“Reasonably fresh coffee on the stove,” I said.
“You’re a life saver.” She patted the puppy, who looked up, tongue lolling out, but didn’t stop humping the toy. We’d had her spayed, but that had no impact on this behavior. “Your turn to wash Pinky,” she said.
Pushing aside some of Priya’s shit that ran from cables to hair elastics to her latest book club novel, I dumped the library books on the coffee table. “Did you really have to name her?”
“Well, we certainly couldn’t introduce them as Mrs. Hudson and her life partner Cow, could we?”
“I agree with you on the not introducing them part.”
Priya winged an elastic at me. “I connected with Talia to get the phone. We’ll see what that yields.”
“There’s something else I didn’t tell you about.” I dropped the Nicola fiasco.
“And so the story takes a sharp and unexpected turn.” She blew a raspberry at my scowl. “The Cohens and Montefiores make the Capulets and the Montagues look positively mushy.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Find your sense of humor, Holmes.”
I stood up, grabbing the leash. “Yeah, yeah. Have a good day. I’m off to see Rafael.”
She snagged the leash. “I’m taking Mrs. H.”
“You hogged her all day yesterday.”
“Give me my puppy time, Ashira, or I’ll stick you on a No-Fly List.”
“Why are you branching out from Password Hell? That was a perfectly good threat. No-Fly List is unnecessarily aggressive.”
She tapped her head. “New challenges keep me sharp. Say bye-bye to mommy number two,” Priya said in a cutesy voice to the dog.
I knelt down by the pug and kissed her good-bye. “Humor her,” I stage-whispered. “We know who you love best.”
“On a scale of income tax audit to prison shower, how fun was our team meeting yesterday?” I braked sharply at a red light.
“It wasn’t fun at all, Ashira, and I’m not sure why you insist on asking these inane questions.” Rafael sat in Moriarty’s passenger seat, his arms crossed. “Not to mention, Elke had nothing substantial to indicate that a Bookworm currently exists and I’m not happy about how much time this might take. The bamah is our priority.”
“I’m with you on that.” I slowed down to avoid hitting a jaywalker. “I appreciate you dealing with Levi.”
“Yes, well, that task was rather awkward at first, what with his observation of the magic healing situation between us at his home.”
“Come on, that was the perfect encore after the fuckery of that night.” Once the pedestrian was clear of my car, I floored it, knocking Rafael back against his seat.
He grabbed the “oh shit” handle above the passenger seat. “You’re an odd duck, Ashira.”
“Laughter is cheaper than drinking. And therapy.”
“Nevertheless, he never mentioned that incident again—”
“Yeah, well, it paled in comparison to learning his dad had murdered mine. Perspective, don’tcha know?”
“And as the larger strain is between the two of you—”
I snorted.
“I’m happy to do my part to keep the harmony on the team.”
“Are you? Or do you feel like Priya, that you’re pulled between the two of us?”
“You people are a hotbed of dysfunction,” he said. “However, unlike Priya, I’m loyal to the House only so far as it remains an asset to our mission. As your Attendant, I’ll handle whatever I can to focus your energy on the end goal.”
Some asshole was riding my bumper so I crawled along to annoy him enough that he switched lanes with a sharp honk, at which point I sped up and passed him.
“Ashira, perhaps you could”—Rafael squeaked—“slow down?”
His wish was granted when I hit the streets around the Vancouver Art Gallery back plaza and came to a standstill, because a Nefesh rally against the proposed Untainted Party legislation had spilled into traffic.
A woman with a loudspeaker stood on the stairs discussing Nefesh human rights. Behind her stood a group, presumably other speakers. They were too far away to make out their faces, but even at this distance, I recognized Levi.
Part of me wanted to pull over and hear him empassion the crowd. He stood up for his beliefs, despite the many adversities he faced as leader of the Nefesh community. So very Watson of him. I smiled wistfully and made a sharp left, the rally growing smaller in my rearview mirror.
Several blocks later, we arrived at the Vancouver Public Library. Built in the early ’90s, it resembled the Colosseum, topped by a green space dotted with trees that was a popular place to read or eat lunch on sunny days.
“See? I got us here in one piece.” I backed Moriarty into a metered spot on Homer Street and Rafael released his death grip on the handle.
The library glass doors led to an atrium with tiny coffee shops and a pizza joint, the tables provided for patrons already mostly occupied.
Once inside the library proper, I took a deep breath, drinking in the pyramid-shaped displays of staff picks laid out before me and the rows of stacks falling away to the depths of the building. Natural light flowed in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, and happy patrons basked in sunshine as they browsed.
Rafael opted to walk briskly upstairs but waited for me on the third floor when I hesitated getting on the next escalator.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” he said.
“Except for the fact that you never bothered to mention that there were still Asherah followers in existence. Are they like crazy sports fans but for goddesses? Do they have Asherah jerseys and wear face paint while sporting a rowdy cheer?” I widened my eyes theatrically. “Do we have team colors?”
Rafael bestowed an unimpressed stare upon me.
“Fandoms be crazy, man.”
“They’re not football hooligans.”
“Here in the colonies we call it soccer.” I stepped aside to let a mom with a sticky-faced toddler pass.
“Yes, well. We can get into the butchering of proper English in the New World some other day. I assure you,” Rafael said, “these people are harmless. However, a site of worship, even with the assumption that it refers to Asherah, could be anywhere at all, and we will make little progress without pursing each lead.”
“Bamahs are also known as high places. And this one is closed.”
“Very good, Ashira. Your basic research skills are in top form. Is it a penthouse? How about a grove on a hill that’s closed to the public because it’s on private property? Your hypothesis about Chariot seeking the scrolls at the grove in the Sinai Peninsula has merit, but we are still dealing with far too many variables. Thus, this quick meeting with the Gigis. They may have insights as to whether any single place holds more importance these days.”
“Gigis?”
“G.G. An acronym for Goddess Groupies.”
“Riiiiight. But my sports fan analogy was totally out of line.” I nudged him toward the next escalator. “Let’s get this over with.”
Our meeting spot was on the sixth floor at a set of metal stacks that were all pressed up against each other. In order to access any individual row of books, a patron had to press a button that allowed two stacks to separate.
Rafael double-checked call numbers on the sides of the stacks against his phone. “Here we go.”
I hit the button and the rows parted. “As Moses with the Red Sea,” I intoned in a deep voice, “so Ashira with the library shelf.”
Rafael gave a long-suffering sigh and stepped between the bookcases.
I quickly followed, barely glimpsing some very dry titles before the library vanished. Were we transported?
Hot, sharp sunlight beat down on my head. Tier after tier of windowless stone arches soared high above me, the space rung with stone bleachers, but all was empty save for a small knot of people on the lowest level, all wearing some variation of Mad Max post-apocalyptic chic.
Dust covered my motorcycle boots with each step on the cracked,
baked earth as I stalked over to the group.
Rafael hurried behind me.
“Hail and greetings, followers of Asherah.” I snapped off a sassy salute. “Which of you is the Houdini?” Whoever it was hadn’t bothered with the gritty taste of dirt at the back of my throat to provide a full illusory experience. It was all sun and heat with no substance.
“Illusionist,” a paunchy man said, with a haughty tilt of his chin. His bare belly hung over his leather pants.
“Kudos,” I said. “This is a solid B.”
He rose off his stone bench in a huff. If he didn’t like the criticism, he shouldn’t have pulled this stunt on us when we’d showed up to a meeting in good faith. “I beg your pardon?”
I pointed to the top of the stone amphitheater. “That upper level is kind of blurry, wouldn’t you say? And those clouds look like they’re about to break into a Disney song. Kills the whole gladiatorial menace you were so clearly trying to achieve.” Levi had ruined me for perfectly adequate illusions, damn him.
“Like you could do better.” He fingered one of the pale round plugs stretching out his ear lobes.
“Of course not. I’m not an Illoooosionist.”
Rafael stepped forward. “What is the meaning of this?” he said with calculated menace.
A middle-aged woman in a studded bra sat on a stone throne with one leg thrown over the arm like a self-styled emperor. “You requested our help with information. We need help as well.”
Some guy with a burnished gold tan, blonde locks that tumbled to his shoulders, and a six-pack that was more defined than armor rose like an Adonis and loped over to the low wall.
Now, that was how you wore leather pants with no shirt—strutting your lean frame like you were a rock god coming off stage to the deafening screams of a packed stadium. I swallowed.
He leaned over, beckoning me closer. Wow. Three more ab ridges had appeared. “Hi there. I’m Gabriel.” His voice was rich wine spiked with cloves that warmed all sorts of interesting parts of me.
“Hi, yourself. I’m Ashira.”
Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. “Like our goddess. Isn’t that a wonderful coincidence? It’s almost like this was fated.”
Pretty and capable of three-syllable words. “Almost exactly.”
He gestured at Rafael. “Your boyfriend says you have powerful magic capable of great destruction.”
“Not my boyfriend.” My brain caught up to the actual important part of that statement and my dreamy tone hardened. “He said that, did he?”
Rafael flushed. “They asked,” he said in a low voice. “It sounded intimidating and is technically true.”
“Call me Destructo,” I said louder to Gabriel.
“Perfect.” He unleashed a lopsided smile that made me think of rumpled sheets.
I fanned out my shirt. “Uh, why is that perfect?”
“Pull it together,” Rafael hissed.
I stopped blinking dazedly at Gabriel and put on my best badass face.
Empress Studded Boobs made a sound that was halfway between a growl and a snort. “Get on with it, Gabriel.”
He sent her a sweet smile that would have sent angels into a tizzy. “I’m doing it, Eileen.”
“My name is Lux.” She scraped her electric purple hair back, revealing shaved sides.
“What is it you require of us?” Rafael said.
“Despite our prayers, Asherah has not been seen for centuries,” Gabriel said. “As our faith was insufficient, we hoped to bring her to us with an offering of our devotion.” He swung his hands like he was opening a curtain and a thunderous roar rocked the stadium.
It punched into my solar plexus, hitting that deep primal part that urged me to simultaneously flee and curl into a ball, not drawing any attention to myself.
Most of the Gigis cowered, except for Lux, who merely winced, and Gabriel, who leaned forward, his eyes gleaming.
Every hair on my body standing on end, I spun slowly, and jumped. “Fuck balls! What’s that?”
Ten feet tall, with curving horns and the face of a goat, the creature had red-flecked eyes that were vertically slitted. Were Miles standing next to its powerful human body, you’d tell the Head of House Security to stop embarrassing himself and hit up a gym.
The creature beat his meaty fists against a barrier that shimmered and rippled in the hot air, and the Houdini cowered.
My shoulders slumped. There went my hopes that this was an illusion.
“Meet Ba’al,” Gabriel said. “God of fertility and storms, and coincidentally, also Asherah’s true love.” He placed a hand over his heart. “Know that in your death, you give him strength to call our goddess back.” He flicked his fingers and the barrier disappeared.
Ba’al howled and charged us with the fury of a prisoner loosed upon his captors. Spittle flew from his mouth in his rage.
So much for mostly harmless.
Chapter 6
Ba’al’s horns burst into flames, white-blue to orange-red and back again in an infinite undulation. His eyes glittered with malice and claws sprang from his fingers, the ground rumbling with each one of his steps.
Shoving Rafael sideways, I locked my blood armor into place and ran at the creature with a guttural cry. A blood red curved pike appeared in my hands, its satisfying weight bearing enough heft to do major damage. Sunlight glinted off its deadly sharp edge.
I stuck to a few tried and true weapons, low budget avenger that I was. Plus, my weapon deployment skills were pretty basic so no point getting fancy with some broadsword and losing my hand.
Raising the pike high, I swung downward into his neck, blood arcing out to spray me. Its hot tang failed to overpower the stench of wet clay that made me want to sneeze. None-too-gently, I ripped the pike out for my second swing, craving the sweet victory of this monstrosity’s head at my feet. I’d have to neutralize its magic first in case it had regenerative powers. I wasn’t taking anything off the table.
Ba’al lunged and grabbed me by the throat, but his claws couldn’t penetrate my armor. He ripped away the pike and slammed me onto the ground. Fire spat off his horns to crackle along my shield before dying out.
An eerie cackle burst out of me. He’d have to do better than that.
The shadow of Ba’al’s enormous foot fell over my face, but I caught it an inch away from impact, flipping him up and onto his back.
Jumping to my feet, I called up two darts that I fired into his eyes. One hit its mark, the other he crushed in his fist, dropping the twisted weapon in the dust.
He snorted, his nostrils flaring, and his head hanging at an odd angle, courtesy of my earlier maneuver. That’s right. Bring all that lovely blood closer for me to mainline into.
If this was a god, I’d eat my leather jacket. The scroll pieces of the Sefer that were merely made by an angel sent me into an uncontrollable longing. Put the actual angel feather in front of me and I’d slit my throat for a taste. I knew god magic. Or divine whatever-it-was. This upstart was nothing like that. Strong, sure, but barely a blip on the drive-me-into-terrible-longing radar. I could take it or leave it.
Rafael yelped, struggling against thick green vines that sprung from the ground to wind around his legs.
Paunchy dude sneered at me. Oh, I was so coming for him when this was over.
Ba’al sniffed the air. Extinguishing his flames, he bent his head, horns thrust forward, and changed course for the easy prey.
I raced after him, but he was faster than me.
The vines now waist-high, Rafael stared wide-eyed at the creature stampeding towards him.
Ba’al rammed into him, impaling my Attendant’s shoulder on his horn.
Rafael screamed, bone spearing through his shoulder.
“Noooo!” My lungs couldn’t inflate; my head spun. Rafael fussed about silly things like British English being the only English, berated me for microwaving water for tea, and would need an exorcism to sever tweed’s demonic hold on him. But I kept thinking about that time
he’d listened to me talk about Adam, took my laptop away from me to help, and how he’d brought me a cup of tea, made the right way, when I couldn’t find words to encapsulate my grief.
He’d probably been about to apologize for the mess his death would make, damn him.
Not today.
Ignoring the stitch in my side and the searing pain flaring through my injured thigh, I leapt onto Ba’al’s back, my armor disappearing as I plunged one hand into the gaping wound on his neck. His flesh sucked my fist in deeper.
I gagged because yikes, that was new levels of disgusting, but still hooked my magic inside of him. Ba’al’s magic didn’t just feel wrong on a primal level, it was made up of so many different types that the overall taste was like swamp water that had been pissed in by a monster with a pus-spewing STI.
I spat several times to clear the taste, tightened my legs around his waist, and amped up my magic push, shaking with the strain. His magic was a mess, everything globbed together in a hardened gluey clump, underscored with a mindless pulsing hunger.
Ba’al jerked back, tearing his horn free from Rafael’s body.
Rafael screamed again, his eyes unfocused as the vines disappeared and he fell to the dust.
The false god raked his claws against my right forearm, which was clamped onto his bicep for balance, managing to elbow me hard in the boob. I flinched. Note to self: upgrade bra from all-day hold to Defender of the Realms.
The flesh on my arm turned black, burning with an acidic fire, and a demented cry tore from my throat. I wrested magic out of Ba’al in a thick smudgy stream and slammed it into an explosion of red forked branches.
The abomination bellowed.
I rested my head against his sweaty neck and bloomed the shit out of the white clusters.
Ba’al shuddered. His body flickered once, twice, and he imploded, sending me sprawling onto my ass. All that was left of him was a foot-long crude clay sculpture in his image laying on its side in the dust.
Those fuckers had used some kind of golem base.
“Rafael.” I cradled his head in my lap, one hand on the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Ba’al had ripped his shoulder open and Rafael’s arm and shoulder muscles glistened, a broken shard of bone protruding. “Get help!”
Revenge & Rapture: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Detective Series (The Jezebel Files Book 4) Page 5
