Death & Desire: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Detective Series (The Jezebel Files Book 2)

by Deborah Wilde

  I shrugged off the hollowness in my chest and got in my car alone. Business as usual.

  Chapter 5

  Moriarty remained on his best behavior and started immediately, so I braced myself for my tire belt to break or something. Calling Priya on speakerphone, I rested my phone in the cup holder, then headed for my office.

  “Hey, Adler,” I said. A computer genius, I’d nicknamed my BFF “Adler” after both Irene Adler, the woman who’d bested Sherlock Holmes, and the brilliant hacker Raven Adler.

  “Hey, Holmes,” she replied. “Good timing. I just got out of the meeting.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “Hang on.” She ordered a warmed-up cinnamon bun and a large chai, before checking in with the employee about how his daughter was enjoying camp with her school this week.

  I bemoaned people; Priya befriended them.

  “Are you at Higher Ground?” I peered through the windshield at the dark cloud that had suddenly obscured the sun.

  “I am.”

  “A treat, not a consolation, I hope?” I braked hard and hit my horn, flipping off the asshole who’d cut me off.

  “Big time treat.”

  For the past several months, Priya had been working freelance building a complicated database for a high-end restaurant group. Not only had they worked her overtime and then some with all their dithering and changes, they’d had the gall to mansplain coding to her.

  “I kept my happy face on while those douchenozzles did their debrief,” she said, “and now I am free!”

  The entire sky was darkening.

  “Are we having a solar eclipse?” I said.

  “No, dumbass. I really made it out of there without biting anyone’s head off. You may now heap upon me glorious praise.”

  I bit my lip. Priya thought I was joking, and the other drivers and pedestrians didn’t seem perturbed by the rapidly failing sun. I probed my head for any injury from my fight with Moran, but didn’t find anything. “Mazel tov on being a free agent once more. Did you get any dirt on the Tannouses or Dershowitzes?”

  Priya was also my part-time employee and I’d left her a note this morning to look into them before I’d set out, without going into specifics of the case.

  “Piece of cake. Ooh. I should have cake, too.”

  “You totally should. Bring me home a piece.”

  Part of West Georgia was shut down for a film shoot, so I zigzagged through the downtown streets until I could turn onto East Hastings and immediately came to a standstill in construction. I rolled down my window but other than the deepening night, everything sounded, looked, and smelled completely normal.

  “Eh,” she said. “What have you done to deserve cake?”

  “Grounded your naturally upbeat and open nature with my wary regard of the world since we were fifteen and kept you from being pulled into a serial killer’s sex van with promises of puppies and candy.” How was no one else seeing the world had gone dark?

  “But is that cake-worthy?” Priya snickered, sounding like an asthmatic braying donkey, which made me laugh, all too clearly picturing the stares that my gorgeous five-foot-ten friend was drawing with that horrific noise emanating from her.

  I flicked my headlights on high because it was as dark as midnight now, but the beams merely cast a sickly weak circle. People carried on normally around me and Priya gave no sign of witnessing unusual activity. If I wasn’t concussed, was I losing my grip on reality? This was not a good time to take a break from sanity, what with not wanting to commit vehicular manslaughter and the Queen expecting results.

  “I met Grandmother Tannous, the brother, and a cousin, but no parents of the vic.” I kept all traces of panic out of my voice, looking for a break in the orange traffic cones to pull over.

  “They were killed in a car accident a few years back. Drunk driver.” Priya swallowed her bite of cinnamon bun. “Tannous Security has a sterling reputation. They are very equal opportunity mercenaries. Sorry, high risk security specialists. They’ve done jobs for corporations, private citizens, and shady dictators.” She spoke around a second mouthful of cinnamon bun. “Talk on the dark net is that this was an arranged marriage. The good Rebbe stands to get a much-needed infusion of cash. He’s been living on serious credit. Jacob the Shark, not Bank of Canada.”

  “I gotta get myself a good nickname.” I took a hard right, cutting across a newly repaired patch of asphalt to bump against the curb. “So it was this marriage or broken legs.”

  It was imperative that I hang on to this conversation, to this normality, because I didn’t trust what would happen when I ended it.

  “Pretty much.”

  “If Ivan is that desperate?” I put the car in park, scanning for any other changes. “He wouldn’t sabotage the wedding. What’s in it for the Tannous family? They’re Mundanes. Legally, they can’t provide security for Nefesh clients, and if they’re doing it illegally already, what do they need Ivan for?”

  “Expansion and long-term planning,” Priya said. “Ivan opens up North America for them. Husani is engaged to a Nefesh woman, and Chione will probably follow.”

  “They’re thinking legacy, next generation. Get some Nefesh kids and that part of the business no longer has to operate in the shadows.”

  “They get a better class of clientele and can charge more,” Priya said.

  One of the roadside workers approached my vehicle, yelling at me to move.

  I held up a finger. “If Husani and Chione are willing to marry Nefesh partners, then they’re onboard with the plan. They wouldn’t want Omar killed and their expansion put at risk. Even if someone in the Tannous family had a grudge against Omar as the heir, none of them have magic.”

  “They could have contracted out.”

  “Possibly, but that’s risky. These guys deal in security. They’re going to be extremely paranoid and cautious.”

  The worker rapped on my window. Behind him, a dense fog rolled in, obscuring everything. I couldn’t be losing my mind and still be thinking lucidly about this case. Something else was afoot.

  “Good times,” Priya said. “I’ll keep digging. Anything else?”

  I pointed at my phone and motioned that I was wrapping it up. The worker stomped off.

  “Make a list of all references in the Old Testament to the Angel of Death and what the reasons for his appearance were,” I said. “And check for any connections between the families and House Pacifica or Levi personally.” He would never have hired them in his business dealings but that didn’t mean someone else hadn’t pointed them Levi’s way to screw him over somehow. He wouldn’t take kindly to that.

  “Not what I expected, but okay. I’m going to glut myself on sugar now, so I’ll see you at home. Laters, Holmes.”

  “Pri, wait!” But she’d disconnected.

  The world around me vanished, lost to the fog.

  I squeezed my eyes tight, then opened them wide, but the familiar Vancouver streets failed to reappear.

  Sit here like a chump or get out of the car like a chump? Both such appealing choices.

  I opened my car door and stood up, one hand braced on the top in case I had to jump back inside. The air was cooler with a damp mulchy smell, and the only sound was the wind rustling leaves.

  Hang on. Leaves?

  Arms outstretched, I lurched forward like a zombie. In seconds, Moriarty was obscured by the mists that enveloped me. The ground was spongy beneath my feet. I knelt down and came away with dirt on my fingertips.

  Creeping slowly onwards, I brushed something rough and screamed, my brain taking a second to process the texture under my fingertips. Bark.

  “Listen up, jackass that brought me here. If you were hoping to make me question my sanity, you fucked up because I am a city chick and trees would never figure prominently in any hallucination. Show yourself and let’s get on with your nefarious agenda.”

  The wind picked up, whipping my hair around my eyes, but it also dissipated the fog.

  I stoo
d in a grove that was totally devoid of the Douglas firs, cedars, and pines found in my corner of the world. Leafy pomegranate trees hung heavy with fruit, feathery palms bore clusters of dates, and in the center of it all, a massive, sprawling tree covered in pink blossoms emitted this intoxicating buttery, honey scent.

  I backed up against the pink blossom tree, its sturdy trunk a comfort at my back. “Come out, come out, whoever you are.”

  The air chilled and I tightened the belt on my trench coat, wishing for my leather jacket.

  A table appeared in front of me with three bowls. One had cut diamonds the size of candy rings, one had gold coins, and the third… I squinted. Almonds? Seriously?

  “You want me to choose.” I sighed. “This is a no-brainer. Myth and legend dictate that you pick the most unassuming one.” I picked up the almond bowl and tossed a handful of nuts into my mouth. “Needs salt,” I said to the heavens. “Now what?”

  Three blurry shadows burst out of nowhere to fly toward me.

  I dropped the bowl, scattering almonds at my feet. What the fuck? Smudges? How were they floating free?

  Magic danced under my skin.

  The smudges blew up to enormous proportions and rushed me with a moaning sound that rattled my bones. For ghostly blobs, they did a great job of smothering me. I blindly fired my blood magic into them like gunshot, their darkness blinding me.

  There was no maggoty sensation. If anything, they tasted dusty. Also, they didn’t stink of death and feces like the other ones I’d encountered. Again, just dust.

  I anchored them in place enough to pull myself free of their embrace, staggering back against the force of them thrashing against my red forked branches. It wasn’t three times the effort, it was to the power of three, and I’d already fought the feather magic and Moran.

  Black spots peppered my vision and the branches shook. The world narrowed down to a long tunnel with me at one end and the smudges at the other. On the verge of passing out, my head lolled back then snapped up.

  One of the smudges reached a tentacle out. I skittered backward because no way was that thing making me its new host, but it didn’t try to invade me. It wrapped its tentacle around my throat and squeezed.

  Choking: an equally suck-ass option to possession, and yet more disturbing because it didn’t follow known behavior.

  I couldn’t tear free, so I let the white clusters bloom, hoping I’d trapped the shadows enough to destroy them.

  Two of the smudges, including the choke-happy one, were eaten up by the clusters, but one remained.

  I collapsed onto my knees, one hand pressed to my side. It hurt to breathe and the outside of my throat burned.

  The smudge broke free and zoomed toward me.

  Hands over my head, I enclosed myself in a thicket of my red branches, their points sticking up. The smudge flew into it and snagged.

  Clusters exploded on the branches, nuking the final smudge.

  I stayed on my knees, my head bent and sweat running down my neck. Why the new variety of smudge, and how were they stable enough to exist without a host? They hadn’t tried to set up shop inside me; they wanted me dead.

  Was the amped-up attack because I was the only one who could see them? In coming to this grove, had I somehow torn the magic from some innocent Nefesh?

  I clapped my hands over my ears against the memory of the tortured cries from the last person I’d taken magic from. Did every passing second that I moved through the world in ignorance of what being a Jezebel truly meant, make me the greatest threat out there?

  My fingers flexed in the dirt. The only sound in the grove was my ragged breaths until a sharp snap echoed off the trees.

  A man stood a few feet away, hands planted on his hips, but he flickered in and out of view like a hazy outline. I only got impressions of color: his short brown hair, a red bow tie, a blurry red-and-black argyle pattern on his chest.

  If this shitshow hadn’t been accidentally orchestrated by yours truly, that left three possibilities as to his identity: 1) he was a member of Team Jezebel, 2) the smudges were an illusion, making him a Houdini, or 3) he had nothing to do with the smudges, angels did exist, and someone had pulled me into a heavenly grove because he wanted his ancient feather back.

  I was going to be so pissed if it was door number three.

  “Ashira Cohen. Small-time private investigator with big-time aspirations.” The man’s image wavered and his British-accented voice went staticky. “You’re no Jezebel. Stick with what you’re good at.”

  I made a choking noise and pushed to my feet. Hell no. This across-the-pond dork did not get to insult my abilities. Even the ones I didn’t want. “Think you’ve got me pegged?”

  He shrugged. “Daddy issues. Anger issues. How’s the leg?”

  A fourth, more chilling explanation of who he was slithered into my brain.

  Chariot. They’d had one Jezebel under their control, who’s to say they didn’t have more, forced to produce these smudges?

  I flicked a sweaty lock out of my eyes. “What do you want?”

  “For you to live a long and happy life running your detective agency. Full stop.”

  “I really hate being told what to do.” I cracked my knuckles. “I defeated your smudges and you’re a lot less imposing than they are.”

  “Yes, you obviously have the goods, interesting though your technique was.” He didn’t sound pleased about my powers.

  “What are you? My own personal Statler and Waldorf? Listen, you want to throw down, I’m game if–” The rest of my words came out in a staticky screech that had me clamping my hands over my ears.

  “You’d have to find me to take me on.” He stepped toward me but I held my ground. “You’re a Seeker–”

  “Actually, I’m a Scorpio,” I said.

  “Wisecracks won’t win you the day. You’re out of your league. Give up before you find yourself broken and tortured like–” His remaining words were more static noise, but I got the gist. “If you can get out, that is.”

  He disappeared.

  Evil. Wanker.

  I took stock of my surroundings, tugging on branches and pressing knots on trunks. No convenient portal opened and I didn’t sense any magic in the trees themselves. I stamped on the dirt a couple of times but the ground was firm under my feet, and above me, the treetops were obscured by more fog.

  I sat on the table. The bowls were gone so I couldn’t even use one of the diamonds to try and carve or dig my way out, and if there were any kindly magical woodland creatures, I had no gold to trade them for passage.

  Get a grip, Ash. This isn’t a fairy tale.

  I stilled. But it was a test. Three of them, to be precise. The bowls, the smudges, and getting out of here. Evil Wanker hadn’t expected me to defeat the smudges and now he hoped I’d be stranded.

  Fuck that. I was the Girl Who Lived, not the Girl Who Languished in Some Shitty Alternate Reality Until She Tried to Gnaw Her Own Arm off From Hunger and Subsequently Died.

  Unfortunately, physically leaving the grove proved impossible. After a certain distance, I simply bounced back to the center under the big tree. A magic ward. I smiled. Now we were in my wheelhouse.

  I walked toward the ward slowly, counting out my steps. At number sixty-five, I was bounced back. I retraced them, stopping at sixty-four. Squatting down, I inched my hands forward in the dirt.

  There it was. Magic sang to me. When magic was activated, alive or dying, it had a taste and a smell, other than the smudges here in the grove which was a puzzle for later. In the same way that a stinky person couldn’t smell themselves, I couldn’t discern the taste and smell of my own magic, but what pulsed up now was the copper tang of old pennies.

  Or blood.

  Evil Wanker apparently did have a Jezebel doing his bidding. This magic club I’d found myself a member of had a disturbingly high capture rate.

  One of the pink blossoms drifted lazily by on the breeze.

  Oh. Autumn’s reading. A person wh
o would help me with my transformation and an almond tree. I hadn’t recognized the scenario playing out here because the painting of the tree on the card only bore the vaguest resemblance to the actual thing and I’d assumed that the person would be a mentor figure, but evil enemy worked, too.

  Autumn was going to be insufferable if she learned what had come to pass. Well, that wouldn’t happen unless I got out of here.

  I hooked my magic into the ward, making short work of it, and immediately wished for it back. An endless void stretched out in front of me, the grove a tiny island in its midst.

  “Tests, leaps of faith, we are having a strongly worded discussion about your love of myth and legend when I find you, asshole.”

  I edged forward, my toes peeking off the dirt into empty space. My poor damaged throat grew tight and I struggled to drag in air. I liked answers. Certainty. Not massive fucking chasms. Was this another test? One where I was supposed to throw myself bodily into void and believe?

  I tried to shuffle forward but I was locked in place, my heart hammering in my ears. I wiped my damp palms on my jeans.

  Fine. I’d do this, but I’d do it on my terms. Blind faith was for chumps and fanatics. Freeing myself involved belief and ability. I had that. I was capable.

  A lonely howl echoed out in the distance.

  Much as love was not enough to make a marriage work, given the roughly 30% divorce rate, my capabilities felt puny compared to the vast darkness yawning out before me. I had no trouble believing in myself, but this was the next move in an ongoing game and I’d only stumbled onto the board as a pawn.

  I straightened up, my head held high. Even a pawn could be crowned queen.

  “I am not a mark!” I hollered and threw myself into the brink.

  Wind rushed past my face.

  Falling … Falling …

  It lasted mere seconds and a whole eternity.

  HOOOOOONNNNK!

  A car pinned me in its headlights, impact imminent.