Nava Katz Box Set 2

by Deborah Wilde

  Catalina read it. “It’s Ladino. A form of Old Spanish spoken by Sephardic Jews even today. Someone in the Brotherhood had the idea of burning witches at the stake to separate out the magic through ritual fire in hopes of containing it and passing it on to Rasha.”

  I stirred some honey into my tea. “Would that work to separate Lilith’s magic from mine?”

  And if it did, how badly did I want to risk being a Nava BBQ?

  Catalina hmmed. “Possibly. There are some alchemic symbols noted down, like fire and transformation, so he could have been on to something, but I’d have to investigate more and figure out this formula.”

  “Fire and transformation. The phoenix.” Another piece had been fit into a giant puzzle. I couldn’t see the overall picture, but it had now edges and a fuzziness.

  Catalina flipped the parchment over and read the notes scribbled there. “This process is immersive.”

  “Like a bath?” I snapped my fingers. “The mikvah.”

  One of my bubbe’s friends had been a Hasidic Jewish woman and she’d urged my grandmother more than once to partake of the mikvah bath for its cleansing and purification purposes. Bubbe had responded that even if she still was menstruating, she wouldn’t be called unclean. Guess there was some of the old girl in me.

  Mikveh were literally considered transformative, able to effect metamorphosis. Utensils that couldn’t previously be used, once immersed, were good to go. Women on their period, in a state of niddut and separated from their husbands because of it, could once more get busy with them after the mikvah. It was even used as a form of baptism for converts. Go into the mikvah a gentile, come out a Jew. Bubbe’s friend had raved about its properties on many occasions. We were purifying my magic, so a mikvah-based ritual made sense.

  “We have a mikvah involving fire,” Raquel said.

  “And blood,” Catalina added.

  “Ewww. You want me to dip myself in a flaming blood bath like a Stephen King-inspired soft serve? Not loving that idea.”

  “It’s very Carrie,” Raquel said. “Dibs on throwing the pig’s blood.”

  “Cow’s blood, please. I’m a good Jewish girl.”

  Catalina looked up from the book. “That won’t work. We need blood with extreme magic running through it. Strega, Italian witches, used blood as a binding agent. I suspect that’s its function here. Binding the magic in order to contain it once we’ve extracted it from the host.”

  “Am I bathing in a tub full of blood?”

  Catalina grimaced. “No. If the blood is extremely potent, we won’t need much,” she said. “We add a few drops to the purified water, which is the cleansing agent.”

  “What about my blood? Am I powerful enough? Given the extra Lilith charge?”

  Catalina shook her head. “Can’t use your blood to bind the magic that’s in your blood. We need an outside source. Sienna might be a candidate, but that would require more blood than I’d feel comfortable taking from her.”

  “I doubt she’d donate to the cause,” I said. “Does it matter who or what it comes from, provided it’s strong enough?”

  “I don’t think so,” Catalina said.

  “Okay. I have an avenue I’ll pursue.” Boy, was I glad where it came from didn’t matter, because yikes.

  “Good luck. I’ll work on the formula.”

  Rohan hadn’t made any progress with the witches because no one was inclined to help out a Rasha. I asked Raquel to speak to them on his behalf, but she wasn’t particularly open to the idea.

  “After everything we’ve been through, you must see the wisdom of witches and Rasha working together,” I said.

  “Well, I don’t condone killing all the hunters in hopes that our magic comes flooding back.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Ro said.

  “But,” she continued. “I’m not going to antagonize Sienna by getting into bed with hunters when her people and mine need to solve this rift problem together. Besides, antagonizing her is your department, Nava. I’d hate to deprive you of that joy.”

  I made a snarky face at her. “How often do witches patrol the wards?”

  “In theory we all have a yearly mandatory duty to patrol the Zone. That’s what we call the area where the wards are visible.” She shrugged. “In reality, some do more, some less.”

  “One thing about the Brotherhood,” Rohan said. “It was a well-oiled machine in that regard.”

  “Yeah, because it was a military organization,” Raquel said. “We’re a global community, living our lives. There’s no way to force people to step up.”

  “We’re getting to the point where you might have to, and if you can’t or won’t, then you have to inspire them. We can’t be complacent any longer.” Was I the hypocrite now? I didn’t think so. I was trying to find a solution that didn’t potentially involve mass homicide.

  Raquel scowled at me. “Thanks for stating the obvious.”

  She whisked Rohan off for a quick check-up, but there wasn’t much more she could do.

  “I’m sure the dark magic will burn itself out soon,” she said.

  Ro and I gave half-hearted agreements.

  Mom texted me as we got back to the car. Dr. Markovic was going to a conference in Paris tomorrow and had agreed to meet with us.

  I flung my arms around Ro. “This is very good news.”

  “It is. Still want to go see Malik?”

  “More than ever. I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

  12

  “I’m going to kill Satan.”

  “Bully for you.” Malik saluted me from his doorway with his wine glass. “Oh. You’re still not leaving.”

  “You’re in sweatpants.”

  He looked down at himself. “Cashmere leisure pants.”

  “One step up from Lululemon, buddy. You need to snap out of this.” I wormed my way past him into his apartment.

  Malik tensed as I brushed his arm.

  Rohan knocked him aside to follow me, serpent-like shadows writhing in his eyes, and dark magic crackling off him with the sharp smell of metal.

  “Yes, you’re very dangerous.” Malik sipped his wine.

  “Anyone ever suggest you’re a functioning alcoholic?” Rohan said.

  “Not and lived to say it a second time.”

  “How about an asshole?” Ro deadpanned. The dark magic died down.

  “How about you state your business and leave?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “You have more drinking to do. You’re a coward, Malik.”

  Malik strode into the kitchen and topped up his glass. “You’re trying my patience.”

  “Fine. I’m going to kill Satan and you’re going to help me.”

  He choked on his wine, swore, and wiped his face with a tea towel. “Why ever would I do that?”

  I pulled his eyepatch, releasing it with a snap. “Because.”

  Malik burst into flame. His barest suggestion of a human form roiling with an orange and blue flame, yet he still kept his distance from me.

  I helped myself to two glasses from the cupboard, filling glasses of wine for myself and Rohan. “Good. You’re mad. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “Get. Out.”

  “No. Satan needs to be put down, and you even agree with me, you dumbass, so stop fighting.” I sipped my wine and made a face. “Got any 7Up?”

  Rohan and the demon both grimaced and covered their respective faces, human and fiery.

  Setting the glass on the granite counter, I stepped up close to Malik.

  He dropped the fire-form and leaned away from me.

  I rubbed myself against his shoulder while he tried to become one with the cabinet behind him.

  “Sparky, quit flirting.”

  “I smell like her, don’t I?” I said.

  “Cool desert night,” Malik whispered.

  I wanted to fuck with him more, but he’d almost flattened himself into 2D and the corners of his eyes were all pinched, and also I just didn’t have t
hat cruelty in me.

  “If you care about her so much, you shouldn’t have cheated on her.”

  Pain flashed across the demon’s face. “You have her memories?”

  “I know things.”

  He pushed me away from him. “Lila did her share of damage to the two of us. She’d vowed to never use her magic against me, so she gave it to David for his Rasha.”

  Yikes. Go angry ex.

  “But you still love her,” Rohan said. “Help Nava. Otherwise you’ll have to live with the knowledge of what Satan is doing to Lilith’s memory. To your love.”

  “Were your lyrics this melodramatic?” Malik scoffed.

  “If these monsters are created, they’ll overrun the world and destroy the playthings you like so much,” I said.

  “I can always find new toys.”

  “You like people,” I said.

  “I like a handful, much like you, petal. You’re a misanthropic savior of humanity. It’s your most redeeming feature. Besides, if the demons run out of humans, they’ll have to turn on each other. That would be marvelous.”

  “Such compassion for your own kind,” Ro said.

  Rohan hadn’t touched his wine, so I took it from him. No point in it going to waste.

  “I’ve never pretended to be other than what I am,” Malik said.

  “I have another option,” I said. “The witches are very eager to fix the wards. We could seal up the demon realm for good and may you all rot.”

  Malik didn’t buy my bluff. “Even if you could, what purpose would you have?” He gestured between Rohan and me. “Would you play house? Have your little dance dreams?”

  “If we didn’t have demons to fight?” I said. “We could cure poverty and famine and disaster and solve the reasons why people feel disenfranchised and go to war. We could help humans become the best versions of themselves.”

  Malik snorted. “This is who you are. You revel in the fight. You’ve found purpose in battle.”

  I slugged back the second glass. “That makes me sound all kinds of ragey.”

  “I prefer ‘wrathful.’ We have words for things; one needn’t invent. But to answer your question, don’t humans say that people with passion have fire in their bellies? If you’re passionate about injustice, doesn’t that carry a certain amount of anger? Shouldn’t it? Personally, I think anger is falsely vilified.”

  Was anger something to be embraced? Could it be used to motivate instead of destroy? Was I seriously considering Malik was right about this?

  “Whatever went down between you and Lilith,” I said, “she deserves a better legacy than this.”

  Malik slammed his glass on the counter so hard it shattered. Glass flew, the wine pooling on the floor in dark rivulets. “Better than an ignoble death at the hands of a lying, duplicitous human?”

  “You blame me for her death. Fine. Get it out of your system because there’s something larger at stake here.”

  He dissolved into flame. Even his human outline shed. This wasn’t about making it harder to pin him down, like last time, this was a pure savage power that filled the room. His flames buffeted us, twisting us around, toying with us. Singeing, smoldering, and terrifying with no escape.

  I screwed my searing eyeballs shut, the furious glow radiating through my closed lids. Get it out of your system. Great idea, idiot. We were going to die. My lungs seized up on a hot burn.

  Malik’s roar was a raw sound that tore at my brain, my every synapse screaming at me to flee, but everywhere I turned there was another branch of flame, licking at me.

  With a gust, he expelled us into the hallway. His front door blew open.

  Rohan grabbed me. I let him tug me partway to the door, the gnawing in my gut growing stronger.

  “No.” I jerked free and ran back into the kitchen. Back into the flames.

  Rohan yelled at me to come back.

  “You’re right. Lilith deserved better.” My throat was scratchy and I could barely hear myself over the force of Malik’s fury. “She deserved better in everything. She suffered hundreds of years of betrayals and marginalization. I can’t bring her back, and I can’t right the wrongs of the past, but maybe, just maybe, I can give her peace.”

  The fire flared hot and bright. It wound around my right leg, bubbling and burning a long strip of flesh.

  I screamed and crumpled to the ground.

  The fire winked out.

  Malik stood there once more, not a trace of soot on him. “When this is over, I’ll kill you for your role in her death.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Good luck getting near me if I have the ring. Oh, shit. That was kind of Gollumy. I cradled my injured leg. “First, get me Polysporin and a fuckton of painkillers.”

  “And then?” Rohan helped me up, supporting my weight.

  “We need a plan to collect Satan’s blood before we kill him.” That would work for the purification ritual and I wouldn’t need much because he was so strong.

  “Are you insane?” Rohan and Malik said in unison.

  “In sync already.” I high-fived both of them, though it was more of a high-two-and-a-half since they didn’t reciprocate. “Go team.”

  Unfortunately, a solid plot to exsanguinate the head honcho demon before assassinating him was trickier than it sounded, and apparently, was not to be completed in the span of one afternoon.

  Malik bickered with Rohan and me over every possible tactic. The more Malik drank, the more disturbing facts he shared. The current Satan was the unique-est of the Uniques: part marid with a flame form, ancient and malevolent, part akoman, demon of evil intention who corrupts minds and destroys morals, and part andras with the body of an angel and the noggin of a black raven who incites violence and discord while slaughtering all in his path.

  His kill spot was conveniently unknown.

  “Then find out,” Rohan said.

  Malik poured the dregs of the bottle into his glass, his gaze distant and forlorn.

  “You were tortured. Join the club.” I wrenched his wine glass away from him and dumped the contents down the drain. “You are disgracing the entire evil spawn race. I’m ashamed to call you demon.”

  He gaped at me.

  “Yeah, I said it. And take a shower while you’re at it. We’re going after Satan, so put on your big marid panties and get with the program. I want a functioning evil ally when I come back.”

  I flounced out of his apartment, slamming the door behind me and Rohan before Malik could quit sputtering and get in the last word.

  “I made the big scary demon turn ‘Nava Red.’ Yay, me.”

  “You’ve got a gift,” Ro said, with a wry smile. “It remains to be seen if he’ll pull his head out of his ass long enough to be useful.”

  I punched the elevator button. “I can always use the ring on him when I find it. Ooh. Use it on Satan. Kill two birds with one stone.”

  “You can’t.” The elevator door opened and Rohan stepped inside.

  I followed him. “What if it’s the only way to keep me safe?”

  The doors slid shut and the car began its smooth descent.

  “It could possess you or kill you,” he said. “Something with that much power is too dangerous to exist. It’s unnatural.”

  “We’re on the same page here. The ring is a perversion of our magic and must be destroyed. Right after I use it one time, if necessary.”

  “You know how many fantasy novels start with some bright-eyed hero convinced they won’t be the one to fall victim to a powerful, magical artifact? It doesn’t end well.”

  “Neither does being raped by the devil.” I stood in my corner, daring him to retort, but we glided downward in strained silence.

  Hours later, neither of us had apologized, but we weren’t exactly angry at each other either. More sorrowful, because all the options were horrible and we had more pressing matters.

  “Are you positive this is the right place?” I peered through the crack between the House Lannister and House Targaryen Game of Throne
s banners in the window of the darkened souvenir store, but couldn’t make out more than shadowy lumps.

  Westeros, I mean the old city of Dubrovnik, was beautiful at night.

  A huge multi-sided fountain with a cupola on top was visible through the mouth of the alleyway where Rohan, Drio, and I huddled. Each side of the fountain was decorated with a stone-carved face with a spigot sticking out of the mouth. Cold, clear water ran from the spouts, puddling on the diagonal paving stones beneath.

  I’d doused myself in some because even now, shortly after midnight, it was sweltering. My skin ran slick with sweat.

  Located next to one of the Old City gates that were set into thick, massively high fortress walls, the fountain stood on a main street that seemed to be the only wide road. At the far end of the alley, shallow, uneven steps led up to two more levels of shops, bars, and restaurants.

  A silhouetted Gothic church spire gleamed black against the looming fortress walls and the faint smell of fish blew inland from the harbor.

  Techno lounge music pumped out of the wine bar next door, a boisterous crowd of shiny beautiful people spilling out onto the cobblestones into the warm pools of light cast by the old-fashioned iron and glass lanterns mounted on the walls of the cream stone buildings.

  Drio tugged on the locked shop door. “Hybris is here.” He glanced at the chatting crowd surrounding us like he wanted to throttle them. “Get rid of them.”

  Rohan elbowed his way into the tiny bar, emerging maybe two minutes later.

  A man called out something in Croatian, and with excited squeals, the patrons pushed inside.

  I covered Drio while he picked the lock. “What did you do?”

  “Bought everyone a glass of wine,” Rohan said.

  “Waste of money,” Drio said through the lock pick in his teeth. “Could’a just knocked them all out.”

  He shouldered the door open.

  The alarm panel was disabled and the store in disarray, souvenir shot glasses smashed on the floor, T-shirts unfurled like flags and draped over racks, and broken Bobblehead dolls littering the shelves.