Chapter 13

Chapter13

As the person who’d consoled me through the darkest timeline, Sach instantly grasped the full picture and shot me a sympathetic smile.

“If you only know about the effect of staking on Primes because it happened to you, it’s hardly wide-spread knowledge,” Darsh said. “Could one of the individuals involved in that trap have done this?”

“No.” Ezra smiled thinly, the darkness in his voice making me shiver.

“Well, someone was privy to that info.” Sachie finished her Danish.

“Delacroix, the demon co-owner of the Copper Hell, believes it’s someone on this list.” I dug into my bag for the journal of names.

“How altruistic,” she said.

“Not really,” I said. “Fail and he’ll make my life a living hell. Plus, she’ll wake up, and hell hath no fury like a woman staked.” I handed Darsh the book, deliberately knocking against Ezra’s leg, since he was once again refusing to look at me. “You said my team wasn’t in danger when I phoned you from the spa. What if the body had made it back to HQ? Malika would have removed the stake during her autopsy. Calista would have killed our coroner before rampaging through the building.”

“You don’t snap to full consciousness and strength,” Ezra growled. He schooled his expression. “I would have arrived here long before there was any danger to any operatives.”

“You lied to me.”

“I omitted some facts. Everything I said was true.”

“What else was omitted?” Darsh didn’t bother asking Ezra.

“In three days, her healing magic will expel the stake and she’ll wake up. Two days now,” I amended.

“First off, it’s not an exact timeline, and I’m sure the perp is smart enough to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Ezra said. “Preventative measures can be taken.” He mimed slowly pushing a stake back into a body.

I flinched. Was he also speaking from personal experience?

Sachie reached for her coffee cup. “The Maccabees failed to prevent the body snatching. If we don’t find Calista before she gets free, she’ll come for us too.”

It wasn’t Maccabees plural who’d messed up; it was me. But that wouldn’t matter. If the Prime went on the warpath, no operative would be safe.

I groaned and buried my head in my hands. What was seven billion steps up from losing one’s shit? Because that would be Michael when she found out. Maybe I could get into a witness protection program?

Sachie patted my back, but I wasn’t reassured. “That was the worse problem you referred to yesterday, wasn’t it?” she said. “Not any vampire power plays.”

“Guilty as charged,” Ezra said. “If you thought Michael was unhappy about you losing the body?” He narrowed his eyes at me and whistled. “She’ll hate these optics.” He leaned into his drawl on “hate.”

The vitriol in his eyes made me feel sick. Did he blame me that much for making him vulnerable? Did he hate me for leaving him behind? My own anger rose up hot and fast. That was so unfair. He withheld important information. It wasn’t my fault I saw him trapped by Delacroix—that I’d seen him at less than optimal power.

I wasn’t Ezra’s emotional punching bag.

Shooting pain stabbed through my left hand. My fingers were shriveling and warping into claws. I hastily clasped my hands behind my back.

My eyes hadn’t turned green. There wasn’t any telltale prickling that presaged that nor had anyone let out a gasp of surprise and horror, but I’d never had my demon features appear out of order either.

Darsh shot me a curious look at my spiked heartbeat, but hopefully he assumed it was because of my concern over how angry Michael would be.

Once again, his phone sounded with a timer. This time, we were treated to some Flamenco music.

“Not now, Darsh,” Ezra said tightly.

Sach froze, already halfway out of her seat.

Darsh swept an assessing glance over all of us, ending with me. “Avi?”

“Everyone up!” I cried.

Ezra shot me a confused look at my enthusiasm when he clearly and deservedly expected me to lash into him for his asshole comment about optics, but I couldn’t do words right now. I could do claws, and possibly homicide, but words, not so much.

Keeping my demon hand hidden from view, I danced my way over to Bentley, the unicorn stuffie, in the main room, clutching him tightly until the three minutes had elapsed and I was one hundred percent human-looking again.

“Are we ready to be civil?” Darsh asked when we once more resumed. The question was pointed at Ezra.

He ignored it. He’d produced knitting needles that were attached with a skinny flexible cable, along with some mint-green yarn, and was starting some new item. This delicate-looking project was incongruous with his black suit and aura of power, but he handled the needles so naturally, without any trace of self-consciousness, that it was endearing.

I wasn’t ready to think fondly of him yet. I turned to my other two teammates. “What did you learn yesterday?”

“It was a bust on the CCTV footage,” Sachie said. “Same with the address and number on the spa files. I spoke to Dawn though. She still remembered that while Calista, or rather Emily as she knows her, had appointments roughly every six months, she only ever made them the day before. She paid extra to ensure a booking.”

“Our perp had her schedule then or had a rough idea of it,” I said. “This wasn’t a crime of opportunity. Any leads on where they’re hiding her?”

“The best commercial possibilities nearby are a small warehouse that was formerly a printing company and a doggie day care that went under,” Sachie said. “The warehouse has a private loading bay, and the staff parking for the doggie day care is behind a high fence.”

“We can’t get warrants to enter without probable cause,” Darsh said, “so I did a quick recon and I’m ninety-eight percent positive we can rule them out. The day care is for lease, which means showings, and there’s a large construction site next to the warehouse. Too much traffic. That said, if our perp has her stashed in a house, that’ll be a lot harder to determine.”

“We can’t track her through local blood suppliers,” Ezra said. “Our perp could have procured blood anywhere—a store, a vamp café, or brought it with them if they aren’t from here.”

“You’re assuming they’re feeding her while they’ve got her paralyzed,” Sachie said. “Can’t a Prime go longer without blood?”

“Yes, but if she’s not nourished at some point,” Ezra said, “then they may as well have killed her to begin with.”

Thanks to his incredible speed, his craft project was a third done. I narrowed my eyes. A baby’s hat? Who did Ezra have in his life to gift this to? I steered clear of visualizing him cradling a black-haired, blue-eyed baby of his own. I hadn’t imagined that six years ago, and I certainly wasn’t going to start now.

“Depending on what they want Calista for, her energy needs could be high.” Ezra set the needles down, pulled a folded paper out of his pocket, and tossed it on the table. “I wrote down everything I could think of that they’d want her body for. Some are more likely than others.” He resumed knitting, the gentle clicking almost hypnotic.

Sachie, Darsh, and I peered over the sharp, precise printing written on thick stationery. Ezra’s list included: cutting off a finger as proof for ransom, using eyeballs to pass retinal security scans, using Calista’s fingerprints to access bank records, and livestreaming her beheading. The black-market possibilities at the Crypt got their own section: selling her skin, selling her organs, and forcing her to breed with human males to create dhampirs—human-vampire halfies.

“That’s dark, Cardoso,” Darsh said.

“It’s disgusting,” I said. “Forced breeding?”

“I don’t condone rape,” Ezra said, straightening out stitches. “Ever. However, a Prime can mate with a person to create a supercharged human. We have to consider it as motive.”

“A lot of practical applications if you create a race of people like that,” Sachie said. “Mercenaries sold to the highest bidder, wiping out the vamp mobs and putting power back in the hands of human criminals, toppling governments. Meanwhile, we can take Calista’s fake name off the board as having relevance. There’s no Emily Astor who’s a Red Flame living here in Vancouver. No record of one anywhere in Canada, but I searched the archives. There was a Red Flame serial killer with that name back in the 1800s in Cornwall.”

I made a moue of distaste. “Cute.”

Darsh swore under his breath in Romani. He’d been flipping through the book, his expression becoming grimmer and grimmer. “I’ve decided to let you stay, Cardoso, but only because we’ll need all hands on deck to get through these names with the clock ticking. You and I will identify any vamps in Calista’s journal that the records can’t and head into Babel for follow-up. Sachie, you and Aviva tackle any Eishei Kodesh. Between us, we’ll narrow down the suspect list.”

“Got it,” I said.

“Ezra?” Sach said. “Did you find any upcoming events where our perp might declare open season on existing vamp power structures?”

“Nothing in the foreseeable future. That doesn’t exclude our perp planning a secret attack on a single vamp or group, or the Copper Hell itself, but the suggestions I offered for motive take our search beyond a mob power play.”

Darsh held up the book. “No blood suppliers, no hiding spots. This list is our best bet. We’ll spread out in the conference room and break it down.” He paused. “In case it isn’t perfectly clear, our job is to rescue Calista. That means no unfortunate accidents.” He shot Ezra a hard look.

“Scouts’ honor.” Ezra held up two fingers in pledge. “For the duration of the investigation.”

“That’s all I care about.”

I headed for the kitchen because if I didn’t get my first coffee after a meeting like that, I was going to kill someone.

The espresso machine on the counter made up for any shortcomings in the mostly empty cupboards. There were only some mismatched glasses and mugs, and a few snacks on a lonely shelf.

I loaded the pod and hit the button, inhaling the rich aroma, when a less desired scent tangled with the coffee.

“I didn’t leave you behind on purpose,” I said. “I would never do that. But yes, I would have told them about Calista if you hadn’t.” I didn’t turn around to look at Ezra. He didn’t bother with that courtesy, why should I? “We’re on an active investigation. Calista being paralyzed and, you know, not dead was way too relevant and important to hold back.”

He snapped his fingers. “Funny how certain details were neither relevant nor important when infernals were being killed.”

I whipped around. “Darsh,” I hissed.

Ezra glanced at the knife I’d grabbed. “Planning on using it?”

“Keeping my options open.”

He gave me a snarky smile. “Darsh left to update Michael, and Sachie is in the conference room. She can’t hear us.”

“Regardless, I never kept any secret that could compromise our case.”

“No, you got very creative with how you framed new information.”

“Information which I always shared. You’re the one who brought up Calista trying to kill you.” I exchanged the knife for the lone carton of milk amid packages of blood in the bar fridge and poured it into a small metallic pitcher.

Since only blood sustained vamps, any food was purely for taste or because they missed the ritual of eating. It was a divisive topic in the vamp world, and some purists killed over their belief in an all-blood diet. Ezra and Darsh didn’t eat, but they both drank non-blood beverages.

“You could have told us about the paralysis without mentioning the other part and we’d have assumed you knew because you’re a Prime,” I said. “Not because it happened to you. I’m not going to let you kill me with a thousand mean little cuts because you weren’t creative.” I shoved the pitcher under the steaming spout and turned it on in a blast of noise, hoping Ezra took the hint.

He propped a hip against the counter next to me. “When you couldn’t get creative on our last case with the murdered infernals, I covered for you, so you wouldn’t be exposed. Or have you forgotten that?”

My cheeks flushed and I cast my eyes downward, my gaze rooted on the floor at the tips of my toes. Right. Screw that. This situation wasn’t the same thing at all. I poured the espresso and warm milk into a mug. “I appreciate what you did, but it’s not like you contacted me last night to come up with a plan.”

He crossed his arms, his chin notched up. “Back at you, sweetheart. I was a little busy getting free, what was your excuse?”

I sipped my coffee calmly, despite the sour knot in my stomach. I was dying to ask him what happened after I left, how badly Delacroix hurt him, if he was unable to let me know when he left there because he had to heal, but the words sat like ashes on my tongue because only one of my many questions right now mattered.

Did Ezra feel like I was killing him with a thousand little cuts right back?

“I thought that you of all people would understand wanting someone who knew your secrets, to be there for you without having to ask,” he said softly.

I bit my bottom lip.

Our silence lasted three precise, sharp heartbeats. Long enough to wind the cycle of hurt between us tighter, far too short for me to know how to resolve it.

His eyes bore into mine, the same weary resignation that I felt reflected back at me. “I don’t want us to be like this,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “And I’m sorry. I was completely out of line lashing out at you.”

“I’m sorry too.” I tilted my face to the ceiling and shook my head. “I wish…”

That I hadn’t met him? That he hadn’t come back? That our whirlwind romance had been allowed to grow and bloom into a deep, steady love?

“What are you thinking?” There was a heavy weight to his words.

I shrugged helplessly. “Let’s soldier on as professionally as we can. Which reminds me, I may have a magic artifact tied to the missing blood.”

Ezra blinked at my abrupt change in topic. “I spoke to Burning Eddie. He doesn’t know anything about the missing infernal blood.”

Eddie was a demon who hated vamps and humans, but also trafficked in human blood. He’d have heard if demons or vamps had it. I guess that was a good thing, but if that brought us back to a highly placed Maccabee’s involvement, why would a human want to amplify vamp magic? Why would an operative who was supposed to fight evil want to make vampires invincible?

Stompy footsteps grew close.

“Conference room,” Darsh called out. He never sounded this terse and he certainly didn’t stomp. Oh, dear. “Now.”

“Duty calls.” Ezra gave me a wry smile, then left.

Sighing, I dumped my coffee down the drain. Well, I was awake now.

One good thing about hiding Cherry my entire life was that I was a hell of a compartmentalizer. I strode through the main area, locking the entire interaction with Ezra away to be examined at a more convenient time.

Or never.

A flash of mint green caught my eye.

I stopped and blinked.

Bentley was sporting a new cap.

Thatwas the hat that Ezra was knitting earlier? I peered at it suspiciously, but this wasn’t some ironic, mocking gift. Not given how he’d perched it precisely to stay on Bentley’s head while avoiding his unicorn horn, or in the careful interweaving pattern of ribbed and straight stitches. The design even kind of complemented the miniature palm tree that Bentley was riding.

I stormed into the meeting room and took my seat at the table with a muttered “Quit being cute, Cardoso.”

He shot me a baffled look, but I didn’t elaborate, more concerned about Darsh.

His lips were pressed in a tight line and his usual shininess and snark were wiped away in favor of a worn-down somberness.

“How angry is Michael?” I said.

Darsh shook his head and gave a quiet “Let’s get to it,” and that was it, despite the many, many searching glances I gave him.

The knot in my stomach grew. Who would come for me first? Michael or Delacroix? She held my career—my dream—in her hands; he held my life. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

For the next several hours, we powered through the list, using global Maccabee databases to separate names into vampires, Eishei Kodesh, and unknown. The last group only had a handful of names on it, which was good, since it certainly included demons.

We kept up the dance breaks. Sach and Darsh were developing a partner dance with choreography, and while sometimes Ezra and I just jogged around the basement, it did feel good to move. It kept us alert and helped us feel like we were going forward.

I missed our waltz though.

Darsh and Ezra took their shortlist of vamps and unknowns to Babel. Either they’d confront them directly or use informants to determine whether the name should be crossed off.

I didn’t envy them the job. Asking questions in the vampire megacity put a target on your back, and any vampires or demons who frequented the Copper Hell were powerful and lethal. Like Ezra, they wouldn’t be happy about the humiliation that got them banished had come to light.

Sachie and I had an easier time whittling down our list, mostly because humans aged and died, and these names had been accrued over a couple centuries.

We settled on three Eishei Kodesh as our final group: Simone La Clerc, José Ferreira, and Quentin Baker.

La Clerc and Ferreira were Yellow Flames. That magic was predicated upon the idea that fire cleanses. It applied to concepts, complicated ideas, and systems like the body, brain, or an alloy. Not all Yellow Flames could cleanse memories; we’d have to narrow down their particular talents.

La Clerc, an elegant woman with sleek blond hair and hawkish features who’d amassed a fortune as a hedge fund manager back in her thirties, was suspected of masterminding a pyramid scheme in France that set off an economic collapse. I had my doubts that she’d staked Calista, but she could have worked with a stronger vamp or demon who did.

“Elegant,” however, was not in the top thousand adjectives for Ferreira. With his prominent brow, stocky tattooed body, and broken nose, even his photo looked like it’d cut you given half a chance. The man had served time for human trafficking, but sadly, while Canadian offenders could receive a life sentence for that charge, in Brazil, Ferreira’s home country, they served an average of four and a half years. He’d done three.

Quentin Baker, a lobbyist for Canadian arms manufacturers, was a handsome man in his late thirties with a charming grin and steel in his eyes. He was a White Flame, which eliminated him as our memory loss specialist but would have let him keep Calista calm enough to stake her.

His physique was indicative of a man devoted to working out, so combine both those things with him being the only one in the book who lived here in the Lower Mainland, and it earned him a spot on our suspect list. Regardless of how unlikely it was that a human got the jump on a Prime.

“A grifter, a straight up piece of shit, and a warmonger. We meet the best people.” I gathered up the chip bags and sandwich wrappers littering the conference table.

Sachie cracked her lower back. “We need to confront them in person. Without any heads-up.”

“Yup.” I took the trash to the kitchen, feeling high off the four double espressos I’d drunk. I had enough caffeine in me to run a marathon leaving cartoon puffs of smoke in my wake, and I practically skipped back to the conference room. “Baker is easy, provided he’s here in town and not in Ottawa, since Parliament’s in session right now. The other two are in Paris and Rio.”

“Flying is going to take time we don’t have.” Sachie snagged the final Oreo. “The Copper Hell has doors to lots of places. Could you get us in?”

“Highly unlikely.” I straightened up the pens and notes scattered across the table. “I didn’t get the impression I was allowed back, but even if Delacroix allowed it, they wouldn’t let a second Maccabee in, and my glamor was torn off when I stepped through the portal.”

“Right.”

Would the same thing happen if Sachie entered in a magic disguise or had my shedim magic triggered the demon magic in that portal? I didn’t know and I wasn’t risking my friend. I was also under no illusions that without Ezra there, both for my fake cover story and my protection, I’d have been screwed. Okay, he wasn’t much help when faced with Delacroix, but I’d never have made it that far without him.

Sachie licked the cream out of her chocolate cookie sandwich. “Too bad the Brink is a gong show. It would be nice if we could cut through Babel.”

“It would,” I said blandly, grateful for the first time ever that the Brink was a nightmare to cross and I wouldn’t have to expose Cherry to my team.

That liminal wasteland between earth and the bloodsucker megacity was pure chaos. Distances were unpredictable; a journey that took mere minutes one day could take hours or days the next. Sadly, we didn’t have the superspeed that allowed vamps to cross it quickly, and motorized vehicles tended to crash into trees that suddenly appeared or go over a cliff that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Bicycles got flat tires within seconds.

The Brink was a cruel mistress, and that was before we factored in the meteorological disasters, be it Death Valley temperatures, arctic snowstorms, or a hail of frogs. She was nothing if not creative.

However, we would face any or all of that, which would add precious time and certainly deplete our energy before facing these suspects. Since going through the Brink here in Vancouver and into Babel to get to another city wasn’t an option, I’d gotten a lucky break. See, the second I stepped foot in Babel, the foundational magic of that former demon realm would snap me into shedim form. I found that one out the hard way.

My accusations to Ezra about keeping relevant secrets played in my head on a loop, so I was thrilled I didn’t have to decide whether or not to out myself today to my best friend. Hypocrite, thy name is Aviva.

“Rock, paper, scissors for who tells Michael we need a plane on standby?” I rested my fist against my palm. I didn’t want to miss my date with Olivier, but I’d text him later if we were flying out tonight.

“Coward,” Sach said.

“Says the woman who faked stomach flu to get out of dinner with her parents two nights ago. Throw.”

“Fine.”

We played. I won and Sachie texted Michael.

La Clerc’s information was on my laptop screen. I clicked on the trackpad to close that window and revisit the profile we’d built for Quentin Baker, but an important detail jumped out at me. “Rukhsana! Brilliant.”

“Sorry?” Sach looked up from her phone.

“La Clerc lives in Paris now, but she’s from Lyon.”

“Ah. You think your informant will know her?”

“I think it’s a relatively short detour that’s worth taking.” I put my laptop in my messenger bag.

“Sure. It’ll only take ten minutes to get there.”

No, my darling friend, most people required double that to get from Maccabee HQ to Rukhsana’s chop shop during rush hour. Considering the “oh shit” handle in Sachie’s car had my fingers etched into it, the Brink might be the better option, but I knew better than to fight Sachie for driving privileges when her keys were already in her hand.

I pasted on a smile. “Away we go.”