so I didn’t have time to apologize for misjudging her—only on this one specific point.

Sadly, I didn’t have time for a break and the next step of my plan either until mid-afternoon.

After wolfing down my sandwich, I headed to lockup, requesting to see the evidence from the drug lab bust. I was directed to a large locked room where the lab equipment was boxed next to personal effects.

I sighed. There went any time to decompress from this morning’s hectic pace. I scanned the labels on the boxes, quickly sorting through the most promising ones until I found the twisted gold padlock that had been broken off Bratwurst’s cage.

I slipped it into an evidence bag to take with me for a wardmaker to examine and was doing one last rummage through some banker’s boxes when a glint of metal caught my eye. There was a second lock.

This one was silver, with two sets of initials carved inside a heart. D.L. + R.R. Neither set fit Jasmine Bakshi, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t hers. Or that it wasn’t warded, since I couldn’t detect those.

I held it up to the light, opening one eye and then the other, but when I didn’t have any “aha!” revelations, I placed it in another evidence bag, and signed out both locks.

The good thing about being run off my feet for the rest of the afternoon, even for the most menial tasks, was that time flew by. I announced I was leaving at 4PM on the dot.

Gemma tightly pressed her lips together, clearly wanting to make some bitchy comment about me leaving early, but any Maccabee not engaged in vital work had leave to get home in time to light the Hanukkah candles. A sweet perk of the job. Those who couldn’t leave but wanted to participate in the prayers and ritual could use one of the menorahs the Maccabees kept on hand.

As photocopying didn’t qualify as vital, I traipsed out of there with a breezy “Have a nice weekend.”

I hummed my way through the first few blocks of my drive home, groaned when I realized it was “Unchained Melody,” and hit the button on my car stereo to blast some Joan Jett.

Much better.

Sachie wasn’t home when I arrived, so I lit the candles by myself, letting the prayer and the sound of the struck match ease a deep well of tension. I wasn’t religious, but Hanukkah was my favorite holiday. Michael and I had always made a big deal of all eight nights, inviting friends over to celebrate, and even when it was just us, we sang songs and played endless rounds of dreidel.

My mother and I hadn’t celebrated together in years, but I felt more connected to her when I lit these candles than at most other times. Maybe that’s why I did it.

I allowed myself a few moments to watch the dancing flames playing over the colorful wax before heading out to the wardmaker. I didn’t love leaving open flames unattended, but there was plenty of aluminum foil under the menorah to catch and snuff out a fallen candle or stray spark.

Wards, Inc. wasn’t the most original name for the discreet office located in a small complex just off Main Street, but its owner, Noa Borstein, was an in-demand Eishei Kodesh who created wards for not only the magic community, but Trad government buildings and private companies.

She didn’t use mezuzahs—only rabbis could set those—and she couldn’t ward against shedim, if she was even aware of their existence. Her wards neutralized human-based magic threats and were also used to shore up security. For example, placed on a lock to make whatever it secured impregnable.

I buzzed in and stated my name and business into the speaker.

The door unlocked with a soft click, and I stepped inside.

Wards, Inc. was a cross between a high-tech lab and an art studio. Interactive displays mounted on the walls showcased intricate magical diagrams while LED lights embedded in the ceiling bathed the space in a tasteful glow.

The centerpiece of the room was a large drafting table covered in tracing paper with complicated designs for wards. It also housed state-of-the-art equipment with touch-sensitive screens. I couldn’t guess their functions, but I also wouldn’t randomly stick fingers in front of one lest I trigger some laser.

My mouth fell open with a whispered “Whoa.”

A woman gave a throaty chuckle. “It is rather ‘whoa.’” With her sleek coral linen tunic, loose pants, and sharply cut bob, she reflected the artsy–hi tech dichotomy of her office. “What can I do for you, Operative Fleischer?”

I pulled the twisted gold lock out of the evidence bag and placed it on the reception counter. “Is there a ward on this?”

Noa lowered a jeweler’s loupe that she wore on a strap around her head. She peered through the loupe, closing one bright green–eyeshadowed lid to see better. “Nice work, but it’s not one of mine.” She prodded the broken hinge and tsked. “Breaking this open doesn’t affect the ward, but the lock mechanism won’t function anymore.”

“How do you break a ward?” I replaced the gold lock in its evidence bag.

“You don’t. Only the wardmaker can undo their work.”

“What about this one? Is it warded as well?” I placed the silver lock with the initials on the counter.

Noa examined it for several minutes, swinging the open hinge back and forth, and flipping it over and back. “There’s no magic on this one. It’s just a lock.” She ran a finger over the initials. “What do they call them? Love locks?”

I took it back with a rush of disappointment. “I think so. Can you tell who warded the gold lock? I need to find out who they sold this particular one to.”

She pushed the loupe back into her hair. “I’m fairly certain I recognize whose work this is, but these particular ward and lock combinations are very popular items. Good for storage lockers and such. I don’t keep detailed records of those transactions and there’s no reason to think that he would either.”

“Could you check with him? Please? It’s important.”

“Sure. Give me a moment.” She disappeared through a door into the back.

I played a few games of Solitaire on my phone while I waited.

“I got the invoice for the ward and lock.” Noa returned to the counter, paper in hand.

A fax? Who used those anymore?

I scanned the receipt that had been sent over. No name on the invoice, cash transaction. Who carried cash anymore? Oh, right, criminals.

The only useful details were that the ward and lock had been sold two weeks before the bust, in Kamloops, the largest town close to the drug lab.

I folded the fax and placed it in my purse. “Thank you.”

Afterward, I sat in my car, slotting these pieces into place. This cemented the theory that the Eishei Kodesh gang found the shedim and not vice versa, since they’d prepared for her stay with a cage and this warded lock.

The two-week time frame was interesting. Had they bought the lock with time to spare before she showed up or was it a last-minute thing?

There wasn’t any information about how long it took the shedim to produce enough urine for one batch of Crackle, and Jasmine, in her current condition, couldn’t shed any light on that.

The Maccabees who’d rounded up the evidence once our team was headed back to Vancouver had destroyed the drug. Given the bloodshed that would occur had any other organic batches been distributed, we’d have heard about it, but thankfully, there were no reports to that end. We’d prevented a horrible disaster.

I still had to solve how Jasmine’s crew had gotten hold of Bratwurst though. Even if summoning and binding a demon was possible—and according to Sachie, the chances were slim to none—Jasmine’s lot didn’t strike me as the type to have that knowledge.

That left my hypothesis about a third party with the ability to procure not just any demon, but one who was weak enough that it could be manhandled into a jail cell cage and had the right enzyme for the drug.

I messaged Silas regarding any possible matchmakers. He’d hit a lot of dead ends but had one tenuous lead to follow up on and would get back to me in the morning.

My stomach growled. It was almost 8PM and the Jolly Hellhound was a short drive away. Say what you will about the establishment being a front for the Copper Hell, it still did an excellent burger. After a day like today, it was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Sachie took me up on my offer to meet there. She was just leaving the gym and starving so it was perfect timing.

As soon as the door to the pub swung open, the inviting scent of beer, crispy fries, and sizzling grilled meat wafted through the air. The dimly lit interior was filled with the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses, a haven for those seeking solace and camaraderie. Local sports leagues’ flags were mounted around the pub, the air conditioning making them flutter like pirate flags in the ocean breeze.

I snagged a booth, tracing a finger over the grooves in the worn wooden table while I perused the specials on the chalkboard behind the bar. Nothing swayed me from my burger goal, and while I accepted the menu I was given, I ordered only an IPA on tap, waiting until Sach had arrived to get my food.

A group of men walked in and the air sharpened. Dressed in casual clothing, they weren’t particularly muscular, and the ones who weren’t joking around with each other were focused on their phones, yet there was no mistaking what they were.

Vampires.