Rod gripped the tool by the forked ends, holding it arm’s length away from his body, with the butt of the handles resting in the heels of his hands. He closed his eyes and the rod began to glow golden, quivering between Rafael and me.
A tingle ran up my spine and I concentrated even harder.
The device glowed brighter and brighter, Rod’s arms shaking with the effort of holding it. He took a step toward me, then another. I held my breath, willing the answer out of him.
A spark cracked off the forked branch, making me jump.
Rod swore and dropped the wood, catching it before it hit the ground. He shook out his hands. “Sorry. Your criteria is too vague.”
I swallowed my disappointment.
“You’re sure you can’t give me anything more? What exactly were you told?” Rod grabbed a cloth out of the case and polished the wood.
“Actually the person I got this from said ‘chiuso,’ not ‘closed,’ at first,” I said. “But she translated it for me.”
Rod looked up sharply. “Chiuso? That doesn’t just mean closed.”
“She’s Italian,” I said. “It should be correct.”
He put the tool away and closed the case. “It is, but you can use in it other contexts, like ‘enclosed.’ Or how comunità chiusa means a ‘gated community.’” He tapped his head. “Language major.”
Rafael had gone pale and still.
“Problem?” I said.
“Thank you,” he said to Rod, grabbing my elbow. “You’ve helped enormously.”
“Happy to be of service.” Rod waved off my offer of payment, which was good because Rafael already had me halfway out the door.
We stepped back into the club and I pulled free. “What’s got you so freaked out?”
Rafael didn’t stop moving so I had to jog after him. “I’m a fool. I was focused on the site. The place itself.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
Some woman walked past, her hands full of drinks, and jostled Rafael.
“Can’t talk here.” Rafael motioned for me to follow him down a short hallway containing an old payphone missing its receiver and shouldered into the men’s bathroom.
It was a triumph of 1980s decor with its floor of multicolored triangles and a red counter with a crackle pattern currently used by two men snorting coke.
“Out,” Rafael said. He had that cold scary look he’d worn right before he’d shot Avi Chomsky, the assassin who’d murdered my father, in the foot.
The men turned, snapped their mouths shut, grabbed their drugs, and bolted.
I’d have run too, if I could. Rafael’s eyes were haunted, and the air had swelled with an ominous weight.
“Bamahs were located everywhere,” he said. “The worship sites weren’t just high places, but valleys, buildings. What connected them was a platform. An altar, even as simple as a dirt mound, but devoted to religious worship. This ‘gated bamah’ is code for a powerful stone amulet, known as the Kiss of Death. It’s reputed to have been created in the shadow of the Gate of Darkness, one of the Gates of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, from the stone altar of the actual Old Testament Jezebel herself.”
“Admittedly, names like the Gate of Darkness and Kiss of Death don’t conjure up kittens and rainbows, but how bad can it be?” I toyed with the wooden ring on my necklace.
“Our library is keyed to Asherah magic. Anyone who tries to transport in without it would instantly be fried. Same if they go through the front door or try to open the pillars.”
“Okay.”
“Previous Jezebels have been able to transport in and out without tripping any alarm alerting their Attendant to their presence, because our bond allowed us to know where they were. That Star of David tattoo compromised your magic. You can only get into the library with the assistance of my father’s ring, so while you have safe passage thanks to the wards recognizing your Asherah-bestowed powers, I’m still alerted to your presence, as I would be with any intruder. I just don’t find a corpse when I get there.”
I dropped the wooden ring like I’d been burned. “You didn’t think to mention the dead body potential before?”
Rafael straightened his bowtie. “Why panic you when you were settling into a new job?”
A woman opened the bathroom door.
“Use the ladies’,” I said.
“There’s a line-up,” she said, with a moue of distaste.
I ripped the soap dispenser off the wall. “Well, this one is closed due to lack of sanitary facilities.”
Her hand fluttered to her chest. “The line-up wasn’t so bad.” She backed out.
I propped the dispenser on the counter. It still worked fine. “Keep talking.”
“The Kiss of Death was originally used to steal the very first scroll our side ever had.” Rafael took off his glasses, rubbing the lenses on the hem of his shirt. He looked exhausted. “It gave the Chariot operative Asherah magic allowing them to safely bypass the wards.”
“What?! They had this Kiss of Death in their possession?”
“Sadly, yes. The last time Chariot attempted to use it was a hundred years ago with Nikolia and her Attendant Vitalis. Our enemy closed in, there was a fight, and it was lost to both sides.”
“If Chariot hasn’t found the amulet in all this time, why the sudden hard-on for it now?” I said.
Rafael put his glasses back on and blinked against the harsh bathroom light. “This altar was where Jezebel communed with her goddess. Even a piece of it was a powerful relic infused with the goddess’s presence. Using that as a base, a master Weaver created a binding that gave the user our magic when combined with a very specific catalyst. However, it needed to be replenished with each new wearer.”
I waved the soap dispenser around. “Okay, while it’s unnerving that a way into our library exists, I’m not sure why I should be more worried than usual. The catalyst’s probably super rare, right?
“It is.” Rafael leaned against the hand dryer.
“Out with it, buddy.”
“It’s the blood of a living Jezebel. If Isaac just renewed the search, it can only mean one thing.” Rafael’s face was haggard. “Chariot knows who you are.”
The soap dispenser I was holding clattered to the floor.
Chapter 9
The revelation put a damper on our socializing. Rafael opted to go to the library to work on a way to block or locate the Kiss of Death, while I’d also put out feelers for the amulet.
Rafael’s parting advice? Don’t let Isaac catch me.
Solid battle strategy.
Our remaining trio rode home in silence, most of it spent behind a bus with another of those annoyingly upbeat golf tournament advertisements.
Arkady stopped me before we went into our respective apartments. “No matter what you believe, Ash, I have your back. You need a security detail or a personal bodyguard, I’m here.”
“Thanks.”
Priya slammed our front door and stomped into the kitchen, muttering loudly about all the bodily harm she’d inflict on Isaac if he so much as sneezed the wrong way at me. I leaned against the kitchen counter while she banged cupboard doors, accruing random items until she’d run out of steam. Amazingly, Mrs. Hudson slept through it all in my bedroom.
I picked up the peanut butter jar and package of ramen. “Starting a new food craze?”
Priya looked down at the jar of rainbow sprinkles she’d unearthed from a long-ago birthday cake–making spree and tossed her head. “Yes. Kawaii tan tan noodles.”
“Mmmm. With chiba chicken bits?”
She shoved the sprinkles back in the cupboard. “Shut up. And don’t die.”
“Good plan. I’m also on board with keeping one hundred percent of my blood.” I put the ramen away. “You should go stay with your parents. Get out of the disaster zone.”
Isaac wouldn’t go after Talia, because Chariot kept those of use and she helped him maintain his anti-Nefesh position.
“Do not even start with
that nonsense again. We do not cut and run in this household.” She grabbed the peanut butter and slammed it into the fridge.
“Okay, Adler.”
“Quit comforting me. You’re the one in Chariot’s crosshairs.”
“Is there a second draft of that pep talk?” I kissed her cheek. “I’d hoped to stay under the radar for longer, but it is what it is. I’m going to bed.”
I changed into a sleep T-shirt and crawled under my covers, my body curled in on itself. It was one thing to operate in the shadows, but the safety of darkness had been eliminated. I pulled the covers tighter around me, wishing I had someone to hold me, just for tonight.
I grabbed my phone off the bedside table, tempted to hit speed dial, then ruthlessly shoved it under my pillow. This complication changed nothing. Isaac Montefiore may have painted a target on my back, but did he know I’d done the same?
Nothing would ever compensate for my dad’s murder, but destroying all of Isaac’s dreams would satisfy my revenge fantasies for a bit. I pounded my pillow into the precise fluffiness necessary for sleep. And it was even in my job description as justice.
With that thought, I fell asleep, a smile on my lips and visions of fiery vengeance dancing in my head.
Priya had good news for me when I woke up on Saturday morning, served with much-needed coffee. About ten years ago, Deepa Anand’s company had expanded significantly, during which she’d upgraded all her cybersecurity. The company she’d used had proved to be a shell, but Priya had followed the trail all the way back to Lockdown Cybersecurity, belonging to one Isaac Montefiore.
It was more evidence that Deepa was part of Chariot, though not conclusive.
On the blackmail front, Talia’s phone proved to be a bust. We’d have to try another angle, but it was nice to have something on Deepa, so I rewarded Pri with the dog’s presence for the day.
That and this visit to Hedon might not be puppy-friendly. I fired off a quick text to Rafael before heading out.
Me: Still alive. Aren’t you proud?
Dobby: My delight has no bounds.
Me: Any updates?
Dobby: I’m diving into all the records. Staying positive about a fix.
Me: How are the headaches?
Dobby: Constant. Powering through.
Me: You got this.
Bidding Pri and Mrs. H goodbye, I made a quick stop at Muffin Top, managing to arrive during a rare lull in customers.
Baby Miguel spied me first, gurgling and bouncing happily. His mom, Beatriz, the owner of the bakery, had him in a sling on her chest. She smiled indulgently as I played peekaboo with her son, making him laugh hysterically.
“He’s going to demand that all day now, thanks so much.” She wagged a finger in mock-sternness at me.
“My work here is done. As a reward, I’ll have…” I checked out all the goods on offer in the gleaming cases.
The bell rang, announcing a new customer.
“I’ve got freshly-filled jelly donuts cooling on the rack,” Beatriz said.
“That’s a no brainer then. One, please.”
Using tongs, she placed one in the bag and met me at the cash register.
“Add one more to that order and I’ll get them both,” the other customer said.
I glanced over my shoulder at Levi. “You have bakeries on your side of town, Montefiore.”
“This is your fault,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “You made me aware of this place. You can’t expect me to stay away when I know how good it is.”
Beatriz handed us our bags and gave Levi his change.
Cohen Investigations had been trashed by a murder suspect a few months ago and Levi had restored all my office furniture and framed a series of Sherlock Holmes book covers to personalize the space. In gratitude, I’d sent him into a sugar coma with three dozen jelly donuts from Muffin Top for his incredibly thoughtful gift.
Levi knew me so well, but the reverse was also true. Maybe that’s why we excelled at hurting each other.
My goodbye to Beatriz and Miguel was as muted as my thanks to Levi for the pastry.
“About the other day.” I squinted against the sunlight, tapping my donut against the inside of the bag to remove excess sugar.
Levi was doing the exact same thing. I was caught between an eye roll and a smile.
“Could we just exist right now with these crack donuts?” he said.
“More like cracking donuts.” I laughed and he raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You don’t get it.”
“There are a lot of things I don’t get, Ashira.”
“Okay.” I licked my lips. “Promise you won’t tell Rafael I told you this.”
He shifted the wax paper he was using to hold his donut with, so careful not to get any of the sugar on his expensive suit. He looked like a little kid, trying to prove that he was cool enough for you to let him in on the joke.
And yeah, sue me, I told him. For a moment, his eyes widened and crinkled like we were swapping stories of the ridiculous things we’d seen counselors do back at Camp Ruach during those moments when we weren’t enemies. I swore him to absolute secrecy and for a moment, it was almost normal.
I wiped my sticky fingers on a napkin. “I feel like Sam and Ralph in the old Warner Bros. cartoon.”
“The wolf and the sheepdog?”
“You know, how they were perfectly friendly until they punched in? Then it was war.” I threw out my bag. “Guess it’s time to punch in.”
“Guess it is.” He sounded resigned. “I’ll see you around, Ralph.”
“Why am I the stupid wolf in this scenario?”
“The sheepdog is like Watson,” he said. “The moral center. Ergo…” Hands in pockets, he strolled off.
“That comparison is a fallacy,” I called out after him.
I lived in the right now for a couple of moments longer, until I couldn’t prolong the return of reality anymore. This interlude didn’t change anything. I was Levi’s scorched earth and he was mine.
A few blocks away from Muffin Top on a residential street, I took the Gold Token Express into Hedon. The ramen bowl sign floated magically over its stall in the business district, glowing jade-green against the ever-present night sky. There was something reassuring about it, an anchor of sorts to this world, and I waved at the jaunty owner.
The pickaxe business next door had been replaced by one selling scarecrows with sly smiles. They hung suspended on their frames, inert, save for one that sucked on a blood-drenched piece of straw, its eyes tracking me as I passed.
I scrunched my head into my neck and sped up, giving a wide berth to the steampunk cat who ran the store with its abundance of poisons because, been there done that, though I briefly considered a pair of leather gloves at a tiny kiosk that promised pickpocketing abilities to rival The Artful Dodger’s. Then I saw that the previous owner’s fingers were still inside them. Rest in peace, dead digits.
I beelined for a martini glass with a green olive that glowed in the sky a couple of blocks over. The Green Olive had been rebuilt in the two months since it had been burned down. Pulling open the heavy wood door, I did a double take. Instead of its faded grande dame décor, it looked like an old-fashioned pharmacy, where bartenders in white lab coats dispensed drinks from old-time medicinal bottles.
Presiding over it all was Alfie, a short, pudgy middle-aged man in his trademark pinstripe suit with red suspenders, having forgone his spats for black brogues polished to a high gleam. He circulated amongst the tables with a plump Asian woman with warm brown eyes, her face wreathed in smiles.
Alfie waved, hurrying over. “Get this lady a drink.”
I motioned to the bartender to hold off. “It’s still morning where I’m from, but thanks anyway. Can I talk to you?”
“Yes, yes, but first, come meet Mabel.” Alfie waved the woman over and put his arm around her. “Mabel, this is Ash.”
“Oh, you’re as pretty as a peach.” Her southern accent was as thick and slow as molasses. “You sav
ed my big baloo. You dear thing.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am.” Jeez, where had that drawl sprung from?
“You come back now anytime, sugar. Drinks are always on the house for you.”
Score! “I’ll do that.”
Alfie kissed the side of Mabel’s head and led me to an empty table. “She’s worth Gunter’s revenge, right?”
A dead spirit with a vendetta who’d possessed Levi’s ex-girlfriend had attempted to kill Alfie for stealing both Mabel and the Green Olive. So his statement was either the most deluded or the sweetest thing I’d ever heard. “She really is.”
We took our seats and I looked around to make sure we wouldn’t be overheard. “Know anyone specializing in powerful supernatural amulets?” I said.
He scratched his chin, doing his best to look mysterious. “I might.” He bounced his leg. “Okay, I totally do. The best there is. Just sometimes she’s prone to violent fits with strangers.”
“How violent?”
“Weeellll.” He shifted uncomfortably. “The police in her hometown in Portugal attributed her last incident to wolves.” My eyebrows shot into my hairline. “It’s fine now,” he assured me. “They found all the pieces and none of the knives she’d used.”
“That’s a relief,” I said faintly.
“If you’re concerned at all, I could talk to her for you.”
“I don’t want to put you in any danger.”
“Oh, Mamã won’t hurt me.” Mamã? With all my complaints about Talia, I’d never had to worry about Freddy Krueger tendencies. “What are you looking for?” he said.
Generally, I wouldn’t risk a go-between on this, but Alfie was an open book and saving his life had bought me his loyalty. Sherlock had his Irregulars, and Alfie was definitely that, even if he wasn’t a child. Plus, this was his mother and it’s not like I was tight with dealers in supernatural antiquities.
“It’s called the Kiss of Death.” I described its altar origins and that it was powerful, omitting specifics about Jezebel blood giving it Asherah magic.
Alfie took my card, promising to call if he learned anything.
Revenge & Rapture: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Detective Series (The Jezebel Files Book 4) Page 8