Revenge & Rapture: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Detective Series (The Jezebel Files Book 4)

by Deborah Wilde

  The Queen sipped her drink as I filled her in on Deepa and the closed bamah, leaving out Nicola’s role. “Anand was in the money lending business. Is it possible she had dealings here in Hedon even though she was Mundane?”

  The Queen pushed her dark red hair off her shoulders and topped up my glass. “I’ve not heard of this woman, but my people will look into it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Hudson ran back and forth at Moran. He swung a little too close above her head and I jumped out of my seat.

  “Watch it!” I cried. “You almost decapitated her.”

  “I was nowhere near,” he scoffed. “Stop being such a helicopter parent.”

  Mrs. Hudson barked, annoyed at me for interrupting their game.

  The Queen swirled the liquid around in her glass. “I did not think it would be this difficult to unearth the Ten.”

  “Me neither.”

  “I’m going to get you,” Moran threatened, brandishing his sword. Mrs. Hudson ran between his legs, her tail wagging.

  I brought the dog to visit whenever I could in order to gentle Moran’s disposition towards me, but if he shish-kebabbed my puppy, I’d flambé him. I sipped the very fine sangria and tried not to wince every time that damn sword got too close to her.

  “Thank Levi for the heads-up,” the Queen said.

  Thank him yourself was probably not the correct response. And since when was she on a first-name basis with him? “For what?”

  Moran shot a tiny lightning bolt into the ground and made Mrs. Hudson jump. I flinched, but she loved it, jumping to the spot where the spark had been. He shot another one and she tried to pounce on it as well. Great. My dog was part cat.

  I jabbed two fingers from my eyes to Moran’s.

  “He always did like dogs,” the Queen said with a fond look at her henchman. “But back to the matter at hand. Levi provided intel that allowed me to stop a planned assault on Hedon by the Mafia Romaneasca through the fixed door in Bucharest. It has been sealed up and the culprits dealt with.”

  “That man in the garden wasn’t Romanian, by any chance, was he?”

  She smiled at me as if I were a small but clever child. “I suspect Chariot was using this mafia group to stage a coup of Hedon. Whether or not they know that I am looking into them remains to be seen, but it is a reasonable assumption that I would not have stood idly by when they used my name in their kidnappings.”

  I fished an apple slice out of my drink and munched on it. “Levi’s got a bee in his bonnet about finding a Bookworm.”

  Her Majesty regarded me over the rim of her glass. “I heard.”

  “My Attendant said they’re pretty rare, but there’s still a chance that one is around.” I stirred my drink thoughtfully, debating what fruit to go for next. “The electronic trail isn’t yielding answers for us anymore and we suspect the evidence we need is on paper. Do you know of a Nefesh like this or have any leads I could follow? The sooner I find this Bookworm, the sooner I can get back to the bamah problem.”

  The scent of her chili and cinnamon magic rose hot and fast, like I’d just chugged the sangria. I almost winced.

  “Sorry, chica,” the Queen said, her expression guileless. “But I know of nothing that would help.”

  I could have sworn she’d just lied to me.

  “Ah well. No harm asking. It’s a long shot anyway.” Since I had the dog with me and a doped-up Rafael back at my house, I couldn’t use the gold token to do any further digging in Hedon. I’d come back. For now, I kept my tone scrupulously polite, got my hyped-up puppy away from Moran, and blipped out.

  Rafael was neatly wrapping one of Priya’s connector cables when we got back. Priya had given me two tutorials and a test before I’d been allowed to handle them when tidying up, and for a moment I feared for Rafael’s life, but his technique was perfect. He placed the cable next to the neat pile of power cords that he’d already wrapped.

  Mrs. Hudson jumped onto the sofa next to him.

  “Feeling better?” I said.

  He rolled his shoulder out. “This is, but I’ve got a bloody awful headache.”

  I sank into a chair and eased off my boots, massaging my feet. “As much as I wish I could bring you tantalizing new information to prove your pain was worth it, that’s still in the works. The Gigis didn’t have a lot of ideas, but they’re sending me to go find a divining rod tonight. Chariot doesn’t worship Asherah, but they do worship the Sefer and its promise of immortality. What if the bamah Isaac is seeking is the original spot where the Sefer fell to earth?”

  “Anything is possible.” Rafael folded the blanket he’d been using. “These are good speculations but until we narrow down which site we’re looking for, speculations they remain.” He looked down at his House sweatshirt. “If I’m to accompany you on this social outing this evening, I should go home and change.”

  “Do I ever get to visit your place?”

  He made a face. “Is that strictly necessary?”

  “Yes. It’s what friends do.”

  “When’s the last time you invited a friend over to socialize?”

  “I invited Arkady over,” I said.

  “Not in the past two months you haven’t.” Nice avoidance of my friends comment. Rafael gave me a hangdog look. “I don’t suppose I can get out of going?”

  “You could, but the cracking girl would be so disappointed.”

  Rafael shoved the blanket at me. “What will it take for you to never mention that again?”

  “I’ll think on it.” I was totally using it on every possible occasion.

  We met at Just Dandy at 9PM. Priya had kept up a steady stream of chatter in our Uber to force Arkady and me to participate in the same conversation. Once we got inside the club, she declared herself in desperate need of a drink and abandoned us for the bar.

  I didn’t generally do nightclubs. With my leg, I’d never been able to dance, and there was something pathetic about sitting and watching everyone else have fun all night. It’s part of why I’d gravitated toward dive bars.

  “Why, pickle,” Arkady said. “Look at you, all in the know.”

  “Because I brought us to a gay club?” Hmm. For a place that generally hosted theme nights like Bottoms Up and Head Hunters, there were a lot of women here tonight. It wasn’t a huge club, but the dance floor was pretty spacious—and packed. The mostly female clientele grooved to an up-tempo song with a pulsing bass under swirling disco balls and twinkling lights. Others were crowded in at the bar that ran along one side or stood chatting in small groups by the stage framed with red velvet curtains. “Has this changed management or something? Is it no longer the purview of the penilely-inclined?”

  A stunning redhead who was poured into a vintage dress with a sweetheart neckline raised her glass in cheers as she walked past. I blushed and fiddled with the deep V-neck of the black jumpsuit that Pri had made me borrow, once she’d stopped giving me shit for turning our social outing into a work night. Leather pants and rock-and-roll, those were my jam. I was out of my element in this cool, beautiful crowd, especially next to Arkady in black jeans and a button-up shirt showcasing the tattoos on his arms. His dark, chin-length hair floated free, and eyeliner rung his brown eyes.

  No matter. Think of it as an undercover assignment.

  “It is, indeed, usually dude friendly.” Arkady waved at Rafael, who had secured a table by the dance floor. “But tonight is Paralypstick.” He huffed a laugh. “Which you didn’t know.”

  “And that means what?”

  He smiled mysteriously. “Fabulousness.” He strolled confidently through the crowd greeting some of the other clubgoers. “Rafael, my man. How’s the shoulder?”

  They knuckle bumped, Rafael looking adorably out of place.

  I claimed a seat by tossing my blazer over the back.

  Arkady eyed the fizzy gold drink on the table. “What’s with the ginger ale? Are you a teetotaler?”

  “I can’t shake this headache,” Rafael said.
“They healed me quite thoroughly earlier, so I don’t know why I’m affected like this.”

  “Oh no.” Priya slid onto a high stool between me and Rafael, her beer sloshing over the top of the pint glass. She tugged down her gray leather mini skirt, one of the straps of her teal tank top that were tied in tiny bows coming undone.

  Rafael’s eyes darted to her shoulder.

  “I hope you’re not coming down with something,” she said, tying the fabric tight.

  “Me too,” I said. “But what a cracking good sport of you to come out.” I motioned over one of the servers, a very buff guy in gold lamé briefs and a turquoise feather boa, and ordered my usual Jack Daniels, while Rafael shot me the look of death.

  The server checked Arkady out, but he didn’t bite, politely ordering a gin and tonic.

  “Should we have gotten one of those video baby monitors for Mrs. H?” I asked Priya. Tonight was the first time the puppy was being left alone.

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “You say that, but you’re the one who leaves her shoes laying around. If she gets anxious and pees, I won’t be the one in for a nasty surprise.”

  “We walked, fed, and massively cuddled her before we left. Relax.” Priya proceeded to monopolize Rafael, asking to hear all about the Ba’al encounter, since I’d been too light on details for her satisfaction.

  I didn’t yet have a beverage to occupy myself with and Priya had already kicked me three times under the table, which meant speak to Arkady or face the No-Fly List. “So. How are things with Miles?”

  “I don’t kiss and tell. Unless you’re my friend. Which you aren’t.”

  “Buy you a drink?” A skinny guy with a Van Dyke beard and some hipster band shirt appeared at my shoulder. He wasn’t speaking to Arkady.

  I gave him a flat stare. “We’re in a gay bar.”

  “It’s Paralypstick. Lesbian theme night,” he added.

  Thanks. I’d figured that out. “Which helps you how?”

  “Sampling Sapphic delights, pickle,” Arkady said. “The Holy Grail of Het Boy Fantasies.” He shooed the guy away. “Run along. She’s straight.”

  The man waggled his head from side to side, like he was considering this consolation prize.

  “Seriously? Fuck off,” I said.

  The server arrived with our drinks and the man departed. Arkady insisted on paying for both our beverages, tipping generously.

  He held out his glass. “To new unsuspicious starts?”

  “To a truce for tonight.”

  He shrugged and we clinked drinks.

  “So? You and Miles?” I said.

  Arkady crossed his fingers. “Don’t want to jinx it. And you? You weren’t interested in that fine example of manhood?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Your brush-off game is strong, pickle. What techniques do you employ for picking people up?”

  I took a sip, enjoying the cool burst of alcohol down my throat. “I antagonize them for fifteen years and then kiss them.”

  “What a disappointingly small pool of candidates. Let’s pretend you hooked up like normal people. You get a text asking for a booty call. Then what?”

  I stoically sipped my JD.

  Arkady pointed his swizzle stick at me. “Play along,” he said. “I always thought it would be fun to be one of those sociologists who study sexual relations.”

  “Then nothing. It’s never as simple as just sex. One way or another I’ll have to work for my orgasm. My vibrator doesn’t expect that level of effort.”

  “Foreplay is effort?”

  “With some men? You have no idea.”

  “Trust me.” He sighed. “I do.” We clinked glasses again.

  “Also, I’d have to get up and get dressed,” I said.

  “Easy. Tell him to come over.”

  I almost choked on my drink. “Don’t do that. They might get ideas and want to stay the night.”

  “Would you stay the night at their place?”

  “No. I have to feed my dog.”

  Arkady swirled the ice in his glass. “You only just got your dog.”

  “They don’t know that. See? Now I have to keep track of lies, too. So much easier not to hook up. If I need a warm body in my bed, I’ll cuddle the puppy.” I pressed the cold glass against my forehead.

  “You miss him, don’t you?” Arkady tilted his head, understanding warming his eyes.

  The lights dimmed and the dance remix of some annoying pop song cut out to wild cheers as a slender man of Indo-Canadian heritage in a royal purple suit swaggered out through the velvet curtains.

  The top two buttons on the man’s gold shirt were popped open, his rumpled bowtie slung around his neck like he was coming off a hell of a good night. A gleaming crown was perched atop his enormous pompadour.

  Taking center stage, he planted one hand on his cocked hip, and slicked down his pencil mustache with a finger. “Welcome, my pretties, to Paralypstick!”

  Divine Rod, I presume.

  Chapter 8

  Divine Rod had elevated flirting with the crowd to an art form. He winked, he preened, he threw out extremely sexually innuendo’d one-liners, all between singing pitch-perfect renditions of current pop songs and introducing the other drag kings on the bill tonight.

  I’d been screaming as loud as everyone else in the joint when I caught sight of Rafael’s pained wince. I leaned over. “Go home. I can talk to him myself.”

  Rafael shook his head. “I want to be there.”

  He grit his teeth, pain etched into every feature. Priya said something to him, probably telling him to leave from his small shake of his head. She bit her lip, staring hard at the table, before she said something else to him. He blinked at her, then slowly nodded, and turned his chair so that his back was to her.

  Priya massaged his head in slow strokes.

  Arkady raised his eyebrows at me and I shrugged. I’d had a couple months to become accustomed to Priya and Rafael’s mutual interest. Also, the poor guy was suffering and Priya gave good head massages, having learned this technique with its Ayurvedic roots from her Indian grandmother.

  Halfway through the show, I was on my feet cheering for Lucky Strike, a silver fox drag king who was performing the shit out of Tom Jones’s “It’s Not Unusual.” Arkady nudged my hip and winked at me. I nudged him back with a grin, forgetting for a brief instant his suspected betrayal.

  I wished I could roll back time to when Arkady and I were first friends and he’d won me over with his brash, no-filter teasing. That uncomplicated period when my relationship with Priya wasn’t tested at every turn, Levi was just my nemesis, and I believed my father was alive.

  I’d always thought of myself as kind of a lone wolf, but it had never weighed as heavily on me as it did tonight, surrounded by this crowd. How much more would being a Jezebel isolate me?

  I reached for my drink, only to find it empty.

  The show ended with two encores, the first one with all the drag kings together singing “Hanky Panky,” which Arkady told me was from the old Dick Tracy movie, and then Divine Rod on stage alone closing out the night with “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.” He strutted and postured, reveling in a campy masculinity that put grins on everyone’s faces and had us singing along for the chorus.

  The hyped-up energy of the room after the show was redirected onto the dance floor. Arkady and Priya joined in with happy abandon, dirty dancing and laughing.

  “Enjoy the massage?” I said.

  Rafael shot me a suspicious look, his somewhat relaxed shoulders creeping back up along his ears.

  “I’m not ragging on you. I’m just observing.”

  He weighed responses in his head. “It helped.”

  We gave Divine Rod twenty minutes to unwind, then approached the bouncer guarding the backstage door with our request to speak to the man himself. I flashed my private investigator license, adding this was about a case, not an autograph, and to say that Lux had sent us.

  Five minutes
later, we were escorted to a cramped room that smelled faintly of cologne and glue. There was a jumble of stage makeup on a rickety table, alongside a pitcher of ice water. Divine Rod sat slumped in a chair, still in costume, but minus the suit jacket, his legs extended carelessly in front of him, and his crown sitting askew on a styrofoam mannequin head.

  “Thanks for seeing us,” I said. “You’re an incredible performer.”

  Rod inclined his head in thanks.

  “I’m Ashira Cohen and this is Rafael Behar. Do you prefer Rod or Divine Rod?” I asked.

  “Rod’s good.” His voice was scratchy. He cleared his throat a couple of times and then finished off his glass of water and set it on the table. “Lux told me to expect you. You have need of my magic?”

  “Yeah.” Even if we still weren’t entirely sure what that entailed. “We’re hoping you can help us find a closed place of worship, possibly connected to the goddess Asherah or the angel Raziel. Maybe somewhere high up like a hillside. We appreciate it could be anywhere, but can you narrow down the possibilities?”

  Rod scratched his stubble. “If this was, say, a ring, I’d have you visualize the lost object and home in on it that way, but you don’t know the item in question.” He retrieved a slim black case from the bottom of a garment bag hanging on the back of the door. Inside was a forked branch, which resembled a large wishbone. A very familiar honey buttery scent rose off it. “Our chances of success are slim, but I’m game to try.”

  I leaned in and inhaled. “Is that almond wood?”

  The drag king lifted up the dowsing rod. “Good nose. Yeah. Back in the Middle Ages, professional magicians preferred wands made from almond wood, and the Oracle of Delphi used almond wood dowsing rods to find hidden items of value.”

  “Fascinating,” Rafael said with a pointed stare at me.

  “Fix the idea of this closed bamah in your minds,” Rod said. “Attach any relevant details, no matter how small. And make sure you don’t touch me.”

  Rafael and I stepped back a safe distance. Eyes focused on the dowsing rod, I focused on Asherah, Jezebels, and the Sefer Raziel HaMalakh.