Chapter 21

Chapter21

I woke up groggy and disoriented, surrounded by so much white it hurt my eyes, though whatever I rested on, lying on my side, was as soft as a cloud. Jewish afterlife is Hollywood Heaven? I didn’t see that coming.

People were arguing, so that tracked. My people enjoyed a vigorous discourse, and it made sense that would become a main activity when we had literally all the time in the world on our hands. Does this mean endless bagels?

Ezra’s face appeared above me. His forehead was crinkly from worry lines and his brows were so furrowed, he practically had a unibrow like Bert from Sesame Street.

I snickered and poked him between the eyes.

“Aviva.” He caught my hand, keeping it loosely in his grip, though the rest of him was as taut as a drawn bowstring. “How do you feel?”

I giggled and waved my hand through the air. Colors trailed in its wake, so I did it again. “Great,” I slurred.

Ezra’s dark expression wasn’t befitting of the heavenly version of angels—more their wayward brethren. I supposed they were allowed to visit. The same as relatives you didn’t like but couldn’t exactly hide from when they knocked.

“Do vampires go to heaven too? Because that is so going to fuck up people’s belief systems.” I moved my jaw up and down a few more times without speaking because it felt funny.

“This is bullshit.” Sachie’s frowny face floated somewhere around my feet.

Aw. My friends opted to die rather than spend their lives without me. Was there a thank-you card for that?

“We’ve got a unique opportunity here.” Darsh moved into view, wearing a dark purple knitted toque shot through with sparkly thread. Were angels allowed to accessorize? “Aviva is an adult and I say she decides.”

“She’s in no condition to decide,” Sachie shot back. “Not that of all things.” She shook her head at Ezra before glaring at Darsh. “We don’t need this. You’re not thinking straight because⁠—”

“My judgment is fine,” Darsh said. The cold expression he leveled at Sachie was weird, like the stress of today had caused the glittery mask he wore to slip and reveal a glimmer of the ancient being he was.

I sighed. I wasn’t dead; I was in the middle of a team argument. Correction: I was the reason for it. My stomach twisted and I winced.

“Upset Aviva further and you’re both out,” Ezra said in a hard voice. He tightened his grip on my hand, stroking his thumb over my palm. “It’s okay,” he assured me.

I relaxed a bit, my muddied brain clearing enough to take in some important details. I wasn’t floating under clouds but a white canopy, the bed linens and closed drapes also white, and I was hooked to an IV. Ah. I was in a hotel room. Probably Ezra’s. In his—nope. No energy to think that.

“Why are you all fighting? And why are you looking at me like that? I was okay being dead, but now I feel like I’m actually dying and that kind of sucks.” My speech wasn’t crystal clear, but I was understandable enough. My shedim magic allowed me to burn intoxicants out of my system, and I cleared away some of my fog. Just enough for a basic comprehension, not enough to affect stopping my pain or making my friends suspicious about how I was suddenly completely lucid.

“Someone blew up your car,” Darsh said bluntly.

It all came rushing back.

“The safe house.” I bolted up with a cry, but the wave of pain knocked me back against the bank of pillows. “My hip. Ow. Oh, fuck.”

Ezra was already turning me on my side, smoothing out what was not a light blue, basic-issue angel robe that I wore over my underwear, but a sterile burn blanket. “Everyone is fine,” he said. “There wasn’t any damage at the strip mall either. You’d parked far enough away from the businesses and other vehicles. We think someone put a tracker on your car.”

My poor car. I groaned. She was crap, but she’d performed her duties to the best of her ability. Thank you for your service.

He rested his hand on my left shoulder. “You’ve got to stay on your right side, okay? Your left hip is broken, and you suffered third-degree burns on your back.”

“Nerve damage?” I didn’t feel anything there, not even a distant throb. The IV was obviously dispensing quality pain meds, but that degree of burn destroyed nerve endings. I swallowed down the taste of bile. “Why aren’t I with a healer?”

“Excellent question.” Sachie glared at Darsh.

“Ezra procured an extensive first aid kit and you’re stable for now.” Darsh sat on the bed next to me, ignoring Sachie’s angry growl. He fixed his knit cap, which had slid low on his forehead.

That was Ezra’s handiwork. Why did Darsh get a gift and not me? I was the one who had been blown up. I glared at Ezra, who frowned.

“Was it Delacroix?” Sachie said.

“It’s not his style,” Ezra said.

I nodded. “He favors a more hands-on approach. Plus, he wouldn’t do anything to impede progress on getting Calista back.”

“Fantastic,” Sachie snarked. “Our suspect list is anyone other than that one shedim.”

“Actually,” I said, remembering that guy in the hoodie, “I saw who⁠—”

Darsh flapped a hand in dismissal at Sachie and turned to me. “Whoever did this believes you’re dead.”

That stopped me in my tracks. “Wait. Why?”

“Because when I found you,” Ezra said tightly, “you weren’t breathing.”

I was missing something. I glanced at the IV, annoyed because the painkillers were making it challenging to sort through events. My car was tracked. Someone planted an explosive while I was in the safe house. They must have been watching and seen Ezra’s reaction.

My brain ground to an infuriatingly slow conclusion. I narrowed my eyes. “What did you break?”

“He ripped the payment machine out of the ground and flung it into a pickup,” Sachie said.

“He sold the story,” Darsh said approvingly.

“It wasn’t a story,” Ezra ground out. “I thought she was dead.”

“Still.” Darsh rubbed his rib cage.

Ezra crossed his arms. “It’s still bothering you?”

“Not at all.” Darsh dropped his hand. “It means Aviva is now an ace up our sleeves. If our perp thinks you’re dead, they won’t see you coming.”

“They won’t see me coming if I’m dead of an infection.” I clutched the burn blanket like Linus in the Charlie Brown cartoons. It was warm, but hardly comforting. And what was up with Darsh?

“That’s the catch. No one can know you’re alive.” Darsh paused. “Not even a healer.”

“Catch?” Sachie spat. “This is your friend we’re talking about. The operative under your leadership. You’re putting her at risk.”

“I’m doing what’s necessary,” he said, steel in his voice. “That’s what a leader does. Makes the tough calls to keep worse things from happening.”

I frowned. Were we still speaking about my healing? “Did something happen at the Copper Hell last night?”

“Something always happens there,” Darsh said. “That’s not relevant. Say we brought in a healer, it would take hours or days to heal you, and you might be left with permanent scars.”

Healing sessions were often more painful than the original injury. And scars? I moaned and closed my eyes.

Ezra stroked a hand over my hair.

“You can’t let Michael think I’m dead.” I couldn’t put my mother through that kind of grief. For long.

“She’s the only one outside this room who knows the truth,” Darsh said. “She agreed to keep your status under wraps and has taken a few days of personal leave.”

An ugly spurt of bitterness twisted through me. I couldn’t remember a real event in my life that had her taking time off, but hey, good she could sell my fake death, I guess.

“Michael was less thrilled about my solution,” Darsh continued, “but when I convinced her that it ensured Aviva’s immediate good health, she signed off on it.”

Immediate good health? Yes, please. I liked the sound of⁠—

I snapped my eyes open, realization slamming into me like a sledgehammer hitting a brick wall. There was only one way to immediately heal me that my mother would hate.

My pulse quickened. Darsh wouldn’t ask this of me. The very idea was preposterous. Except Ezra wouldn’t meet my questioning gaze, and Sachie looked furious.

“What’s your solution?” I gripped the blanket.

“Ezra heals you. He’s a Prime.” Darsh said it without a trace of remorse, knowing my history with Ezra and that I’d have to drink from him, an intimate gesture even when based in healing, not sex. “I’d offer, though his magic is stronger than mine for this, but I’m a tad run-down after visiting the Hell.” His hand crept back to his side again protectively, but his expression warned me off asking.

I’d never drunk from Ezra. He’d never bitten me or given me his blood when we were together. Rumor said both were an incomparable rush, and I’d been tempted. So tempted at times that my fear of how his Prime blood might interact with my shedim nature barely kept me from begging for it.

Please. That was exactly why you wanted it, Cherry said. She’d been hovering under the surface of my consciousness.

He’d offered to heal me with his blood once before. On our last case. I hadn’t been injured nearly as badly, and there was a Trad civilian present. It had been a no-brainer to refuse him.

I had to refuse now as well. Plus, as novices, we studied cases, admittedly rare, where human operatives who fed off vamp Maccabees to heal them resulted in obsessive behavior on the part of the Eishei Kodesh.

Ezra wasn’t merely some vamp; he was the former love of my life, and a Prime. Sure, I’d come out physically intact, but what about psychologically?

I didn’t want to undergo a painful healing session with a Yellow Flame and risk scarring, but drinking from my ex would leave an entirely different scar.

Complicating our current emotional connection violated every intention I had for the two of us.

“Aviva is not in a lucid state to consent to this,” Ezra said.

“At least I’m giving her a chance to decide,” Darsh said.

“Big words, Darsh,” Sachie said. “You aren’t allowed to compel an operative.” While undead Maccabees mostly dealt with vamp and demon criminals, that policy was in place for all operatives, so that witness statements stood up in court. No one wanted a case thrown out because the witness had been coerced.

“I’m the lead. I could order it.” Darsh ran a thumb under his black leather wrist cuff. “But thanks for thinking I’d force her.”

“Sorry,” Sach muttered and raked a hand through her rumpled hair.

“I won’t order it either,” he said, “but time is of the essence. Aviva, you won’t be in any state to choose if we take you off the painkillers and you black out or go into shock.” He clenched his fists. “We’ve been chasing our tails, and this could finally be the break we need. Isn’t it enough I—? Could you just—” His hand drifted to his rib cage again. “Fuck!”

I blinked because Darsh’s fangs had descended, and he never lost control.

“Put those away.” Ezra shoved the other vamp halfway across the bedroom. “Or you won’t be around much longer.”

Darsh puffed up like a cobra, and then suddenly Sachie was between the two of them, a blade at both their throats.

“Out,” she ordered. “Both of you.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Ezra said.

Sachie dropped the weapon she had trained on him with a sympathetic shake of her head. “You’re not her bodyguard, Ezra,” she said, not unkindly. “And you’re in no condition to talk her through this.”

“Why do I still get the knife on me?” Darsh said.

“Because you’re an asshole and I love you sixty percent less right now,” Sachie said. “Are you going to talk to us about whatever is going on with you?”

“I’m perfection incarnate,” Darsh said.

She gave him a sad smile. “You’re really not. Either way, this behavior is not going to fly.” She jerked her head at the bedroom door. “Give us ten minutes and wait in the hallway outside the suite. Aviva and I need to speak without vamp eavesdroppers.”

Darsh rolled his eyes, and Ezra pulled himself away from my side with the slowness of untangling from a web of sticky toffee, but incredibly, they both obeyed.

There was a soft click.

Sachie poked her head out the bedroom door to check they’d really gone. “Okay.” She sighed and pulled a chair up next to me. “Bet this wasn’t how you saw yourself ending up in Ezra’s bed again, huh?”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious.” I pulled the blanket up to my chin. “I’m scared, Sach.” Whatever little adrenaline I’d been coasting on fled. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I can’t tell you that, but you do need to make a decision and fast, because one way or the other, you have to get some healing magic into you.”

“I look that bad?” I joked weakly.

“You’re always gorgeous to me, babe, but it’s not one of your top-ten looks.” She ran her fingers through her hair in a stuttery motion, strain etched into the tight corners of her eyes and mouth.

I must have looked as lost as I felt, because Sachie patted my hand. “Let me tell you what Darsh learned at the Copper Hell so you have more facts to make your decision.”

Since the Hell had precautions in place to keep vamps from compelling their bankers and no one was willing to offer up the information, even for a substantial amount of money, Darsh had to play the house in a game of Two Truths and a Lie.

The forfeits had been so brutal that Ezra had to come get him. I remembered Darsh rubbing his rib cage and winced. Part of his payment must have included prolonged pain, or he’d have healed already.

“That’s awful, but it’s not what’s been upsetting him lately,” I said.

“No,” Sachie said. “But Darsh doesn’t leave his self-preservation to chance. He knows what kind of place the Copper Hell is and that the odds weren’t in his favor of walking away unscathed. Why play?”

“He’s taking being leader very seriously.”

“Too seriously. I think that something in this case is tied to the reason he’s a Maccabee. Either Calista or the Copper Hell itself.”

“Or being in charge? Maybe he failed someone once?”

“I didn’t want to go there, but yeah,” she said.

Pain snaked through my hip, and I hissed. “We can’t help him unless he opens up. For now, tell me what he learned.”

“Sorry. Of course.”

This business with Quentin started a year ago. The arms lobbyist had been angling to get his opponent, a notorious cybercriminal, to agree to a wager to settle their longtime heated rivalry about whether physical weapons or technical ones were more destructive.

Quentin challenged the other man to a game of dodgeball to see who was right. Who needed a gym when they set the playing court as the entire world? And the ball? Bombs versus data.

My disgust grew exponentially when I learned that the two players weren’t in danger of being killed themselves during the game. Oh no, nothing so pedestrian. They signed a binding magic contract at the gambling hall with their forfeits and off they went. The point was to take out the other player’s resources. Civilians, governments, everyone and everything was acceptable collateral damage.

I searched my memory for world events that fit that timeline. “You mean that bomb strike in Northern Africa and the rapid inflation of the Romanian leu were part of some game?” I balled my hands into fists. “I’m glad that scum Baker is dead, because if he wasn’t…”

“Yeah, my sympathy drained pretty fast for Quentin after hearing that,” Sachie said. “There’s more though. The forfeit itself.”

Since this particular game of dodgeball was rooted in destruction, Calista suggested that the forfeit reflect that, and that the loser should be destroyed. Not die; that wouldn’t ensure the same degree of suffering they were inflicting on others. No, they would be turned into shadows of themselves, existing in the cracks of the world and forgotten by all. She didn’t usually interfere in forfeits, but dodgeball was played so infrequently that this was a special occasion demanding a grand wager.

Both players were arrogant enough to agree.

“It took Quentin three months to win,” Sachie said.

“What? He won?” I said. “Then why did we find him like that?”

“Quentin’s collateral damage included a vamp that Calista had turned. The first one in centuries.”

“Kill and ruin thousands of humans, no problem, but don’t harm a specific vampire,” I sneered. “I’m almost glad he staked her. It would be bad enough if he’d lost and become that way, but Calista robbed him of his humanity and turned him into a literal and metaphoric shadow, doomed never to be touched, spoken to, or seen.” All in the name of revenge.

I was still committed to rescuing Calista, but I longed to raze that fucking gaming hell to the ground. Preferably with both owners in it, since none of this would be possible without demon magic.

“Who knew the final outcome?” I asked. “Other than Calista?”

“Only the two players and the banker, which is who Darsh played against.”

“Who’s our perp? The banker or the cybercriminal?” I said, confused.

“Neither. The cybercriminal took his own life, and the banker is fanatically loyal to Calista. Her job at the Copper Hell means the world to her. We’ve got Quentin’s motive, but we still don’t have any lead on who he was working for, and don’t forget, anyone could have learned about the game since then. Darsh was really hoping that the breakthrough you mentioned would break the case open.”

“It might, and if we launch a sneak attack based on that information, we wrap this up before it gets any worse.” I’d get Delacroix off my back and out of my life. “No wonder Darsh wants me to stay dead.”

“It’s understandable for our case, but I don’t think it’s the best thing for you, personally. Sex with Ezra would be bad enough, but drinking from him?” She set her lips into a compressed line and squeezed my hand. “This sucks.”

“Yeah,” I said softly. For the first time ever, I wasn’t sure if I could do what was best as an operative, but time had run out for me to choose. The IV was dry, the effects of the meds were fading, and the fiery pain inside me was a maelstrom making each breath and tiny gesture a nightmare.

Ezra healing me would take minutes. A healer could take hours or days, which would also impact the case, and I was already on thin ice with both Michael and Delacroix.

My heart, my career, or my life? I didn’t get to have all three.

I bit down on my lip, trying to still the butterflies in my stomach. “I’ve made my decision.”