Chapter 2

Chapter2

Mason, still grumbling, hadn’t made that connection to Primes, and until I was certain I was one thousand percent correct, I didn’t dare voice it. I didn’t want to get him in trouble pursuing an unfounded theory—or spook him.

If Emily was a Prime, then the fact that those vampires didn’t dissolve into ash was a well-kept secret. So well-kept that my organization founded thousands of years ago precisely to keep humans safe from vampires and demons wasn’t aware of it, otherwise we’d have been taught something this important as novices.

I steeled my shoulders, a sick feeling in my gut, because there was only one way to quickly verify my theory.

How exactly did one ask an ex if you could stake him, then sit back and admire your handiwork? Should I lead with a joke or ask it like a scientific hypothetical? What would Ezra Cardoso, Crimson Prince and single known Prime in existence before today, prefer?

“I’m going to make a quick call,” I said.

“Okay. I’m texting Rachel to help me pack up, so meet us at the transport van in the alley.”

“Got it.” I exited the cave into the central relaxation area of Thermae.

It boasted an elaborate mosaic on the floor and a frescoed ceiling of a forest complete with stags and birds hidden among the trees. Comfort was assured with padded sling chairs, a glass shower with six jets, and to further relax clients, a table with a hot water dispenser and a basket containing tins of loose tea. The more modern décor stood out against the ancient Roman aesthetic, but it was understandable that patrons would prefer a nice chair over a historically accurate stone bench.

I eyed the chilled lemon water sweating in the glass pitcher.

Pity it wasn’t straight gin.

The four caves that created this immersive Roman bathing experience “worthiest of the noblest empress” flowed clockwise off this lounge area. Mason had given me a quick rundown on them. Each one had a fancy Latin name and a specific purpose.

The tepidarium, where Emily was found, was the first cave in a journey of pools and rooms with varying temperatures. Visitors kicked things off by relaxing in the body-temperature warmth of the water to strengthen the immune system without shocking the circulation system.

From there, they progressed to a small round cistern, where they alternated between a cold-water plunge pool and a dry-heat sauna. The third cave also had a cool-water pool, along with a steam room for sweating out toxins. The belief was that continually moving from a hot environment to a cold one stimulated blood flow, reduced tension, and improved breathing.

I wasn’t some expert on Roman ablutions; there were handy plaques at the entrance of each cave detailing their purpose. I rubbed my neck, once more a hard wall of tension. Should my hypothesis be proved wrong—and they sanitized the bathing pool—I was totally treating myself to a session here, and not coming out until I was a puddle of blissed-out jelly. Could I expense it as a health benefit?

The final cave was divided into smaller treatment rooms for massages and facials.

I pulled out my phone. I’d have privacy to call Ezra in one of the treatment rooms, but cell reception was spotty enough in here, so I shouldered through the door and along the short hallway into the changing room.

The thick wood door shut with a quiet click, enveloping me in a tranquil hush. Even the changing room was designed to relax guests, with low lighting, subtle orange-scented diffusers, and calming sandstone colors. I washed my hands with the organic soap, closing my eyes and letting the warm water from the copper taps clean off the shock and horror of my revelation about Emily being a Prime, but no amount of lathering or inhaling the gentle scents in here would make my next task less stressful.

After a quick double-check to ensure I was alone, I sat down on the bench alongside the row of lockers, which were designed to resemble blocks of stone. Only one was locked.

I’d examine Emily’s personal belongings later, but first I opened my text app. Although there was a strong cell signal here, I hesitated because this wasn’t exactly the kind of topic one broached in a casual message. I could phone Ezra, but this would be a sensitive and uncomfortable topic for both of us, and I planned to use his initial reaction to determine how shocked he was by this information. That was only possible via a video call.

Unbeknownst to me, my ex had been working as a Maccabee operative for the past four years, gathering intel under the guise of being a jet-setting playboy. His mask game was strong, but I still knew him better than anyone, even though we’d broken up six years ago and I’d seen him again only recently.

Seen him. That was the understatement of the century. Try: I was once more familiar with the feel of his lips on mine. He no longer kissed me with a shy sweetness but an electric intensity bordering on a declaration of war. We’d done a stellar job of not discussing it, keeping our conversations since then strictly professional. Asking him about staking Primes ensured there’d be no repeats.

Exactly what I wanted.

Ezra had remained at the same hotel for the past few days since we wrapped up our last case, putting out discreet feelers on our next steps to track down the blood collected from the murdered half shedim on that investigation. However, we expected him to be reassigned to his next Maccabee gig anytime now.

He might have already checked out. Be completely unreachable. I wasn’t sure whether to cross my fingers.

I stabbed the call button. Hopefully, I’d know if he lied to me when I asked my question. Not for the first time, I wished I could illuminate weaknesses in vampires, but that happened only when I was in a demon realm.

Ezra answered, wearing a towel wrapped around his waist. Water dripped from his jet-black curls onto his chiseled bare chest, glistening down his brown skin, and clouds of steam billowed in the air behind him.

I couldn’t even objectively appreciate the sight because my mind conjured an image of his silvery-blue eyes dulled and lifeless, blood seeping down that immaculate torso, speared with a stake.

“Did you just moan?” he said in an amused voice, his smooth, low baritone hitting me like a shot of the finest whiskey.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, banishing the image of him impaled like Emily.

Ezra frowned and peered at the screen. “You look ill, and since it couldn’t possibly be the sight of my⁠—”

I swung a locker door open and shut with a loud clang, like I required the momentum of the action to voice my question. “Do Primes leave a body when staked?”

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened with the barest flash.

I white-knuckled the phone.

“Vampires don’t leave bodies,” he said.

I closed my eyes. Nice avoidance.

“Aviva?” he said sharply.

I blinked them open and began pacing alongside the long stone table under the mirrors, which held fluffy piles of folded robes and towels along with baskets of bath products. “Female, reddish-blond hair, hazel eyes, looks in her early forties. She was staked during a spa visit.”

Ezra laughed, but it had a bladed edge. “I hope she didn’t pay extra for a happy ending.” He shifted the angle of the screen, allowing me to glimpse the tattooed line in Spanish on his left biceps. I grabbed a screenshot to examine it later because he hadn’t been inked when we were together, and this was the first time I’d had a clear view of it.

The combination of Ezra having a more muscular physique than when we’d been together and this unfamiliar tattoo made me feel momentarily disoriented. The photos I’d seen of him over the past six years were impersonal snapshots. Seeing him bare chested, it hit me in a visceral way that this body was, in effect, a stranger’s.

I was no longer the woman most familiar with the shape of him, and it took me aback that despite everything, some part of me had believed I was. Not that I was the person to unravel his intricate psychological layers, but that I still held the map to his body, and where other lovers might know the divot of his hips or the swell of his biceps, I alone had charted every inch.

A pang of betrayal twisted in my stomach. He’d gone and redeveloped himself like he wanted nothing of his past to remain. Yet, intertwined with this betrayal was a sense of curiosity and intrigue. Who was this new Ezra? What experiences had shaped him into the man before me? It was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying to think that there were parts of him I had yet to discover.

He slid on a knitted bathrobe in royal blue that resembled a boxer’s wrap with an oversize hood that looked crazy comfy. Had he made that, sitting by a fire, letting the click of the needles and the feel of the yarn wash away his cares?

I wrenched my eyes—and my thoughts—away, and exhaled. This call was getting off track. “Any idea how someone could attack a Prime without them fighting back?” I injected a note of levity into my voice, hoping to make him amenable to giving me some useful information. “For reasons purely related to the case.”

“They couldn’t,” he said flatly.

Yes, you are the baddest of the bad. I massaged my temples. We all bow down before your prowess. I gathered my shredded patience by my metaphoric fingertips and swallowed any snarky retort. “Our victim had a tattoo covering her torso, except on the broken skin surrounding the weapon.”

Ezra went so still that I checked to make sure the screen hadn’t frozen, but no, he’d grasped this damning piece of evidence. “Stop all forensics and lock the scene down immediately until I get there,” he commanded.

My ex’s first language was Spanish, and though he usually didn’t have an accent when he spoke English, it peppered his harsh tone now.

His anger didn’t bother me, but his high-handed directive sure did. He’d shown up on our previous investigation with special dispensation from the Maccabee Secretary of the Authority Council to lead it, though that wasn’t the case now. This was plain old Prime paranoia and self-defense. And okay, maybe a heaping side of Ezra-knows-best.

However, in the end, this was my investigation and mine alone.

“If you have relevant information,” I said, “then share it with me. As the lead operative on the scene, I’ll take appropriate action.”

Good thing Ezra didn’t need to breathe because his cursing me out in Spanish went on for a long time. He curled his fingers in like claws, and I got the sense that he wished he could reach through the screen and throttle me. “Have you forgotten our last case so soon? Someone put a target on infernals’ backs. Now you want to be front and center on a case involving a Prime that is going to attract unwanted attention? Do you want to be found out?”

I’d guarded the secret of my half-shedim nature (“shedim,” the plural Hebrew term, was used conventionally for both singular and multiple demons, like the word “fish”) from everyone except my mother and Ezra. However, another vampire and Maccabee operative called Roman Whittaker, who’d been one of the two killers in our last case, had known what I was.

I hadn’t shared that bombshell with anyone; Ezra was simply extrapolating from the bigger picture.

He was also evading my order to report any relevant information.

“I’m a Maccabee with a job to do,” I said with steely steadiness. “I took an oath, and I won’t run away, regardless of who or what the victim is, or how dangerous this case is. I didn’t do it when my kind was being killed and I won’t do it when yours is.”

“You’re not equipped to deal with this,” he said with forced patience. “Only I am.”

Cherry Bomb, the Brimstone Baroness, as I fondly called my shedim side, opened her eyes from the dark pool deep inside me where she lived. She whispered several bloodthirsty, violent, and possibly anatomically impossible ways to show Ezra how wrong he was.

Yeah, she was me, and yeah, I referred to her in the third person. It was like how some people talked about their lizard brain or subconscious self as a separate being from their logical side. Granted, when other people said, “You don’t want to meet the person I am before I’ve had my coffee—she’ll destroy you!” they generally didn’t mean it in a literal sense. But my Cherry Bomb was a bit more intense than your garden variety id.

“If me or my forensics team are in danger, then tell me. Right. Now.” I practically growled into the phone.

“You’re not. None of you are.”

I searched his face, but my gut said he was telling the truth. Then what was with his reaction? Damn Ezra and his secrets.

“Do I have to secure the scene for any reason other than you keeping your cards close to your chest?” I said.

“Step away from this, Aviva.”

“I’ll add that to my to-do list. Now, if you have nothing to add…?”

“Don’t you da⁠—”

I hung up on him. Then I slammed two or three locker doors and let out a strangled scream.

For all I knew, he intended to not only steamroll this investigation but invoke some bullshit political reason and keep us from finding Emily’s killer at all.

Well, tough shit. He wasn’t going rogue to hunt that person down. The perp had to face justice, not vengeance.

Prime or not, Ezra had taken the same Maccabee vow that I had: tikkun olam.

The Hebrew phrase and our organization’s motto referred to a mystical approach to all mitzvot, or good deeds. Broadly, it communicated the responsibility of Jews, now extended to all operatives, to fix the wrongs in the world.

Ezra could suck it up and play ball.

I shook off my irritation.

Mason would transport Emily’s body to Malika at HQ any moment now. Our coroner would figure out that the victim was a Prime, and I had to speak to our director before that happened.

Oh joy. Perhaps if I spiked Michael’s tea with a handful of Xanax before casually mentioning the murdered Prime in her territory she’d be chill about it? Hmm. Best to do a sweep of her office for projectiles, just to be safe.

I still had to speak to the spa owner, Dawn Keller, but I also needed to give Mason and Rachel a heads-up to stay alert for any trouble. I had nothing concrete to caution them about, but Emily being a Prime meant trouble on its own, even without Ezra’s cagey warning. Sadly, I didn’t dare tell them her status until I’d spoken to the director.

I entered the lounge area expecting the team to still be packing up. Mason’s insistence on fitting things back in the van like he was playing Tetris with his life on the line made cleaning up a lengthy process.

But there was no sign of Mason, Rachel, the body, or any of Mason’s gear. The candles in the tepidarium had all been snuffed out, and the music was off.

My poor heart had finally returned to a normal rhythm after the call with Ezra. Now either Mason had ditched his Tetris organizational ways for good (unlikely) or something had happened to my team. Bye-bye, calm.

A petite plump woman in her fifties, her trousers rolled up and her feet in flip-flops, hosed down the pool deck. She gave me a vaguely confused smile and tilted her head, making her dangling silver earrings swing. “Hello, dear. Do you have an appointment today or are you interested in more information about our services at Thermae?”

The skin between my shoulder blades prickled. This was the woman who’d been freaking out because a client had been killed in her spa? “Ms. Keller?”

“Yes, of course.” She smiled, a perfect customer service smile unmarred by unexpected corpses and panic. “I’m always so pleased whenever anyone’s heard of my services. Word of mouth and trust is so crucial in my profession.”

Luckily (or unluckily) for her, the strength to stake a vampire was also not crucial to her profession. This was also not a case of Rachel doing too good a job to calm Dawn down. Something was off.

I broke out my blue flame magic and scanned her for weakness. Her brain had deep navy swathes in it, indicating someone had messed with her mind. I tapped my fist against my forehead; a poor substitute for banging my head against the wall. “Were a man and a woman just here?”

“No.” She twisted the copper tap shut. “I haven’t had any clients yet today.” She stumbled over the words, then frowned, her brows creased.

“Wait here. I’ll be back.” I bolted out of the spa area, down the corridor, and crashed through the emergency exit into the alley.

The transport van was gone.

Rain slanted down on me as I hit Mason’s contact number, chanting “Pick up pick up” under my breath, but he didn’t answer. Neither did Rachel.

I ran back into the spa on rubbery legs, but I couldn’t let my anxiety for my colleagues’ safety show and upset Dawn.

“My name is Aviva Fleischer and I’m a level two Maccabee operative. I need you to come with me, please.” I showed Dawn the brushed gold pillbox ring on my right index finger, identifying me as a Maccabee.

We’d named ourselves after the heroes of the Hanukkah miracle—honoring them and their flame that formed the basis of our magic. Our ring reflected that heritage. The top of its round compartment featured an embossed flame circled by five tiny gems symbolizing each type of magic: red, orange, yellow, white, and blue.

All human Maccabees received their rings upon graduating from Maccababy novice to level one operative, and we never took them off. The part of our initiation ceremony that meant the most to me was the moment I slid the ring onto my finger and pledged the Maccabee motto. Finally, I was a part of something bigger than myself, changing the world for the better rather than trying to stop it from getting any worse.

“I can’t leave.” Dawn shook her head. “I have a client.”

“They canceled.” Rachel had phoned people booked in for today. “Please. Time is of the essence.” When Dawn didn’t comply, I prodded her to lock up and hustled her as nicely as possible to my car, skirting the bigger puddles. She’d grabbed a rain jacket; I got wet.

Dawn was understandably furious and upset, threatening to file a complaint against me. I sighed. It was better to have her alive and angry than another victim. More of a victim than she already was, I amended, given her current memory loss.

Regardless, I had to find Mason and Rachel, and I wasn’t leaving Dawn alone.

I helped her into the car and ran around to the driver’s side, phoning in a request to activate the tracker on the transport van. All official Maccabee vehicles had them. If I didn’t justify the request with proper paperwork, I’d have a strip torn off me later, but that was a problem for future me. All that mattered now was that my request was granted by the time I cranked the ignition in my beat-up hatchback.

I squealed out of my parking spot, following the pulsing red line on my phone’s screen toward Mason, Rachel—and Emily’s corpse.

My wipers sped back and forth, a metronome to my panic level as I wove in and out of traffic, smashing down on my horn every few seconds.

Dawn screamed that I was a maniac and she’d see me arrested for kidnapping.

The gap to the transport van narrowed on the tracking screen, but the lump in my gut grew because they weren’t headed to HQ.

I jammed my foot down harder on the gas pedal; too bad it was already floored.

Minutes later, I caught up to the van. It was parked in one of the two stalls around the back of a café.

“Stay!” I barked at Dawn.

Rachel sat in the passenger seat, scrolling on her phone. She jumped when I rapped on the window. “Aviva?”

I practically hopped up and down, flooded with anxiety. “Where’s Mason? Where’s the body?”

“What body? We stopped for coffee. You want one? I’ll text him.”

I sprinted around the back of the van and threw open the doors.

Mason’s bag and laptop were gone. There was no evidence.

And no Emily.

I screamed out a swear so loud it scattered the birds from the trees.

Someone had killed a Prime and then stolen the corpse out from under the Maccabees. When this got out, there’d be a huge outcry, some very angry vampires, and who knew what response from the members of the Authority.

I braced a hand on the van door, my chest tight.

Someone would be blamed for this colossal mess, and I was the operative in charge on the scene. I’d spent less than two hours on my first case as a solo lead, and at this rate, they were likely to be my last. Heads were going to roll, mine probably among them. Hopefully not literally, but then again, we were working with vampires and the director, and with those two dangerous entities, nothing was off the table.