Nava Katz Box Set 2

by Deborah Wilde

A dead Rasha lay next to a discarded heavy pewter chalice that had been used to bash his skull in. None of us recognized him.

  Drio sprinted toward the back of the store, Rohan and I pounding after him. We flew down the narrow staircase.

  The grotty beige tiles were painted with bloody, scrawled words. You can’t hide.

  A man had been dumped in a crumpled heap over a stack of cardboard boxes that were dented from his weight. He’d been torn open from navel to sternum, his entrails splattering over his University of Dubrovnik T-shirt. His head, ripped off his body, lay on its side on the dusty floor like a discarded soccer ball, wide eyes frozen open under blood-matted salt-and-pepper hair.

  This hadn’t just been a kill; it had been an enraged slaughter.

  Something metal clattered to the floor in the dark recesses of the room behind some shelving racks.

  Drio flashed out.

  “You found me,” a woman exclaimed, in a lilting voice.

  Rohan froze for a second, before he practically knocked me over in his race to Drio.

  I didn’t recognize her at first because her hair was longer than in the photo I’d seen and because I wasn’t expecting to see a dead person embracing Drio.

  Asha hugged him, her face buried in his chest. She didn’t even reach his shoulder.

  He stood very still, an indecipherable expression on his face, his fingers twitching like he longed to crush her to him, but couldn’t bring himself to touch her.

  “It’s not her,” Rohan said. “It’s Hybris.”

  Asha stepped away from Drio. Her nose ring winked in the faint light. “Desi, I missed you so much.” Oh, right. Drio’s full name was Desiderio. Her voice was melodic, hypnotic, a slight Indian accent flavoring her Southern California drawl.

  Drio flinched like he’d been punched, and emitted a soft grunt.

  I itched to blast the bitch, but Drio was staring at her like she was his redemption and his heart’s desire. How could I hurt Hybris when she was wearing that face? He’d never get over that visual. Never forgive me, even if it wasn’t really her.

  “Desi? Why won’t you touch me?”

  “Don’t call him that,” Rohan growled.

  Asha rolled her gold eyes, eerie twins of Rohan’s. “Gawd, this is just like the time we drove down to Carmel and you wouldn’t let us sit in the back together because you said we’d burn your eyeballs out through the rearview mirror.”

  Ro balled his fists. “You can’t know that.”

  The faintest tendril of doubt that maybe this really was her slid through me. No. It was impossible. She was dead. There was a gravestone and she wouldn’t just be here for us to find.

  Would she?

  Asha’s face crumpled. “The demon hurt me. I was locked up and alone and she tortured me. I waited for you to come. All this time. Why didn’t you come?” She stretched out a hand. “You abandoned me.”

  It wasn’t clear who she was directing this plaintive cry to, but it was mindfucking both the men. Even I was having trouble convincing myself that this wasn’t Asha.

  Rohan’s eyes went obsidian black and dark magic crawled over him. He began to convulse.

  “Rohan?” Asha turned wide, concerned eyes on him.

  “Help him,” Drio snarled at me.

  Rohan dropped to the ground, spasming. A cry tore from his throat.

  I fell to my knees, wrapping him in healing magic and murmuring that I was here. That I loved him.

  Rohan continued to convulse. His eyes rolled back, showing the whites.

  In a blur of motion, Drio grabbed Asha, punching her over and over again, yelling, “Take off her face!”

  He shattered her nose; he broke her teeth. He attempted to decimate the illusion with a savagery that stole my breath. God help us if this was her.

  Asha’s tears mixed with her blood, her ruined face a pulpy mess.

  Ro seized up, his throat muscles contracting but no air getting in. His lips turned blue and the hair on his body charred.

  Drio didn’t stop, his knuckles split and bloody.

  I let out a sob, for Rohan and Drio, both. I was surrounded by violence and death, rocketing toward an ineffable tragedy. I scrubbed my hands over my face. Think. If healing didn’t fix Ro, maybe brute force would. I changed my magic and shocked the shit out of him.

  My electric magic hit Rohan so hard that he bucked off the ground, landing with a thud. He fell still and for one breath, my world crashed down around me. Then dark magic flared bright, rose into the air off of his body, and harmlessly dissipated.

  Rohan’s eyes snapped open, clear and steady gold with no hint of shadows. I felt like I could breathe again for the first time in months.

  But I didn’t get much of a respite as bone crunched and the side of Asha’s head caved in.

  “Rohan, help him,” I pleaded.

  He grabbed Drio who was chanting “die,” and flung him off of her.

  Drio was so lost to the violence, he kept punching, hitting air.

  Rohan knelt over Asha, curled up and limp on the floor. He ran a hand tenderly over her mangled skull.

  Then with a roar, he sliced her open, death by a thousand cuts.

  I was transfixed, helpless, my hand over my mouth, the only sound the wet cut of flesh and Rohan’s breath coming in harsh pants.

  Asha neither moved nor breathed nor reverted to a demon form.

  She should have reverted to demon form.

  Drio scooted over on his knees. He reached for her with a bloody, trembling hand, his expression broken. “No.”

  “Asha?” Rohan bent over her.

  Drio and Rohan stared at her with an anguish so complete, it had smashed into them like a car hitting a brick wall at full speed. Shells of the men they’d been moments before.

  A burbled laugh came out of Asha’s body. She threw them off, transforming into her demon form. This wasn’t the unhinged, half-demon/half-human wreck I’d last seen. She radiated power, strong, whole, and uninjured.

  Hybris daintily licked a speck of blood off from the corner of her thick red lips, with one obsidian-black, scaly, webbed finger. Translucent black wings were folded into her side. “Oh, that was good. I mean, your faces were priceless. Thinking you were avenging her. Delicious.” She shivered and gave them a cruel smile. “Thanks, boys. I needed that infusion. All better now.”

  She saluted us and was gone.

  Drio remained on his knees, covered in blood and viscera. Rohan stared blankly at his own bloodied blades.

  I backed out of the space behind the shelving unit and, hurrying back to the poor man who Hybris had so brutally killed, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

  Josip Markovic.

  Hybris had murdered the premier authority on the Ring of Solomon. She must have learned that as a demon she couldn’t use the ring. My heart ached for the poor man.

  Drio flashed out, leaving Rohan and me to handle the situation as best we could. Rohan helped me bring the unfamiliar Rasha to our contact at the crematorium in Vancouver and we burned his body, before returning to the store in Dubrovnik where we set the retail section to rights.

  Rohan thanked me for ridding him of the dark magic. “It’s finally gone,” he said.

  Given that he was still half-catatonic from what had just gone down, the magic may physically have been dealt with but the emotional darkness in him still needed healing.

  Though who was I to talk? I was stuck in auto-replay of Rohan seizing and Asha’s skull caving in, a scream wedged in my throat.

  With my elimination magic, I cleaned up the blood and gore in the basement, then I magically welded Dr. Markovic’s head back on. I clamped my lips together because the scream now threatened to come out and once it did, I wasn’t sure it would stop.

  I took a steadying breath. “Does it look like a heart attack?”

  “I think so.” Rohan closed Dr. Markovic’s eyes.

  “Ujak?” Footsteps clattered down the stairs. “Uncle, I’m back. Thank you for clos
ing up for me tonight.”

  Rohan and I portalled out, but not before I heard the nephew’s cry of distress.

  The next three days were a mess.

  I longed to talk to someone about what had happened, but even if Leo hadn’t gone with her mom to Toronto for a cousin’s wedding, I couldn’t have told her. I didn’t even discuss it with Ari. Drio’s actions, Ro’s actions, weren’t mine to share with anyone.

  Well, almost anyone.

  “Hi, Esther.” I put a rock on the grassy plot that I’d been directed to at the Vancouver Jewish cemetery. “I miss you and I could really use your advice.”

  I sat down on soft, green lawn. “Drio’s M.I.A. Ro is obsessed with finding Hybris to the point of not sleeping, though physically he seems himself again so taking that as one small mercy. The other Rasha are still imprisoned, Mandelbaum might have captured the rabbis for himself, and I had to break the news of Josip’s death to my mom.” I fiddled with a stem of grass. “Raquel’s assured me there’s no change in the rift. She ran into Sienna’s bunch there and entered into an unspoken, wary truce, but they’re unable to seal it, even working together. Which is more than she’s done with the Rasha. Raquel keeps brushing me off, saying things are delicate in the witch community right now and the timing isn’t right to meet with the hunters.”

  I paused, but there was no answer from the great beyond.

  “None of the books at Demon Club have provided any insights on how to stop Satan, and Malik is refusing me entry to his apartment to work on the plan. Then there’s the ring which no one has found yet, but I have to find first so the rabbi can’t control Gog and Magog. My dreams are this fucked up mix of fire and rape and being strapped down on that table, and my magic healing is a dud where these stupid headaches are concerned but I’m scared to let anyone else into my head, even to try and heal me, and no matter how much essential oil I inhale, I can’t get rid of the smell of Ro’s scorched flesh and Asha’s blood…”

  I flung the stem of grass away. “I’m losing my shit.”

  “No kidding.”

  I scrambled to my feet. “Rivka.”

  As elegant as Esther had been prickly, Rivka was as put together as always. Her brown leather shoes were shiny with polish, her white hair was pulled into a sleek bun, and her button-down shirt was ironed in immaculate pleats, but there was a pall of sadness over it all.

  I gave her the bouquet I’d bought her. “Thank you for taking care of my parents. It’s a relief not to worry about their safety on top of everything.”

  “They’re nice people. And my garden has never looked better. Shana is earning her keep.” She sniffed the tiger lilies wrapped in colorful paper. “I always suspected my sister was a touch psychic. As a scientist, she scoffed at the idea.” She dug into her brown clutch and pulled out a familiar silver lighter with a scorched corner and “EG” engraved on it. She tossed it to me. “Here. Happy inheritance.”

  “Thank you?”

  “This isn’t some Bic disposable. You know the Hanukkah story?”

  “I’m not that bad a Jew.” I flicked the lighter. Still worked. “The burning oil is a metaphor.”

  “No, it’s real. Witches have always been keepers of the flame. We supplied the Maccabees with the oil that burned in the First Temple for eight days and nights and allowed the rebels their victory. A small group of witches have tended this same magical batch of fire in one form or another throughout our history. It’s our vow that so long as we keep the fire alive we’ll keep the fight alive, be it against demons, human invaders, or a patriarchy determined to stamp us out. Esther was the last fire-tender and leader in the fight.” She tapped me on the shoulder as if with a wand. “Now, you are.”

  I waved my finger through the bottom of the flame, where it didn’t hurt. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “The flame burns brightest in the darkest night.”

  “That’s suitably cryptic.”

  Rivka laughed. “Blame Esther. That was the specific answer I was supposed to give you.”

  My luck, I’d end up on fire. I had this inheritance, but I still didn’t have answers, and the clock ticked down to Rosh Hashanah on September 18.

  As frustrating as this limbo was, I’d wish I’d appreciated the calm. Little did I know I’d have to survive the Night of Fog and Monsters.

  13

  Tuesday, August 22 started with a call from my mother insisting I have brunch with her at the IHOP located at the mall near Rivka’s house. This was wrong for several reasons. First, my mother was a total foodie, so hearing her say “IHOP” was like hearing a nun say “fuck.” She shouldn’t have known that word. Second of all, my mother despised malls so even if she was suddenly embracing franchise pancakes, it wouldn’t happen there.

  The restaurant was packed. I wove past families with screaming toddlers, seniors arguing for meal substitutions, and a couple of wait staff bitching none-too-quietly by the kitchen.

  Mom sat at a back booth, a combo platter of eggs, sausage, biscuits, and gravy untouched in front of her.

  I slid in across from her. “Are you dying?”

  “Why would I be dying?”

  “We’re in an IHOP at a mall and you are eating…” I poked the puddle of gravy with a fork. “That. Something’s wrong.”

  She glanced around, then slid a matchbook over to me.

  The matchbook was a lurid purple with a photo of a woman in a nun’s habit and pasties. In purple script underneath was written “Heavenly Pleasure Gentleman’s Club.”

  I grabbed a paper napkin and scrubbed at a spot of syrup on the table. “If you and Dad need, uh, help with the uh, intimate parts of your—”

  “Nava. Really.”

  Relieved, I speared a sausage. Mmmmm. I pulled my mother’s plate to me and dug in. “Then what?”

  “It was in an envelope postmarked from Dubrovnik. Mailed eight days ago.”

  My fork clattered to the plate. “Was there anything else in it?”

  “No.”

  I studied the matchbook more closely. The club wasn’t in Croatia. It was here in Vancouver. On the inside front flap, the name “Kyle” was written in spidery blue ink.

  “I called the club,” she said. “Kyle has a shift tonight. He’s working the next few days.”

  “Look at you go, Nancy Drew.”

  “I have my talents.” Mom winked at me. “Your father certainly thinks so.”

  Kill me now. “Nope. Not talking about that ever.”

  After that mildly traumatizing meal, I secured promises from certain people to meet at Vancouver Demon Club through a combination of bribes, blackmail, and outright lying,

  Leo phoned me. “Has the apocalypse started yet?”

  “Still got time. How was your cousin’s wedding?”

  “Surprisingly tasteful, given they line-danced down the aisle to ‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie.’ Whatcha up to tonight?”

  I explained about the meeting.

  “I’m coming over.”

  “That is a bad idea on so many levels,” I said. “You can’t comfortably cross the wards.”

  “It’s a couple hours. I’ll deal. I have to live in this world too, and I’m tired of hiding. These people need to see me as a human first. Some of us are.”

  “Sure, but maybe you could do that one person at a time? Starting with very safe people at a meeting that isn’t already a powder keg?”

  She made a raspberry noise. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Then let me run something past you.” I outlined my proposition. “What do you think?”

  “Major Hendricks is on the case. Sir!” Leo hung up.

  “No, I did not lust after you for years.” Kane hauled a case of sparkling water into the library. “I’m five years older than you and that would have been creepy. Plus, you were geeky and annoying.”

  “Geeky and annoying until when?” Ari set the deli platter and box of buns on the table.

  “You assume that’s changed.”

/>   I clapped my hands. “Less cute, more setting out of food. Ace, there’s a couple of fruit platters in the trunk. Grab them please.”

  He saluted me.

  Kane ripped the plastic off the flat of individual sparkling water bottles. “What do you get for the boy who has me?”

  “Huh?”

  “Ari. Our one-month anniversary is coming up and I want to do something special. But he already gets me as his boyfriend, so how do I possibly top that?”

  “Give him the gift receipt that came with you.” Rohan set down the platter of cookies I’d sent him to buy.

  Kane flipped the plastic cover off and snagged a double chocolate chip cookie. “Hush, Ro-Ro. That callous disregard for love is why young babyslay is looking for better options.”

  Rohan stole the cookie and bit into it. “As if.”

  “He’s right, Kane,” I said. “It’s his massive arrogance that keeps me searching.” That last part ended in a shriek as Ro tackled me onto the sofa.

  “We’re still cuter,” Kane trilled and sashayed out of the room.

  I draped my arms around my boyfriend’s neck and kissed him. “Mmm. You taste like cookie.”

  He gave me the rest of the treat, which miraculously hadn’t broken into a million crumbs. “I can’t get that night out of my mind. I keep reliving that moment when I was certain Drio and I had brutally murdered Asha.”

  I sat up, licking chocolate off my finger. “But you didn’t. How’s her song going?”

  The few moments that Rohan wasn’t searching for Hybris, he’d spent on Asha’s song.

  “I’ve gone dark.”

  My pulse spiked. “No. I got that magic out of you.”

  He tapped his head. “Dark up here. When I was convulsing, lost to the shadows, and you shocked me? I saw a white light. I know that’s super cheeseball, but it was what it was. All my attempts at her song, I’ve been too scared to immerse myself in that darkness, that I’d get stuck there again. I’d forgotten that dark only exists in harmony with light, so I’m writing my way back to it.”

  All Rasha lived with some form of PTSD. With the horrors we saw, there was no way around it. But the scars of the past few weeks were different. We’d deal and find a way to approximate a normal life, because there wasn’t any other option, but I wondered if this scar tissue would ever truly scab over, or if it was something we’d take great pains to never examine too closely, trying to fool ourselves into thinking that if we didn’t look at it, then it wasn’t possibly as horrific as we remembered.