Chapter 6

Sachie and I phoned Silas from our conference room downstairs in the Spook Squad. I put my cell on speaker while Sach shut the door. None of the other vamps were around yet, and the rooms were soundproofed against their super hearing, but they were so damn stealthy, and this contact was need to know only.

By which I meant Darsh would need to know only when Silas was about to walk through the door, in order to ensure our maximum entertainment at their reunion.

“Are you calling to beg off our next Scrabble game?” Silas teased in his slow, thick Southern drawl. “I’m mighty touched by your thoughtfulness, and I could be convinced if you’d like to be saved from further shame.”

The vamp had invited Sach and me into a series of online Scrabble games with him after Ezra decamped for the Copper Hell. We never discussed the elephant in the room, our conversations a mix of trash talk and getting to know each other better, but this was his way of making sure I was okay.

“Not all of us read the dictionary for fun, you weirdo,” Sachie snarked, though she was smiling.

“That’s why I win,” he said smugly.

“Just you wait,” I threatened darkly.

“I’ll hold my breath.” He chuckled. “Seriously, though, what did y’all need?”

We filled him in on the Crackle case and our concerns over mob involvement.

A text notification popped up on my screen.

Sachie ground her teeth as I hurriedly dismissed the message to deal with after the call.

“Yikes,” Silas said. “Yeah, if any of the Mafias are pursuing this, we need to shut them down fast. I’ll hop on a plane as soon as Director Abe approves my transfer. Meantime, I’ll poke around and see what I find. Sound good?”

I’d rather he just teleported here now—which wasn’t a thing—but I couldn’t demand he drop everything, the director’s approval be damned. “That’s perfect, thanks so much.”

Sachie added that she was looking forward to seeing him again and we disconnected. She crossed her arms and glared at me. “A text, huh?”

“It’s Hanukkah tonight.” I quickly answered the message. “Obviously, they were going to send their greetings.”

When Sach achieved her longtime goal of joining the Spook Squad, she’d had a very explosive and rare fight with her parents. Ben and Reina never wanted their daughter to be a Maccabee in the first place, going so far as to try to bribe her with a condo if she’d pick a less dangerous career path. My friend stuck to her guns. She still got the condo.

There’d been zero arguments during that era, and Ben and Reina had even gotten to the point of celebrating Sachie’s accomplishments.

Not this one though. The three of them hadn’t spoken for two months.

“It wasn’t just holiday greetings. Mom asked about your injuries. That implies regular contact.” Sach, in typical fashion, refused to discuss her feelings, though I could tell how much it bothered her. Their distance was like a splinter constantly lodged under her skin, but she wouldn’t let me help get it out.

“I spent as much time at your place growing up as mine,” I said. “My regular contact with them is not news. I love your parents and I’m not cutting them out of my life. This isn’t some playground fight, Sach, where I pick sides. It’s not a divorce either. Give them time to come to terms with their only child fighting vamps and shedim on the regular.”

“Oh, you’ve picked your side.”

I threw my hands up. “You’re being as stubborn as they are. All of you are miserable. Maybe if you actually talked to them about the kinds of cases?—”

Aaand she was gone, stomping through the main room back to the elevator.

I waited a few moments before going to grab my stuff from my locker. Other than a skeleton staff of level one operatives to handle any crises, everyone else was knocking off early to get ready for tonight’s party. Dusk fell around 4:30PM, which was when the lighting ceremony would be held.

Sach had likely gone home to change. Slinging my purse with the fake Sire’s Spark over my jacket, I used the excuse of giving her space to undertake part two of my plan for this artifact.

Michael would be at the hotel, inspecting the ballroom. She’d rented a room for her hair and makeup artists to get her ready for the party like always, which meant her condo was empty.

I still had a bullshit excuse ready about why I’d dropped by in case she was there, but it wasn’t necessary. I didn’t bother turning on the lights in her foyer. The curtains were open and besides, I’d followed this exact path into her study many times in the past couple months.

Some might call it obsession with the crystal; I called it double-checking a potentially dangerous artifact was locked away until I verified its exact function.

I opened the safe. The real Sire’s Spark sat there undisturbed since the last time I’d come to visit—I mean, check on it. I sliced open the tape on the box containing my dummy artifact and dumped the fake into my palm.

Was stealing Sire’s Spark from Michael really the best course of action? I’d spent countless hours since I’d come up with this plan talking myself in to and out of it.

Michael had a heavy-duty wall safe mounted behind a lovely painting of the Icelandic sky, whereas mine was smaller and bolted to the floor in my closet, hidden under a jumble of purses.

My gut insisted that having possession of the real artifact was best for me, but what if I wasn’t the only one affected by it?

Roman Whittaker had admitted to killing those half shedim to make vamps untouchable. The undead were already immortal and super enhanced. This need for more was just greedy.

The missing blood was key to that, likely if used with a power word in a dark magic ritual. Was Sire’s Spark also part of that ritual or was its “blood calls to blood” properties a way to detect other infernals?

I didn’t have the whereabouts of the half-shedim blood or any idea what the power word was, but I did have this crystal. The problem was, if it could be used to amplify vampire abilities, then was it wise to remove it from Michael’s safe?

As far as I knew, Trad cops weren’t looking for this sole artifact still missing from the gallery theft, but the fact remained that at least one person had wanted it badly enough to kill for it. Rukhsana had taken care of the man who’d murdered the thief, but if this crystal did further vampire invincibility, others were looking for it.

I hefted the false crystal I’d purchased from the store on Granville Island, my eyes narrowed. Both my mother and I lived in secure towers with top-notch electronic security systems and magic wards, thanks to mezuzahs on our personal condos.

Those prayer scrolls wrapped in a decorative case were affixed to the doorways of Jewish homes because they were powerful prayer spells to keep the forces of evil at bay. The ones that Maccabees had access to were even stronger. After all, they’d kept Delacroix from accessing my place via a bathroom portal. Though they didn’t keep him from speaking to me through the portal. I made a note to look into upgrades.

Maccabees could drag demons across those wards—though it hurt the fiends—but they couldn’t get in of their own volition. Luckily, half shedim had no problem crossing. A point in our favor that our humanity trumped any inherent evil.

However, if the wards barred the way of that powerful shedim, they’d keep the real Sire’s Spark safe. My condo was secure. Decision made (yet again), I swapped the real crystal for the fake one, locked up, and left.

Sachie wasn’t around when I got home. Too bad. I’d wanted our spat over with before the party. My desire to protect her relationship with her parents—a dynamic so opposite to anything I’d ever had that I used it as a blueprint for any kids in my future—didn’t give me leave to push Sachie back into speaking to Ben and Reina.

I unzipped my boots and slid them off, then hung my coat in our small front closet. Sach had to work through this as much as her parents did.

Meantime, I’d apologize and support her.

I flicked on my bedroom light, casting a soft glow over dreamy blue walls that matched the tumble of wildflowers on my duvet cover. I allowed myself only a single longing glance at the splash of crimson on my white pillowcase.

It wasn’t the blood of my enemies. Oh, if only. It would be much less complicated that way. No, the carefully folded bundle was the soft-as-angel-wings sweater that Ezra had knitted for me, gifting me with it right before he left for the Copper Hell. It was freshly laundered, smelling of the “soft linen” scent I’d used to scrub all traces of Ezra’s cardamom, cloves, and bergamot cologne that mingled with the fresh, cool whisper of a summer breeze that always lingered on his skin.

If I slept in it once or three times a week, it was only because my room got cold at night. I stilled. Was Ezra cold at night or did the newly minted Lord of the Copper Hell have his pick of bodies to keep him warm?

I slammed my purse on my high gloss dresser. It wasn’t the sweater’s fault that my ex was a lying liar, spouting all that bullshit about laying siege and getting me back. Mi cielo, my ass.

Ezra was persona non grata in my life, and I gave as good as I got. Actually, everyone at Vancouver HQ treated him that way, and honestly? Given the rampant gossip and interest when my chapter learned Ezra was an operative, the total lack of speculation about his absence now was curious.

It was almost as if everyone else had gotten a very sternly worded memo ordering them on pain of death to forget he ever existed. (Not that they had. I’d checked with my friend, Dr. Malika Ayad, the Maccabee coroner. No magic forget-him spell either. That, at least, would have been useful.)

Only Ezra’s fans, his Ezracurriculars, were speculating on his decreased media presence with theories of him going off-grid for a mob hit to him shacking up with—insert hot famous woman—at a secluded love nest. It would have been amusing, a joke to share with Ezra, had he bothered to be in touch.

But no, my ex had made his choice, and even if he’d reached out, I’d have politely declined further contact. I was a Maccabee. I had career goals, none of which would be furthered by my association with the co-owner of one of the most notorious and untrackable gambling hubs of the modern and, I guess, Victorian eras, the Copper Hell.

I snatched my hand away, ceasing my stroking of the sweater, and went into the bathroom to pee, though first I checked my reflection to see if my good hair day was still going strong.

It was, but I jerked back because the glass in the mirror was melting like one of Dalí’s clocks. To a normal person, the red and purple portal pulsing behind the runny surface of the glass would have been terrifying. To me, it was still terrifying, but this, at least, was a familiar horror.

I glared at it. “Not now.”

“Refusing an invitation before it’s even been issued?” Delacroix’s disembodied voice said. There was the sound of the shedim taking a deep drag on a cigarette. “Where have your manners gone, girl detective?”

I definitely required a portal allowing one hundred percent less demon communication.

The mezuzah was protecting me and this portal wasn’t the black mesh one that led to the Copper Hell. It led to Flaming Flapjacks.

Sadly, the destination was not what made my heart drop into my feet. Or, maybe it was. Maybe if it did lead to the Hell but had been issued by a supposedly deadly vampire who’d grown some balls, I’d feel just fine with its presence.

“I have to be somewhere,” I said curtly.

“Somewhere more paramount than breakfast? It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon here.”

“Brimstone Breakfast Club doesn’t adhere to Pacific Standard Time, girlie. My statement stands.” Delacroix snapped his fingers. “Move it.”

“Delighted as I am that you want to reconnect?—”

“As you should be.”

“Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah.” I attempted to touch up my blush, but the runny mirror made it challenging to find my cheekbones. “Dusk is in less than an hour and I need to get ready and across town for a lighting ceremony. Rain check.”

“Rain check?” He sounded gobsmacked. Even the portal rippled as though in shock at my refusal.

“Yes.” I nodded firmly, though I wasn’t sure he could see me. I grimaced. Given he kept opening the portal in my bathroom, he better not have been able to see me. I certainly didn’t see beyond the red and purple magic, so fingers crossed, I was safe from prying eyes. “I’m not missing that ceremony for you or anyone else. Skip past the threats and accept it.”

The portal expanded threateningly to encompass one entire wall.

“Rain check,” I insisted over the thundering of my heart.

There was a low growl and then the portal winked out.

I didn’t have time to worry about why demon daddy had initiated contact with me again, because I really was on a tight deadline. After I destressed my bladder and washed my hands, I dressed and touched up my makeup, pleased that my hair continued to look fabulous with dark juicy curls.

I was sitting on the tufted bench at the foot of my bed, fastening the clasp of a dark green choker to complement my silky dress in the same color when I saw the beaded earrings I’d purchased sitting on my side table. They were totally unsuitable for this ensemble, but it kicked me into gear to switch necessary items for tonight from my regular purse to my clutch.

My last item of business was to lock the real Sire’s Spark up nice and tight.

Artifact in hand, I padded across the plush carpet, knelt down in front of my open closet door, knocking aside purses, and unlocked the safe.

Sire’s Spark didn’t feel any different than the bogus crystal I’d left at Michael’s place. There wasn’t a handy thrum of magic coursing through it. Had I accidentally brought the fake version home? No. I’d paid attention to which was which. Except, now that the thought was in my head, I couldn’t squelch that tiny niggle of doubt.

There was one way to check, because if the real crystal was powerful, it had to be activated.

I traced a finger over one of the octagonal edges.

Do it .

I shook away Cherry’s encouragement. She couldn’t compel me to do anything, it was more like when I stood at the top of the high diving board, looking down at how far the water seemed with my toes poking off the edge of the board. My breath would be harsh in my ears and most of me wanted to turn around and walk safely down to ground level, but damn, that water was shimmery, and the rush of air and cool splash would feel so good. Yet, I’d still stand there until something in me said jump. And I did.

That said, while yes, Sire’s Spark’s magic should be tested, I’d do it under highly controlled circumstances and certainly not when I was headed for a party full of operatives to?—

I flinched, gaping at the dot of blood on my lightly throbbing finger courtesy of my shedim claw. My pulse fluttered madly in my throat. Cherry, you asshole!

My inner demon gave me the equivalent of a bored hair flip. I’m saving us both the bullshit.

It would be so much easier if Cherry Bomb, the Brimstone Baroness, was really a separate entity inside me and I could blame any untoward or reckless actions on her, but as I’d explained to my mother on more than one occasion, I wasn’t her mindless puppet. Since we were one and the same, I had free will and self-control where my darling inner voice was concerned. She could say jump, but ultimately I was the one choosing to leap.

Case in point: I absolutely did not have to press the drop of blood against Sire’s Spark and see if it activated. I chose to, because after all this time obsessing about how dangerous it was, I had to know firsthand.

Nothing happened. Part of me had wished I’d get some cool new power, but I didn’t feel any different than usual. I couldn’t crush the crystal in my fist and I didn’t hear anything through the wall I shared with our neighbor. There wasn’t even a faint hum or vibration off the artifact.

My blood hadn’t activated it after all. Was it just a pretty paperweight and this situation was like the demon suicide? Was I convinced there was something to obsess over, when this was another non-starter?

The alarm I’d set on my phone sounded and I hastily locked the (probably real) crystal up.

I took a cab across town to the botanical gardens since Uber wanted ridiculous amounts of money at this time of day. The lush oasis in the heart of Vancouver was crisscrossed by paths that wound along multiple lakes and tiny waterfalls, over small bridges, through meditation gardens, and past thousands of varieties of plant life from around the world.

My favorite place bar none had always been the hedge maze. Michael would sit on one of the benches overlooking the entrances and exits, her face turned up to the sun, while I ran in and out to my heart’s content.

The taxi pulled up to Garden Hall, a huge, stunning building designed to mimic the petals of a British Columbia orchid with a central atrium as its heart. The single-story structure felt spun of glass with a swoopy living green roof, the entire space blending into the surrounding landscape.

I paid the cabbie, transfixed by the fairylike glow of the hall.

“Have fun in there,” the driver said.

“Thanks. I will.”

For all the serenity out here, the inside was a mad crush. Tasteful classical music provided by a quartet in some unseen corner was almost drowned out by all the operatives catching up with friends and colleagues. Though the feeling of being inside a flower was emphasized by the soaring wooden ceiling slats that undulated high overhead.

I plucked a glass of prosecco off a tray held by a gloved server in a crisp white shirt and black pants and pushed my way into the dolled-up crowd, headed for the dais, which held a large menorah on a tall base. I wanted a front row seat to the lighting of the first night’s candle.

Every year, Michael chose one operative to do the honor. I hadn’t been picked yet, but that was okay. It would happen one day. Sachie had done it a couple of years back and it was adorable how nervous my stoic, unflappable friend had been. She’d practiced the first night prayers for a solid week, even though she’d sung them with Michael and me at our house on many a Hanukkah, the same way I spent Christmas with her family.

Nasir was the lucky recipient this year. According to Darsh, his Spook Squad colleague had taken the decision with the same excitable enthusiasm that he greeted everything with. Anyone convinced vamps were uniformly world-weary or constantly menacing would be pleasantly surprised by Nasir.

My progress was slow going, but since it was to exchange greetings with operatives I hadn’t seen in a while, I was happy to hang out and eat every single delicious appetizer offered to me. There’d be a full buffet laid out for us later, but it was best to warm up my belly.

Besides, Michael would announce when it was time to light the candles.

After a particularly hilarious conversation with a few of my colleagues about a recent IT snafu, this feeling of hope swelled up inside me that I could come clean about Cherry and still enjoy this easy camaraderie.

My set-in-stone plan had been to become a level three and then spend at least another decade making a name for myself as a force for good. Then, and only then, I’d planned to reassess the timeline for revealing Cherry. Having a plan was supposed to comfort me and act as a beacon to guide me through tough moments. Instead, I just felt more lost than ever.

Acceptance for my half-shedim self felt so far off, I couldn’t even imagine it.

We’d gathered to celebrate the miracle of light, but what if, instead of seeking some steady flame of acceptance, it was the tiny pinpricks of friendship that would eventually blaze up in support?

Was tonight the night I struck that first match of trust and told Sachie what I was? A smile blossomed over my face. Yeah. I think it was.

I was chatting with Malika about her daughter’s soccer scholarship when Michael called for our attention. Spying a familiar candy-pink head, I excused myself and slipped through a gap to join Sachie in front of the dais.

I nudged her. “About before? I’m really sorry. I had no business butting in.”

She nudged me back, resplendent in a black tux complete with bowtie. “Considering you’re my parents’ non-biological alternative girl child, it’s okay. I’ll talk to them soon. Ish. Probably.”

She needed time. I didn’t. Her conflict with her parents pressed home that I could stand to be more open about my own situation. I’d hate to die and not know if my most important people still thought I was important back if I was a half shedim.

I grinned into my glass of prosecco. I’d be speaking with Sach about a long overdue subject when we got home later.

“Hey, pipe down,” a male voice grumbled from my other side. “Some of us care about the reverence of this moment.”

“Mason!” I hugged him.

The retired Vietnamese Canadian forensics expert allowed it for three whole seconds. I was totally one of his favorite human beings. After his memory was wiped on the case involving the staked Prime, Mason had walked away from his career. Happily, he had no regrets and was living it up in retirement, but it was still great to see him now.

We caught up while Michael and Nasir conferred at the menorah. She handed Nasir the lighter and clapped her hands to quiet the crowd. When that didn’t work, she put two fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle.

The silence was immediate.

Michael smiled innocently at us.

Nasir lit the shamash candle, the one in the middle position, whose holder was raised slightly higher than the rest. Shamash, which translated from the Hebrew as “helper,” was used each night to light the rest of the candles in the hanukkiah. That’s exactly what Nasir did now, touching its small flame to the wick of the single candle in the rightmost position.

While Hanukkah candles were placed from right to left (same as Hebrew was written), they were lit from left to right. It was irrelevant for the first night though.

Nasir sang the prayers in a charmingly off-key voice, grinning the entire time. He placed the shamash back in its elevated spot, where it would naturally burn out, just like the regular candles.

There was a moment of silence after he finished, then the entire room broke out into a loud roar of “Happy Hanukkah” and much cheek kissing.

Nasir got a lot of back slaps and high fives when he stepped off the dais.

Michael indulged everyone for a few moments, then she held up her hand. This time, we fell quiet without the whistle. Her speech was very nice. Sure, it mentioned light and darkness blah blah blah, but it was mostly about all of us coming together with a higher purpose, how important we were to this fight, and how grateful she was for each and every one of us.

More than a few people surreptitiously wiped tears out of their eyes.

Best of all, it was short.

She raised her champagne flute. “Chag sameach to us all. Now eat, drink, and be merry!”

“Chag sameach,” we all echoed back.

After the horror of the other night, I, for one, was ready to wrap myself in all the light and laughter possible. Time to party.