Chapter 20

The cheerful chatter and clinking of glasses faded into an eerie silence. My heart hammered. I’d seen vamp patrons here before—was this particular crowd simply unaccustomed to them?

The vampires, who’d been so jovial a second ago, stilled.

A glass shattered.

The largest of the bloodsuckers growled, his fangs descending.

I rose, ready to intervene, but the hostess was already crossing the pub, chastising the busboy who’d dropped a glass, and motioning to the vamps with a bored expression that washed any tension away.

Reality snapped back, conversations once more bright, and the vibe easy.

My gaze lingered on the vampires for a moment longer.

Had one of them turned Zaven? Probably not, but it got me wondering about the blackmailer, which led to questions about Natán Cardoso. For such a larger-than-life figure, I knew very little about the man.

I opened a browser and fell down a rabbit hole. Unfortunately, there was little new to learn, other than his age (sixty-two), and the account of how he grew a small vampire mob into one of the strongest global players. A Mafia he dubbed the Kosher Nostra after the nickname given to Jewish mobs in Prohibition-era United States.

Unsettled, I set my phone down. Natán had wealth, power, and was immortal. What could he possibly add to that arsenal that would make him more invincible and untouchable?

Other than Ezra?

Ezra hadn’t found evidence of any vampires pursuing that invincibility, but Roman Whittaker had no reason to lie about the real reason infernals were murdered.

I sipped my beer. Once upon a time, Natán had been a Maccabee operative whose job had gone so wrong that a vengeful vampire turned him and his pregnant wife. Did that speak to motive? For Natán and Eva, observant Jews, this was a fate worse than death, and to make matters worse, she was pregnant with Ezra.

There weren’t many articles about the day she walked into the scorching midday sun in Caracas; fewer still about her life. Ezra had given me glimpses of his mother, but he was five when she died, and everything he said was clouded with nostalgia and loss.

After some digging, I came across a single article written in Spanish about Eva. Google Translate turned reading it into a linguistic puzzle, but I got the gist. Eva had been a successful level three operative before she became a vamp. Both she and her husband attempted to remain with the organization, but about a year before her suicide, she’d left the Maccabees to open a crisis center to help other vampires who were struggling. By all accounts, this had given her renewed purpose and peace.

Could she have succumbed to the darkness of her trauma? Of course. She’d suffered horribly. However, she’d been interviewed for this article a couple of weeks before she died. It wasn’t merely this crisis center that provided her with a reason to live. There was another reason, one that brought a joyous expression to her face in one of the photographs: her young son, Ezra.

There were newly turned vampires, even ones who’d consented to this, who couldn’t handle the loss of their humanity, but Eva had hung in for five years already. She had the crisis center and Ezra, and she’d been a religious Jew. Maybe she’d lost that faith, but the prohibition against suicide would be ingrained in her.

Why, after all that time, had she been overwhelmed by despair?

A primal surge of electric energy coursed through me, the jolt of having finally found that single thread that could pull apart an entire complicated knot.

Something was terribly off about Eva’s suicide, and I was going to find out what.

I’m sorry I dumped knowing about Delacroix on you like that . Ezra’s text almost made me knock over my drink, coming on the heels of me looking into his mom.

Me: It’s okay. You were bound to make the connection. I just haven’t fully processed it yet , you know? It’s one thing for him not to recognize me, but he’s tried to kill me more than once.

Dots appeared and disappeared. I waited for the undoubtedly sympathetic response.

I’m glad you got Michael’s looks .

Oh my God. Wow .

“You stealing my burger joint, Fleischer?” Olivier stood next to my table, arms crossed, but his green eyes twinkled. “Because I take theft very seriously.”

I grinned, relieved to hear the teasing note in his voice, instead of the suspicious one I’d become all too familiar with, and spread my hands wide. “I don’t see your name stamped anywhere on the place, Detective Olivier Desmond.”

“Are you here alone?” he said. “Want company?”

“I’d love company.” I waited until he’d slid into the booth to add, “Sachie should be here any moment.”

He froze, tried to slide back out, got caught on his coat, and swore.

I laughed. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Olivier narrowed his green eyes. “I feel like I’m being set up.”

I blinked my lashes at him. “I have only the purest of intentions.”

“Uh-huh.” Grumbling, he shrugged out of his peacoat, his biceps flexing and shifting.

A complicated relationship with my ex did not preclude me enjoying the current view, until Sachie entered, her cheeks pink from the cold and her hair damp from showering at the gym.

I waved her over, delighted that Olivier was out of her sightline.

“Were you waiting long?” She did a double take when she came up to the booth. “Point Break? What are you doing here?” She shot me the same suspicious glare that Olivier had.

I scooted over on the padded bench to make room for my friend. “Olivier and I ran into each other here.” I checked the appetizer list, but nothing appealed to me. Just a burger then.

I teased Olivier about ordering a lobster roll as his East Coast comfort food.

“I’m a proud Nova Scotian,” he said. “Mock my lobster at your peril.”

Ezra sent me a poorly photoshopped image of my head on a serpent’s body. Alternate universe Aviva is also cute , even with her father’s looks instead of her mother’s .

Don’t quit your day job to photoshop with the youth, Cardoso. Also, keep it up and I won’t entertain you with tales of the dinner I’m having with Sachie and the cop I want to set her up with .

Once we’d placed our orders, the conversation turned to shop talk. It started with familiar bitching about all the bureaucracy and then swapping funny stories of previous cases, but when our food arrived, the conversation shifted to whether the Trad and Maccabee forces should be merged: a hotly contested topic.

“Eishei Kodesh make up a fraction of the world’s population,” I said, “and there’s a lot of anti-magic sentiment out there. I think there’s a world where we do work together, but we’re a long way off.”

“To be fair,” Sachie said, cutting her massive piece of schnitzel, “that prejudice goes both ways. Lots of operatives see Trad cops as inferior.”

Has she stabbed you yet for trying to matchmake her? Ezra texted. Inquiring minds want to know .

Olivier regarded her over the rim of his pint glass. “You’re the first Maccabee I’ve ever heard admit that.”

“We’re magic,” Sach said dryly, “not saints.”

I’m a matchmaking wonder , I texted back. The children are playing nicely .

Olivier took a long pull of his drink. “You’re working with vamps now, aren’t you?”

Sachie tensed. “What of it?” she said warily.

Whoops . Spoke too soon . Usually, I’d consider it rude to be texting, but neither Sachie nor Olivier were paying any attention to me. And that was a good sign.

“Police forces struggle with profiling,” he said, “which in turn undermines prioritizing ethical conduct and fairness in dealing with both victims and the accused.” He scooped up some coleslaw that had fallen out of his lobster roll. “Having magic adds a layer of complexity, would you agree?”

“Sure.”

“But at the end of the day, we’re all human. We have a justice system in place. One that vampires aren’t given access to. Once their guilt is determined, they’re executed. And if it turns out at some point that they were falsely accused, it’s too late. One strike and you’re dead is a hell of a systemic bias.”

“Vampires aren’t a marginalized community,” she said. “They’re apex predators. And incarceration doesn’t work with them. You can’t sentence immortal beings to twenty years and expect any kind of rehabilitation, and we don’t have a practical way to lock them up for life. Not that that would work either. Our current flawed system is the best we’ve got. That said, the operatives in the Vancouver Spook Squad do an incredibly thorough job to determine guilt before carrying out punishment, precisely because they’re vampires. Other chapters where humans alone run the Spook Squad are not as vigorous.” Her voice was thick with disgust.

Olivier forked up some coleslaw. “You struggle to reconcile what’s fundamentally vigilantism with ethical conduct, don’t you?” He asked the question without any judgment in his voice, his expression open and curious.

Ezra: You can’t leave me hanging like that . Update?

I answered his inquiry with High-stakes ethics discussion happening here .

Yawn .

“I struggle with it every day.” Sachie buttered a roll. “Which is exactly why I wanted to join that squad. It’s important to face it and choose to stay on the right side of a moral line with every new case and not mindlessly kill. I’m doing this as much for myself as anything, but how will we foster understanding and a better community for everyone if cops stay in their own little bubbles? That includes both working with and policing vampires.”

He nodded. “I’ve been saying that for years about Trads and Maccabees working together, but I never put vamps into the equation. Even ones who are colleagues. I pride myself on my inclusive mindset, but it seems I’ve got some blinders to work on removing.”

“Admitting that puts you ahead of a lot of Maccabees,” Sachie said.

Me to Ezra: Ooh . Points to Olivier for being open-minded .

Ezra: Wait . Olivier? The guy you were with at the pub when I ran into you that time?

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” Olivier said.

“I appreciate you keeping an open mind, especially about my work on the Spook Squad. A lot of people don’t.” Sachie cut through her last piece of schnitzel with a bit too much force and the knife scraped against the plate.

I flinched—not from the sound, but because this was a sore spot for her. She’d taken a lot of flak from other operatives and now her relationship with her own parents was strained. Whatever my frustrations with Sachie about her lack of acceptance for half shedim, her desire to do the right thing was sincere and I was tired of seeing her judged for it.

Ezra: Aviva?

I didn’t reply, worried about Sach.

She had allowed very few romantic relationships to progress past a casual status. I’d always suspected it had a lot to do with her desire to work on the Spook Squad. Her partners—regardless of their gender—either protested the danger of working with and policing vampires, thought she was misguided, or accused her as doing it for the thrill. Yes, my best friend was bloodthirsty, but she wasn’t hungry for senseless violence. She enjoyed fighting, but if there was a different, better system in place, she’d embrace that wholeheartedly.

“A lot of people could stand to listen more and talk less,” Olivier said.

One corner of Sach’s lips quirked up. “Get out there and give them pointers already, Olivier.”

Me to Ezra: VICTORY IS MINE! She just used his first name instead of calling him Point Break .

Ezra: Him being Olivier who you were on a date with .

Me: It wasn’t a date .

Ezra: Good .

Me: That time.

Ezra: Aviva .

I grinned, practically hearing the growl, and quickly typed, I am literally setting them up . Focus on the point: I am the best matchmaker ever .

Thanks to my previous talks with Olivier on our failed dates, I pegged him as someone with an experience-based understanding of Sachie’s career, as well as the self-confidence and kindness she deserved in a match.

Olivier was chill enough to meet Sach’s low-maintenance relationship requirements while being intelligent enough, with enough of an edge, to keep her interest longer than most. That surfer rode the waves of life’s ups and downs with equanimity, but water had hidden depths and undertows. A nice guy who’d challenge her sounded like her perfect partner.

“I do want to take on more teaching and community outreach,” he said.

“Really?” Sachie took a sip of her Coke, wriggled her nose, and sneezed. It was a gentle, nay, almost dainty “choo” followed by a tinkly squeak.

Olivier gaped at her, his lobster roll halfway to his mouth. Then he got a wicked glint in his eyes with a matching evil grin and set his sandwich down. “Rambolette, that was the most adorable sound I’ve ever heard. Are you made of cotton candy and unicorns?”

Me: OLIVIER IS ABOUT TO DIE!

Ezra sent back a gif of someone playing the world’s smallest violin.

“Try barbed wire and spite.” Sachie toyed with the cuff of her sleeve, her answering grin edged with violence. “What’s inside you ?”

Oh fuck. She was totally wearing wrist sheaths.

I smacked her hand.

She narrowed her eyes at me.

“You had a mosquito.”

She left the weapon sheathed, but her glower was still out in full force.

“Okay, but seriously.” Olivier didn’t bother hiding his chuckle. “What happens when you’re fighting a vamp and you sneeze like that? Do they explode into stardust under the force of all that cuteness?”

I stared at Olivier in fascination, revising my previous assessment of him as a man who carefully and thoughtfully evaluated every situation for risk, then followed the smartest course of action. I shoved some fries in my mouth. At least his demise would be entertaining.

My phone buzzed. Is he still alive?

Sach slammed her now-drained glass on the table and pinned Olivier in her stare. “If this is your lame way of saying you want to fight me, you’ll have to do better than that.”

Olivier furrowed his brow.

Me: Alive for the moment. Olivier is super obtuse and hasn’t figured out that she can want to fuck him and kill him at the same time.

Ezra: Ah. Foreplay .

Me: Right? Where are those stellar cop instincts that fast-tracked his career?

I swallowed my mouthful of savory meat and melted cheese. This awkward silence demanded my assistance. “Sach has been boxing for years. I’ve seen her drop a dude with fifty pounds more muscle.”

She mimed a left hook. “Well-placed liver shot,” she said modestly.

Olivier leaned forward, a spark of intrigue in his gaze. “Where do you train?”

“Gore Street Gym.”

“Steve’s place? The one on the second floor?” Olivier whistled. “That’s hardcore.”

“Works for me.” She helped herself to a few of my fries, having polished off her schnitzel.

I drew the line at her squirting ketchup on my plate. “These fries are perfection without it. Gum up your own dish.”

She rolled her eyes but obeyed. “Where do you train?”

Olivier named a popular fitness chain. “I use it mostly for interval training to keep in shape for surfing. They have some private boxing instructors in-house, but I’ve been looking for a place to step up my fighting game.”

Sachie nodded.

When there was zero follow-up past that, I kicked her under the table.

A familiar surge of heat from one ticked-off Orange Flame seared my insides.

“Avi, are you all right?” Olivier said. “Your cheeks are really flushed.”

“Acid reflux.” I dabbed at the sweat on my brow. “Great burger, but oof.”

Sachie slid a sideways glance at me, daring me to out her for using her magic on me. Or threatening to do more of the same but worse. I couldn’t always tell the difference, and choosing wrong was detrimental to my well-being.

Throwing caution to the wind, I kicked her under the table again. Harder.

“Fine,” she snapped. “If you’re free on Tuesday, I could show you around the gym after work.”

Olivier wiped his mouth with his napkin. “No worries,” he said coolly. “I can go on my own.”

This was the trouble with having sexual partners and romantic interests make the first move. Sachie wasn’t used to putting herself out there.

I sent Ezra another text. She tried to ask him. It sounded like a declaration of war. #hopeless

Ezra: Come on, padawan .

I laughed and Sachie looked at me. “Cat meme,” I said lamely. “It had a pancake on its head.”

She dragged a fry through the ketchup. “I’d like to show you around the gym, Olivier.” She added a smile for good effect, but it had too many teeth, and he flinched.

“We can spar,” she said viciously.

“Okay.” His equanimity was restored.

Weirdos.

Me: Bow down to the matchmaking queen .

Ezra: They’re going on a date? Where exactly would that be? A knife convention? A dark alley?

Me: The gym obviously . Where she can beat him up .

Ezra: Isn’t that what I said?

Dinner wrapped up soon after that. Olivier treated us, which was very nice of him, and Sachie excused herself to use the restroom.

“Is this going to be weird?” Olivier said.

“Because we tried to date or because you suspected me of stealing Sire’s Spark?”

“Yes? Either? Both?”

“We’re good, Olivier. Honestly. I think you and Sach would be great together, but no pressure. As for us, I just hope we’re friends again.”

“No worries about that,” he said.

Sach and I drove our own cars home. I braced myself for an attack when I stepped through the front door, but all she did was shake her head. “You’re an asshole and you’re lucky I love you.”

“You’re welcome.” I ruffled her hair, earning a sharp hand slap.

“Who were you texting? Darsh?”

“Ezra.” I shrugged off her piercing stare. “We’re becoming friends again.”

“Uh-huh.” She turned back on her way to her bedroom. “Did you get your final report in?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I’ve got a couple things to follow up on.” Finding whomever connected Jasmine with Bratwurst, not to mention convincing Ezra to let me be present when he questioned Natán to determine his father’s complicity in the missing infernal blood. Or ordering their murders in the first place.

But that was a problem for tomorrow me.

I woke up the next morning to a text from Silas with an address for Express Recruitment, an employment agency in southeast Vancouver, so I checked out the website. Its owner, Chandra Nichols, matched the name Silas had sent. The company seemed legit, but it was also a good cover story for people seeking special employees. Ms. Nichols was a smart woman.

Since the agency was open only in the afternoon on Saturdays, I did some grocery shopping and had lunch before driving over. I was practically at my car when my phone buzzed with a notification from Ezra.

Expecting it to be another message either praising me or teasing me, I opened it immediately. Short and to the point, it was anything but.

My father killed Roman .