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

by Deborah Wilde

  “Gavriella was Sephardic,” Levi said. Those Jews had their roots in the Mediterranean and Middle East versus the Ashkenazi ones, like both sides of my family, who were predominantly of Eastern European heritage.

  “You’re Sephardic, too.” Levi had been born in Rome. His accent only came out when cursing in Italian. Or sometimes during sex. I reshelved an Isabelle Allende novel.

  “I think Behar is a Ladino last name,” he said.

  “A what?”

  “Ladino. It’s a Judeo-Spanish language dating back before the sixteenth century that’s still spoken today by a small number of older Jews,” he said.

  “How did you even identify Gavriella? Did you check House databases across the globe and get a hit on one of the Spanish ones?”

  “Arkady coaxed the information from one of the two men taken alive on the smudge case.” Levi shoved the drawer closed and crouched down to check the cupboards.

  “Such flowery language. ‘Coaxed.’” I chided Levi.

  Arkady Choi had moved in next door to me right after the ward was broken and my magic restored. He also happened to work for Levi on a covert ops team. They both swore it was a coincidence that he was my neighbor, but I didn’t buy it and still half-believed that Levi had placed Arkady there to keep an eye on me.

  Mistrust upon mistrust.

  “When Arkady was done sharing his stone fists with the man’s face,” I said, “had he learned anything else about Gavriella or Chariot?”

  “No. But I did.” Levi’s lips twisted. “Gavriella was a Rogue.”

  I did a double take. “A Rogue here in Canada.”

  That’s why Levi was so pissed off about her presence in his territory. She should have registered with House Pacifica when she moved here.

  “Nope.” He popped the “p.” “A Rogue. Period. She isn’t registered anywhere.” He scratched his chin. “Here you want me to throw you a coming out party.”

  “Only a half-coming out party, seeing as I’m bi-magical.” The lower bookshelves held a poetry collection in their original Spanish, mostly written by Pablo Neruda and Federico García Lorca. I straightened up, cracking my back. “And for the record, Mr. Man-Who-Hates-Rogues, you were the one who showed up with my registration papers, so delaying said registration is somewhat hypocritical, don’t you think?”

  “As House Head, it’s my duty to bring all Rogues into the fold. If I only register your low level enhanced strength, then I’m complicit in giving your blood magic Rogue status. If I register all your abilities, like I should, then I’m handing the Untainted Party valuable ammunition about a dangerous Nefesh on the loose. Your Mundane status was documented enough that people might swallow the explanation about your powers turning on when you bumped your head the other week, but that anomaly combined with magic that shouldn’t exist? Your situation complicates mine immensely.”

  “Amazing how you’re making this all about you.”

  “It is about me, damn it. If I thought for a second that there was someone more qualified to lead House Pacifica, I’d step aside in a heartbeat, but there isn’t and so I won’t.”

  I’d have bet my business on Levi’s entire identity being tied to House Head. If he entertained thoughts about stepping aside, what else had I misjudged him about?

  He exhaled slowly, the corners of his eyes tight, and a deep weariness etched in the slump of his shoulders. Then he shook it off, fastening his top shirt button for extra fortification. “Until I get some answers and some clarity, you’re stuck with me on this.”

  Part of me sympathized with him.

  The rest devised how best to push him off a cliff.

  “Maybe Gavriella Behar isn’t her real name and she’s not a Rogue,” I said.

  “It is,” Levi said. “There’s a birth certificate for her. Born in Barcelona, forty-eight years ago. Supposedly Mundane.”

  “Any family? Next of kin?”

  “No. Gavriella was raised by her grandmother who died a few years ago. She bounced around the University of Barcelona but didn’t graduate because she got married. Stayed at home until her divorce, then moved to Vancouver, probably to get a fresh start, and picked up a lot of shift work in the hospitality industry. She worked at some Mundane club before she was abducted and forced to create smudges.”

  “Got to have flexible hours for fighting evil.” I swept a hand over her dining room table, scattering a pile of clean laundry.

  “Why is that a problem?” Levi’s brow furrowed.

  “Because she dumped this ‘tag, you’re it’ bullshit on me and then died without telling me what I was supposed to do.”

  “How thoughtless.”

  Sighing, I picked up the fallen items. “I am precariously low on concrete facts where Chariot is concerned.”

  “This team of yours should have answers once you find them.”

  “I’m not inclined to think highly of them at the moment. They didn’t save Gavriella, and I’m on my own with Evil Wanker. Either we’re all expendable or they’re incompetent.”

  “Which makes what you bring to the table even more valuable.” He said it matter-of-factly, like it was scientifically quantifiable, without looking up from rifling through a drawer.

  I tried to reconcile this person with the one who could choke Omar with a feather and leave him to a slow, horrible death. It wasn’t easy, but given how Levi had broken a man with the illusion of smothering him in ants, it wasn’t impossible, either.

  “I’m assuming all Jezebels have the same abilities,” I said. “If some of them are happy to play caped crusader on a regular basis, more power to them. I want to be challenged and engaged in a variety of ways.”

  “You want to be Sherlock. What if Chariot is your Moriarty?”

  “Even Sherlock didn’t spend all his time chasing only Moriarty,” I said.

  “Sure, not at the start, but eventually he had to.”

  “Ugh. Did you Wiki him or something? Back off, Levi.”

  He held up his hands like he was placating a feral animal. “Those smudges were dangerous. Jezebel magic was the only thing that could stop them.”

  “It’s the thing that created them in the first place. Is it an acceptable risk if Jezebels pose an equally bad threat to humanity? What if in stopping Chariot, we’re expected to be okay with collateral damage?” I picked up a fallen pillowcase and set it on the pile. “I promised Gavriella that I’d stop Chariot, but I won’t do it at the expense of my dream or my values. I won’t manipulate innocent people and I won’t be a mindless magic-destroying weapon. I have to be able to face myself in the mirror every day.”

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  I shrugged and returned a couple of shirts to the pile. “Did you find anything?”

  Levi stripped off the gloves. “No electronics or address books anywhere in the living room or bathroom, but I did find this in the hall closet.” He held up a green Duo-Tang. “Photocopies. Gavriella’s birth certificate, driver’s license, marriage license, divorce papers, and her passport.”

  “An entire paper trail of a life laid out in one handy spot.”

  “Almost like she wanted it to be found.” He tucked it under his arm. “I’m taking this.”

  “It fits the portrait of the person Gavriella presented to the world: a staggeringly normal middle-aged divorcée who liked to cook, was proud of her heritage, and had a slightly romantic streak. I’m surprised she doesn’t have a cat. So, what didn’t she want us to see?” I scanned the room for anywhere we might have missed. “I’m going to check her closet.”

  Certain spaces in people’s lives were curated, designed to present a specific impression. They were public spaces like offices or living rooms. Bedrooms were more private, and closets? Like garbage cans, they were uncurated spaces and therefore brilliant places to find cracks in a person’s public identity. For example, a nutritional zealot with chip bags stuffed deep in her trash.

  I flung open the closet door, blinked twice, and burst into laughter
.

  Levi strode into the room. “What?”

  “If this is Jezebel-issued garb, I may have to adjust my training regimen.” I held up one of the skimpy outfits crowding her closet. Damn, I loved when people surprised me. “What was the name of the club where she worked?”

  “Star Lounge.”

  “That’s a strip club. Though Gavriella would be too old to strip.” It was a tough profession and very few lasted after their mid-thirties.

  “She could hostess or bartend or serve.”

  “Thank you for those very prompt answers,” I said. “It’s almost like you have first-hand knowledge of such places. Do you remember any of the other places she worked? Were they strip clubs as well?”

  “She did some seasonal mail delivery for Canada Post and there were a few cafés. I’d have to check the specifics.”

  I pulled out an outfit consisting of six spangly strips of stretchy fabric and snapped one of the pieces. “That’s either too many or too few.”

  Levi perched on the edge of Gavriella’s bed and studied the clothing. He took off his fedora, briskly rubbed his hair, then repositioned the hat. “Too many.”

  “Kudos on your consistent predictability. You’ve really mastered that skill.”

  “I master every skill.”

  I hung the outfit up, and searched the pockets of the everyday clothing in the other half of the closet. “We should work on your confidence levels. Do some positivity training, maybe some visualizations. You’d have so much to offer the world if only you believed in yourself.”

  Levi gave an aggrieved sigh. “It’s hard dimming my bright light so I don’t blind you lesser mortals.”

  “We little people are ever so grateful. Be useful and check the bedside table.”

  “Ew. No. You know what people keep in there?”

  “Sex things. Also, possibly address books and those electronics you didn’t find in the rest of the apartment.”

  He put his gloves back on and did as he was told. Biddable Levi had his uses. Biddable Levi on a bed. Oh, the possibilities, my treacherous brain whispered. I shut it down. S-U-S-P-E-C-T–I sang in my head in my fiercest Aretha Franklin.

  “Arkady’s cover entails being part of the Nefesh Mixed Martial Arts League which keeps up his fighting skills and works in harmony with his secret job,” I said. “Why would Gavriella work at a strip joint?”

  “Money?”

  “There are lots of ways to make money. People undercover tend to choose jobs that will further their goals somehow. Why do you think Clark Kent worked at the paper?”

  “Lois Lane,” Levi said, fanning himself.

  I walked over and kicked his leg, before returning to the closet. “Oops.”

  He laughed, rubbing his shin.

  “It put him at the pulse for finding out where trouble was. Maybe the club was ground zero for something in Gavriella’s world.” There was a twenty in a lightweight coat, but she’d never get the small joy of finding spare cash ever again. Was her untimely death worth whatever she’d accomplished? I stuffed the bill back in the pocket.

  Levi nudged the bedside table drawer shut with his hips. “Some T-shirts and a purple silicone dick. Happy?”

  “Overjoyed. Any uniforms from a magic league of evil-fighters?”

  “Unfortunately not. Looking to expand your fashion choices?”

  “You can never have enough catsuits in your life.”

  Levi turned an interested gleam on me. “Really?”

  “Not even a little bit. I wanted all this magic shit to be random, you know? Like I happened to have this recessive gene and it got activated, and suddenly my professional dreams were deeper and richer than I’d dared believe possible. Then I found out I was different from all the other magic little boys and girls and my powers have a purpose.” I pulled a couple of old ticket stubs from the back pocket of a pair of trousers. “I don’t want that. I want a choice.”

  “Control freak.”

  “As if you aren’t. I refuse to be at anyone’s mercy. I mean, like, the universe’s.”

  He snorted.

  “Yes, Levi. I have daddy issues. Catch up. Now I have to find some team who’s going to have expectations around my participation on top of everything.”

  “Probably expect you to be social, too.”

  “Don’t even get me started on that bullshit. They could have done me a solid and found me, because I have enough to deal with, but all I get are magic encounters with the bad guy and a distinct lack of anything resembling Gavriella’s contacts.” I stilled. “What if they did find me already, but have left me to deal with Evil Wanker on my own as some kind of test? Those are very popular these days.” I searched her last pocket, coming away with a melted Hershey’s Kiss. Grimacing, I pulled off my gloves and rolled them into a ball. “Trashcan?”

  “There’s probably one in the kitchen.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to dump these in there. It’s empty,” I said. “I checked.”

  “That’s convenient.”

  “Meaning?” I said.

  “She was abducted after she took out the trash but before she had time to even throw out a tissue?”

  We exchanged looks.

  “Someone got here before us,” I said. “Shit. Earn your seat in the Mystery Machine, Shaggy, and get your people to dust for fingerprints. Find out if it was friend or foe. And if it was a hostile how did that person get past the wards?”

  “How about a ‘please?’ Ever heard the saying ‘you catch more flies with honey?’”

  “I tried it. Not my thing.” I nudged him off the bed and lifted the mattress. Nothing hidden there, nor was there anything taped behind her bureau.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Maybe a love of hidey holes is another thing Jezebels have in common.” I lowered myself onto all fours and crawled into her closet.

  “Nice ass,” Levi said in the same tone of voice as he’d comment on the weather.

  “It’s the best thing you’ll see all day.”

  “We need to work on your confidence levels.”

  Please don’t let Levi be Omar’s attacker. Our interactions were a lot of things, but never dull. I didn’t want to give that up.

  I knocked a bunch of spots on the wall. One emitted a hollow sound and I pushed on it until a panel popped off. “Et voilà.”

  Inside was a metal box that was latched but not locked. I flipped open the lid. “Feel free to tell me how good I am.”

  “Nah. Your neck couldn’t support the weight if your head got more swollen.”

  I shook two pieces of paper out of an envelope. “Another birth certificate and a death certificate. Both for a Gracie Green. There’s an American passport here, too. Expired.” I did a double take at the photo. “It’s Gavriella. Levi, hand me her birth certificate.” I compared the two. “Gracie was born the same day as Gavriella but she died–” My breath left me in a sharp exhale.

  “What?”

  “Gracie Green died right before my magic activated in the hospital fifteen years ago.” I checked the envelope, but there was nothing further inside. “Is that her real identity? The best lies contain a grain of truth.” I had my father to thank for that pearl of wisdom. “It’s not uncommon for false identities to share a birthdate, but they often share the same initials to help the person remember their cover name. Why go from American Gracie Green to Spanish Gavriella Behar?”

  “I’ll run Gracie’s name and date of birth,” Levi said. “See what comes up.”

  “Why kill off her true identity when she came to Vancouver? Was she in hiding?”

  “Or she really died.” Levi knelt down beside me to examine the documents.

  “No way. They’re the same person.”

  “What if Gracie flatlined for a few seconds?” he said. “I’ve never bought your theory about the recessive gene turning on after the crash. What if death is the trigger for a new Jezebel to be awakened?”

  “That’s why she was looking
for me? She knew there had to be someone else, except that damned Star of David tattoo fucked it all up. Could there be another Jezebel triggered by Gracie’s actual death?”

  Would I be off the hook for any full-time Chariot duties if there were someone else to replace her on the team? I’d never know unless I found them, and meantime, Evil Wanker was on my trail.

  “Let’s call her Gavriella so we’re accustomed to using that name when we talk to people.” I placed the documents back in their envelope, tucking the box under my arm. “We’ll have to check out the Star Lounge. Maybe she had friends or co-workers who saw people visit her there or she let something slip that would be of use to us.”

  After one more walkthrough, we let ourselves out.

  “Is this what my life is going to look like if I fail and the next Jezebel-in-waiting finds my apartment? Travel goals I never accomplish, too-clean trash cans, and not even a pet? Does everything that makes me who I am get erased?” I swallowed. “And do my Sherlock dreams get sidelined for something this empty?”

  Levi placed a hand on my slumping shoulder. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  You bet we would. Gavriella’s ending was not my ending. Hell, I was just getting started. “The game is on and the best woman is going to win.”

  Chapter 10

  After living the world’s longest day, I dragged my butt to bed, collapsing face down on my pillow fully dressed. I managed to toe off one boot before sleep claimed me hard, enjoying the luxury of waking up on Tuesday morning after the March sun had risen.

  I took a quick shower, threw on my only pair of clean jeans and a black hoodie, and went foraging for breakfast. Damnation, it was still my turn to do the shopping. I erased Priya’s apology off the small whiteboard stuck to our fridge–I’d vacuumed for her–and asked her to get groceries. One or the other of us was always falling behind but we cobbled it together.

  Frying up the last of the eggs and toast, I peered into the coffee tin, my soul shriveling at its mocking emptiness, and took my breakfast into the living room to eat.