I checked my throat in the rearview mirror to find it was a mass of bruising. Where was super healing when I needed it? Pulling up the collar of my leather jacket like some throwback late 00’s preppy and artfully arranging my hair hid the damage, but damn. Golems, really?
One thing was certain, there was no way I was going to Hedon after that reality up-ender. I wanted an errand that was familiar. Predictable.
Vancouver General Hospital was a sprawling complex in midtown Vancouver, and despite the excellent care provided there, being on the campus always made me feel like I couldn’t breathe.
This place was too tied to both the physical pain from the crash and the emotional pain that had driven me to it. Maybe if Priya had a kid one day, I’d manage to get through the front doors without bile rising in my throat at the smell of disinfectant and baked-in food. As always, as soon as I walked inside the main tower, my skin went clammy and my ears rang with the shouts of nurses racing me down a hallway, the lights a blur from my concussion and blood in my eyes, before I’d fallen into a coma.
Just because VGH was safe and predictable didn’t mean it was easy for me to return there, but one way or another, this visit would provide a clearer timeframe for when I’d been tattooed.
I took a steadying breath and went to find my former surgeon.
His booming laugh reached me before I found him at the nurse’s station in the Intensive Care Unit.
I cleared my throat. “Dr. Zhang?”
He looked over with a polite smile that turned to genuine affection when he recognized me. “The Girl Who Lived.”
“Hey, Doc. Still telling the same old jokes?”
The nurse, who was too young to have been there back in my time, nodded good-naturedly, and Dr. Zhang huffed. He’d shrunk since I’d seen him, but the intelligence and compassion in his eyes hadn’t dimmed a whit.
“Can we talk?” I said. “I won’t take up too much of your time.”
“You already took up too much of my time when you were thirteen.”
He escorted me out of the ward, which had been renovated in the passing years. The horrible yellow had been replaced by a soft cream, the entire space far less institutional than it had been.
It didn’t put me at ease.
“What did I tell you when you were discharged?” he said.
“That you never wanted to see me again.”
“Yet, here you are.” He spread his hands wide. “Still stubborn.”
I smiled. “I prefer tenacious.”
His eyebrows rose. “Oh ho. Who got herself a fancy vocabulary? You fulfill those Sherlock Holmes dreams of yours?”
“Trying to. I started my own private investigation business.”
“Good for you.” He pulled a key ring out of his doctor’s coat and unlocked his office door, motioning for me to take a seat.
It was small, cramped, and filled with photos of patients. Every single one of us had to take a picture with him with both of us wearing fake mustaches. Mine was still pinned to the same top corner of his corkboard. Stupid though it had been, I’d rocked that Luigi ’stache.
My stomach twisted. Don’t let it have been him.
Dr. Zhang sat down behind his desk, his fingers folded primly. “How can I help you?”
I gave him the condensed version of the tattoo cover story, and yes, he stared at me like I’d lost my mind. Good thing I didn’t mention the golem.
“Crashing a car into a wall wasn’t exciting enough for you? Decided to add some other bizarre life goals?”
“Well, business is slow so I’m trying a new strategy,” I said. “You and I do a little under-the-table deal for chloroform. We dose up rich targets, I’ll get a shady artist to ink them, then bam! I offer my services to track down who did it. Thought I’d perfect the workflow on myself first. Whatddya think?”
“Needs improvement.” He called up my file, studying the screen. “I don’t personally remember any tattoo, but I was more focused on your leg.”
“It was under my hair. Could it have been missed?”
He dug deeper into my medical records and shook his head. “There was trauma and some burns on the back of your scalp. It was thoroughly examined while we treated you and would have been noted down. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
Between the blood transfusions in emergency on the way to the operating room, the orthopedic surgery to put the rods in my leg, my brief coma, and all the post-op care in the ward for a week and a half afterward, I’d been pretty out of it. But if there was no mention of a tattoo when I’d been brought in, then my stay at VGH was the most logical time for the ward to have been burned on without me noticing.
Much as it felt like a knife to my heart, I couldn’t cross Dr. Zhang off as a suspect, but I could cross off my father and that made up for a hell of a lot. I hadn’t had the ward or my magic prior to the accident and Dad was gone by that point. It didn’t lessen his betrayal in leaving us, but it didn’t compound it into emotional devastation, either.
“This was very useful,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Good. Now get out of here and don’t let me see you again.” He gave me a lollipop and ushered me out.
Orange lollipops were the bomb. I called Priya on my way back to Moriarty. “Anything on your end?”
“No,” she said. “The search is a bust. No pattern to any missing person reports and if kids like Meryem are being targeted, there might not be anyone to file a report for them. Hang on. My latte is up.”
“Where are you?”
“Higher Ground. I craved one of their cinnamon buns and they have the tall tables that are perfect to work at. What did you find?”
“Maybe a lead with some company called Queen of Hearts Productions. They’re throwing all-ages after-hours parties. Could be using these smudges on marginalized teens, testing for something. We need to know what these things do, other than kill people when they jump.” I bit into the candy, the sweet orange flavor crunching between my teeth.
“The parties would be a good ruse to lure them in,” Priya said.
I left out the golem part of my day because there was no reason to upset Priya. Let her continue to live in her “ignorance is bliss” bubble. I sure as shit would have liked to.
“Since the missing persons thing is a bust, can I please get you on something else?” My visit may not have provided clarity on Dr. Zhang’s innocence, but there had been enough of a hands-on examination of me when I was rushed to the hospital that the ward wouldn’t have been missed. “I’ve got a timeframe of just under two weeks when I could have been warded. Three days of coma and then all the post-op recovery. Someone must have noticed my magic and then brought in this mystery tattoo artist. Find my patient record and get a list of names of everyone involved in my care.”
“What I am looking for?”
“Signs of guilt or complicity. Calling in sick during that period. Complaints from other staff about their behavior. Anyone who unexpectedly quit or asked to be transferred. And… start with Dr. Zhang. We’ll go from there. I’ll be home after my training session.”
Priya cackled. “Getting all sweaty and grapply with Levi. Have fun.”
She hung up, both getting in the last word and putting that image in my head. I licked the final bit of lollipop, weighing my fundamentally anti-social tendencies against the benefits of breaking in a new best friend.
Bah. She could stay, but on a probationary basis. I pulled out my car keys, then dropped them with a curse because they were burning hot. No, it wasn’t the metal, it was me. Heat poured off red, blistering skin. “Fucking fuck balls!”
My earlier cut burst open, blood beading on my arm.
Tapping into a primal desire to not become Crispy, the eighth dwarf, I smeared the blood on my skin like a salve. I felt incredibly foolish and didn’t really expect this spur of the moment idea to work, but it not only repelled whatever magic I’d been hit with, it slithered over me like a shield. Not a cool shield that looked like bo
dy armor, mind you. No, mine was exactly what you’d expect from being slathered in blood: sticky, smelly disgustingness.
Plus, leaves and pollen were starting to stick to me, so now I looked like the serial killer version of Pigpen. Swipe right for me.
I advanced on my assailant. Bald and wrinkly, I’d have placed his age somewhere in his seventies though with every inch of exposed skin covered in tattoos, unless I read them like tree rings, it was hard to get an exact number. “My mystery Van Gogh, I presume.”
He tackled me, grabbing my skull to keep it still. The skin on the back of my head where the tattoo had been, suddenly warmed and tingled. The fucker was trying to burn another ward into me.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” I elbowed him in the throat as hard as I could.
Coughing, he fell off of me. “They’ll kill me if they find out I betrayed them,” he wheezed. “But it wasn’t my fault. The magic was too compelling. I couldn’t refuse.”
“Who will? What magic? Mine? What are you talking about?”
“If they find out about you, they’ll know I did it.” He burned a diagonal line on me. The first line of the Star of David.
My blood shield should have stopped any further warding, but I was tapped out and it had gotten patchy. Unable to hold his magic at bay any longer, I pressed the button of the sonic weapon still in my pocket. Work smart, not hard.
He slapped his hands over his ears, his magic assault on me abruptly stopping.
I dug my knee into his back. “Answer my questions.”
He refused to talk, so I cuffed him with my handy magic suppressors that hung from my belt loops, which I’d brought along in case of any trouble with the Nefesh youth when I’d been asking about Meryem. Then I frog-marched him into Moriarty’s passenger seat.
This blood powers asshattery needed an instruction manual because it took me five minutes and a whole bunch of straining noises that sounded too much like taking a shit to make the shield disappear. I wiped myself off as best I could with most of a package of baby wipes, then scrabbled at my glove compartment for the box of chocolate-covered almonds and a stick of stale beef jerky left over from a stakeout last year. Expiration dates were only a suggestion, right?
I devoured all of it in a rush, my lightheadedness only slightly abating. Blood loss sucked. “Ready to talk yet?”
The Van Gogh stared stubbornly out the window.
Where could I stash him? I only had a half hour until Levi expected me. Ooh. Levi’s charming jail cells.
First things first. If I didn’t eat something more substantial, Levi and I weren’t both coming out of our training session alive. I stopped by one of the Japadog carts, home of Vancouver’s famous Japanese hot dogs, and ordered two of their signature dogs with teriyaki sauce, mayo, and seaweed. I scarfed the first one down right then and there, taking the second with me in a white to-go bag.
The Van Gogh didn’t get one. Men who assaulted me were not fed in thanks. I left him in the car. With the windows rolled up.
The beefy security guard manning the desk in the lobby of House Pacifica could only have looked less welcoming if I’d had leprosy and was dropping diseased body parts.
Sure, my hair was a mess but I’d hidden the bruising. His attitude was uncalled for.
I crossed the gleaming marble floor inlaid with a black “HP.” Sadly this was no Hogwarts, though I’d bet the guard was Slytherin all the way.
“I’m here to see Levi.” I glanced over at the glass doors to the central Nefesh police department across the lobby but didn’t see any of the asshole cops I’d had the misfortune to run into over my career.
“Is Mr. Montefiore expecting you?” the security guard said. His eyes darted out toward the building’s front door, his fingers tapping a rapid staccato on the desk. There was a rectangular bulge in his shirt pocket. Past your smoke break, dude?
“Standing weekly appointment.” I leaned on the desk. “You ever try rope play? Big guy like you, probably carry a lot of tension. Takes a bit of getting used to but the high works wonders. Pure bliss.”
He turned florid. “Mr. Montefiore would never–”
I tsked him. “Don’t yuck someone’s yum. And I never said he did. Because if hypothetically I was a dominatrix here to do a little Mary Poppins and bondage, I’d certainly never be unprofessional enough to disclose that fact.”
Hard to say if it was the guard practically choking on his tongue, the prickling feeling between my shoulder blades, or the hand clamping down on my shoulder that first alerted me to Levi’s presence.
The security guard snapped out a salute. “Evening, Mr. Montefiore.”
Kiss ass.
“Hi, Evan. Sorry about her. I’ll take it from here,” Levi said.
“Seriously, dude,” I said to Evan. “Rope play. Think about it.”
Levi was already manhandling me toward the elevators, so I threw a wink over my shoulder at the guard.
He mouthed the words “House Cat” at me. Uh, okay?
I was about to demand clarification, but the elevator door slid shut, sealing me in with grumpypants, and the moment was lost.
Chapter 8
Before Levi could hit the button for the seventh floor, I pushed P2 where I was parked. The one floor available for guest parking. “Quick detour.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Do you have any filter whatsoever?”
“Where you’re concerned?” I laughed. “Oh, that wasn’t a rhetorical question. Then no. Hot dog?” I offered Levi the bag which, in the least shocking move of the century, he smacked away with long, uncalloused fingers. They weren’t soft, though. His hands projected strength and capability, as did the firm line of his shoulders. This was a man who handled the problems laid at his door.
I mentally slapped myself. Or his hands were just hands. Hands that had, not ten seconds ago, visited harm upon my peace offering.
“No need to damage the wiener, bud.” I took it out of the bag. Why waste a perfectly good Japadog?
“You told a member of my staff that you were my dominatrix. Do you understand how unprofessional that is?”
“First of all,” I said around a mouthful of delicious teriyaki meat, “I only hypothetically said it. And second, you’re paying me to get results on this smudge. You want me to change my behavior toward you, that’s a whole other negotiation. One you can’t win.”
Levi stuffed his hands in the pant pockets of today’s expensive suit and rocked back on his heels. “Bet I could.”
“Your competitive streak requires an intervention. We’ve discussed this sickness of yours. It doesn’t lead anywhere good.” I finished the dog and wiped my hands on the bag, earning a grimace from Levi. “Someone may be using raves to lure marginalized youth with possible ulterior motives connected to the smudge. I’m looking into it.”
“Anything comes of it, let me know. Immediately.”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
The elevator doors slid open, depositing us in the surprisingly well-lit parking garage.
I led Levi to my car and flung the passenger side open. The still-cuffed Van Gogh glared balefully at us.
“I brought you a present,” I said.
“Looks like you regifted.”
I pinched his cheek. “Humor, Leviticus? I’m all verklempt. My little boy is a man.”
“What’s his connection to the smudges?”
“Nada. This is the Van Gogh that tattooed me.”
“Not my problem,” Levi said.
“I can’t exactly bring him home. Hold him in one of your jail cells.”
The Van Gogh mumbled something behind the duct tape sealing his mouth so I ripped it off. As painfully as possible.
“You can’t throw me in a cell,” the Van Gogh said.
“Sure, we can. You assaulted me and I’m pressing charges. Book ’em, Danno.” I moved my hair aside to show the bruising. It was a great visual. The golem had come in handy.
Levi stilled.
“I didn’t�
�” the Van Gogh protested, but he was cut off by Levi none-too-gently hauling him to his feet.
“Enough.” Levi’s tone was sharp enough to cut. He was handling the problem I’d laid at his door with a menacing edge. I kind of wanted to tease out this aspect of his personality and see how deep his darkness ran.
But that would have been unprofessional.
We left the Van Gogh with the cops and I gave my statement, playing up my fear as a poor Mundane victimized by this random act of violence.
My luck held in that the cop that assisted me was a stranger, and thus, sympathetic to my complaint, if confused about why Levi hovered over me, tapping his foot impatiently the entire time. I barely got to finish signing the statement before His Lordship dragged me into the elevator.
He hit the button with more force than necessary. “Are we quite finished with all your personal business? Can we return to the case you were actually hired for?”
“What’s got you so touchy?” I said. "That senior citizen is a menace. He assaulted me and could harm other Nefesh. I’m doing a public service by letting him stew in jail for a couple nights. Then, when he’s cooled off or freaked out, either works, I’ll have a heart-to-heart and listen to the little canary sing.”
“I’ve had to rearrange my plans due to the delay.” Levi stepped into the open elevator.
“Poor baby. You pushed a booty call? I’m happy to cancel my training so you can go have your regularly scheduled sex. I am a giver, after all.”
Levi reached across me to hit a button, and I swear given how close his elbow came to my face, he’d considered jabbing me. “I pushed an important meeting. You’re a pain in the ass and until you can control your magic, you’re also a thousand times more dangerous than that Van Gogh.”
“High praise indeed.”
Levi pinched the bridge of his nose, but the doors opened on the seventh floor and he pasted on a bland expression because there were still a fair number of employees working late.
“Do you keep standard slave driver conditions?” I re-arranged my hair to once again hide the bruises. “Five minute pee breaks every twenty-four hours?”
Blood & Ash: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Detective Series (The Jezebel Files Book 1) Page 9
