Death & Desire: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Detective Series (The Jezebel Files Book 2)

by Deborah Wilde

  The Queen appeared in the doorway, dressed in head-to-toe red leather.

  Moran stood behind her, sword in hand. He crossed to Vespa’s body, crouched down and checked for a pulse, then shook his head. He closed Vespa’s eyes.

  The Queen sighed. “Oh, blanquita.”

  “I didn’t kill Vespa.”

  “The alarms dictate otherwise,” Moran said. “The Black Heart Rule is woven into the fabric of Hedon itself.”

  “Vespa was under the Queen’s protection?” I said, sluggishly.

  The Queen stepped forward, her authority demanding such absolute obeyance that merely breathing in her presence was acquiescence.

  “Ashira Cohen,” she said, “you have broken the Black Heart Rule. By my power as Queen and ruler of Hedon, I hereby sentence you to eternal entombment.”

  I struggled to free myself and move. “No, please. You don’t understand. Priya–”

  “Enough, child.” Her violet eyes filled with sorrow, but she shook it off and turned to Moran. “Take her.”

  Chapter 21

  I broke into my spiky full-body blood armor before Moran could grab me. “Touch me and I’ll finish what I started. I’m already damned. One more assault on my rap sheet won’t matter.”

  “The sword won’t penetrate her armor,” Moran said matter-of-factly.

  The Queen waved her hand and the alarms cut out with a chilling suddenness. “You can’t escape your fate, Ashira.”

  The hold on me loosened and I stood up. “I brought Vespa the feather to determine what type of magic was on it. Vespa burst into this swarm and spent hours figuring it out. Then parts starting dropping off, dead.” I pointed to the wasps on the floor. “I begged Vespa to stop, but their pride was at stake. They claimed that they never failed.”

  “Intentional or not,” Moran said, “you gave Vespa the artifact that caused this.”

  “Because I was working a case for you! Does that make you and the Queen culpable? How about Omar, who is also under the Queen’s protection? Does Vespa’s protection trump his? And Omar’s the one who stole the feather in the first place. How far back do we want to take this blame game?”

  “¡Cállense!”

  Moran and I fell silent.

  The Queen crouched down and ran a hand over Vespa’s wasp head. “Vaya con Dios, mi amiga.”

  “Let my people prepare Vespa for a proper burial, Highness,” Moran said.

  She remained with her friend for a moment longer before straightening, and allowing Moran to take her arm.

  We switched locations: to a dank and gloomy dungeon. Called it.

  Its thick stone walls held one tiny window open to the night and barricaded by thick bars. The door was heavy wood with a large brass lock. Moran and the Queen stood on the other side of it, visible through an open slot.

  My predicament hit with staggering force. I was going to languish here until my blood armor ran out, at which point, I’d be turned to stone and Priya would die. I forced a breath into my lungs. “Your Highness–”

  “Did Vespa succeed?” The Queen’s voice held only the mildest curiosity, but her eyes sparkled and gleamed.

  I’d wondered before what kind of chaos the Queen was interested in and now I had a partial answer: powerful artifacts fell squarely in that purview.

  “Yes. But Vespa took that secret to the grave.” The best lies contained a grain of truth. I’d never dared to be anything other than honest with the Queen before but I was already on the executioner’s block and if I didn’t get out of this ASAP, I’d condemn Priya to the same fate.

  A rat ran over my foot. I flinched and kicked it against the wall. It slid to the ground, shook itself off, and disappeared into one of the shadowy corners.

  “Give me the feather,” she said. “And we can discuss your predicament.”

  “Discuss” left an awful lot of wiggle room and a shit-ton of scenarios that ended badly. I was playing to win, playing to live, so what did I have in my hand? I had the feather, but that alone wouldn’t do it.

  Alone. That was it. I was not without resources, after all.

  I slapped the metal pouch against my armor and it vanished under the shield. “Bring Levi here. Nadija kidnapped my best friend. The trade is Priya’s life for the feather. If you aren’t going to release me, Levi has to Houdini himself to look like me and do the trade. You want the feather after that, have at it.”

  “You’re hardly in a position to negotiate,” Moran said.

  “Priya now works for House Pacifica. Check if you don’t believe me.”

  The Queen pursed her lips, smart enough to pick up on what I’d implied. Priya wasn’t Nefesh, but Levi’s sense of responsibility was legendary. I was already covered. If Priya died and I was missing, Levi would utilize every resource at his disposal to uncover the truth. Up to and including marching into the very heart of Hedon and turning it upside down.

  “Were this a chess game, you’d have put me into check. Whether you contact him or not, Mr. Montefiore’s involvement is an unwelcome complication,” the Queen said.

  “Is it?” I widened my eyes comically. “That didn’t even occur to me. How about this, don’t add me to your charming garden, let me do the trade, and we’ll call it a day.”

  “The Black Heart Rule was triggered,” Moran said. “The people will expect an unveiling.”

  “You can’t seriously call it that. Do you serve tea and sandwiches, too?”

  He bared his teeth. “I’m partial to the little cucumber ones.”

  My stomach growled. That sounded pretty good about now. The pain in my hands was achy and stabby and the dried blood itched, while the resin in my hair was giving my scalp a rash. It all paled in comparison to my fear for Priya.

  The armor covering my feet flickered. I fought to hold onto my powers but I’d tipped too far into exhaustion and they were rapidly slipping away.

  “Leave us,” the Queen said.

  Moran hesitated.

  “If I could get out of here, I’d be long gone,” I said. “Since I’m no threat to Her Majesty from inside my guest suite, could you arrange for turndown service while you’re gone? A bed with bedding to turn down in the first place? No?”

  He gave me a sour look. “I’ll return shortly.”

  The Queen sat down on a bench outside the door, one leg crossed over the other. “You are becoming less interesting, blanquita, and more of a pain in my ass.”

  I dropped my armor and rested my head against the dungeon door. “I’m tired, Your Highness. I just want to live and keep Priya alive. I don’t want to play games with you because I don’t consider myself smart enough to outwit you, and I certainly don’t want to make an enemy of you. If I’ve played check, then you sent Moran away because you’re about to put me into checkmate. But you’ve always been fair, and I implore you to remember that the responsibility for Vespa’s death doesn’t stop with me. It’s tangled up in this entire case.”

  “It’s true. This is a unique situation.” She tapped a finger against her red lips. “Perhaps we need to change it.”

  “To what?”

  “A business proposition. What I’m about to tell you does not leave this cell.” I nodded. “What was your first impression of Hedon’s magic?”

  How to delicately phrase that it was an abomination that made me want to vomit? “It had quite a strong flavor.”

  The Queen chuckled, but there was no warmth in it. “That’s one way of putting it. Hedon is broken.”

  “That’s why the magic smelled sour. Is that what’s causing the earthquakes?”

  “Sí. Most people aren’t sensitive to the odor. Only you, me, and the Nefesh with Architect magic who built it before my time as ruler. Hedon is more than a black market, it’s my home. The people who live and work here are my people. I must save it before it unravels.”

  “You’re as bad as Levi.”

  She grimaced. “Never say so. But there is a problem. There is only one original Architect still alive and only
he can put Hedon to rights.”

  “He doesn’t want to?”

  “No. He swore off magic twenty years ago when a design of his went awry and collapsed, killing his wife. Abraham Dershowitz.”

  I whistled. “Wow. You weren’t moved to host the wedding because of Shannon and Omar’s beautiful love? Frankly, that mercenary attitude from the Queen of Hearts saddens me.”

  “I hate to disillusion a pure romantic such as yourself.”

  “Abraham is what, Shannon’s grandfather?”

  “Correct. There’s no one he loves more.”

  “You hold the wedding here, Abraham comes, and you make him fix Hedon. What do you want from me?”

  “Abraham is a wily old man.” She sounded full of admiration. “He’s refusing to attend. You are going to convince him otherwise.”

  I dropped my shoulders, then hitched them back up again. She couldn’t mean for me to take his powers if she required them to fix Hedon. “You want me to threaten his magic. Done.”

  “If he doesn’t attend and agree to save my home, then you will take Shannon’s magic. If he tries anything funny, you take her magic. If at any point in the future, anything happens to Hedon, you take her magic.”

  My throat went dry. Shannon was flighty and strange, not to mention she’d fallen for a complete doofus, but she didn’t deserve that. “It’ll break her. Her life is her art. She can’t do that without magic. You want me to nix all that as insurance that this guy does what you want? She’s innocent in all this.”

  “She’s expendable.” The Queen’s expression iced over. “Is Priya? You want checkmate, blanquita? Levi or any House Head can only go after me if I leave Hedon. Should I wish it, I can destroy all entrances and seal us off permanently for whatever time we have left. It’s your choice.”

  Some choice. Horrible or unimaginable. “How can you be sure Hedon won’t break down again even if Abraham fixes it? What if it’s beyond repair?”

  “It’s not. I am attuned to its magic.” Apparently, but how? Now was not the time to ask. “Abraham can make it so that Hedon is stable and incapable of further expansion. Once he’s completed his task, you will take away his powers seeing as he doesn’t use them anyway.”

  “Tying up loose ends.”

  “Protecting what is mine,” she said, placing her hand on her heart.

  I kicked the door. “Was using me always your endgame? If this hadn’t happened with Vespa, would I have ended up in your debt another way?”

  She spread her hands wide.

  I wove my anger around me as tightly as any armor. Sizzling hot armor underlaid with tempered steel. Right from the start, I’d suspected I was being played, but I was shocked into a headache at how badly I wished I’d been hired for different reasons.

  This case wasn’t a stepping stone on the path to fulfilling my dreams, handed to me because she’d recognized my abilities. It was a con. Was my future as a Nefesh detective going to be any different from that as a Mundane, or was I throwing away my relationship with Talia and forcing Levi into a difficult position for nothing more than pride and delusion?

  For a dream only I believed.

  And maybe that’s what seeing my parents in the Lost and Found had meant. Dreams tempted and compelled far worse than any magic artifact, and yet we chased them anyway. There was nothing so powerful or dangerous as our heart.

  I stood tall. “Well played, Your Majesty. Unfortunately, your citizens will be disappointed with the lack of a new unveiling, because I’ll not die for Vespa’s refusal to value their life over their pride. My freedom in exchange for Hedon’s survival. And those vials are mine as soon as Abraham agrees, regardless of whether Nadija has been apprehended yet or not.”

  “Agreed. Hold up your end of the deal and you will not be part of the unveiling.” There was still going to be one? Did she have spare bad guys on hand? Nope. Not asking.

  The Queen stood up and the door between us swung open. “I am not your enemy, Ashira.”

  “Beg to differ.” I swept a low mocking curtsy.

  “Moran will text you Abraham’s address in Vancouver. Be there at 9AM Sunday. The wedding starts at eleven and I don’t want to give him time to change his mind.” With that, she waved her hand and I found myself in Moriarty, back in the driver’s seat.

  This time, I wasn’t leaving it.

  Sherlock Holmes once said that “the chief proof of man’s real greatness lies in his perception of his own smallness.”

  My smallness had been driven home. Now to be great.

  Chapter 22

  McSpadden Park took up most of a city block. Houses bordered two sides of the green space, while a playground and elementary school anchored the top of a gently sloping hill. There was also a small community garden comprised of boxes of dirt in various stages of preparation for spring planting.

  On this drizzling late March at dinner time, my only company was a man in a fleece jacket and toque throwing a ball for his dog at one end of the grassy expanse. I sat down on a bench in the middle of the park’s lawn next to a sidewalk that curved through the space. Lampposts cast eerie cool circles of light, but the thin sliver of moon softened the many shadows in the park.

  Foot jiggling, my eyes darted in every direction, but 6:30PM came and went with no sign of Nadija or Priya. They descended jerkily from the sky a few minutes later, Nadija in full Malach regalia but minus the mask.

  “Oh, the Angel of Death is a person in my neighborhood,” I sang. I had to be glib or else I wouldn’t be able to hold my voice steady at seeing Priya so scared.

  Nadija released Priya, but there was no visible weapon or indication that she trained a hidden gun on my friend. After assuring myself that Priya looked frightened but unharmed, I studied Nadija’s face for the first time.

  It was easy to see why I’d mistaken her for a man. Not only was she taller than most women, but she had broader shoulders and a strong jawline. She’d be a handsome woman were it not for the constant grind of her teeth, the grooves worn into the tight corners of her eyes, and the slight twist to her torso like standing upright was beyond her capabilities. Her dark blonde hair had probably once been lustrous, but was now piled in a lank messy bun on her head.

  I’d experienced that all-consuming, bone-deep level of pain after my accident, even years later when I’d pushed myself too hard. You were in flight or fight mode all the way, and as much as you wanted to stop running, you just couldn’t escape it.

  “Show me the feather,” Nadija said.

  The man with the dog was too far away to be affected.

  “Let Priya sit on that bench so it doesn’t compel her.” I gestured to another bench about twenty feet away.

  “If this is a trick…”

  I held up the pouch. “It’s not. I’m the only one who can be close to it without being compelled. You want to risk her stealing the feather like Omar did? Because I, for one, don’t want to fish this sucker out of another person’s throat.”

  Nadija thrust Priya away from her. “Go.”

  Face pinched tight, Priya hurried to the bench.

  “Open the pouch.” Nadija was breathing heavily, bent over with her hands braced on her thighs.

  “Need a moment to catch your breath?” I said to Nadija. “Priya’s heavy, huh?”

  “I heard that,” Priya called. She twisted her fingers tightly, but the fact she sounded mock-annoyed gave me hope for her being okay.

  “Open it,” Nadija growled.

  It took me a couple tries with my still swollen and disfigured hands.

  “What happened to you?” she said.

  “Doesn’t matter.” I pulled the feather out and placed it in her hand, needing a second to relinquish my hold. I stepped back. “Satisfied?”

  She clutched the feather to her chest like a newborn baby, murmuring to it.

  “L’chaim.” I held up an imaginary glass. “May you two be very happy together.”

  Moran appeared, sword in hand, wearing a stupid tin foi
l hat and lead apron to protect himself against the compulsion. So much for Freddo’s family secret.

  “It’s not a party until the man with the large sword arrives, half-cocked and primed for action.” I manifested my spiky blood armor.

  “Fully cocked, if you please,” he said. “You were the one who told the Queen to ‘have at it’ once the trade was enacted.”

  Nadija spun on us with wild eyes, hovering a foot off the ground with madly beating wings. “I am Malach, the Angel of Death. Touch this feather at your peril!”

  “Those idiots bought this getup?” Moran shook his head.

  “To be fair,” I said, “she had a mask when she attacked Omar. It really tied the look together.”

  Moran swore–I’d swear in Russian–and broke into a run after Nadija, who’d flown off with the feather. Except she was zigzagging like a drunk chicken and couldn’t seem to get more than five feet off the ground.

  That’s what you got for making a grand entrance. No juice left for the getaway.

  I sprinted after them.

  Priya jumped off the bench and out of compulsion range in the nick of time before we blew past her.

  Moran overtook Nadija, nabbed her by the robe, and slammed her down on the sidewalk. The feather floated up into the air, but before Moran’s hand closed on it, I launched myself, spiky armor in place, and grabbed it first.

  “Touchdown!” Priya yelled and shook imaginary pompoms.

  I yanked off Moran’s hat and flung it as far as I could. He didn’t glaze over, as he was out of compulsion range, but he did brandish his sword, which was scary enough.

  I rapped on my armor. “Can’t touch this.” Humming the MC Hammer song, I moonwalked–badly–away from Moran, who spun and sprinted to retrieve his hat.

  The dog barked and ran for the shiny new toy while the man yelled at us that tin foil wasn’t healthy for dogs.

  Priya waved at him. “Sorry!”

  I’d held myself in check as long as I could, but the feather magic swamped me and my mouth watered. The urge to taste it hooked into me with a dozen sharp spikes, flaying me raw with need, my lungs locked into breathlessness.