Chapter 4

Seven hours of sleep later, I was refreshed, fed, and had scored rock-star parking at Granville Island. The popular tourist destination was a foodie’s paradise with a public market selling everything from fresh fish at the docks, to baked goods, produce, and artisanal olive oil. It also hosted a few small live performance venues, was home to outdoor concerts in the summer, and was a haven for artists.

The streetlamps blinked on, and I beeped my fob, checking that the locks had descended. My replacement vehicle (after a vampire had blown up my deteriorating but beloved college sedan a couple months ago) was a basic secondhand hatchback, but it had heated seats. If things didn’t work out rooming with Sachie, I’d live in my car.

I picked up my pace to complete my errand before the store closed. Many of the small retailers’ doors were adorned with festive wreaths, and sparkly lights were strung through the branches of the trees on the island. It was all very pretty and I didn’t begrudge the Christmas decorations, but it seemed like holiday mania kicked in earlier every year. It was only the beginning of December and I’d been hearing Christmas music for weeks at my local supermarket.

Not to mention there was already holiday-themed tat for sale everywhere, but when it came to buying Hanukkah candles, the one and only thing required for my celebrations, I had to go to a special store. Sure, it was my favorite bagel place with fantastic rugelach, but that wasn’t the point.

Sometimes at this time of year I felt invisible. I already battled those emotions in regards to my half-shedim side, so having the Jewish part of my identity struggle with that really sucked. Some days, it was all just too much.

I ducked into a small business selling crystals and tarot cards. The sound of flowing water playing off the docked iPhone was soothing and the incense burning in the corner lessened some of the tension in my shoulders.

Crystals of every shape and size adorned tasteful displays. Some of the larger ones were locked away in cases, along with jewelry made by the artist in residence.

“Can I help you?” A bespectacled young woman in an ankle-length poncho approached me with a smile.

“Hi. I’m here to pick up an order. It’s under Aviva Fleischer.”

“Oh yes.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “It’s in the back. Let me grab it.”

“Thanks.” I was browsing a display case of adorable tiny owl statues with crystal eyes when the bell jingled over the store.

I glanced over my shoulder at the newcomer out of habit, but the man was beelining for the other employee with a hesitant smile on his face, his phone held up. Bet he’s shopping for a romantic partner .

“I’m looking for a bracelet for my wife’s gift,” he said.

I snorted softly and moved on to the next display case.

“I’ve got your order.” The woman helping me held up a small box.

I joined her at the counter, bouncing on my heels while she cut through the tape and opened the box. I picked the item up. “It’s perfect.”

According to legend, Sire’s Spark, a rough octagonal crystal about the size of a man’s palm, belonged to Abraham Ben Haim, a Yellow Flame and one of the world’s most powerful healers, who lived in a shtetl in Poland in the late 1700s.

Supposedly, he’d infused the crystal with his blood, giving the artifact its pinkish hue—and its alleged magic properties. The crystal’s powers were based on the element of connection, or as the sage himself said, “Blood calls to blood.”

The same phrase that Roman Whittaker, former operative, infernal killer, and dead vamp, had uttered about someone finding me.

This octagonal crystal I held was a dead ringer for Sire’s Spark from its shape to its weight and soft pink color. The only thing it was missing?

Magic.

The other customer approached the till where I was paying for my purchase. He cleared his throat and held up a bracelet. “Can I get your opinion? Is it too much?”

The piece was comprised of four beaded strands, each with a raw chunky purple crystal charm.

“It’s bold,” I said.

His face fell.

Damn it. That hadn’t come out as diplomatic as I’d intended.

“I’m guessing your wife has browsed this store before, right?” Off his nod, I smiled. “And that purple is her favorite color?”

He blinked at me. “Are you a cop?”

I held up my hand with the Maccabee ring.

The man grinned at me. “Nice. I’m with the VPD.”

“Then trust your gut, dude,” I teased.

“Dead bodies, great instincts. This?” He poked one of the beads carefully. “Not so much.”

The store bell jingled.

“Got the coffees, Hank,” a familiar man’s voice said. “You done?”

I froze for a split second, then making sure the box with the crystal was sealed up tight, I put my credit card away, and took the bag with my purchases.

Hank, the cop with the bracelet, waved Detective Olivier Desmond over. “Can we poach a Maccabee?” he joked.

“Aviva?” Olivier’s wide-eyed blink was followed by a frown.

“Good to see you again.” I resisted the urge to check whether I’d grimaced, because he’d narrowed his eyes at my greeting.

“I thought you didn’t have any interest in crystals.” Look at that. His Nova Scotian accent with its New Yorker/Irish flavor got stronger when he was suspicious.

I almost laughed at his pointed remark, except this was no laughing matter.

When Trad cops were given the investigation into the missing gallery artifacts, I’d gone to Olivier and told him that I suspected Sire’s Spark really did have magic, in which case, finding it was within Maccabee purview.

My simple hope of finding the crystal without infringing on the Trad cops’ rights became anything but. I ended up concealing an informant’s involvement in the murder of the thief, who bore the same name as a young man on her crew. Rukhsana Gill hadn’t killed the thief, but she had murdered a collector who’d attacked her after he killed the guy, believing she had the missing artifacts.

Olivier had made the connection between Rukhsana and me, and that I was hiding something. His intelligence was one of the reasons I’d dated him a couple of times. His lean muscular build from all his surfing that showed off his gunmetal suit with a model’s perfection didn’t hurt either. Usually, I’d have added the twinkle in his green eyes that popped against his black skin to that list, but he currently looked as steamed as the coffee that Hank was sipping.

“I’m picking up a gift for a friend.” I pulled out the dangly earrings I’d added to my purchase as a cover for why I’d been in the store. “Trusting my gut that she’ll like the set.”

Hank chuckled. “You’ll be fine.”

Olivier’s frown deepened. Don’t like my chumminess with your buddy? Tough . “Those don’t look like Rambolette’s style,” he said. “Not enough sharp edges.”

Suppressing my unholy glee at misinterpreting his frown, I raised an eyebrow. “Who said they were for Sachie? But nice to know she made an impression when you met her, what, two months ago?”

Olivier opened his mouth. Shut it. Glared at Hank for smirking at him. Then his expression softened. “Hank, get Danielle the bracelet with the bright blue crystals.”

Hank poked at the bracelet. “But purple is her favorite color.”

“And blue will match Nico’s eyes. Dani will be able to carry around a memento of the baby when she’s at work and missing him.”

Hank clapped his friend on the shoulder. “She’ll go apeshit for that. Good call, buddy.”

It was more than a good call. It was an incredibly thoughtful and insightful suggestion. One made by the kind of friend who noticed even the smallest details in your life.

I dropped the earrings back in the bag. “I’ve got to get going, but happy holidays to you both.” Olivier celebrated Christmas, but I didn’t want to presume with Hank.

“You too,” Hank said, already at the display case pointing out the other bracelet to the employee.

Olivier scrubbed a hand over his close-cropped, afro-textured hair, shifting his weight from side to side. “Happy Hanukkah, Aviva,” he said with an awkward smile.

My answering one was a bit too wide and a bit too insistent. “Likewise! You doing anything fun to celebrate the holidays?”

Olivier shrugged, inching toward me to let a group of teenage patrons with more hair colors than a Kool-Aid variety pack pass by him.

I scooted back, bumping into a display and hastily righting it at the same time Olivier reached out to help. We bashed knuckles.

“Same old,” he said, shaking out his hand. “I haul the decorations out of my mom’s storage. I like seeing the old things.”

I nodded. This was somewhere between pulling teeth and strangers anxiously trying to avoid each other on a dance floor, but at least we weren’t actively at each other’s throats. Maybe someday we could even be friends again.

“Yeah,” I said. “I like seeing the old things too. Take care, Olivier.”

I walked back to my car, my heart pounding from the encounter. The fake crystal was safe, but my exhilaration wasn’t just for my narrow escape. The ship had sailed on Olivier and me, but he was still a great catch. And I couldn’t wait to help a certain someone reel him in.

Less than an hour later, all my fond matchmaking thoughts were forgotten in the face of the crime in progress at Maccabee HQ.

This thief was skilled, deadly, and, given her gleaming eyes, more than willing to hurt me.

But I was holding my own and protecting what was mine. And Michael implied I wasn’t up to remaining on this case? Please. I’d gotten Sarah’s permission, but even without our psychologist’s sign-off, I’d be able to neutralize this threat.

I stepped sideways, hiding the last double chocolate chip cookie from my attacker, and brandished the espresso holder full of fresh grounds. “Stand down or I will throw them,” I growled. “People will hear those precious little kitten sneezes of yours and your rep as the person with the most knives and fewest misses will be shot.”

Sachie Saito, willowy warrior and my lifelong best friend, jabbed her pen at me, planted in a fighting stance that even dynamite couldn’t shift. She’d been growing out her pixie cut, yet remarkably, the flippy bits in the back and new candy-pink color detracted from her menace not one whit. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Sach danced forward on the balls of her feet. “Hand over my elevenses, Fleischer.”

“First off, It’s 6PM. Second—” I flinched at the glint of metal, spilling grounds onto the toe of my heeled boots. “Jesus! Where did those nail scissors come from?”

Sachie smirked, her two weapons held aloft like she was wielding dual swords.

Gemma Huang, a level two operative with a mastery of white flame magic and bitchery, forward-lunged her way into the kitchen, one deep knee bend after the other. A vision in moisture-wicking workout gear, with a light sheen of sweat on her toned bare arms, and her dark hair in a slick high ponytail, she grabbed a water from the fridge and lunged back out.

Fascinated, Sach and I tracked her progress through the doorway. Gemma lunged past workstations, a comfy chair, and one of the bookcases. During the day, this huge open space on the third floor was flooded with natural light, but was now illuminated by a combination of streetlights and the moon glowing outside the windows.

“Her intensity is off the charts,” Sachie said.

“I bet she’s leveling up hard to get Marv to take her under his wing as his permanent junior now that Victoria was promoted to level three.”

“She’s got stiff competition from Joe.”

The overhead lights were dimmed to a soft warmth and the few operatives at work were plugged into their laptops with headphones on. None of them raised an eyebrow at Gemma’s excessive behavior.

Shaking coffee grounds off my boot, I shoved the espresso basket into the machine and nodded at the cookie. “Well, that broke the mood. Help yourself.”

Sach dropped her weapons on the counter. She reached past me, broke off a piece of the cookie, and popped it in her mouth. “Mmmmm.”

I hit the button for a double espresso, raising my voice to speak over the hum of the machine. “But seriously, where were you hiding those scissors and how did I not see you pull them out?”

“Hanging with vamps on the regular is incredibly instructive.” Sach twirled the nail scissors expertly before sheathing them in a hidden holster.

“Not for the rest of us humans.”

Sach shrugged. “That’s a meatsack problem.”

“You do remember you’re one too, right?”

She tucked the pen behind her ear. “I’m meatsack plus. Meatsack enhanced?”

“You and Darsh haven’t come up with a catchy name yet, have you?”

“No, but we’re working on a signature dance move.”

Of course they were. My fond smile turned mischievous. “I ran into Olivier today.”

“Yeah?” She broke off another piece of cookie. “How’s Point Break?” Her indifferent tone wasn’t fooling anyone. Okay, correction. It would fool ninety-nine percent of the population, but I’d been her best friend since first grade. The two of them were on mutual nickname usage; there’d been mutually assessing glances.

Sachie’s stance on romance had always been “find the right person and love will be easy.” She had an active dating life, but I feared my best friend equated easygoing partners with easy for her to walk away from or easy for her to keep at a distance.

“He looked good,” I said. “There’s still some weirdness over what happened with the stolen artifacts but I’d like to be friends with him again. If we all grabbed a coffee, would you be down to come make things less awkward?”

“Bricks have been thrown through windows with more subtlety.”

I grinned. “Maccabee is derived from the word for ‘hammer.’ I’m just living up to the name.”

“I was going to ask how you were holding up after the bust,” she said grumpily, “but now I care fifty percent less.”

Heh. That wasn’t a no.

Still, I couldn’t answer her question without remembering Edward and all the horrific injuries, and any amusement vanished. “This morning I’d have answered with ‘By my fingertips’ but I’m up to a firm handhold.”

“Progress.”

“Exactly.” I added the double shot of espresso to the mug containing my frothed and heated milk and brought it halfway to my mouth. “Maccabees can’t be everywhere, I get that, and sometimes we have to rely on Trad cops for our intel, like with this drug lab. They can spot vamps, but most don’t realize demons exist.”

She picked up a yellow file folder she’d brought with her off the counter. “To be fair, even Maccabees might have missed the shedim’s presence. It was imprisoned in a windowless basement. They wouldn’t have had eyes on it.”

“I know.” I slung my laptop bag over my shoulder, grabbed the plate with my share of the cookie along with my coffee mug, and we left the kitchen area. “We prepped for a takedown. Between hiking at night in winter, apprehending four Eishei Kodesh criminals, and securing the drug lab, there were plenty of variables to account for.”

The heat from one of the overhead vents ruffled one of the brightly colored cardboard dreidels hanging from the ceiling. Maccabees had taken their name from the heroes of the Hanukkah miracle, honoring them and the flame that formed the basis of our Eishei Kodesh magic.

Despite the fact that not all operatives were Jewish nowadays, Hanukkah was our Christmas and the Super Bowl rolled into one. It went beyond hanging ornaments. One of my favorite aspects was the dreidels of all sizes placed throughout HQ in anticipation of the first night tomorrow, along with mesh bags of gold coins—shitty chocolates in shiny wrappings that I secretly loved—for anyone playing a round or two of the spinning top game.

One of the operatives setting out the gold gelt now was explaining the rules to some level ones and how signups for the competitive dreidel tournaments were already full.

There’d even been menorah-making classes, with people’s attempts adorning their desks. My favorite was the one that Monique, a level three, had fashioned out of blue and white LEGO complete with translucent LEGO flames for when she “lit” it. Some Maccabees, not even all Jewish ones, brought menorahs in from home so they could light them at sundown for the eight days, but the big lighting ceremony would be held at our fancy staff party tomorrow.

We walked past fat gel letters spelling out “Happy Hanukkah” on the wall next to the elevators, matching the ones stuck to the windows, and I got a little verklempt.

It mattered that I had this refuge and that it was a big deal to all Maccabees, regardless of the individual operatives’ religions or lack thereof. For these eight days, we all came together to celebrate the Festival of Lights during the darkest time of the year.

My happiness slipped as I picked up the thread of my thoughts about the drug bust. “Curve balls were to be expected, but a shedim-sized one that moved freely despite appearances to the contrary, and whose secretions induced extreme self-maiming? Oh, and let’s not forget that its compulsions were passed on secondhand. I’ve seen some shit during my career, Sach, but this?” I shook my head and exhaled.

Sachie pressed the down call button. “One thing at a time.”

Good advice, but when everything had a code-red urgency to it, it was easier said than done.