Blood & Ash E-Book

Deborah Wilde

• Herausgeber: Te Da Media
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

"Wilde combines hardboiled noir and Jewish folklore in this action-packed, perfectly paced paranormal romp… This giddy, sexy series launch is a delight.” - Publishers Weekly (starred review)

Missing teens. Impossible magic. And the sexy nemesis who might drive her to murder.

Ashira Cohen takes great pride in the detective agency she’s built from scratch. It may be small, but she harbors big dreams of becoming a renowned sleuth.

Thing is, a modern-day Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t let her stakeout go sideways.

Or find a mysterious tattoo hidden on her scalp.

Or discover it’s a now-broken ward that was suppressing dangerous magic she had no idea she possessed.

Don’t even get her started on the golem.

The only bright spot is that her new unruly powers nearly kill her long-time nemesis, Levi, the irritatingly hot leader of the magic community. No, right… that’s a bad thing.

One word from him revealing her forbidden abilities and she’ll be locked up for life, with everything she’s built taken from her by force. Definitely a bad thing.

Except…

It seems Levi requires her unique set of skills to solve a spree of abductions.

This is her shot. Sure, there’s a sinister supernatural organization pulling strings from the shadows, but Ash is positive she can rescue the captives, uncover the truth, and take her career to a new level.

Plus, after years of being underestimated by Levi, it’s Ash’s chance at payback. And she’s going to relish bringing him to his knees.

If you like headstrong heroines, clever mysteries, and a dash of red-hot romance, you’ll burn through this wickedly funny series.

Binge the complete series now!

Leseprobe

BLOOD & ASH

A Snarky Urban Fantasy Detective Series

DEBORAH WILDE

Contents

Be Part of the Magic—Join Us Now!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Sneak Peek of Death & Desire

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Be Part of the Magic—Join Us Now!

Bestselling author Deborah Wilde presents a razor-sharp urban fantasy packed with:

• A fiercely clever private investigator whose snark could cut diamonds.

• A richly woven world of hidden magic, danger, and secrets waiting to unravel.

• Twists, mysteries, and the kind of laugh-out-loud humor that keeps you hooked.

BLOOD & ASH is the first book in The Jezebel Files series.

Deborah has a chatty newsletter where she shares what’s warming her cold, dead heart, gives sneak peeks and insider information, and holds giveaways.

Join the Wilde Ones today!

Chapter1

There was nothing like sitting in a shitty car with a broken heater covertly filming a teenager for cash to make me question my life choices.

My target, Charlotte Rose Scott, had taffy blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a manic enthusiasm that made me want to slip her an Ambien.

Not that I’d waste one on a child.

Her can-do spirit was currently being applied to a bit of breaking and entering. The sixteen-year-old had tried every point of entry on the ground floor of this weathered Craftsman house that was thirty-two blocks and worlds away from her own home. She’d graduated from tugging on the windows’ security bars to wobbling her way up a bare trellis to the second-story balcony.

Good to know all those gymnastics and dance classes of hers had a practical application. It was so hard to make it in the arts, but crime was always a growth industry.

I slapped another memory card into my Handycam, absently rubbing my right thigh. I’d been sitting out here in the damp cold for too long, exacerbating the dull ache from the rods holding my femur together, so I grabbed the Costco-sized bottle of Tylenol that I’d tossed on the passenger seat and dry-swallowed a couple of pills.

She wrenched on the sliding door handle and I winced. Leave a few more fingerprints, why don’t you? If it wouldn’t completely compromise my case, I’d show her how to break in myself and put us both out of our misery.

I zoomed in, ready to capture C.R. living her best truth. Or better yet, get some answers. Come on, you little adolescent fiend. Why the uncharacteristic foray into robbery? You’d even blown off piano lessons for this and you thrived in your overscheduled teenage existence.

What was I missing?

Denied entry, she shimmied back down the trellis to run at the solid back door. When she bounced off it with a yelp, only one of us was surprised.

Spare me from amateurs.

I dug my buzzing phone out of my hip pocket. My best friend and part-time employee, Priya Khatri, had come through with the land title search on this property. I frowned at the text, trying to place the homeowner’s name. Oh, fuck balls. I wasn’t being paid to save Charlotte Rose from making a really stupid mistake.

This was not my problem.

Charlotte Rose rubbed her elbow, red from where she’d smacked into the door, and bit her lip, eyes watery.

Grumbling, I turned off the camera and got out of Moriarty, also known as my car, using both hands to swing my poor stiff leg onto the concrete. Tucking my fingers into the armpits of my battered leather jacket, my breath misting the air, I limped over to the tiny backyard of the crime spree in progress.

“Yo, Cat Burglar Barbie,” I called out. “The jig is up!”

She froze for a second and then vanished into thin air.

I blinked, gaping at the empty space. “Charlotte Rose Scott, you get your butt back here this second and explain yourself, because you are not supposed to have magic!”

I’d done my due diligence before taking this case. Verified that she was a Mundane. No powers. Zero. Nada.

Except, apparently, she wasn’t. And now, thanks to this unpleasant and unforeseen magical development, I was about to get royally fucked by House Pacifica.

Charlotte Rose flickered back into view, just a fist with her middle finger extended. I mean, impressive control on invisibility magic, but what a little shit.

“Leave her alone!” Another girl about the same age, who spoke with a light musical accent, raced into the backyard. Her worn denim jacket had “Fuck the patriarchy” written in thick silver marker across the back and her dyed black hair showed the ragged edges of someone who’d cut it herself.

Interesting choice for a co-conspirator.

When Victoria Scott had hired me to spy on her kid who’d been “acting cagey” and therefore obviously had some drug habit, she’d casually sported a linen dress that cost more than my much-needed car repairs. We’d spent a grand total of twenty minutes together, all of them in her vanilla-scented Williams Sonoma kitchen with its neatly shelved cookbooks—written by obscure foodies—whose spines weren’t even cracked.

I’d bet anything that this wrong-side-of-the-tracks friend was not part of Victoria’s bourgie starter-pack vision of the good life.

“Stand down,” I told the new girl. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll tell Charlotte Rose to show herself.”

The newcomer called up a gust of wind and flung it at me.

I flew backwards, stumbling over a plastic Adirondack chair, and cracked my skull on the corner of the house so hard that I saw stars. My leg buckled briefly as I bounced off the wooden siding and staggered forward, choking on a hot rush of bile. Gritting my teeth, I touched a finger to the back of my head and came away with a wet, red smear.

Awesome. A pissy air elemental. Just what my day needed.

I found the tiny box stashed in my jacket pocket and pushed its single button. It produced a high-frequency sound barely within hearing range that made the newbie double over and caused Charlotte Rose to become visible once more, clapping her hands over her ears and moaning in pain.

I braced a hand against the bricks to combat my own dizziness. This admittedly illegal sonic weapon should not have affected me this way because I’d built up a tolerance.

Why, hel-lo concussion. On the upside, however lackluster the case had been to solve intellectually, I had solved it so at least I’d get paid. With C.R.’s true nature revealed, billable hours took a back seat to getting this kid home safely before she ended up with a juvie record, so I powered through the nausea and slapped a pair of cuffs on these criminal toddlers before they could regroup.

I dialed a number on my phone.

“It’s Ashira Cohen,” I said, when Victoria answered. “Tell your daughter she has permission to get in my car.”

Victoria stuttered out protests that she had no idea who I was or what I was talking about, but I cut her off with an exasperated huff. Not this again. Everyone thought they were so clever denying they’d hired a P.I. when things got tough. It didn’t work that way.

“Enough bullshit. If you want help getting out of the mess you’ve landed in with your unregistered Nefesh kid, then give the all-clear for me to drive her home.”

Victoria answered with a meek “okay.” Damn straight, you better comply.

Nowadays, most people preferred to hire private investigators who had magic, wanting the extra abilities that Nefesh brought to the table. I was the only female P.I. in town, very much outside the boys’ club of this industry, and a Mundane to boot. I’d worked my ass off to carve out a niche for myself and Victoria wasn’t going to jeopardize that.

I passed the phone to Charlotte Rose, who listened to her mother without comment, glaring at me the entire time. I held that gaze and raised her glower with an arched eyebrow. Snotty teens were the worst. I’d know.

C.R. handed me the cell and linked hands with her friend, the two of them edging closer together.

“I have rights,” the second girl howled, shaking the cuffs as if trying to blow them off.

“Nope,” I said. “You lost them under Statute 7.5, ‘demonstrating exceeding stupidity.’ And save your energy. Those puppies suppress magic.”

“You’re not a cop,” she countered. “You’d have identified yourself. And if you had magic you’d have used it. That means, you’re not Nefesh and you’re not allowed to have shit like this. Or use it on me.”

It’s true, the cuffs were totally a “fell off the back of a van” purchase, but a woman did what she had to. Just because I wasn’t allowed to work magic cases, that didn’t preclude supposedly Mundane ones from going sideways—like this one had. “Yeah? How would you know?”

“Television,” the girl said. “So what are you?”

I flashed her my P.I. license. “A real-life detective who knows what equipment she’s allowed to have far better than you.”

Charlotte Rose puffed out her chest. “I won’t let her hurt you, Meryem.”

“Aw. That’s… deluded.” I herded the girls to Moriarty, trying not to limp too badly. Never show those monsters weakness. Weirdly, I could still smell blood, as if it was gushing out of me like a waterfall. It wasn’t even that bad, kind of earthy and rich. I touched the back of my head. There was some matted in my dark waves, but the bleeding itself had stopped.

Meryem refused to get into my fine vehicle, holding her wrist pointedly against her chest once I’d uncuffed her as though I’d caused permanent nerve damage. “You gonna kidnap me?”

What a drama queen. “Much as I hate to deprive myself of your stellar company, no.”

“Then I can get myself home.”

“Mer—” Charlotte Rose sighed. “Be safe, okay?” She leaned in and gave Meryem a quick kiss.

Meryem blushed, scraping one of her raggedy high tops along the ground.

Even I, with my cold, dead heart, found their coupledom adorable.

“Here.” I fished out what was pretty close to my last forty bucks.

“Fuck you. I’m not a charity case,” Meryem said.

Maybe not, but she was in a jean jacket and had to be freezing in the miserable March weather. No way she had a good home to go to, if any at all. However, she was also prickly and if I was too nice—generally not an accusation thrown my way—she’d bolt.

“Consider it compensation for pain and suffering.” I shoved the bills at her.

They disappeared so fast into her pocket that I made a note to get this girl some help.

“Thanks,” she said, her eyes flickering uncertainly up to mine.

“Get lost before I change my mind.”

She squeezed C.R.’s hand and bolted.

I fumbled at the door handle because there seemed to be two of them, then sank gratefully into the driver’s seat, taking a couple of steadying breaths before I leaned over to unlock the passenger door, knocking the Tylenol bottle onto the floor.

C.R. got into the car, keeping her distance.

Using the rag that I kept to defog the windshield since the heater didn’t work, I wiped myself down because my hair was sweatily plastered to my neck. I ignored Charlotte Rose’s grimace that came with huffy sound effects.

Once I was dry-ish and reality had stabilized enough to drive safely-ish, I patted Moriarty’s dashboard twice and turned the key, whispering, “Who’s a good boy?” and praying this wasn’t the moment he died on me once and for all. Not like he hadn’t faked his death more than once. But he started with only the mildest choke.

Neither C.R. nor I spoke for the first half of the ride.

“You going to out me?” she said.

I braked at a red light and glanced over at her. The world swung sideways and I gripped the steering wheel tight until my equilibrium was restored.

C.R.’s words were sneered but her pupils were slightly dilated.

I slowly faced forward so as not to jiggle my brain. “Contrary to popular belief and genetics, I have a moral compass. It’s up to you to tell your mom about Meryem. So, why invisibility magic?”

“Mom used to play this game where she’d pull the blanket up over my eyes and say, ‘Where’s Charlotte Rose?’ Apparently, I went nuts for it.”

Uh-huh. Cute answer but there was more to it than that. While Nefesh were born with magic, the precise nature of it developed during childhood and was rooted in psychological primal drives.

The light turned green and I hit the gas, wincing at Moriarty’s jerky start. “And the attempted robbery?”

“I wasn’t going to steal anything,” she said hotly.

I let the silence grow.

It took her all of two blocks to break.

“It was my birth mother’s place,” she said. “I wanted to see…”

“What Darleen’s life was like without you?”

Charlotte Rose shrugged, a mess of emotions playing across her face that she tried to hide under a sullen disinterest. Then it hit her. “You knew? Is that why you stopped me?”

I made a smooth left. “Figured you didn’t want your big reunion to be from juvie.”

She crossed her arms and stared straight ahead.

Thankfully, it was a short drive from there, because by the time we pulled up to her large Tudor home with its pricy S.U.V. parked in the driveway, my skin felt two sizes too small, and the world’s worst itch had settled between my shoulder blades, exactly where I couldn’t reach.

This time, I met Victoria in her living room, decorated with that faux rustic charm involving unpainted wood, a chunky stone fireplace wafting out the scent of pine, and cutesy large prints with sayings like “Laugh. Live. Breathe.” that made me want to “Gag. Run. Drink.”

Victoria greeted me in a purple bamboo yoga number that would have been very comfortable to move in, except I doubted she did classes in full makeup, her blonde-streaked hair twisted in a chignon and large diamonds flashing in her ears.

Inner peace through Tiffany’s. Namaste, bitches.

“Charlotte Rose,” Victoria said. “What’s going on?”

“You hired her to spy on me?” C.R.’s glower at her mom should have incinerated her.

“I hired her because I was concerned that my daughter was a drug addict!” Victoria planted her hands on her hips and the two of them broke into a furious squabble.

I whistled loudly, pain flaring inside my skull. Eyes half-squinted shut, I massaged my temples. I could patch myself up with some aspirin and a good night’s sleep. Nothing to fear. “Your mom was worried. Suspicious and over-paranoid but worried. Charlotte Rose is not on drugs. Fight it out later.”

Victoria sat down on the sofa next to her daughter. “Then why has she been behaving this way?”

She’d hired me to get answers and I had them, but this was a delicate situation. “She was curious about her birth mother. It’s natural and isn’t any reflection on you.”

Victoria plucked at her sleeve.

“Mom?” Charlotte Rose reached out for Victoria and I braced myself for her mother’s hurt dismissal, but Victoria surprised me and took her daughter’s hand.

“I wish you had come to me first but I understand. When we adopted you, Darleen made it clear that if you wanted to meet her, she was open to it, but we need to do this properly, okay?”

“Okay.”

Victoria smiled at me and stood up. “Thank you. If you’d care to send your invoice⁠—”

“Sit. Down.”

She dropped like a stone onto the cushions.

I perched on the edge of a scratchy wing chair, hoping my casually braced elbow on the back didn’t look like the desperate support to remain upright that it was. “Victoria, I specifically asked you in our intake interview if you could think of any Nefesh connection that would prevent me from taking this assignment. I’m not legally allowed to handle cases involving magic.”

The law was asinine, supposedly “designed to protect Mundanes like me.” Right. Try more money in House coffers since all Nefesh paid taxes towards House resources and protection. But it was what it was and if House Pacifica found out, I’d be brutally fined, because they took this very seriously. I was already existing by the skin of my teeth. This would ruin me.

“Magic?” Victoria said, and flushed a faint pink.

I stared at her until her shoulders slumped.

“Her birth mother was from a good Mundane family and there was no father listed on her birth certificate,” Victoria said. “Nothing in the adoption showed that Charlotte Rose might be Nefesh through the birth father.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that part, since I investigated it thoroughly. However, you knew about Charlotte Rose and you kept it from me.” I practically threw my arm out of its socket trying to get at the itch but it remained maddeningly out of reach. “Why me? You could have gone to a Nefesh P.I.”

“I didn’t want them to suspect. And you were cheaper,” she admitted.

Slight as my accomplishments were, and my mother had written a treatise on that, they were mine and I was super proud of them. Maybe I didn’t have the interesting cases—yet—but a woman had to start somewhere and I was pulling this off on my terms. I’d get there.

I gave up on the itch and my anger. Victoria was not worth committing grievous bodily harm and losing everything. But man, it was close.

“Here’s my advice,” I said, catching myself before I did a slow slide off the chair and onto my ass. Okay, maybe my condition was a bit worse than presumed. “Take Charlotte Rose to House Pacifica and point her baby blues at them. Squeeze out a tear or two for good measure while you throw yourself on their mercy. Mom, you didn’t know. Kid, you were scared to lose the love of your adoptive parents.”

Charlotte Rose bit her lip, exchanging a glance with her mother.

“Hit the mark there, did I?” I said. “Let me guess. Dad has a few beliefs in common with the Untainted Party?” That explained the invisibility magic.

“How’d you know?” Victoria squeaked.

“I’m well versed on those people. They’re a pretty popular political affiliation around here.”

“I can’t tell him.” Charlotte Rose looked genuinely scared.

I softened my tone. “You don’t have a choice. If you don’t do it by tomorrow, I’ll have to because all people with magic must be registered with the House in their region. A fact you damn well know. But since it’ll be worse if I’m involved…” Mainly, for me. “It’s in your best interests to keep me out of it and pile on the remorse.”

“This feels really unsavory,” Victoria said. “There has to be another way.”

My dad’s voice rang out loud and clear in my head. There are two types of people in this world, Ash, my girl. Those who are marks and those who aren’t.

It had only taken me one harsh lesson to swear I’d never make that mistake again. Victoria had tried to play me. Operative word being “tried.”

“There isn’t,” I said. “Your kid is currently a Rogue. Fix it.”

Charlotte Rose surged up like a fury of Greek myth. “I’m not registering with the House. They experiment on people.”

Her voice hurt my ears. It was too loud, too grating.

“While I’m happy to think the worst of Levi Montefiore and House Pacifica…” I dabbed at the sweat on my brow. “They aren’t running some mad scientist lab. They’re legit, annoyingly so, and believe me, it’s much worse to be on their bad side than on the same team.”

My words sounded funny, all long and drawn out. Fuck. I was going to have to brave a hospital. Warning Victoria again to contact House Pacifica and reminding her that late payment on my bill was subject to interest, I made my excuses and stumbled out to Moriarty, whose headlights seemed to smirk evilly at me.

The drive to the closest Emergency Room was a blur. I pulled up to the entrance, tossed my keys at the attitude-laden valet in the fireman costume who totally wasn’t getting a tip, lurched inside, and collapsed, unconscious.

Chapter2

I woke up in a bed to a doctor taking my pulse.

“Hello. I’m Dr. Samuels.” She had coffee breath, one of her glasses lenses was smudged, and a half-opened package of Peanut Butter Cups peeked out of her doctor’s coat. Someone was on the late end of her shift.

I tried to sit up, but the world swirled around me in a kaleidoscope of trippy colors. It was a vast improvement on the gray perforated ceiling tiles and light blue curtain that separated my narrow bed from my neighbor’s. “Am I concussed?”

“I expect so since you lost consciousness. But I’m more concerned about your elevated heart rate and clammy skin. We need to do some tests.” She wrote down some notes on a chart that rested at the foot of the bed and promised to return soon.

As with all things medical, “soon” turned out to be relative.

It took a long time for the tests and the results and since the nurses kept coming around to make sure I stayed awake, I called Priya to keep me company and take my distress over being stuck here down several hundred notches.

She breezed in wearing her customary pink, her fingers adorned with gold rings and her custom-built laptop tucked under her arm, having been at one of the half dozen cafés she preferred to work in when I’d called. “Good job getting concussed, dumbass. And by a child. I despair.”

I shot her the finger.

Priya shrugged out of her jacket, flashing a glimpse of the gorgeous pink-and-black lotus flower tattoo on the inside of her right wrist that she’d gotten on her last family trip back to India to visit her grandparents. She tossed me a folded-up blanket. “Here. Erika gave me another one.”

“Thank you, Erika. Whoever that is.” I pushed my current blanket aside and snuggled into the warmth of its replacement, fresh from the heating closet.

“She’s the short, older nurse who’s checked on you three times?” Priya shook her head at my not having befriended everyone during my stay. Why this continued to astound her was beyond me.

“Of course. Erika. With the three budgies and the asthmatic husband. Or was that the asthmatic budgie and the three husbands?”

Priya’s stern look was blown by her unsuccessful attempt not to smile.

“Enough chitchat,” I said. “I need you to work your magic, Adler.” I’d nicknamed her that after both Irene Adler, the woman admired by Sherlock Holmes for her wit and cunning in the original stories who was one of the few people to have bested him, and Raven Adler, a brilliant and successful hacker.

“But of course, Holmes.” She flipped open her pink computer. Many a dude had underestimated Pri and her mad coder skills at their peril. Sparkly and girly she may have been, but she was also a ruthless genius.

Priya cracked her knuckles and set her fingers to the keyboard.

“Remove all traces of my search on the Scott family from the House Pacifica database.” I explained about Charlotte Rose’s hidden magic and how I didn’t want any links leading back to my involvement with them.

I rubbed my back against the pillow because I was still super itchy between my shoulder blades, but that made my head throb more. The tests had determined there was no bleeding in my skull and a nurse, not Erika, had given me some pain meds but they had yet to kick in.

“Speaking of House Pacifica…” Priya said.

“What now?” I tucked the blanket more tightly around my toes.

“You got an email.”

I waved at her to open it, having given up years ago on private passwords where she was concerned. “What missive from His Lordship this time?”

Priya barked a laugh. For a five-foot-ten stunner of Indo-Canadian heritage, with brown skin, a sleek black flapper bob, and green eyes, she laughed like an asthmatic donkey. She clicked on the email and read in a gruff voice.

“Dear Ms. Cohen,

It is truly an honor and a delight that you, a private investigator of some renown, take such an interest in our House database that you created a platinum-level profile to mine our resources. While getting hold of my credit card number to pay for the aforementioned account (Hello, Priya) was a nice touch, that constitutes fraud and theft and you have been shut down.

Out of respect for our longtime acquaintance, and the fact that it’s no fun trampling on the little people, I am generously willing to put aside all thoughts of prosecution. Should you wish to actually pay me, and may I clarify I mean in legal tender, not IOUs, eggs, or sexual favors, none of which hold any appeal, House Pacifica will, of course, be happy to review your application for a legitimate account.

Sincerely,

Levi Montefiore

Head, House Pacifica”

“He cc’d me on it.” Priya said. “I liked the shout-out.”

“That… Fraud? Sexual favors?” I jabbed a finger at the laptop as if I could reach through it and stab him. “He should be so lucky!”

“Weeeeelll.”

I gaped at my betraying bestie.

She shrugged. “You’ve been living like a Jewish nun. Which isn’t even a thing. Before you start doling out sexual favors to all and sundry⁠—”

“Yeah. Big plans to spread ’em wide like a seaside doxy.”

“You might want to get back on the horse and practice a few moves. Kai texted earlier. He and Aiden are wrapping early tonight.”

“I’m not sleeping with Aiden.”

Priya pursed her bubblegum pink lips. “He’s cute and he likes you for some reason, which is amazing since you don’t do more than grunt two words at him.”

“Why are you even dating Kai? He’s the human equivalent of Cheez Whiz.”

“He’s nice.”

No, he was safe and manageable and as their six-month anniversary was fast approaching, they’d soon break up with no hard feelings, like every single one of her relationships in the past couple years. The fact that she didn’t even get upset over this should have been a clue that she was dating the wrong guys. Hopefully, eventually she’d be ready to date the right one.

“He’s a peach.” I twisted around to present my back to her. “Scratch please.”

She groaned, but I invoked best friend hospital bed privileges and got my way.

I practically moaned at the relief.

“Give me one reason why you’re not into Aiden?” she said.

“He assumes his mouth is for talking. Left. Higher. Higher. Over. More. No, there. Ahhh.”

Priya stopped scratching. “You’re impossible.”

“Perfect. Let’s channel that into a response that will make Levi’s head explode.” I leaned back against the pillows. “Take a message.”

Her left eyebrow twitched; her desire to tell me to shove it since she wasn’t my secretary warred with her never letting anyone touch her laptop. “Dictate away. Just this once and only because you’re so pathetic.”

“Pathetic right now.”

She stared at me.

“Whatever.” I cleared my throat. “‘From the desk of Ashira Cohen, Cohen Investigations.’”

Priya dutifully took down my response.

Dear Exalted Leader,

(not mine thankfully)

Allow me to refresh your memory about the cocktail night fundraiser at Science World shortly after New Year’s that I was unfortunate enough to see you at. It’s hardly my fault that you have both an ugly competitive side and a shit throw and failed to beat me at the water ball toss. Owing me exactly $1537, you handed me your credit card and loftily told me to “go nuts and drink my boozy heart out.”

You always did have such a way with words, Mr. Montefiore. If you would care to check your credit card statement and your memory, you would recall that I never purchased said drinks. Instead, I told you that I wanted access to the House database and while you smirked like the condescending ass that you are, you did not specifically say no.

Thus, I transferred the balance of $1537 owed to me into setting up top-tier access to House Pacifica records, the total of which was $1200 for the year.

Please reinstate my account and remit the difference of $337 immediately to my office address. Interest will accrue on any outstanding amounts over thirty days.

Sincerely,

Ashira Cohen

“Is it too much to add ‘P.S. Bite me’?” I said.

“Take the high road,” Priya advised and hit send.

“That’s what playing by the rules gets me. Accusations of fraud and never letting me live down that egg thing from Camp Ruach.” I drank some lukewarm water that a nurse, Erika actually, had left for me. It was extremely unsatisfying so I gave up and used the straw to scratch my back. “About the search records?”

“Already deleted,” Priya said.

“You are a prize among women.”

The curtain around my bed was pulled back and Dr. Samuels stepped in. She consulted her chart, nodding hello at Priya. “It’s only a mild concussion and your other symptoms seem to be abating. How’s the head?”

I shrugged. “Better than it was. Though I’m still really itchy.”

She smiled at my straw back-scratcher. “I can prescribe you some cortisone cream. You were lucky. Had the angle of the blow been even slightly different, your condition would have been far more serious. I guess your God was looking out for you.”

“Huh?” I was the world’s most secular Jew. I mean, I ate BLTs on challah. Which, really, was the best bread to eat them on because the bit of sweetness from the challah went perfectly with the bite of the almost burned bacon. I stopped salivating and focused on her answer.

“The tattoo,” the doctor said. “Unusual, but you see all kinds of religious expression in my line of work.”

I lost my grip on the straw and it fell to the floor. “Hang on. What tattoo?”

“Your Star of David?” At my blank look, the doctor tapped a spot on the bottom right of her skull. Exactly where I’d been coshed. “Under your hair. We shaved a small patch to better examine the lump while you were unconscious.”

Reality cracked, dark tendrils of WTF rushing in to fill the gaps. I’d gotten bruises before without knowing how, but a tattoo? I’d never been blackout drunk, which limited the possibilities to either when I was a baby or when I was in the hospital at age thirteen.

The doctor stared at me like she was going to call a drug and alcohol rehab center if I couldn’t remember tattooing my head and even Priya looked alarmed.

I forced a laugh. “Oh, that one. The one that I got probably a year ago.”

Dr. Samuels frowned. “It’s a shame that the blow left a scar through it.”

“Real shame. However, I’m sure God will understand.” It seemed appropriate to punctuate that statement with something religious so I waved my hand in benediction. “Borei p’ri hagafen.”

I’d recited part of the Sabbath blessing for the wine, but it was the only suitably religious sounding line I could remember.

“Borei p’ri hagafen,” Dr. Samuels responded.

Priya let out a strangled cough, her shoulders shaking.

Now that we’d blessed each other with grapes…

“Can I go?”

Dr. Samuels scribbled something on a prescription pad. “Here’s a list of symptoms to watch out for. It’s highly unlikely any of these are going to present, but if they do call 911. Otherwise, take Tylenol for any headaches in the next little while.”

Then, assured that Priya would drive me home, she discharged me.

The curtain had barely fallen into place behind her before Priya moved onto my bed and shoved my long, dark brown hair out of the way. She whistled. “Odd choice for a tattoo. Why’d you get it?”

“I didn’t,” I hissed.

“Well, that’s weird and alarming. Hmm. If I had to pick a tattoo for you, this wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“You think? How big is it?”

“About an inch high. Black lines, no color.”

I twisted around to look at her, narrowing my eyes. “Out of curiosity, what kind of tattoo did you see me with, were I to have one?”

“Tramp stamp, baby. Something glittery and pretty for Big Daddy to look at when he’s spanking you.” She enthusiastically mimed the actions, dissolving into guffaws.

So inappropriate, but I cracked a smile at her ridiculousness anyway and she winked at me.

I probed the tattoo gingerly with a finger. “Travel, a rich and fulfilling professional career, discovering I have a patriarchal religious symbol branding me. Nope. Not one of my life goals. Though points for the Handmaid’s Tale vibe.”

Priya slid her laptop into its protective sleeve. “Who could have pulled this off?”

“I dunno. My parents? But why? It’s not like they were religious. Or totally batshit crazy because what the hell?”

“Your grandparents were super Orthodox.”

“Yeah, and Talia was scarred from it. She wouldn’t have put a Magen David on me.”

“What about your dad? To shine good favor from the Almighty on his cons?”

“That seems farfetched, even for him.” I folded up the two hospital blankets that I’d used. “I really hope it wasn’t Dr. Zhang. Tattooing an unconscious kid seems like a serious contravention of the Hippocratic Oath.”

“Maybe it was some kind of marker and you narrowly missed having your organs harvested for a black market ring,” Priya said.

“Yup. We Jews have prime resale value on kidneys and livers.” Motioning for Priya to turn around, I dumped the ugly, breezy hospital gown, threw on my faded jeans and purple sweater, grabbed my leather jacket, and headed out to Moriarty.

There was an aluminum foil-wrapped tray on the passenger seat and my car smelled like cinnamon buns, which was a vast improvement on the stale “new car smell” air freshener dangling from my rearview mirror.

“This is creepy,” I said. “Tattoos, mysterious pastry, what’s next?”

“Pity buns from Mummy. She drove me here.” Priya pulled out her personal set of my car keys and got into the driver’s seat.

I adored Priya’s mother Geeta, who was an amazing cook and often sent pity food home for me. “In that case, I’m not sharing.”

“You will.” She turned the key without even doing the superstitious double pat and whisper and Moriarty hummed to life. The slutty bastard. “Or good luck guessing all your new passwords.”

I unwrapped the foil, broke off a piece of cinnamon bun and held it out to her.

Priya popped it into her mouth then pulled out into traffic on West Broadway.

How had my day gone so wrong that being lied to by a client who might cost me my business was not the low point?

“You going to keep it?” Priya said.

“No, I’m going to find it a good home with two parents who’ll love it and give it the life I couldn’t.”

She slammed on the brakes to avoid an idiot jaywalker, flinging her arm protectively across me.

My head bounced off the seat. “Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

“Obviously, I'm removing this damn tattoo at the first possible opportunity.” Growing up with a dad who twisted the truth to his own ends and couldn’t even go to the grocery store without getting something out of someone, even a smile, left me with zero tolerance for people trying to pull a fast one. Especially on me. So someone inking me without my knowledge or consent? Fuck that.

Knowledge was power and right now, I had a decided lack of both. I rested my head gingerly against the head rest. The back of my skull pounded like a bitch but there was no vertigo.

Rain pattered against the windshield and the wipers were a rhythmic hum, but Moriarty’s cold interior kept me from falling into a sleepy daze. At least the tray was nice and warm on my lap.

Priya fiddled with the radio dial, turning up the volume as she launched into “Shoop” by Salt-N-Pepa. She nudged me with her elbow until I joined in, the two of us rapping our little hearts out, busting out the moves we’d made up to go with it. It was our happy song and I was helpless to resist.

Singing away, we hit our Commercial Drive neighborhood. While still branded as Little Italy with its banners hanging from the streetlights and crosswalks decorated in red, white, and green, its population was actually far more diverse. After Canada opened its doors to a fresh wave of Nefesh refugees several years back, the area had become quite the magic hub. A lot of the newcomers were from the Middle East and Africa and preferred the mild weather out here to the rest of the country.

Priya braked at a red light, rapping along with Big Twan, while I stared out the window at the massive cherry tree in the yard at Green Thumb Nursery that was doing its hourly magic cycle through the four seasons in defiance of the actual weather. In contrast to all the other trees with bare branches lining the sidewalks, this cherry tree was transitioning from spring to summer, ablaze in sumptuous pink petals that were already falling gently to the ground to make way for green leaves.

Outside the store, one of the employees in a jacket with the Green Thumb logo silkscreened on the front wrestled a large ceramic planter into the back seat of a car. Its owner, a bald woman with multiple piercings, adjusted the front seat.

I’d seen the employee around before. He’d shaved the stupid hipster beard he usually wore but the real change to his appearance was the smudgy shadow flowing sluggishly out of him and into the woman that had depth and an oily viscous texture, pulsing with malevolence.

I started.

Beside me, Priya rapped away like nothing was wrong.

The woman broke into a coughing fit, some essential part of her seeming to fade, all while the employee cheerfully assisted her with her purchase.

I grabbed the handle, intending to roll down the window and yell some kind of warning, when the shadow paused its movement.

Neither completely free of the man nor fully possessing the woman, the weird ghostly creature swiveled as if seeking something out, then stretched a tentacle in my direction.

My skin prickled, iciness permeating my core, and I fought the urge to wrap my arms protectively around myself to keep my heat and my soul from being sucked out. Instead, I practically choked the handle to keep that window sealed tight.

Five seconds until the light turned green and we could get out of here.

I yawned, staring out the front window with feigned disinterest and keeping every ounce of tension out of my body.

The smudgy tentacle drew closer.

The rest of that shadow was now only attached to the Green Thumb employee by the thinnest of tethers, having gone mostly inside the bald woman. Black lines slithered along her hands and across her face, yet none of the pedestrians walking by noticed.

Oblivious, Priya sang the final chorus.

Two seconds.

Come on, green light!

The tentacle plastered against my side of the car, pushing on the glass.

My stomach roiled and I stuffed my shaking hands under my ass.

A tiny tendril of darkness seeped into the car…

And snapped backwards into the woman, whose features were momentarily obscured by the shadow, a dark wraith standing in the rain.

The smudge broke free of the man entirely. He clutched his heart, convulsed, and fell to the ground, his expression a vacant stare.

The shadow had possessed him, used him up, and discarded him.

The shadow had killed him.

It was now housed completely within the bald woman, though there was no sign of it on her person or in her behavior. Like any concerned citizen, she had already dialed 911, yelling about a heart attack, but it was too late.

Priya turned to look⁠—

The light turned green.

“Go!” I yelled.

Priya hit the gas and we moved on.

“What happened? Was that guy all right?” she said.

I couldn’t catch my breath. Just seeing that thing, I’d lost a tiny piece of myself.

“Hey. You’re pale and sweating again,” Priya said.

I wiped my brow with my sleeve. “Residual shit from the blow.”

Because that couldn’t have been real. But my shoulders didn’t crawl down from around my ears until we were within a couple blocks of home and the front window of Muffin Top came into view.

Priya and I automatically checked out the new display. They’d recreated the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party with vintage wooden painted dolls lining the table. Teapots magically hovered in mid-air in front of the guests, pouring piping hot tea into delicate china cups, while brightly iced cupcakes marched up and down the center of the table, and jam tarts in the shape of hearts swooped around the dolls. A giant Cheshire Cat smile faded in and out above it all.

There was a lineup out the door for the treats these earth elementals produced.

“Ooh, Beatriz’s jam tarts. She wasn’t sure she’d have time to make them because Miguel was running a fever the past few days.” Priya pulled into park in front of the low building that housed a funky art gallery, a Greek restaurant, and our apartment on the second floor. “Want me to come up?”

I checked the time on my phone. “Nah. You’re barely going to make it to your meeting as is. Take the car. And feel free to tell them that phoning you at 3AM because they had yet another brilliant change is not acceptable.”

For the past six months, Priya had been coding some major database thing for a local high-end restaurant group. It made her eyes glaze over only slightly less than mine but it paid the bills.

“I can’t burn that bridge,” she said.

“Who said anything about going scorched earth? I’m talking about setting some boundaries.”

“It’s fine. The project is almost over.” She’d said that two months ago. Priya wasn’t even supposed to be working for them this week, given the sixteen-hour days she’d pulled all last week.

“How’s Krishan doing?” I popped my seatbelt open. “I haven’t spoken to him in ages.”

Priya glared at my abrupt change in topic. Neither her dad nor her brother Krishan had been happy about Pri’s decision to leave a steady paycheck and benefits doing I.T. at a large insurance company and go freelance, but they were also fiercely protective of the baby of their family. Krishan, a lawyer, had sat me down when Pri started working for me with a list of employment conditions until Geeta stepped in and saved me from further harassment.

“Don’t you dare call him,” she said. “I already had to endure a lecture from Daddy that I wasn’t eating enough at our last family dinner. Krishan is worse. He’ll demand a log of all my working hours and a sleep journal.”

“Tough love, baby. Remember, your client needs you more than you need them.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She smooched my cheek. “Call if you need me.”

“Will do and thanks.” I gave her another half of a cinnamon bun. “Laters, Adler.”

“Laters, Holmes.”

Balancing the tray in one hand, I ducked out into the freezing rain that was sluicing down. My toes were numb and I sped up in anticipation of the lovely heat awaiting me inside.

“Ashira.” A fleshy red-faced man stepped out of the Greek restaurant to stand under its broad awning. The front window sported an Untainted Party decal of a fist squeezing a drop of blood. For a secular political party, they were impressively zealot.

“Vasilios.” My heart sank at the sight of the middle-aged owner and I fumbled my key into my building’s lock. The white metal door seemed dingier then usual and someone had kicked a dent into the corner. “In kind of a rush here.”

“Maybe you could talk to your mother? Put in a good word for me to cater the next Party fundraiser?”

Oh, Vasilios, oversized portions of lamb and roast potatoes did not possess the correct cachet, not to mention, way to gender stereotype.

I drew myself up to my full five-feet-eight inches and poured every ounce of disdain that I could into my voice. “You want me to ask Talia, a Senior Policy Adviser with the provincial Untainted Party, about catering?”

Just because I didn’t subscribe to the Party’s racist views (or whatever hatred of Nefesh was, since the argument over appropriate wording had been going on as long as the hatred itself) didn’t mean I’d stand for his sexist assumptions.

Vasilios stepped back. “No?”

I smiled thinly. “I didn’t think so.”

Unlocking the door, I climbed the long, narrow stairwell as fast as my poor leg allowed, darting glances over my shoulder as if that smudgy thing might suddenly loom up behind me. At least I was no longer greeted by the smell of vinegar and bleach now that my former neighbor, Mrs. Hamdi, had moved into an old-age home.

There were only two suites above the ground level storefronts and I hurriedly unlocked the door on the far side of the tiny landing.

The two-bedroom apartment that Priya and I shared had a weird layout, and only really got sunshine on one half, but it boasted original fir on the floors, windowsills, and doorframes, and was, most importantly, a vaguely affordable rental unit, which here in Vancouver was a rare commodity.

I double-bolted the front door, sidestepped the hurricane of Pri’s belongings scattered throughout the apartment to test that the windows were firmly locked, and only then toed out of my motorcycle boots, lining them up by my closet before collapsing on my neatly made bed. I let the warmth of my baseboard heaters seep into every icy part of me.

As it was mid-afternoon, my room had hit its darkest point. Later when I was trying to sleep, I’d be blinded by the security light on the building across the alley that made every night feel like an alien abduction and gave me some really interesting dreams. For now, I cocooned myself in the gloom, munching on cinnamon buns directly off the tray and cataloguing my possessions alphabetically: alarm clock, book, comforter, all the way to zipper, a self-soothing habit I’d fallen into in my youth.

Once I’d finished, I looked at the large tapestry entitled Paris in the Moonlight, that was made up of abstract geometric shapes suggesting the Eiffel Tower at night. It dominated the wall across from my bed. I’d inherited it from my grandparents along with a cream antique sofa with carved wood trim and tufted upholstery. Neither were at all my style, but they’d grown on me enough to move them with me when I’d finally left home.

My freak-out abated, I then, to paraphrase Sherlock Holmes, eliminated the impossible. Since it was doubtful that I suddenly had some great ability to see evil creatures that no one else did, I deduced the improbable: that the entire episode had been some weird post-concussion anomaly and all I’d witnessed was a plain old heart attack.

Solid ground firmly in place once more, I pulled out my phone and dialed. “Hey, Talia.”

“Ashira, are you getting ready?” My mother issued instructions to her assistant about what time to bring her car around.

Today was Friday which meant…

Oh, shit. The gala.

Talia’s years of maintaining a positive attitude with my Nefesh father’s schemes had abruptly evaporated the day he abandoned us. Adam Cohen had been a Charmer—literally possessing the magic ability to charm people—and when he’d left, she’d slotted magic firmly under the category of manipulative things she refused to buy into, like religion. She finished her law degree, joined the burgeoning Untainted Party, and quickly became one of its major players.

Her political career wasn’t due to some fervent belief in the purity of human blood so much as it was an expression of her frustration and bitterness with her marriage and a determination to make sure that “appropriate checks and balances were kept on magic.”

I understood her, I just didn’t agree. Shitty people were shitty people. Magic was irrelevant as a factor. Plenty of Mundanes were criminals or plain dicks.

Talia had been sending me weekly reminders of this gala, since all her colleagues would be in attendance with their families and I was expected to be the dutiful daughter for the cameras.