Blood & Ash: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Detective Series (The Jezebel Files Book 1)

by Deborah Wilde

  Levi’s breathing had slowed, a slight flush on his olive skin. His eyes were glued to the rise and fall of my boobs in my spectacular push-up bra under my tank top.

  My body sizzled, desire radiating between us.

  “Levi,” Caitlin called out. “Where’s the parmesan?”

  My needy ache was doused with cold water. I gathered the torn remnants of my pride around me. “That’s my cue. Move.”

  He stepped aside. “I’ll see you at work.”

  Not if I see you first.

  Chapter 17

  Tuesday morning, I was woken up by two freezing cold feet pressed to my legs. Even through my fleecy pjs, those things were glacial.

  “Kill me,” Priya moaned. Her face was puffy, her hair a tangled mess.

  I cracked my eyes open and ice picks burrowed into my brain. “I’ll pay you five bucks to make coffee.”

  “I’ll see your five and raise you twenty,” she said.

  Not enough. We lay there in mutual hangover misery. I barely mustered the energy to leave another message for Sandra Chen, the nurse who’d been on my ward, who might have been Talia’s accomplice.

  “Hey, Pri. Was Sandra Nefesh?”

  “Yeah, a Shocker. Low level. Why?”

  “Really?” I leaned up on my elbows and then quickly lay back down, because the world had lurched sideways. “Some Shockers’ talents lay in manipulating brain waves. They’re bio-electric, not going around throwing lightning bolts. What if that was the magic that the Van Gogh couldn’t resist? Even at a low level, that magic would pack a punch if she physically manipulated him until he agreed to ward me.”

  “It’s something to consider.”

  I read the three texts that Charlotte Rose had sent during the night. The last one read “She’s dead, isn't she?”

  I texted back “NO!” hoping like hell I wasn’t lying.

  “Where are you at with the encryption?” I said.

  “Good news. It wasn’t a cryptographically secure hash algorithm so I ran a rainbow table. It might be finished.” Priya elbowed me. “Go get my laptop.”

  “Why me?”

  “I’m the brains, you’re the grunt. Fetch.”

  Gingerly, I sat up. Not only was I nauseous but my skin felt coated in stale grease. I stuffed my feet into my fake fur slippers and shuffled to the living room.

  “Make coffee,” Priya called out.

  “Calm your tits,” I muttered and brought the laptop back to bed. “Is your rainbow thing done? Did it work?”

  Priya grabbed it and typed some rapid-fast command. “Damn, I’m good. Voilà.”

  She clicked on the icon of the drive. There was a single excel spreadsheet in it.

  “Not exactly the detailed villain agenda I’d hoped for.” I crowded in to read the opened doc over her shoulder. “The ones with ‘M’ beside them are Mundanes and ‘N’ means they’re Nefesh. Column A is dates. It goes back three months.” I scanned the dates. “They stopped taking Mundanes a month ago. Charlotte Rose was right and Mundanes were being experimented on. These auction people must have started out really attempting to make magic stick and when proven that it didn’t, went for the con anyway.”

  Priya expanded one of the columns. “Check it out. A bunch of the Nefesh have a serial number, type of magic, and level. It’s their cataloguing system.”

  I counted them. “Sixteen potential vials with the ability to make more. Except two of them have been crossed out.”

  “The vials were lost or destroyed?”

  “Or the smudges got loose,” I said “If that’s the case, this is our one piece of good news. I’ve already killed one, so we’re only looking for one, provided it wasn’t already killed during a chemo treatment.”

  “There are no air elementals listed,” Priya said. “Maybe they didn’t take Meryem.”

  “Or they didn’t get to her yet. I’m not sure how fast they can collect the magic. It would depend on how many people with blood magic–”

  “Jezebels,” Priya said.

  “What?”

  “There had to be a reason Yitzak called you that. Talia named you after Asherah. So why call you Jezebel?”

  “Misogyny?”

  “That too, but he hid your magic from a group that obviously is interested in that power, seeing as they’re using it to create these smudges. So there are more than one of you with that ability. You’re a magic type and types have names. Van Goghs, Blowhards, Sirens, Blockheads. You’re a Jezebel.”

  “The other names have connotations to their magic. Jezebel and blood, not so much.” I mulled it over. “Unless… What if we’re looking at it the wrong way? Magic came into being by ten men who were such devout believers in Yahweh that they tried to achieve this high level of communion with him. They failed but they still got magic and blood magic is the one thing that can strip theirs away. Undermine it, the way that Jezebel undermined the Jewish patriarchy with her continued insistence on the worship of Asherah.”

  “She was a danger to them.” Priya elbowed me. “How cool would it be if all Jezebels are women and you’re part of some secret kickass female society?”

  “I could live with that. If we’re correct, we have an unknown number of Jezebels being forced, I hope, to strip magic to be sold to the highest bidder. How fast and how often can they do this? Meryem was taken. I’m sure of it, but how much time does she have left? Where are they holding her? There’s no convenient address.”

  “Yeah, actually. There is. Sort of. 7VMX+96. Check it out.” Priya took the laptop away from me and brought up Google Maps, dropping a pin on the Vancouver Public Library. Then she opened the info box. Underneath the address was written “8VHM+WP Vancouver, British Columbia.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A plus code. Plus codes give addresses to everywhere, even locations that don’t have roads. In case someone needs a delivery or emergency services, they can be found. There are two parts to them. First is the shortcode which is six or seven letters or numbers, and then the city because you can have the same shortcode in different cities. 7VMX+96 is a shortcode but there’s no city. Just a heart emoji.”

  I flung an arm around her. “You’re a genius. The heart is the city. The lab is in Hedon.” I jumped up, calling back to her as I ran to my bedroom. “Can you check my phone for spyware while I get dressed?”

  “Sure.”

  I hopped into the shower, washing in record time before tugging on my last pair of clean black jeans and a black sweater. The bruises and hickey had faded to tolerable levels, but I applied the arnica cream one more time and tied the metallic scarf over top to hide them.

  Today was going to fucking rock. We had the bastards. I was going to find Meryem and bring her home. I fist pumped.

  Priya entered my room with two coffees and the phone as I pulled my damp hair into a high ponytail. “No spyware or tracking apps on your phone,” she said, “but it’s easy enough to locate someone.”

  “I know.” I slugged back half of my beverage while texting Miles that there was potentially only one smudge loose out there.

  Priya watched me layer on black eyeliner and red lipstick. “You’re armoring up. Where are you going?”

  “The Queen rules Hedon, but it’s the black market and there are bound to be shifty people doing things they want kept off her radar. If you can’t bring something in through the front door, then sneak in through the back. It’s a magic space. All you’d need is an architect to build a way in.”

  “Coders build back doors all the time,” Priya said. “Makes sense. You know where this back door is?”

  “I believe I do.” I grabbed my leather jacket and stuffed my feet in my motorcycle boots. “My M&M stash is in the back of my closet behind a fake right-side panel.”

  Priya jabbed me in the chest. “Take back your suicide mission candy confession.”

  “I bequeathed you Moriarty when I went to Hedon the first time, but you’re getting upset about the chocolate?”

  �
��Moriarty is a piece of shit and I already have the keys. This is your hidden stash that I’ve never managed to find.”

  “Relax. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. The M&Ms are thanks for all your help.”

  “In that case.” She crawled into the closet, emerging with the bag held aloft. “Oh yes, my preciouses, you shall be mine.” She poured the peanut candy directly into her mouth.

  “Way to keep your dignity, Adler.”

  She shot me the finger, her cheeks bulging with chocolate.

  Nothing about the golem’s routine had changed, nor was there anyone else on site at the warehouse. Where did they keep this thing when they had the parties? Did they stash him in a closet? Cram him in a wheel well?

  I positioned myself inside the warehouse, my fingers closed around the red throwing star that I’d manifested, the sharp bite amping me into a high wire alertness.

  When the golem entered, his roughly drawn eyes widened comically in recognition.

  “Hey, big boy. Remember me?” I fired the weapon into his left eye.

  The golem ran at me, not deterred at all.

  My heart pulsed in my throat in time to his thudding footsteps. I made another throwing star and blinded his other eye.

  He sped up.

  I fixed an image in my mind and called on my magic. A second later I held a pike with a curved blade on the end.

  Closer and closer he came, while I ignored every smart instinct to run. I swung, catching the golem mid-section.

  He doubled over with a soft grunt and tore free, his clothing torn and a chunk of clay missing from his center. He looked like a tree that had been partially eaten by a beaver. The golem grabbed the pike by the blade, but I held fast, the two of us caught in a tug-of-war.

  My shoulder blades burned from hanging on and my heels slid on the dusty floor.

  The golem ripped the pike away, tossing it in a corner with a clatter.

  We danced around each other, the golem taking swipes, until I grabbed the pike again.

  Believe in yourself, Ash. Don’t overthink.

  I charged him, my blood magic coating me in a spiked armor. Say now, that was more like it. Holding the pike right below the blade, I slammed it into his middle.

  The golem battered me with punches. My armor mitigated most of the damage, but every blow reverberated through me and I was terrified he was going to puncture a lung. If I bled out, there was no do-over: no convenient healing magic and no partner to call for help. Even if I killed him first, according to all video game logic, he was only a level one minion, so what kind of shape would I be in to find the kids and take on whichever ultimate boss awaited me?

  I leaned harder into the blade, gaining ground into slicing him in half inch by excruciating inch. Clay glooped over my armored hands. With a roar, I put everything I had into one last push.

  His torso fell flopping to the ground, while I stood out of grabbing range, bent double, heaving, with sweat dripping off me. Once I’d caught my breath, I sliced off his hands and kicked them away, along with his jerking legs.

  He blinked expressionlessly at me which was super creepy.

  The Hebrew word “emet” or truth had been carved into his forehead. If I erased the letter “aleph” that would change the word to death and he’d die, but I needed him alive. For now.

  I touched his torso, but didn’t feel anything through my armor. This next step involved a fine sensitivity to his magic, so I willed the armor away. It took a few tries, but at last, it disappeared. I felt kind of naked without it.

  This time when I touched him, the magic animating him pulsed through his skin against my fingers. It didn’t feel like any magic I’d sensed before. It was thick and dull and flat. Exactly like mud, but mud with an awareness.

  Holding his top half in front of me like a cross warding off a vampire, which hopefully did not exist, but who knew anything anymore, I slowly walked the perimeter of the warehouse, playing “Cold, cold, hot.” Trust me, I felt a hundred kinds of ridiculous.

  My hypothesis was twofold. First, that one empty warehouse plus one golem guard dog equaled one back door into Hedon. Not only was it easy to bring kids through when they were already on site for the parties, but why else have the golem guarding the place? Second, and this was the part that was more of a longshot, according to the Jewish mythology that I’d read up on, golems would faithfully perform the task they were commanded to do. I couldn’t change his programming and there was no reasoning with this thing, but if he was tasked with protecting this portal, there was a chance he was keyed to it in some way.

  His magic pulsing remained constant through the entire property, but when I entered the office, it rippled.

  Back and forth, I inched my way across the room. When I hit the far-right corner, his magic flared.

  “Good boy.” Propping his torso against the desk, I crouched down. The cheap linoleum was worn shiny in a two-foot radius. I placed my hand in the center of it.

  Magic.

  The trouble was that my magic would strip this magic away and thus, might shut down the portal entirely. There were probably multiple people who needed access to this door, so how would they all activate it?

  I eyed the golem, then stomped back and retrieved his hand. It was still warm. Ew. But when I placed the hand on the floor, nothing happened. I stood where the portal should have been and turned around slowly. One spot on the wall was noticeably grimy, like it had been touched multiple times.

  If I activated this back door, likely, I’d be alerting someone or many someones to my presence. Blood magic and enhanced strength aside, fighting the golem had already drained me.

  Pacing in a tight circle, I tried calling Levi and Miles but both of them had their phones off. No, I couldn’t wait. Meryem didn’t have the luxury of time. I’d just have to be extremely careful.

  I pressed the golem’s hand against the spot and voilà. A glimmering blue door sprung up.

  “Great knowing you and, uh, sorry about the disembowelment. No hard feelings?”

  The golem gave me another of his blank stares.

  “I knew you’d understand. Sweet dreams.” I rubbed the aleph off his forehead and his crude lids fell shut for good.

  Crossing my fingers, I stepped through the portal and into a bloodbath. Red splatters slicked the walls and floors like a demented Pollock painting while puddles of viscera glistened wetly.

  I threw my arm over my nose, the charnel stench slithering down my throat, choking me. Bodies lay where they’d been slaughtered, carelessly crumpled on the ground between empty gurneys and banks of medical monitoring equipment.

  Their heads had been piled into a neat pyramid.

  The Queen.

  I bolted back to the portal, but was grabbed and surrounded by a phalanx of people in black tactical gear with mesh obscuring their faces and the Queen’s logo stitched on their upper arms.

  Fear clawed through me, chilling me to my core, but it was replaced in an instant by a hot, thick anger. What had they done?

  I stuffed my fury down. Antagonizing these people wouldn’t get my desired outcome. “Take me to your leader.”

  Marching in step like a well-trained army, they ushered me down a long corridor to a small room filled with video monitors that were trained on the room I’d been in. Viewed through the screen, the massacre was reduced to nothing more than another TV show.

  The Queen and White Rabbit Man were deep in discussion, but she broke off abruptly when her soldiers stopped with a heel click.

  Her hair fell in luxurious dark red waves down her back and she wore another red dress. If I didn’t want to kill her right now, I’d admire the hell out of her style and absolute authority. “I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “Apologies, Highness,” the soldier in front said. A woman, her voice muffled by the mesh.

  They parted to reveal me, standing there like a Kinder Surprise.

  She flicked a gaze over me. “I know a good hairdresser. You sh
ould call her.”

  “Where are the kids?” I insisted. “Tell me.”

  One of her elegantly sculpted eyebrows rose incredulously. “Demands, blanquita?”

  My fingers twitched. I could rip the magic from all of them and force answers, but not only would that tip my hand, stripping magic involved blood contact, which was more an intimate and interactive gesture, and not suited to en masse removal. I’d never get close enough to the Queen to try.

  Too bad.

  “How did you get past us?” she said. “We’ve been standing here by the door.”

  “That’s the front door,” I said. “I came in through the back. Where are the prisoners?”

  The Queen’s face puckered in distaste. “Gone. They got them out during the attack. Five or six of them. That’s all. When we verified that the people left behind had no knowledge of where they’d been moved, we, cómo se dice?” She snapped her fingers twice. “Sí. Tied up those loose ends.”

  Her voice remained steady, her body relaxed. There was no unusual gesturing or eye movement. She was telling the truth.

  That didn’t make it better. I shrugged free of the soldier. “Was there a dark-haired girl in the prisoners? Sixteen?”

  “We didn’t get a good look at any of them,” White Rabbit Man said.

  Meryem was still alive. I could still save her. I refused to believe otherwise. “Can I go?”

  “How come my associate didn’t see you at the auction?” the Queen said. “I went to all the trouble of getting you an invitation.”

  “Then he wasn’t looking very hard. I saw you,” I said to White Rabbit Man. “Third row from the front, left side. A friendly piece of advice. Maybe diversify your fashion choices. Try a pop of color.”

  His lips quirked. “Back at you, Jessica Jones.”

  “Black is very practical,” I said.

  He yawned theatrically.

  “Hiding in plain sight?” The Queen’s voice was gentle, her Spanish-accented English caressing. Only a fool would be lulled into underestimating her.