Chapter 27

Sachie sat at the dining room table next to the platter with the lone bagel we hadn’t polished off. The faint scent of smoked salmon lingered in the air, mixing with the heavy weight of disappointment.

“I said I’d ask once.” She spoke softly, her voice carrying a hint of sadness. “And I’d believe you, because you’d answer honestly.”

My heart sank as I sat down across from her. “I couldn’t.”

Sachie’s brown eyes held a deep weariness. “No. You wouldn’t .” I opened my mouth, but she cut me off. “Don’t spout that plausible deniability shit. You point-blank lied to my face.” She shrugged, hurt etched into her tight expression. “After almost thirty years of friendship, do I need to prove myself to you? Show I can be trusted? I’ve been there for you through everything in your life. But when push came to shove, you chose an infernal over your best friend.”

“I didn’t choose her over you, but this also wasn’t my life we were talking about. It wasn’t my place to out Maud.”

“Out her,” Sachie scoffed. “It’s not the same thing.”

I tapped the menorah against the table—harder than necessary—to remove some loose bits of wax. “No, because half shedim aren’t considered human and thus they don’t deserve any right to self-determination. Do you hear how hypocritical you’re being? A shedim told you about Maud, and instead of feeling compassion for her suffering while living with this terrifying secret her entire life, or angry at Delacroix for exposing her, you’re mad at me ?”

Sachie ripped the bagel in half, shredding it into smaller and smaller crumbs. “You’re still investigating the missing infernal blood; you lied about Maud. What’s with this crusade? Is this payback at the director for not making you a level three? Or just payback at your mom?”

I gaped at her. “My mom?”

“Yeah. You realized when those infernals were murdered that she’s not pro-infernal. Hell, maybe you’ve always known that, and this was your way to get back at her. Just like you’ve always done when you were mad at her.”

“Because my professional career is built on me acting like a petulant child?” I said icily. “Fuck you, Sachie. But so long as we’re on the subject of parents, how are Ben and Reina? Because you’re rocking that dynamic like a fully functioning adult.”

“Fuck you right back. At least I never lied to them.”

“That’s not the only barometer that matters. Why are you so prejudiced against half shedim?”

“I spent years trying to get onto the Spook Squad to rid the world of bad vamps and all shedim. Three months ago, I didn’t expect to ever meet an infernal because they were supposedly so rare. Now I’m tripping over them.”

“Percentage-wise, they’re still rare.”

“You know what I mean. Can’t you cut me some slack that I’m trying to figure out what justice means where their kids are concerned?”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re figuring out anything. More like you’ve already tried and convicted them.”

“I helped Maud, didn’t I?”

“Because you thought she was fully human.”

Sachie systematically shredded the bagel while I repeatedly poked the end of a butter knife into the pad of my finger, trying to figure out how to repair this conversation.

The two of us had always been so smug that our childhood friendship would survive, and we’d one day become those madcap old ladies who didn’t give a shit how the world judged them so long as they had that unbreakable bond.

Yet, here we were.

Sach’s parents didn’t trust her to make smart decisions about her life, and I didn’t trust her to give me unconditional acceptance. For years, Michael’s conditioning kept me silent, then Ezra dumping me did. Even when I wanted to speak up and just confess, I ran up against some disparaging remark. Not always from Sachie, though certainly sometimes. But she never defended my kind either.

I set the knife down. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I don’t know either. But one thing for sure? Keep rushing to defend infernals and the Authority will find out. They’re already gunning for you. You’ll be expelled.” She snapped her fingers. “Your dreams, done.”

“Are you done? Does a lifetime of friendship stop counting because I support half shedim? Because I lied?”

“That time can’t be erased.” Sachie’s voice was low and tinged with sadness. “But trust…trust is a fragile thing. You chose their side over ours.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, a surge of pain coursing through me. This was the divide between us, an unbridgeable gap that kept us on opposite sides.

“We’re still friends, but…” She exhaled slowly. “I assumed that it was the two of us above everything. Seems I was wrong.”

I wanted to scream that half shedim were also part of “us,” because I was part of us.

She headed for her bedroom.

Our friendship had felt unbreakable, a sturdy vine that could withstand any storm or attack, but now, it felt like a delicate flower being buffeted by a harsh wind.

It either had to take root more firmly or be pulled out and die.

Another couple steps and Sachie would close her door. I shoved away the self-protective instincts screaming at me to let her go.

“Wait.” I let my eyes turn toxic green, waving my arms like that would get her to turn around.

At the buzz of a text, she pulled her phone out of her pocket, then gasped. “Dad’s had a heart attack.”

My eyes had returned to normal before I was halfway out of my chair. “How is he?”

“I don’t know. Mom’s at Emergency with him.” She jogged past me. “I have to get there.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, it’s okay.” She didn’t look at me as she stuffed her feet into her motorcycle boots, then grabbed her keys and jacket.

“Will you hug your mom from me and tell her if she needs anything, I’m here?”

Sachie turned around and faced me, one hand on the doorknob. “Yeah. I’ll do that.”

I nodded. “Thanks. And if you need me…”

“I know,” she said softly and left.

I cleaned up the apartment and started the dishwasher. Long after Sachie had left, I finally dashed the wetness from my eyes.

Outside, muted orange, pink, and purple peeked through the gray afternoon clouds like weeds jutting up through cracks in the sidewalk. I lit the Hanukkah candles as the sun slipped behind the horizon, singing the prayers in a subdued voice.

The pancakes I’d consumed earlier sat heavy in my stomach, so dinner was a no-go, and since I didn’t want to mope around the apartment, I drove to work and ensconced myself in the library.

Vancouver HQ didn’t have a grand, elegant library like those in the Tel Aviv, Madrid, or Seoul chapters. There was no roaring fireplace or rolling ladders along ceiling-high bookcases. Ours was barely the size of a small school cafeteria, but it contained a surprisingly diverse collection, and there was this one table by the window that during the day was warmed by sunlight filtered through the broad leaves of the hearty magnolia tree outside.

The sliver of moonlight that made its way past the tree and into the library this evening wasn’t bright enough to see by, but it washed the table in a calming silvery glow.

Declining any assistance from Bai, the librarian busy reshelving books off a cart, I wandered through the aisles pulling titles even vaguely related to the idea of demon prisons.

I carried my first stack over to my favorite table and cracked the top cover, chasing promising index entries and random footnotes until my neck and shoulders hurt from being hunched over, but I didn’t find anything.

After yet another jaunt to the kitchen on the third floor for a cup of coffee, I went for a different approach, and looked up the history of padlocks on my phone, astonished to discover that they’d been around since ancient Rome.

Interestingly, back in the 1600s, which was when the magic cocktail in our rings was developed, barrel padlocks were developed in Sweden decorated with punched or chiseled patterns.

Could these have been the precursors of the love locks? Supposed the initials on love locks contained tracking information for shedim to know who was in each cell? Like the name or type of shedim. Plus codes were an even more recent invention, so what did they do before either of those elements were around?

Were these seemingly random patterns stamped on metal as a way of keeping track of these prisons? With corresponding records of this information, first in pattern form and later plus codes, stored in the demon realm allowing them to find demon X in location Y?

I sipped from my mug—and swallowed air. I’d finished the coffee while I was going down that rabbit hole. I put the cup in the dishwasher and went back to the library. I had padlocks and a magic cocktail in existence at the same time, but I didn’t find any evidence that locks were randomly chained to public property back in the 1600s. In which case, shedim needed somewhere to house these cells.

I dumped my books back on the cart. What if, instead of demons using the existing love lock story as a cover, they’d started it? A tingle of excitement unfurled in my gut. Love locks were a WWI story, set in Serbia, which… I did another search on my phone, then sat back with my mouth agape.

One of the major causes of WWI was the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Serbia.

Most resources that operatives required were online, on secure servers, but those searches were logged. Unless I checked any physical books out, my topic of interest wouldn’t hit anyone’s radar, and I didn’t want to give Dr. Olsen or Dmitri any heads-up about the findings I intended to present at our meeting.

However, this connection was too big to waste time fumbling around on my own. Plus, unless someone had been following my line of thought, my new avenue of inquiry wasn’t linked to how Jasmine found Bratwurst Demon.

Taking my chances, I practically sprinted over to the librarian. “Bai, this is very specific, but do we have anything on suspected shedim properties in the Balkans around WWI?”

The Chinese Canadian woman reshelved a book on the psychology of sociopaths and raised her heavy eyebrows, making the small gold ring on her left brow twinkle as it caught the light. “Not that I know of, but let’s see what we can find.”

Bless all librarians and their insatiable curiosity.

An hour later we had a shortlist of three castles, all situated close to Sarajevo where the duke had been murdered. People were capable of great evil, but shedim lived to steer us into the darkness. Had the demon equivalent of a hardened mass murderer been let out back then to drive events to a world war? Perhaps at the behest of some government?

Was there a group of shedim profiting from our inability to kill them and selling demons off to the highest bidder? Was money even involved or was it just for the thrill of enabling evil in the world?

If I was correct, then this wasn’t something the Authority could turn away from.

However, it required verification. No shedim would willingly give that information out, but lucky for me, I had one who might be willing to play for it. The trouble was whether the cost justified it, either via a lost forfeit or Delacroix’s reaction to me broaching this topic in the first place.

Perhaps there was another way.

I got to Wards, Inc. five minutes before it opened on Monday morning, sitting in my parked car in the alley behind the store. Rhythmically drumming my fingers against the steering wheel, I counted the minutes down to 10AM with butterflies in my stomach.

Michael texted to say that the video call with Dr. Olsen and Dmitri was set for tomorrow morning. It wasn’t the largest time frame to learn everything I could about shedim prisons, but the Serbian connection I’d made was promising, and besides, I excelled under pressure.

Sire’s Spark was lined up on my dashboard next to a newly polished silver lock. Not that I deluded myself into thinking that the shinier the prison, the less staggeringly horrific my reaction to it, but it never hurt to look one’s best.

Case in point my cognac-colored crushed-velvet wrap dress that I’d paired with my nicest wool coat and favorite leather boots. The ones with the two-inch heel and decorative gold buckle at the ankle.

At thirty seconds to ten, I stabbed my finger with my shedim claw.

At four seconds to ten, I took a deep breath and dabbed my blood on Sire’s Spark.

At 10:13, I came to with a cough, the imprint of the steering wheel on my face, and scratches all over my body from attempting to not only escape the putridity choking me, but apparently, to also molt along the way.

I barely threw the car door open in time to puke onto the concrete. Six breath mints later, I made it inside Wards, Inc. with the crystal and silver lock stowed in my purse.

Noa looked up from the drafting table and blinked at me. “Oh. Hello. Did you have another question about that ward?”

“No.” I lurched toward the counter, half falling over it in support. Cold sweat ran between my shoulder blades.

Noa backed up a step, the interactive wall display behind her inducing starbursts in my vision. “Are you sick?”

I blotted my forehead with my sleeve. “I’m fine.” Frustrated with how this magic always made me look like I was either super drunk or super ill, I fumbled my purse open and dumped the contents out.

The silver lock slid free though I tipped my purse upright before the crystal got loose. I didn’t want to accidentally crack it. My keys fell to the floor and my wallet spilled old parking receipts all over the reception counter, but I found the lipstick I’d been hunting for weeks.

“Check again for any ward on this lock. Please.” I’d hoped that rubbing my blood on the lock—with Sire’s Spark’s magic in it—would illuminate the shedim magic for the wardmaker.

However, Noa gave no indication she saw the runes or scorch mark, though she grimaced at the blood smear. When she announced her intention to perform tests on it with some of her high-tech equipment—two of which truly had lasers—I fled outside.

While I waited, I attempted to burn the artifact’s magic out of my system. The symptoms subsided, but there were three floors between me and that silver lock, so it might just have been distance.

Noa texted me to return, but she hadn’t found anything. “What were you hoping I’d discover?”

At least my proximity to the lock was tolerable to the point of getting it back in my purse without incident. “A ward tying it to a case I’m working on.”

Once back inside my car, I pounded a fist against the steering wheel. Frustrating as it was that Noa was unable to help me and that my only other avenue was to take this to Delacroix, I was furious with these shedim-detecting abilities in the first place.

Sire’s Spark was imbued with the blood and powerful healing magic of its creator. I studied the tiny scar from using my claw on my index finger. It was still there, even though I’d touched the crystal.

Experts had debunked the crystal’s magic as a myth. I’d agree with them except for the whole demon-detector part. Was it simply the healing abilities that were the urban legend?

I sighed again over this visit being a bust, then stilled, thinking about Noa’s equipment setup. She had powerful magic, but she used technology to help her create wards. Just like the medical profession did.

Abraham didn’t have access to MRI machines or CAT scans or any one of a million ways allowing modern medicine to detect injury back in the 1700s when he created Sire’s Spark.

I pulled the crystal out of my purse. Unless this was the technology?

Did I have this all wrong and it wasn’t my infernal blood that triggered Sire’s Spark, but my human blood? That meant anyone in possession of the crystal could suss out my kind. For the first time ever, I was grateful that Michael had stolen it.

It sucked that the artifact perceived shedim magic as a wound, but I counted my blessings that it hadn’t tried to “heal” me.

I shifted my left hand to a claw and flexed my fingers. Not that I was broken.

But did my mother share that belief?

As soon as we got through the meeting with Dr. Olsen and Dmitri, Michael and I were having a long-overdue chat. She was a Yellow Flame, so if she felt like making amends for wanting to “heal” her only kid, she could help me find the missing infernal blood and get to the bottom of why those half shedim were murdered once and for all.

First up, however, was a visit with my other parent.

That’s when Gemma texted with a scathing message about playing hooky.

Any modicum of respect I’d gained for her with her anti–Sector A beliefs crumbled. I typed and deleted Shove it up your ass three times before I simply replied that I was working my other case. Then I initiated a video call with Ezra.

“Miss me?” His voice dripped with a hint of mischief and his deep ebony suit drank in the ambient light, causing it to glow against his brown skin. The perfectly tailored fabric hugged every inch of his broad shoulders and defined biceps, contributing to his air of confidence and power.

Ezra stood with his back to the balcony, the phone angled enough to catch a glimpse of the busy gaming floor below.

“Just checking that my dessert needs will be fulfilled,” I said.

“You’ll get all the sugar you require, mi cielo,” he purred.

I pressed my inner thighs together. Friendship was good, but this squirmy heat that shot through me wasn’t nothing. “Work before fun. Can you get me into the Hell somewhere close to wherever Delacroix is? We need to talk, and I’d like the element of surprise.”

“Whatever could you be making me complicit to now?”

“You want the long answer or?—”

“Every last detail.”

I jumped at the rap on my window.

A parking enforcement officer motioned for me to roll it down. “There’s no parking in this alley.” He raised his ticketing device to scan my license plate.

“There is for me.” Telling Ezra to hold on, I placed my phone in my cupholder, and held up the emergency vehicle card from my dashboard, giving Maccabees the right to temporarily park anywhere. Some operatives abused the system, displaying it while they went to a hockey game or out to dinner, but I kept it professional and employed it only when a regular spot was not possible. Either because there wasn’t one, or because I had to do something like bleed on a magic crystal to activate demon magic and required a spot free from prying eyes.

The man hit a button on his device.

HQ didn’t reimburse us for parking tickets, and I resented paying for this job-related expense. I held up my Maccabee ring. “I appreciate you’re just doing your job, but so am I. And I am authorized to park here on work-related business.”

“You were on your phone. How do I know you weren’t chatting with your boyfriend? I’m duty bound to write you up. You can contest it, though I appreciate that will be a hassle.” He made a sad face.

In my head, Cherry flared her nostrils and cracked her knuckles.

Tempting.

I held my hand out for the ticket.

Asshole took his time issuing it. “Have a nice day,” he said with false sincerity.

I rolled up my window to the sound of Ezra’s laughter from the other side of the phone.

“Scale of mild twinge to Godzilla rampaging across the city, how badly did you want to rip him a new one?” Ezra said.

“You want to mock me or hear the reason for my visit?”

“Can’t I do both?”

“You cannot,” I said flatly.

He took his time deciding. “Tell me.”

My hypothesis of shedim imprisoning their brethren sobered him up pretty quickly.

He swore in Spanish. “Please don’t tell me you intend to play Delacroix for confirmation.”

I pulled into the parkade in my condo tower. “Okay, I won’t. Now open the portal and get me to my father.”