Chapter 31

I slid into some numb place where I couldn’t feel the tips of my fingers or toes and the voices around me were blurry wah wah wahs.

No wonder the entire council had flown here. Dmitri wanted me out. This vote was rigged, worded in such a way that Secretary Pederson’s lack of focus all but guaranteed Kozlov’s desired outcome.

Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead and I was gripped with the fear that if I removed this ring, the very essence of my identity would slip away, leaving me adrift in a world that no longer made sense.

I clenched my right hand, the smooth golden band digging into the sides of my fingers. It radiated warmth and weight, a reminder of the heavy vow that came with it. “Tikkun olam. My personal responsibility as a Jew, and as a Maccabee to fix the wrongs in the world. I’m not the one who should be removing her ring. You are.”

I’d grown up with my kind feared and despised. It was the reason I’d dedicated myself to doing good in the first place. But I didn’t want to be part of a group where our values held no weight.

“You arrested Silas, hoping to force Ezra into leaving the Copper Hell so you could strike out at him,” I said. “You don’t care about justice or fairness, just remaining entrenched in your power, no matter what ethics or basic rights it violates. This Authority is a joke. A horrible one.” I wrestled the band off, but it anticlimactically got stuck on my bottom knuckle.

Michael placed a hand over mine and I tensed. “Have you learned nothing from history, Dmitri? The original Maccabees were the underdogs. The ones who kept fighting and whose faith kept a flame burning for eight days and nights. But you’re acting like a self-righteous villain. Suspend Aviva, or discipline her in any way ,” her voice darkened, “and you’ll have a rebellion on your hands.”

My jaw hit the floor.

Michael said it herself just this morning over coffee; she didn’t do preferential treatment. The only reason she’d speak up— talk back —to them like that was because she believed me. Believed in me. She hadn’t silenced me or tried to keep me safe while preserving her own position. She’d thrown her lot in with me and there was no going back.

“Speak a word of what happens in this room,” Dmitri said, “and your career will be on the line as well.”

Michael gave a mean little laugh. “I don’t need to say a damn thing. You’ve been too removed from operatives for too long. They’re notorious gossipers and I assure you that their speculation will be far worse than the truth.”

Dr. Olsen smirked. “She’s got a point. Michael, let’s hear your proposal.”

“It’s the same as Aviva’s,” she said.

Dilip chuckled, the sound ripe with condescension, and stroked the hair on his arm. “Probably want your daughter to spearhead it.”

“Not at all,” she said.

I rubbed my hand over my heart, knocked off-balance by the certainty in her voice. Had I misread everything she’d just said out of false or foolish hope? Michael’s next career move was the Authority and for that, she required an opening. Was I her way of achieving it?

“She’ll have enough on her plate policing Vancouver as a level three operative.” Michael winked at me.

Promoting me wouldn’t further her own career goals in any way. On the contrary, given how she’d gone about it. The wash of relief and incredulity at her confidence in me left me flapping my hands like I couldn’t contain all these excessive and unfamiliar emotions bouncing around inside.

“You are not—promoting her,” Dmitri sputtered.

I held my breath, carefully gathering my joy to me, lest this moment turn to Elmer Fudd having his dream of hair within reach, only for it to turn to flowers.

Or Sector A.

“Let’s take this to a vote,” Zhengyu said. “All in favor of acting like grownups in the face of adversity and moving forward as a unified whole determined to keep our vow no matter what, raise your hands. That also means Operative Fleischer gets her promotion.” He raised his hand.

Dr. Olsen joined him before he finished speaking.

Dmitri crossed his arms and Dilip hurriedly followed.

Everyone looked at Secretary Pederson. She bit her lip, twisting her hands in the hem of her sweater. “There’s been so much death already…” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

She was scared, too broken by her nephew’s death to remember that at the bottom of the Pandora’s box lay hope. I tried not to blame her, even as I dug my fingernails into my palms to keep any trace of fear from my expression, because I tasted my heartbeat and the hair at the back of my neck was plastered to the skin in icy sweat.

Dmitri smirked. “Secretary Pederson abst?—”

Her hand rose slowly into the air.

Dmitri blinked at her. Twice.

“That’s a clear yes to me,” Zhengyu said. “My motion passes.”

I let out a deep breath, savoring the flavor of victory. My elation wasn’t the blast of a cannon radiating happiness, it was the gentle unfurling of a delicate flower, a quiet and contented sigh that filled my heart with warmth and satisfaction.

Dmitri looked like he’d bitten into a sour lemon. He didn’t argue further, but the baleful stare he gave me before leaving with Dilip promised that I’d made a powerful enemy.

I accepted my congratulations from Zhengyu and Dr. Olsen.

Between them, they scooped Secretary Pederson into their care and left.

Then there were two.

“When did you decide to promote me?” I said.

Michael smiled. “The other night at the pedestrian overpass.”

“Because of my brilliant sleuthing?”

“That and you didn’t offer to use Sire’s Spark to suss out shedim magic on other locks. Maccabees need leaders, not martyrs.” She reached for my hand like it was a snake that might strike. “You don’t need healing, Aviva, or fixing. You’re perfect as you are.”

“You gave me the promotion, Michael.” I crossed my arms. “You can spare me the bullshit.”

She chucked her ballpoint pen at me.

“Excuse me?” I threw it on the table.

“What I said about you being perfect. It’s not bullshit. There’s only one thing I love more than being a Maccabee, and if I could heal the stubbornness out of her, I would in a heartbeat, because I swear, Aviva Jacqueline Fleischer, you try my patience. In my desire to protect you, I…” She took a deep breath. “I may have overreacted?—”

I snorted.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t enough.” Her voice and pose were stiffly formal, but no less sincere.

It wasn’t the big declaration of my amazingness that I’d longed for, but that wasn’t Michael’s way. Besides, words were easy. Actions were what mattered, and Michael had stepped up.

“I just want you to know, I hope that you get on the Authority sooner rather than later, because an organization under your top leadership is one I’d be proud to serve in.”

“Thank you.” She actually blushed. “I spent thirty years making sure no one finds out about you, but I realize it’s your life and your truth to share with whomever you like.”

“Ezra knows,” I blurted out.

“Yes, well, he should never have broken up with you over that.”

“ You knew that too?! ”

She shot me an “are you dim?” look. “Since I’m your mother, and also not a total idiot, yes. How about this? From now on, we don’t keep secrets from each other. I swear that I’m not keeping anything else from you about the murdered half shedim or what the vamps are after or Sire’s Spark or anything involving you.”

“Delacroix is my father.” I blurted it out, gauging whether this was a surprise.

“I—well—huh.” Michael looked around with the desperation of a person wishing a bottle of whiskey would manifest in front of her. “He didn’t use that name when I…we…huh.”

“Are you all right, Mom? You’re blinking scarily fast.”

“What’s he like now?”

“Horrible.”

Her expression hardened. “Did he hurt you?”

“Don’t worry about it. Though I may have told him he should work with the Authority to expose this operation and kill the shedim behind it so that he can stay in power and keep any harm from coming to Maud Liu, who’s his other kid.”

“Please tell me that’s everything.” Michael blotted her forehead with the back of her wrist.

I tilted my head, then nodded. “Yup. That about covers it. Damn, it feels good to let all these secrets out.”

“A veritable breath of fresh air,” she said faintly. She squeezed my shoulder as she headed for the conference room door. “Mazel tov, Operative Fleischer. Now go do good in the world.”

Sachie was the first person I shared the news with, and I was profoundly relieved when she texted me back a congratulations message saying we’d go out to celebrate. It didn’t mean she’d forgiven me, or I her, but our foundation hadn’t crumbled away either.

I replied that it was a date, to which she said that she planned to drink her body weight in booze since her dad was recovered enough to harp on her choices again and her mother just chastised Sachie any time she defended herself for stressing out her dad. Oh dear. I offered to buy the first round.

The second person I itched to tell was a certain dark-haired vampire, so I was somewhat confused when, heading for the café with the city’s best mocha lattes (double shot of espresso, double heaping of whipped cream), a limo pulled up alongside me, and the window rolled down to reveal Ezra sitting in the far back seat.

I did a double take.

No, the features were the same, but this man’s hair was medium brown and straighter, and his light blue linen shirt tucked into white trousers like a Miami Vice extra fit a slimmer frame. Most telling, though, were his eyes. There was none of the mercurial silver in them. These were cornflower blue, deceptive in their sunniness until you saw that the color was a sham. They held no warmth from the smile that the man wielded like a mask.

Or wore like a costume piece, same as the kippah he had pinned to his hair. Religious jew, my ass.

“Mr. Cardoso.” I refrained from flinching as his driver got out of the idling limo and stood off to my side.

She was a slender woman, but she was also a vampire with very pointy fangs and a cold stare.

Her boss chuckled. “I shouldn’t be surprised you recognize me.” Unlike his son, Natán hadn’t lost his Venezuelan accent. He said something about having met me when I was a baby, but I was too busy getting over the shock of his similarity to Ezra to do more than nod.

Natán had been changed when he was in his thirties. I’d read that fact more than once, but until now, it had never hit me that he wasn’t some aging mobster. He looked like Ezra’s brother. At the moment, they were of a similar age, but Ezra would slowly get older, while Natán would forever be preserved in his prime.

He watched me expectantly.

I had no idea what I was supposed to respond to, so I cast about for a neutral topic. “What brings you to Vancouver?”

He mentioned a family-run Italian restaurant that I was very familiar with, since Michael and I had eaten there a ton when I was growing up, and I’d introduced Sachie to it later.

“How do you— Oh. Michael took you there?”

“Sí. Your mother introduced my wife and me to Nonna Rosa back in happier times.”

I didn’t buy his wistful look for a second. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I was in the city, and I heard the good news. ?Felicitaciones! Level three at such a young age.”

That news was less than twenty minutes old. I clasped my shaking hands behind my back. “Thank you.”

“I’ve followed your career for some time,” he said. “You’re a tried-and-true Maccabee, just like your mother.”

Was that a threat? He’d killed Roman. Had he come here for me? For Michael?

I cast a sideways glance at the café. Fifty feet to safety. And the world’s greatest mocha, but that was very much secondary right now. “I’m actually on my way to an appointment and?—”

“I’ll only take up a moment of your time.” Natán raked his gaze over me. Not in a creepy sexual way, more like he was placing me on a set of scales to see if they’d tip in his favor.

Perhaps in three weeks when I’d dug up every last piece of dirt on him and then arranged the meeting somewhere I couldn’t be taken to an undisclosed secondary location, we could schedule something.

His driver stepped forward, presumably to open the door for my convenience, but in practicality, boxing me in.

Like it or not, this was happening.

I smiled pleasantly, taking the path of least resistance but also, calling on Cherry to help keep my heart from hammering too crazily, and got in the car. “What can I do for you?”

The door closed with the gentlest of clicks, but it reverberated in my body like a gunshot. I braced myself for a subtle threat couched in whatever outcome he sought.

“Do you light the Hanukkah candles?” he said.

I blinked. “Yes, actually. I’m not super observant, but I do the major holidays.”

“Then you understand the importance of fire to Jews.” Natán kissed his fingers and touched them to his kippah.

Religious jews kissed mezuzahs and their tallit, the prayer shawls, but kippah-kissing wasn’t a thing. Did he not expect secular Jews to know that? Regardless, this was another piece of theater enacted for an audience of one.

I settled back against the leather seat, curious about where all this was leading. “I do understand its importance.”

The limo pulled into traffic, the glass divide rising into place to assure our privacy, and Natán gestured for me to continue.

“The fire within us,” I said, “that spark of life that is snuffed out in death or undeath, is one of the reasons our people fought against being changed. No disrespect intended. I simply meant it as it pertained to the founding of Maccabees as a modern police force.”

Natán regarded me with an inscrutable expression that was more unsettling than if he’d run his tongue over his bloody fangs. Did he even experience genuine emotion or was everything a mask or a game to this psychopath? It was a minor miracle that Ezra wasn’t stunningly emotionally stunted.

“Fire, when harnessed, provides great power,” Natán said. “Consider the Hebrew word for man: ‘ish,’ spelled ‘aleph,’ ‘yod,’ ‘shin.’ Remove the yod and what remains is aleph and shin or the word ‘eish,’ for fire.”

Gosh, really? Eish is fire? I would never have guessed, being Eishei Kodesh, one of the holy fire people. I nodded, trying half-heartedly not to grind my teeth.

“Woman, on the other hand,” he continued, “is ‘ishah,’ spelled ‘aleph,’ ‘shin,’ ‘hay.’”

Someone shoot me, the lecture wasn’t over. “Remove the letter ‘hay’ and you’re left again with the word ‘eish.’”

Natán narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

I pressed back against the seat. Do not interrupt the teacher with the fangs. Noted. “This is all fascinating, but…” I paused to reframe “is there a point to this?” to something less bite-inducing. “Is there a connection to a bigger picture?”

That earned me a smile. The same one my kindergarten teacher bestowed upon me when I glued the macaroni to the paper for some art project, instead of sucking on the dry pasta.

“That lack of fire within is what brings me here,” he said. “Vampires want it back. They are obsessed with the idea, because unless they reignite that fire, they can’t achieve the one thing that would ensure their legacy.”

My pulse fluttered against my throat like a moth trapped in a jar. Legacy. That was the whole solution to this mess. Natán could no doubt hear my pulse and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do, but I didn’t care, because suddenly the final crucial piece of the murdered infernal puzzle snapped into place.

“Invincibility, being untouchable. Vamps aren’t seeking it by becoming stronger.” I shook my head in disbelief. “They want to continue their blood lines, but biologically as opposed to through turning people. They seek to procreate.”

“Blood calls to blood,” he said.

I shivered. The phrase applied to Sire’s Spark, but Roman had said it about others knowing who I was.

Blood didn’t just call to blood, it colored the waters I currently swam in, hunted by a shark. Sorry, being driven through the streets of Vancouver by the shark’s minion who contrived to hit one green light after another.

The shark leaned forward with a shrewd look. “You’ve heard of the concept.”

“Blood calls to blood. It’s catchy.” There was no point in pretense. “Roman shared it. You remember him, right? The operative you killed?”

“I’d never kill a Maccabee.” Natán touched his right index finger, where he’d once worn his ring.

No. You’d have someone do it for you, like Alastair. My father was a literal sea serpent, but Ezra’s had an impressive ability to be slippery.

“You don’t want vampires to achieve this, do you?” I couldn’t magically illuminate this vamp, but his reasoning was textbook simple to determine. “Why let the riffraff have what only you possess? The world’s sole Prime as your son. The one vampire capable of procreation. Of legacy.”

Oh gross. Did Natán want me to breed with Ezra?

“ Ezra is my legacy,” his father said.

“What about grandchildren?” I said warily.

“I’m immortal. Grandchildren are of no interest to me. I have Ezra. That is all I require.”

That? Ezra’s your son, not a thing for you to use.

It took all my self-control to remain calm. “What do you want from me, Mr. Cardoso?”

“To keep the world free of any more Primes. Should vampires gain the ability to procreate and make more of them, humanity’s time on this earth has an expiration date.”

Let them get in line with the battery-toting shedim.

“That sounds like something you should speak to the Maccabees about,” I said.

“I am.”

“Officially. Not during a visit with the daughter of an old friend.” My smile was bland, but Cherry hissed at him inside my head.

“You never found the blood taken from the murdered infernals,” he said.

“You have it?” I braced my hands flat against my thighs so I didn’t lunge across the limo and search his person.

“I have a lead on it. One that might uncover the ritual necessary to restoring that fire within and giving vampires procreation abilities.”

This was everything I’d wanted on a silver platter. An icy drop of sweat ran down the back of my neck. “You’ll give it to me in exchange for what?”

“Your promise to stay away from my son.”