“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.
Chapter 2
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?”
Pri’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,
&n
bsp; 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 at which I was unfortunate enough to see you. 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 pul
led 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.
Blood & Ash: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Detective Series (The Jezebel Files Book 1) Page 2
