Chapter 6

Chapter6

Operatives were surprised when they first came into the basement where the vamps (and now Sachie) worked out of, expecting an overabundance of black leather or red velvet. Thankfully, when the rest of our building got its big reno a few years back, the squad down here got their own decorating budget.

Vancouver’s HQ was located in a five-story building that occupied an entire city block on the border with Burnaby. It had started out as a garment factory in the late 1800s, but when that business went bankrupt in the Great Depression, the local Maccabees took it over.

There were no windows down here. (Thanks, former sweatshop!) The vamp operatives would have been fine with them because they were all former Eishei Kodesh and being born with fire magic in one form or another tempered the effects of sunlight once a person was turned. There was a strong correlation between the strength of their powers when human and their ability to survive sunshine.

Trad vamps, however, couldn’t go out during daylight hours at all. They fell asleep at dawn and woke at dusk. Thus, the basement had been kept window-free so no Trad vamp suspects were fried while in a holding cell waiting to be interrogated.

Given this was my new workspace for a while, I was glad that all of the original perforated brown ceiling tiles were gone. As was the random clutter that had ended up down here over the decades in some kind of furniture graveyard.

Multicolored silk lanterns hand-painted in delicate flowers hung from the smooth white plaster ceiling. They cast bright pools of light over the large open space, with oversize couches and chairs in sumptuous colorful fabrics grouped together at one end. Sure, they were sturdy enough to bear the brunt of two vamps in full brawl, but the furniture’s placement encouraged hanging out on breaks and provided a cheery vibe.

I tossed my jacket and laptop bag on a round plush chair next to an adjustable computer stand and gave Bentley, the squad’s unofficial mascot, a chin nod. The large unicorn stuffie sat at his customary spot, riding a stumpy palm tree in a fancy Italian tile planter. “’Sup, dude.”

Maccabee chapters were located across the globe, mostly in cities, since that’s where the majority of Eishei Kodesh lived. Only Jews were recruited as operatives for the first several hundred years, though from the start, the positions were offered to both men and women. However, even once we welcomed non-Jews, the organization remained a secret until after the Salem witch trials in the late 1700s, when magic was now so pervasive that we stepped out of the shadows as a global police force.

The one big caveat to our reveal was that we kept demon and vamp hunting a secret.

Between Judaism forbidding the consumption of blood and the importance of light to Jews, my people historically protected ourselves from becoming vampires. It was a large part of why the Maccabees as an organization had been formed, but our secrecy about the existence of the undead changed in the 1960s when vamps made their first big public relations push.

Demons though? Most people still didn’t know about them. That was good in terms of keeping a lid on mass panic, but bad because it was hard to root them out.

“Let’s open up a couple offices and create a conference room,” Darsh said.

Ezra was already underway using some app on his phone to sweep the basement, so Sachie and I helped Darsh.

The row of offices on the left boasted not only ergonomic chairs and modular workspaces, the walls could be reconfigured. We combined two of the offices, moving smaller tables together to form a long conference table next to a large whiteboard.

Darsh rummaged in the storage cabinet. “Meeting starts in five minutes.”

“Enough time for coffee,” Sach said. “I got a cappuccino maker installed down here,” she said to me in a conspiratorial whisper.

We wouldn’t have to commute up to the third-floor kitchen? I fist-bumped her. “You’re a miracle worker.”

The two of us headed past the reinforced iron door leading to the single holding cell, which nulled all magic, including vamps’. Apprehended shedim didn’t live long enough to make the trip to HQ.

“I don’t suppose you diverted any of the baked goods?” I said.

“I tried.” Sachie entered the kitchen. “But even my bottomless charm couldn’t swing that. We’ll either have to swipe them from upstairs or make do with packaged snacks.”

It took only a couple minutes to get our mugs of piping-hot caffeine joy and some cookies, but Darsh sniffed primly at us like we’d breached all laws of etiquette regarding timely behavior.

Sach had familiarized herself with the seating down here long ago and didn’t need to do her routine of walking around the table, checking each chair for maximum sturdiness before making her selection. She sat down by the notebook and pen she’d placed, while I took the seat beside her with my open laptop.

Ezra, sitting across from us, insisted on sweeping all our phones for bugs. When he was satisfied they were clean, he handed Darsh a blue dry-erase marker as indication to begin.

Our fearless leader passed it to me. “Your printing is more legible.”

I couldn’t say whether that was true since I hadn’t seen his. Darsh texted, but those messages tended to be brief and factual. If he wanted a longer conversation, he’d speak to us face-to-face.

I got the impression he preferred to see us and read our body language, interpreting our communication through more than tone of voice. He certainly didn’t seem to like inferring intent via written missives, because he’d broken Sach and me of long texts to him early in our friendship. Some of that may have come down to his native language Romani being a predominantly oral one, but I suspected it was also part of his nature, choosing to gather information based on all his senses. Like a predator determining a threat.

I uncapped the marker and stood at the board like a good student.

“What have we got?” Darsh said.

The details that went onto the murder board were depressingly sparse. Aside from Calista’s name and approximate age, we had the fact that she checked in at the spa under the same alias as always (Emily Astor) and claimed to be a Red Flame.

She’d been the first client of the day. The spa was so exclusive that each patron had the place to themselves for the entirety of their booking. She’d been enjoying the different caves for approximately forty minutes before Dawn had gone to check on her and prepare the treatment room for Calista’s massage.

Vampires weren’t cold to the touch unless they were hungry, so Dawn wouldn’t have noticed Calista was a vamp during her massages, unless the Prime needed to feed.

“Someone had Calista’s schedule,” I said.

“Any idea how often she left the Copper Hell?” Sachie was drawing a forest in her notebook. It was the only way she could sit still. Our teachers had berated her for not paying attention, but her perfect recall shut them up pretty quickly. “If she rarely did, then yes, someone knew her schedule, but if she was always coming and going, they could have been tailing her, waiting for the right opportunity.”

“No clue,” Ezra said.

I wrote it on the board on the list of questions to answer. Each new addition felt like a taunt.

“We need a timeline of her movements before she arrived,” Darsh said.

“A list of enemies,” Ezra said. His fingers twitched; it was too bad he hadn’t brought his knitting to relax him because he’d gotten tenser and tenser with our lack of information.

“She owns a magic gambling house.” I rubbed a smudge of marker off my skin. “I imagine it’s a long one.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” he said. “She kept a pretty low profile. I doubt many of her patrons had met her.”

Darsh nodded his chin at Ezra. “You did. How about your dad? Is Natán one of her enemies? Or a business partner?”

“Neither, as far as I’m aware.”

Darsh leaned back in his chair. “Would you tell us if that wasn’t the case?”

Ezra crossed his arms. “Are you going to question my loyalty at every turn?” His voice was bland, but his eyes darkened for a second—in hurt, not anger. He and Darsh had bonded on a side mission in our last investigation, and I guess Ezra hadn’t expected to be met with this constant suspicion from Darsh. He’d thought that if they weren’t exactly friends, he’d still earned some trust.

“You’re the princeling heir to one of the most powerful vampire Mafias around,” Darsh said. “You not only permit your Crimson Prince moniker to stand, you revel in the status of being Daddy’s enforcer. Wouldn’t you question it if our positions were reversed?”

“I’d remember that not everything is as it appears,” Ezra said pointedly.

“I have a long and proven track record of my exemplary loyalty,” Darsh said.

“Is it loyalty when the alternative is…” Ezra scrunched his brows together. “What was the alternative?”

Darsh gave a sharp smile. “Do you really want to find out?”

“No sign of a struggle,” I said loudly. When Darsh didn’t take my hint, still in a scowl-off with Ezra, I pointed at him. “You, lead by example.” I pointed at Ezra. “You, be quiet unless you have something to add to the board.”

A timer went off, followed by a rhythmic mélange of drums, accordion, and guitar coming out of Darsh’s phone.

“What the hell is that?” Ezra said, genuinely alarmed.

“Dance break.” Darsh was already up.

The singer’s voice kicked in, a rich, throaty female singing in a foreign language. I recognized her a Macedonian Romani vocalist who Darsh was a big fan of.

When the rest of us stayed put, he motioned for us to stand, making the black beads on his black leather wrist cuff clack together. “Move your bodies. For the next three minutes, you’re going to shake off the fog from sitting for the past half hour, and come back to this discussion with renewed energy and focus.” He leaned forward. “Do it, or I will demand choreography.”

Sachie shrugged, jumped to her feet, and started shimmying around the table.

Darsh was on his way over to me with an arm out like he’d pull me out of my seat, so I stood up. “All right already.” Seeing Ezra still seated and scowling, I extended a hand. “Come on, Cardoso. Shake that undead booty.”

I’d managed to get him onto a dance floor back in our dating days a grand total of once, and he hadn’t done more than shuffle his way through the song. Being more muscular these days—and taking up more space—he might be even more self-conscious, but Darsh was doing full body rolls like an elegant seal and Sach was twerking at a chair, so it really was anything goes.

I raised my eyebrows.

Ezra gave an aggrieved sigh and stood up. Taking my hand, he twirled me into him and placed his other hand on the small of my back.

I smirked at the ridiculously formal waltz he led me into, expecting it to dissolve into chaos in seconds, but he controlled our moves with a surety and a smooth precision that I’d never seen in his dancing before. It was totally weird for this song, but still on rhythm, despite the thread of tension thrumming in his rigid stance.

I was so busy wondering how he knew these steps and why we were dancing this way that I missed my cue to turn and accidentally bonked his shoulder with my head. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

“No problem,” he murmured. “We’re just finding our footing.”

I was on the verge of making a quip about keeping things professional, but then Ezra shot me a grin, a kind of boyish excitement like he’d found the prettiest rock on the beach and had to show me.

“Relax your hold a sec,” he said, eyes crinkling.

I did, and he spun me dizzyingly around the main room.

In all those period dramas I’d watched, I’d never grasped how the main characters could feel closer at formal balls, especially in their regimented dances and with all their niceties. But being this close to Ezra, feeling him guide me through space, his eyes my only anchor as the room spun around me, I understood.

I gripped his shoulder, steadying myself.

“I’ve learned a few things since last time,” he said.

“Oh, no doubt,” I fired back, disoriented and ready to annihilate him. “I bet the Prime Playboy had to have all the moves.”

“I just thought it would be nice.” His fingers on my lower back pressed gently against me with each spin, directing me out of the reach of couches and chairs. His hand enveloped mine, showing me where to go without dominating me or making this whole dance about how cool he was. It was about us being a team, and it was nice.

No. It was more than nice, and that had me worried.

And now, the thought of domination tugged me back to that kiss we’d recently shared that suddenly seemed to fill the narrow gap between our bodies. Way to keep it professional, Fleischer.

My eyes snapped to his heavy-lidded gaze.

He watched me intently, heat emanating off him, and electricity practically crackling between us.

I tensed up, overwhelmed.

Ezra’s expression softened. He gave me a wry smile and twirled me out, setting me free.

As I spun away from him, I felt an emptiness in my chest. My blood pounded in my ears, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to feel his hands on me again.

I stood there stupidly for a second, the music washing over us, then looked down at my feet like that would clue me in on what to do. When I looked back to Ezra, he was bouncing up and down in time to the music and bobbing his head with his lips pursed cartoonishly.

He gestured to the left and right like a flight attendant pointing out the exits on Disco Air.

I started laughing, and when the timer went off, I did in fact feel more energized and focused.

“Now.” Darsh motioned us toward to the whiteboard. “Where were we?”

Sach started a new sketch in her notebook and just like that we were back. Business as usual.

“Who was responsible for the memory loss?” I said. “Vamp, demon, or Yellow Flame? Was that individual also the one who drove the stake in? Remember Dawn was up front, and the emergency door was bolted from the inside.”

“Memory loss doesn’t explain the actual staking,” Ezra said. A vein throbbed in his forehead. “Calista would have smelled and heard anyone vaguely in her vicinity. It wouldn’t matter if she recognized them and didn’t believe them to be a threat, like the Trad spa owner, she wouldn’t sit still and be murdered.”

“She didn’t look distressed,” I said. “I don’t believe she had any advance notice of this. Does that narrow it to a demon or could a vampire or a White Flame calm her enough to stay still before she was aware of them?”

“A powerful older vampire might be able to hide and pull that off,” Darsh said, “but a White Flame is still human. They couldn’t mask their breathing or heart rate from her.”

The creature Sach was drawing was only partially outlined, but the horns and pointed tail made it already recognizable as a demon.

I pressed my lips together.

“Whoever it was didn’t immediately remove Calista from the spa,” Ezra said. “They waited, then took her to a secondary location. I’d bet it’s here in town, because unless she was taken to the actual demon realm, anywhere else would be too difficult to get to, given her state and attract too much attention. Including Babel.”

I frowned. “That means the perp was close at hand in the spa the entire time.”

“You’re all lucky you weren’t killed,” Sachie said to me.

“Yeah.” My kingdom for some lavender diffuser, because my head throbbed at the realization of how narrow an escape I’d had.

Ezra had unearthed a tiny tangle of yellow yarn from his pocket, unraveling it with a tense jaw. “It was too close.”

I shrugged. “Well, why bother to murder us when you can erase people’s memories? But it doesn’t explain why they stole her corpse.”

“Could be they have their own timeline and place to announce her death,” Sachie said. “A grand gesture to cement their power play. Any ideas, Ezra?”

Ezra was playing some long game with the Maccabees. He’d told me that he’d made sure they came to him and brought him into the fold. He never specified how or what he was up to, and few people knew that he played spy for us at all.

Fewer people still—i.e. his best friend, Silas, and me—were aware that the Crimson Prince was an empty title. Ezra wasn’t his father’s enforcer anymore, but the fiction stood because it benefitted them both.

“Nothing comes to mind,” Ezra said. He’d made a single knot in the yarn and was looping it around his fingers in different patterns. “I’ll make some inquiries.”

“We’ll check CCTV footage in the alley and around the café where Calista’s body was stolen,” Darsh said, “but I doubt we’ll get any hits.” Vancouver wasn’t London. We didn’t have cameras everywhere. “I want to chase down likely hiding spots starting in a five-kilometer radius from the point where Aviva found the van.”

“Here’s another thing for the board,” Sachie said. “Does the name Emily Astor have any relevance? Are the number and address on file at the spa real or duds?” She shaded in the scales on her sketch of the ugly demon.

Something in my chest twisted, and I quickly looked away. If she saw my scales, would she find them equally grotesque? Like, sure, they were strange, but I also thought mine were kind of pretty. Like an iridescent shell you’d find glinting in the shallows of the ocean.

I wrote “intent” in all caps with a question mark and circled it for good measure. “A lot of questions and very few answers.”

“I’ll go to the Copper Hell,” Ezra volunteered. “Listen to any gossip and try to get into Calista’s office. Older vamps tend to distrust technology so there’s a good chance she kept a paper calendar and accounting books. That might yield a clue.”

“Why you?” Sach said.

“The Crimson Prince is the only one of us who can get an invitation.” He bared his teeth at Darsh. I think it was supposed to be a smile. “Unless you have a problem with me using that nickname?”

“Only if you plan on going by yourself,” Darsh said.

“I can bring one person. More than that might be construed as a show of force, given I’m going in under the auspices of the Kosher Nostra.”

Sachie looked up from her notebook, gripping her pencil like it had transformed from a drawing implement to a knife. “Is this going to be like the Crypt where weak, puny humans are forbidden from going?”

“I’ll take whoever Darsh feels is best suited to the task,” Ezra said.

Darsh raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve accepted you’re in charge, and I’ll respect it. Contrary to what you think, I don’t require an ego boost.”

That was for damn sure.

“Oh, I’m aware your ego is plenty boosted,” Darsh said. “Your ugly mug on the cover of this month’s Urban Swagger mag is testament to that.”

“Did you read the article or just look at the photos?” I teased.

“Neither.” Darsh smirked. “Unlike you who knew there was an article to be read.”

Ezra quirked his lips, self-satisfied.

“Get over yourselves,” I snapped, my cheeks flushing. “It was a reasonable guess.”

“As to who is going,” Darsh said, “it’ll have to be a weak, puny human. I’m staying here to get this investigation up and running. Though, whoever stays behind with me can pore through the CCTV footage because I hate staring at a screen for long.” It’s true. He wasn’t addicted to his phone like so many of us, and I’d never seen him binge endless hours of TV either. “I’ll get started on a timeline and the fake name Calista provided,” he added.

I raised my hand. “I’ll stay with you.”

I’d prevented Sach from going to the black market in the vampire megacity of Babel. There’d been good reasons, but it was only fair she visit the cool-sounding gambling house now.

“You’ll have to wear a glamor,” Ezra told her.

“Oh, then hell no.” Sachie flipped her notebook shut and mimed gagging. “They hurt. It’s like a flu body ache on steroids. Plus, I did it once and had a bad allergic reaction.”

I tried to hold it in. I really did. But laughter burst out of me at the memory. “Oh my God, and the whole time it looked like your body was trying to swallow your eye. I had nightmares about you for weeks!”

Sachie scowled, but then closed one eye and adopted a moaning monster pose. It set me right off again into helpless laughter.

“The glamor is not up for debate,” Ezra said, shooting me a dark look as I wiped tears from my eyes. “I would never bring a Maccabee operative with me as a guest, and it’s a good bet that they’ll log your appearance.”

“In that case, I volunteer Aviva as tribute. This is my first official Spook Squad assignment. I’ll stay and back Darsh up.”

“Rock, paper, scissors?” I asked hopefully, holding a fist out to Sachie.

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “You took Babel, you can take this assignment and suck it up.”

I groaned.

“I’ll get it approved,” Darsh said. “Aviva, go upstairs and talk to Sharnaz about a glamor. They’ll fix you up.”

“A suitable one,” Ezra corrected quickly.

“Have Sharnaz give you a little black dress as part of it,” Darsh said, already sending the text to our resident master of glamors.

“I don’t need a magic outfit.” The more complicated I made the glamor, the more painful it would be to get and maintain.

“I’ve seen your wardrobe,” Darsh said. “Yeah, you do. Also ask Sharnaz to layer up some thin gold necklaces and give you stacking rings. Maybe go blonde too. With bigger⁠—”

I winged a marker at him. “Finish that sentence and die.”

Ezra snickered, quickly turning it into a cough.

“Avery Francis, trust fund baby.” Sachie mugged at me, knowing I hated every single thing about this.

“There are other suitable disguises,” I said. Ones that didn’t force me to play vacuous arm candy for my ex.

“Not ones we have time to prep,” Ezra said.

We’d see about that. I gathered my belongings. “Do I come back here after? Or are we going straight there?” I put my laptop in the bag and zipped it up. “Where is there anyway? The Copper Hell isn’t in Vancouver. Exclusive or not, I’d have heard of it if it was.” I slung the bag over my shoulder and smoothed out my suit jacket. “It’s not in Babel, is it?”

Was that the real reason Ezra insisted that I glamor up? The moment I stepped into Babel, all of Cherry’s distinguishing features would appear and I’d be powerless to stop them. I gripped the bag’s strap. Part of me yearned to feel the freedom of her physical form again, but I’d been identified as a Maccabee, albeit a full-demon one, when we were in the Crypt. Having that same demon arrive with Ezra when he was supposed to be Mr. Hotshot Assassin enjoying his playtime would raise too many questions.

Would a glamor even hide Cherry there?

“It’s not in vamp territory,” Ezra said. “The Copper Hell isn’t just the name of the gambling house, it’s the name of the enormous yacht it’s located on. The ship moves around in international waters, but no one can pinpoint its location. It’s not caught on radar or satellite imagery.”

“Quite the magic trick,” Sachie said.

“Quite the paranoid Prime,” I said.

“True on both counts.” Ezra pulled out his phone. “There are doors all over the world that enter directly onto it. We’ll meet at the portal here in town.” He sent me a text with the location.

“Gee.” I fluttered my lashes. “I hope I don’t get distracted by shopping or taking selfies and forget.”

“I believe in you, Avery.” He held up a fist.

I shut my laptop. This place was on a ship, huh? Good, because if Ezra made a single crack about my disguise not being “suitable” enough, I’d push him overboard.