Dr. Autumn Kelly polished off the grilled tomatoes stacked in a pile to one side of her eggs. “You know there are Catholic clergymen who are also scientists and have made great contributions, right? It’s about seeking answers. I’m simply taking a two-pronged approach to it. Science and spirituality are compatible.”
Right and wrong had always been very black-and-white. It was like math: you either got the correct answer or you didn’t. But the more I studied crime and motives, the more opaque the truth proved to be. Maybe Autumn had a point. I’d hold out for more evidence on the spirituality front, but I could at least respect where she was coming from.
“I apologize. I was an asshole, and I’m genuinely sorry for being snarky about something important to you. Also, I need your help.”
Autumn wiped her mouth with her paper napkin. “Do a one-card reading.”
“A what now?” The toast was both burned and cold, dotted with knobs of butter. I muscled the culinary marvel down anyway.
She set her bulky cloth purse on the bar top and pulled out a silk-wrapped deck of cards. “Think of a question and then select a card to receive guidance.”
“May I say, in the most respectful way possible, that I don’t believe in any of this, and this reading would be wasted on me?” The toast reformed into a congealed lump in my stomach. Carbs had never been so challenging to digest.
“Well, if you don’t want to broaden your horizons, I have places to be.” Autumn reached for her purse, but I stopped her.
“I’ll do it.”
“Excellent.” She unwrapped the deck and shuffled it. “If you want to be all sciencey about it–”
“Eight years of med school and you get ‘sciencey?’” I chugged back some of my drink, but only got halfway through the glass. Juice wasn’t supposed to burn like cheap booze.
“Jung believed that tarot cards were doorways to the unconscious. That, among other benefits, by using these psychological symbols, a person could find a path through their unconscious mind into the meaning of a situation.” She fanned the cards out on their silk wrapping. “Pick a card,” she said, once they were all laid out.
“Any card.” I reached out but she stopped me with her hand over mine.
“Wait. First fix the question in your head. Then use your left hand to select the card. It’s more connected to your unconscious mind.”
Is there an Angel of Death? was the first question that came to mind, but she said this was about guidance so I came up with something more personal.
What lies ahead as a Jezebel?
I selected a card and flipped it over. “My answer is a stylized tree painting?”
“In this deck, trees embody the mythic ideas of the tarot. More interestingly, this is a Major Arcana card.” She narrowed her eyes. “This question of yours has great importance in your life, doesn’t it?”
I swirled the juice in my glass, searching for non-existent pulp like it was the Fountain of Youth. “It’s a casual curiosity.”
“You chose the almond tree, which symbolizes the Magician or Magus. You know what a Magus is?”
“A wizard?”
“The word originated in Persia around 520 BCE. Magi were men, predominantly alchemists and astronomers, who transformed chaos into order. Back then, that involved creating maps by tracking stars and planets and using the sun and moon to tell time.”
“I’m transforming chaos into order?”
“Aren’t you a detective?” She smiled wryly. “It’s definitely about transformation and manifestation. Change isn’t easy, but you have resources. Both your own intuition and possibly someone who helps bring it about.”
I could live with my own intuition, what bothered me was this sounded too much like a destiny I had to fulfill. A random magical fate wasn’t my calling: private investigator was.
“I’m not sure if this broadened my horizons or narrowed them,” I said dryly.
Autumn wrapped the cards back up and replaced them in her purse. “Fair is fair. What did you want to know about angels?”
“You believe they exist, right?”
“Yes and no. I don’t think beings with white wings and halos are floating around out there. They’re not physical; they’re spiritual. A higher life force that we can connect to in order to lift us up and guide us.”
Too bad. That would have narrowed down the suspect list.
“Do you think the conventional type of angel could exist?” I said.
She motioned for the bill. “I think that people seek spiritual connections and might believe they’ve seen an angel, but if they existed in physical form, as beings of pure good, they should have given our world some damn miracles lately.”
I paid for both of us, in exchange for the information and repairing the breach where I’d tactlessly brushed off her beliefs. “It’s the least I can do.”
Autumn thanked me and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Why the sudden interest?”
I’d have loved to see Autumn’s face if I told her about the feather, but professional discretion forbade sharing my client’s details. “Curious if an Angel of Death really exists and would come after someone.”
“If he did, you’d have to ask what the poor schmuck did to piss off God. According to a number of religions, angels are His tool.”
“What about mass hallucinations? Like lots of people seeing UFOs?”
“There’s no scientific basis for the idea. There’s mass hysteria, but that applies to people having an overwrought or deluded belief, like they have a disease. To take the UFO example, those reports are from a few people across a large sample of the population. No reports of group sightings that couldn’t be explained by lights or weather phenomena.”
“But group sightings could be explained by Houdini magic.” Nefesh with illusion powers.
“Sure.” Autumn slid off the stool. “See you and Priya at karaoke next week?”
“I think so. Thanks, Autumn. And sorry again for being a dick.”
“Yeah, well, sorry I insulted the love of your life.” With a wink, she left.
I could do worse than Sherlock Holmes.
Surprisingly, Autumn had helped because I could strike off mass hallucination. That still left me with an actual Angel of Death (doubtful) or a person pretending to be one or fabricating one, and either way, it all came down to motive.
And that feather.
Back at Moriarty, I logged in to the House Pacifica database on my phone, using my professional 100% legitimate account (which His Lordship had made me pay for), and ran a search on all Nefesh with illusion magic located in the Greater Vancouver area. Nefesh magic was ranked on a scale from one to five. While any Houdini with lower level powers could make themselves or another person look like an angel, having that angel fly up into the sky and then having multiple people buy it took more control and finesse of their abilities, so I limited my search to those with level four or five powers.
There was exactly one person who fit the criteria: Levi Montefiore, Head of House Pacifica, one of only three Houses in Canada, whose rule extended from the west coast all the way to the Ontario border.
The well-being of his Nefesh would always come first with him, no matter who he had to run roughshod over. That attitude made him a great leader–as long as you were one of the people he was determined to protect.
I logged out of the database. How far would Levi go to protect his House and his Nefesh community, if Omar had crossed him? The more I thought about it, the more it felt like poking a toothache with my tongue–a dull aching pain that grew worse each time I revisited it. I had to remain objective about this and, until this was resolved, recuse myself from the sexual component of our relationship. Levi was potentially involved in this case and as such would be treated the same as any other suspect.
I opened my phone to change his contact name from Imperious 1 to simply Levi Montefiore, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Levi required special handling and–I wrenched my mind away from that totall
y inappropriate rabbit hole. Fine. The snarky nickname could stay, but naked time was off the table. I took a moment to thoroughly objectify him in my mind’s eye, then moved on.
A point towards Levi’s innocence was that since Omar was from Egypt, his attacker might be as well. Though Levi did a fair bit of traveling, meeting with other House Heads across the globe. For all I knew, he had a favorite hotel in Cairo and a bartender with whom he was on a first name basis in some bar down a back alley souk.
A reminder chimed on my phone to call my mother, derailing my thoughts about Levi. Talia had been avoiding me, worried that I’d try to force my “delusion” of having magic on her once again. She’d even instructed the concierge at her high priced condo to tell me she was out, no matter what time I dropped by. I wasn’t encouraged to stay and wait.
She no longer phoned to corral me into all the Untainted Party fundraisers or to check in on me and harp on my life choices. I didn’t like that part of our relationship, but now I kind of missed it.
Well, too bad. My one remaining family member did not get to ghost me.
The call I placed went to voicemail. Again.
“We need to talk,” I said. “Don’t shut me out. Please.”
One return call. One text. I just needed an opening. I’d handled things poorly the first time, but I’d still been reeling from the shock of having magic. Expecting her to believe me without proof had been a grave mistake. Talia was very rational, not to mention the Senior Policy Advisor to an anti-Nefesh party. Of course she doubted my story when I hadn’t been born with magic.
However, once I demonstrated my enhanced strength, honestly the least traumatizing of my powers, she’d have to admit I had magic. Seeing was believing, after all. If she was mad at me for dropping this bombshell on her, I’d remind her that our rule since my car accident and Dad’s disappearance–the rule she’d insisted on–was “No Lies. No Games.” If anything had come out of our therapy after the crash, it was the importance of honesty in our relationship.
I’d prepared myself for a very difficult conversation and for things between us to be dicey for a bit, but getting through hard shit was kind of our jam. All would work out in the end. She might not leave her position in the Untainted Party, but she’d stop the dangerous direction of its messaging.
Wouldn’t she?
She had to. I was her flesh and blood, and that had to matter more than this prejudice.
Since the ball was in her court, I drove across town to a pawn shop on the Downtown Eastside, not far from my office in Gastown. The locations, however, were worlds apart. Gastown, one of Vancouver’s oldest neighborhoods that had been heavily gentrified over the past twenty years, boasted cobblestone streets, heritage buildings from the end of the nineteenth century, and a fuckton of tourists buying everything from Indigenous art and Canada-themed clothing to maple syrup-infused food and tiny soapstone sculptures of bears.
These tourist traps nestled amongst hipster BBQ joints and cafés, designer boutiques, high-end furniture stores, and my favorite, the flagship Fluevog Shoes store. But they were only blocks away from some of the roughest poverty in Canada on Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside.
Freddo’s Buy & Sell sat in the middle of a war zone. The area was the heart of the fentanyl overdose crisis, the inhabitants of these few square blocks living in rundown single occupancy hotels and on the streets, their belongings piled high in shopping carts. Old books, T-shirts, DVDs–goods were laid out all over the garbage-strewn sidewalks, hawked by people desperate to make a buck.
So many people were addicted to drugs and alcohol down here that the city had lowered the speed limit so drivers had a chance to stop in time, what with all the people who weren’t entirely lucid jaywalking across this busy thoroughfare.
I pulled open the pawn shop door and sneezed at the years of must that hit me from all the glass cases stuffed full of personal items. It was a familiar sight but even my cold dead heart twisted at how often prized possessions were measured not in terms of sentimentality, but survival.
I rapped on a case to get the attention of some grizzled man watching screaming people on a tiny TV set.
“Yeah?” He didn’t bother to turn around, crinkling his bag of corn nuts as he reached for another handful.
“Freddo in?”
“Nah.” He crunched his nuts. I was tempted to do the same.
“Yo, Employee of the Year, I’m sure this baby daddy drama is scintillating, but I need to see Freddo and get an artifact checked out. When will he be back?”
He faced me with an aggrieved sigh, his fingers coated in BBQ dust. “Try back tomorrow.”
“Morning? Afternoon?” Nothing. He’d been sucked back into the idiot box. “Thanks for going above and beyond, dude.”
Back at Moriarty, I leaned against my car, debating my next move. The pouch was in a locked box that was bolted down inside my trunk, because Vancouver was notorious for vehicular B&Es, especially in Gastown. The locked box was a handy addition I’d made to secure evidence about a year ago. I planned to transfer the feather over to my office safe, but it was perfectly fine for a while longer.
I could check on it. I’d fit the key into the trunk lock before I’d completed the thought. Kicking Moriarty’s tires didn’t silence the damn song in my head nudging me to take one little lick of the feather’s magic, but I got my ass into the driver’s seat without giving in.
My day had been short on concrete facts, but hopefully I could strike one suspect off my list. Time for Imperious 1 to pony up.
Chapter 4
I called Levi, but the call went straight to voicemail. Despite Priya’s crazy tech skills, we’d never managed to get tracking software on him.
I’d have to make a House call.
Stuck at a red light by the plaza at the Vancouver Art Gallery, a common gathering space for protests, I drummed my fingers as a crowd chanted in favor of the dissolution of all Houses in Canada.
From day one, the Untainted Party had hit the ground running, stirring up anti-magic sentiment. They’d moved to next level antics by attempting to disassemble House Pacifica, the only one in their province, and put those Nefesh firmly under the thumbs of Mundanes. Even though Nefesh paid taxes for House resources and protection, had to register in a database, and follow all our nation’s laws, certain Mundanes hated that Houses controlled the policing and education of their own people, among other things. Houses were also politically powerful enough to mitigate the extent to which Mundanes could spread slanderous disinformation about them.
Had you asked me a month ago, I would have shrugged and said that the system worked. We registered cars, we registered guns, it made sense to register magic. I prided myself on being inclusive when it came to gender and racial equality and LGBTQ rights, and yet, it never occurred to me how being constantly identified as Other put Nefesh, who only made up about ten percent of the world’s population, in a state of constant marginalization despite their powers.
Kind of ironic when my own Jewish history was littered with the devastating consequences of being “Other.” But like I’d said, our world ran on power, and growing up Mundane, it was easy to feel like we were the second-class citizens. Inferior somehow. That Nefesh were the special ones, the ones with the literal power. I didn’t condone the actions of the Untainted Party and their supporters, but I could empathize with their position.
The groundswell to do away with Houses was only at the provincial level thus far, though if the spark caught, it could easily go federal, turning Canada into a draconian police state for anyone unlucky enough to possess magic. This wasn’t paranoia; it was the pattern in countries that oppressed Nefesh.
My mother was doing a bang-up job drafting the legislation behind the bill they intended to bring forward.
A long metal winged serpent hazed the crowd and screams erupted.
Four guys standing on the corner yelled back at the anti-Nefesh protesters. The tallest one, in a dusty top hat with one of those stupid
under-the-chin beards with beads threaded through it, waved his arms, controlling the swooping serpent. An Animator.
Once they’d herded the crowd into a tight circle, another member of their group flicked his fingers to the sky, then pulled sharply downward. An extremely localized rain storm drenched the Mundanes.
Police wearing both Mundane and Nefesh uniforms rushed onto the plaza as the light turned green.
The Untainted Party needed some remedial Kindergarten-level lessons in inclusivity, but the need for power, for control, was a powerful, primal urge.
I was betting on Talia’s love for me to outweigh that.
The confrontation grew smaller in my rearview mirror, until I turned into the House Pacifica underground garage and it was lost to view.
House HQ was located in the middle of downtown on some of Vancouver’s priciest real estate. Shaped like an “S” laying on its side, the seven-story glass building had an enigmatic quality to it–much like the man who ran it. The glass caught and reflected the light in a way that made the color of the building ever-changing.
Today it was the same deep blue as Levi’s eyes. I snickered. Maybe the building was a giant mood ring, keyed to Levi’s state of mind. Could I turn it “head-exploding red?” “Broke him permanently black?” How fun it would be to test.
Parking Moriarty on the level designated for guests, I debated changing out of my burned clothing, but decided against it. I liked the jaunty “tangled with danger and won” look that it conferred upon me.
After a quick stop at a kiosk outside, I headed up.
The first two levels of HQ held the central Nefesh police department, with cells that I was all too familiar with located in the basement. The next four floors were devoted to various House affairs.
The seventh floor, my destination, was home to the executive staff and His Lordship’s office, which was guarded by Veronica, Levi’s pet dragon. Or Executive Assistant, if you wanted to be technical about it.
I strode over richly polished wooden floor planks, taking a moment to enjoy the panoramic view out the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the Vancouver skyline to the water and North Shore Mountains. I may have grown up here, but I hoped I never became blasé to my city’s beauty.
Death & Desire: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Detective Series (The Jezebel Files Book 2) Page 4
