He might have chosen a getaway that he had no connection to. But what if he hadn’t? According to Paulie, my father had initially left to keep us safe. What if he’d ended up somewhere that had, if not an actual connection to our family, then an emotional one?
My parents had gone to New York for their honeymoon. That was a possibility. Then there was Zihuatanejo, a beach town on Mexico’s Pacific Coast. We’d gone there when I was a kid, and while I didn’t remember a lot about it, I had flashes of jumping in the water, going to a crowded market every day to buy fresh papaya, and both of my parents laughing a lot. They reminisced about that trip a ton over the years.
By the time Arkady stumbled back to his room next door just before dawn, I had a plan. Since we had to stop in New York anyway for his return flight, Arkady would check out the three Avi Chomskys I found in the different boroughs, sending me current photos. If that was a no go, from there he’d fly to Mexico and see if anyone fit that name. I’d have done it, but I had a fundraiser to attend.
Arkady grumbled a bit about not packing for an extended vacation, but agreed.
Since Paulie had confirmed that Adam had the scroll, we didn’t need Priya to track down the previous owner, so I’d fired off a text taking her off that.
I’d barely gotten any sleep from my allotted cat nap when I was woken by a call from an unfamiliar number. It was the fair company. I pushed past the grogginess to present my credentials and ask about employee records from thirty years ago.
Unfortunately, about twenty years back, they’d all burned up in a fire. I tried not to let my excitement over their misfortune show, but the lack of documentation wasn’t a coincidence. A Hispanic family, a white-blond Russian kid, Wonderland—this was the genesis of the Queen of Hearts and Moran.
“Were you working for the company back then?” I said.
“You bet,” the man said. “We’re a family business. I’ve been here more than forty years.”
I asked him about Moran, but he had no memory of him.
“Did the family who worked the midway have a daughter?” I did the math, guessing at her current age. “Probably her early twenties? Striking violet eyes?”
“Serafina.” He infused that name with a heavy dose of wistful nostalgia.
“What did she do there?”
“Told fortunes. Mostly love affair stuff.” He chuckled. “She claimed to see into people’s hearts. It was catchy. Got her a lot of business.”
“Holy. Shit.” I clutched the phone, leaning forward as if I could physically pull more information out of him. “What was her last name?”
“Sorry. Don’t remember. Serafina wasn’t her real name either. Just a stage name.”
I grabbed the complimentary pen provided by the hotel. “Is there anything else you remember about her? Like her last name? She may be in line for a healthy inheritance if I can track her down.” I pulled out a tried-and-true excuse that generally had people happy to share their knowledge.
“I don’t remember that, but her favorite lipstick was Lovestruck Red.”
“Uh, okay. That’s random.”
“She gave me a napkin with a lip print on it at the end of that summer. And, well, I may have stolen her lipstick. I was young, dumb, and had a terrible crush on her.”
“Do you still have them?!” I shrieked into the poor man’s ear.
“Maybe? Could have ended up packed away with my yearbooks and such.”
“Would you check? Please. This is very important.” After a few more minutes, I think I managed to convince him that my request was perfectly reasonable and professional. He promised to take a look today and if he found them, he’d FedEx them over to me.
I asked him to use a blood seal on the package. Offered by post offices and courier services, blood seals looked like the wax seals of old. They were affixed to a letter or package to prove they hadn’t been tampered with or opened yet, because once a blood seal was broken, the packaging was destroyed. Law firms used them.
I hung up and did a happy dance around the room. Lip prints were unique to individuals and used these days in DNA analysis much like fingerprints. Even identical twins had different lip prints. It was less certain how much DNA a lipstick from thirty years ago could yield, but stranger things had happened in cold cases. This might not get me the Queen’s identity, but it could provide a very solid genetic profile that would prove a substantial breakthrough in learning her real name and potentially tracking down other members of her family.
Thoroughly elated with the morning’s events, I traveled to the airport with Arkady. We made our flight to New York with no issues and then parted ways: me back to Vancouver and Arkady remaining in Manhattan. He was a happy camper since he’d scored a fancy hotel stay and clothing allowance from Levi.
By the time I made it home on Saturday, I was running on fumes and the scent of lemon lamb from the Greek restaurant on the ground floor of my apartment building made my stomach growl.
Shortly after my arrival, I received a call from the lab. There were no drugs in Mayan’s system.
After scarfing down some food, I took Mrs. Hudson for a walk and a quick game of “fetch your cow girlfriend,” then I jumped in the shower to scrub off my travel grime.
Beyond the obvious color scheme for the dress code of the Black and White Ball that night, it was also formal attire, so my options were limited. None of my black dresses were fancy enough and even if I had the time or money, I had no inclination to buy a gown that I’d never wear again. With a shudder, I rummaged on the side of my closet containing clothes that Talia had sent over for one event or another until I hit scratchy fabric.
Gritting my teeth, I pulled out a white confectionary of a dress. My mother, in a moment of either wild optimism or temporary amnesia about who her kid actually was, had purchased it for a university graduation party she’d wanted to throw me. We’d compromised: I didn’t burn the damn thing and she’d moved the event to a nice Italian restaurant, where I didn’t have to dress like a swan.
The top was a fitted bodice covered in white sequins with a ruffled ballgown skirt made of poufy layers of crinoline. Even Disney Princesses tossed their heads in disdain at how hard this dress was trying.
Mrs. Hudson took one look at it and raised her leg. I whisked the dress out of the way and she gave a little whine and lowered her leg again.
“Right sentiment, wrong night, dog.”
I wriggled into the outfit with zero enthusiasm, then, holding the abomination against my chest so it didn’t fall off, stomped into the kitchen. “Help.”
Priya choked on her mouthful of cereal. “That is beyond my skill set.”
“Shut up.” I sucked in a breath as she zipped me up.
“I can’t believe you still have that dress.”
“It was an out-of-sight-out-of-mind kind of thing.”
She tugged gently on one of my locks. “What are you doing with your hair?”
“Nothing? I’m wearing sparkly eyeshadow and foundation. My face is already suffocating. Can’t that be enough?”
Priya rolled her eyes. “Come on, Cinderella.”
I dragged my feet as she pulled me into the bathroom. “Do I haaaaave to? It’s a work night.”
Priya shoved me down on the closed toilet seat lid, while Mrs. Hudson seated herself on the bathmat, watching the proceedings with doggy enthusiasm.
“Levi is going to be there,” Priya said. “Levi’s ex is going to be there. And she isn’t going to look like an escapee from an Off-Off-Broadway production of Frozen.”
“That second ‘off’ was unnecessary,” I said.
“If you’re gonna do this, then own it.”
The next ten minutes were torture. Priya curled, pinned, and twisted my hair into a frothy updo. It was also kind of great because Priya filled me in on the latest love saga of one of the regulars at Higher Ground, which meant she’d gone out to work while I was away. I gave my usual non-committal grunts and tried not to let my grin slip free.
“You really should have a date for this,” she said.
“I do. Rafael. Ouch.” She’d stabbed me with a bobby pin.
“I didn’t realize you two had that kind of a relationship.”
“My fake fiancé, who incidentally would have reported my every move back to his hero, is out of the country. The man I’m sleeping with, who I can’t be seen in public with, is going with his ex. That didn’t leave a lot of last-minute options.”
“Hmph.”
“You want to ask him out,” I said.
She pinned my last curl in place. “I’m thinking about it. He was such a shit to you that initially I planned to simply have some fun and throw him off-guard, but I actually enjoyed talking to him. Is that a problem?”
“Maybe wait until he’s settled in and we’ve got a working rhythm with Team Jezebel.”
And I’d found some other solution to calm my cravings.
“All right.” Priya stepped back and studied me critically. “There’s just one thing missing.”
I followed her into her bedroom. She opened her underwear drawer and pulled out a square jewelry box, opening it to reveal a tiara of tiny flower-shaped crystals nestled on blue velvet that had been for her big princess wedding.
“And here you gave me crap about this dress when you hung onto that thing?” Priya scowled at me. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t understand. That time in your life was so painful. Why would you keep a memento of it?”
She ran a finger lightly over the crystals. “Part of me believed that as long as I kept it, my happily-ever-after was still possible. I know better now.”
I winced. “You’re dealing with trauma. Don’t give up.”
She smiled gently. “I’m not. I know you’ve been worried about me, but as scary as that kidnapping was, it’s not the reason I’ve been pulling back. I’ve needed—I still need—time to figure out how I want to live moving forward. Ravi and I had a lot of passion, and a lot of problems that we never addressed. When that ended, I decided my romantic happiness was best served if I was in control of the relationship.” She half-laughed. “That didn’t work either. When I do decide to date again, it’ll be from a place of looking for my equal. More importantly, I’ll know that whatever happens, I’m my own happily-ever-after.”
“That’s a pretty good realization.” I eyed the tiara dubiously. “Are you still going to keep it?”
“Damn straight. I look amazing in bling. I’m going to wear it to the supermarket, to work, for my massage therapy appointments… It’s my reminder that I’m not a princess. I’m a queen. And tonight?” She placed the tiara on my head. “You need to remember that, too. Just bring it back.”
I tilted my head from side-to-side and smiled. Mayan could suck it. “I’ll return it safe and sound. I promise. Am I ready?”
“As you’ll ever be. Kick ass, Holmes.”
The theme of the ball was “A Night in Fairyland” and the decorating committee had outdone themselves. The ballroom at the historic Hotel Vancouver, painted in tones of cream and gold with crown moldings, gold-framed mirrors, and Edwardian frescoes, glowed with an otherworldly beauty under the hundreds of tiny white twinkling lights strung up.
I checked my wrap and stepped into the animated swirl of partygoers. Men strutted about in tuxes, while one fabulous guy outshone everyone in a black bejeweled ballgown that made even mine seem a little plain.
Not to be outdone by their elegant counterparts, the women dazzled in outlandish gowns and gems that they wore with the giddy air of young girls attending their first formal party. My dress fit in just fine, and the tiara was the perfect crowning touch.
I made a slow circuit of the room, looking for Jonah Samuels, but I found Mayan first, conversing with a group of people. She was stunning in a sleek black dress with a 1920s vibe to it and a slight train in the back. Her hair was pinned in some complicated braid and held in place with a large black rose ornament.
One of the people in her crowd shifted, revealing Levi.
His stark beauty took my breath away. He was one of the taller men in the room, and under the lights, his black hair shone like a raven’s wing. His tux was impeccably fitted to him, the white dress shirt pressed crisp, but his bowtie was the tiniest fraction askew. My fingers twitched with the urge to fix it, to tease him about it and get some snarky retort from those lush lips that would inevitably make me laugh.
Our gazes snagged. I glanced between him and Mayan, and widened my eyes in an exaggerated expression of surprise. He stood there, deadpan until I was done, at which point, after a brief—and pointed—perusal of my outfit, his lips curled up in the briefest smirk.
I clutched my beaded handbag, calculating the best trajectory should I need to wing it at him. No, that was a princess reaction. I straightened up to my full height, my confidence more dazzling than any of the crystals.
Levi’s eyes narrowed. Mayan had to touch his arm twice to get his attention and he looked away before I did. Heh.
“There you are.” Rafael was at my elbow. “Sorry for being late.”
“No worries. I’m glad there were no problems with the ticket I’d left for you,” I said.
His tux was equally as bespoke as Levi’s and while it didn’t send my heart into the same annoying palpitations, he was worthy arm candy.
“Help me do a sweep for Samuels and keep an eye on Mayan.” I subtly indicated who she was. Since Rafael and I worked together, he fell under client confidentiality. I straightened his bowtie and he flinched.
I dropped my hand. “On second thought, let’s split up.” I melted into the crowd, my jaw set, and bumped into someone’s back. “Sorry,” I muttered as the person turned around.
“Ladylike as usual,” Levi sneered, holding two wineglasses. He flicked his eyes to the left, where a couple of Untainted Party cronies of my mother’s and a group I recognized as House employees avidly watched our interaction.
Awesome.
“Careful with the angle of your chin there, Montefiore. You might topple over backwards from all the weight in your fat head.” I helped myself to one of the glasses of white wine and tossed half the shitty drink back. For make-believe antagonism, our encounter pinched my heart—as if our deepening relationship had all been a dream and I’d just woken up to the cold reality again.
“You have the manners of a goat,” Levi said.
“Better a goat than a pompous ass throwing his weight around.” I stilled.
It wasn’t just Jezebels who suffered under the weight of overwhelming expectations. We had a choice in accepting the Mantle, but Attendants were born to it. Serve and protect made for a narrow, lonely life, especially when that was the sum total of it. Was there any room for failure in Rafael’s mind, and was that how he saw his reaction to helping me with the cravings? Not as a healing win, but as a disaster on an inherently personal level? I’d been prepared for his resentment once the effects had worn off, but I hadn’t taken into consideration his shame.
The quartet in the corner launched into a soft song. Light and lively. An answering fizziness began in my stomach, bubbling outward into my throat and down to my toes, but mine was sour.
“Ash?” Levi murmured. “Are you okay?”
I shoved the glass back in his hand. “Go bore your date. I’ve got more important things to attend to.”
Chapter 18
I found Rafael in the far corner of the ballroom leaning against the ornate wainscoting by the window, watching Mayan. “Listen.” I looped my arm through his, falling into a slow circuit of the room. “This fight needs you. I need you. If you’re beating yourself up over what happened, stop now. You did it because you had my back, just like I have yours. We’ll find a way through this together, okay?”
He tensed, struggling with some decision, and I braced myself for him to walk away.
“What happened between us was… disquieting.” His silence after that had less to do with the large, boisterous group we had to veer around than the thoughtful
expression on his face. “While Attendants historically have remained in the background, we pride ourselves on being the bedrock that allows you to operate and succeed. But during that episode, I wasn’t a rock, I was out of control. I had become the weak link in this fight.” He gazed off into the distance.
“I’m far from perfect, but that doesn’t mean you have to pick up the slack on that front. You’re not infallible, nor do you have to be.”
“If I fail, people die.” Rafael’s grip tightened on the wineglass he held. “There is no room for failure for any of us.”
“Who died, Rafael? Gavriella?”
He stared into the Pinot Noir, which had the flat dark color of blood.
“Your dad?” I said.
“Suffice it to say, we can’t afford to be weak, because Chariot will exploit that. We can’t expose ourselves.”
That had always been my thinking, as well. Except that a continual show of strength was exhausting and, ultimately, brittle.
“You aren’t weak and what happened wasn’t proof of some character deficiency.” I gently pried the poor wineglass from his death grip and set it on a table, a crystal chandelier bouncing prismic dots off of it. “The opposite, in fact. In making yourself vulnerable like that, you made us both stronger. That’s what you need to focus on.”
His brow furrowed. “I didn’t expect this level of understanding from you.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. And don’t shut me out anymore. My magic issues, this missing scroll, we’re scrambling now because my father chose to run away with some very dangerous secrets. Communication is essential.” We stopped in front of the musicians as they launched into a waltz, and I swept Rafael a playful curtsy. “Meantime, can we start this evening again? Greetings, Rafael.”
He gave me a wan smile. “Hello, Ashira.”
“You clean up well, Attendant mine.”
“And you…” He wrinkled his face.
“Yeah. Yeah. Don’t strain for a compliment with this dress. You’ll hurt yourself.”
Shadows & Surrender: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Detective Series (The Jezebel Files Book 3) Page 17