“If this cash didn’t come from Tessa, where did it come from?” Rohan said.
“Finder’s fee for connecting Mandelbaum to Tessa?”
Rohan counted the money. “Depends if he willingly sold her out or Mandelbaum smoothed over Ethan’s dried-up extra income with a bonus to keep him loyal.”
“He’d already sold Tessa out, how loyal could Mandelbaum have thought he was?”
“There’s ten grand here. If Ethan had blown the money from Tessa, the rabbi was pretty confident he’d bought his man.” Rohan put the money back in the box and slammed the lid shut.
As for where Ethan had met Tessa, the answer was Switzerland.
Ro found a photo of Ethan visiting his mom at their family home, taken when she’d been recovering from a bout of pneumonia. The date on the back lined up with shortly before the payments had started. Ethan had told Ro about his mom getting rid of everything, believing her stuff was harboring dangerous bacteria that had contributed to her brush with death. She’d cleansed her space and purged the bad vibes out. He’d joked about her calling in the professionals.
Tessa.
Ro was grim on the drive over to the funeral, hating that he had to tell his friends what he’d discovered. “I can’t believe I never knew.”
There was nothing I could say to make him feel better. Ethan had been undermining the Brotherhood for Tessa, sold Tessa out for the Brotherhood, and then paid for his actions by killing his friends and dying.
Was that justice?
We were definitely in the right mood for a funeral, but this was Hollywood. Even the cemeteries here were epic on a whole other level. The Jewish cemetery back home was located in a suburb and overlooked by a Skytrain line. This place was more like a museum than a final resting place.
There was artwork. Artwork! Everything from a massive Heritage Mosaic mural to fountains and sculptures, not to mention beautiful gardens.
Rabbi Wahl’s funeral was much better attended than Zander’s had been. The place was packed to overflowing. All the Rasha were sitting together on the left side of the chapel. Except Kane, who sat on the other side.
I slid in next to Ari. “Really?”
“His choice.” He did a double take. “You okay? You look kind of sweaty.”
Ever since my temporary blindness, my body had been aching with the desire to get a magic bump. I don’t know if my decision not to use her power was somehow contributing to these amped up detoxing symptoms or not, but I grit my teeth, popped another couple painkillers, and hoped my natural accelerated healing abilities would kick in soon.
In addition to all of us that had been at the restaurant holding the memorial yesterday, Rabbi Mandelbaum’s posse was in attendance–minus Ilya–as well as Rabbi Wahl’s family and friends. He’d had a large social circle and everyone was devastated to have lost him in a security attack from a disgruntled client.
The rabbi conducting the service spoke warmly about his friend, and there was a long line of extended family and close friends wanting to eulogize him.
It made sense for Rasha to say they worked for an international security firm, but I’d never understood how rabbis got away with it. Baruch whispered to me that even non-Brotherhood rabbis worked as security consultants for secular firms.
DSI may have been Wahl’s cover story, but by the way that Rabbi Mandelbaum greeted the widow and surviving children it was clear they knew the truth about Rabbi Wahl’s job. The chapter head truth, not the hit squad one.
Other than the giant lie surrounding the circumstances of his death, it played out like every other Jewish funeral I’d been to.
The widow and Wahl’s children all tore their shirts over their heart to symbolize their loss. Then the pallbearers carried the plain wooden casket from the chapel out to the freshly dug gravesite. Since there were more than ten Jewish men present, the minimum number required to form a minyan, they said Kaddish at the grave, and as a final way to honor the departed, people were asked to shovel dirt onto the casket. Every single Rasha came forward.
Even Benjy was at this service. Ro explained that they didn’t shield the initiates from the hard truths of being in the Brotherhood, no matter how young.
After the service, I gave Rohan space to tell his friends about Ethan, and ambushed Oskar, the German who had been in Mandelbaum’s room. So, you know, most likely Ilya’s killer.
“Where’s your friend Ilya?” I still harbored a stupid hope that Ilya had been chastised and sent away, but Oskar hesitated a fraction of a second too long before replying that Ilya had left the country on DSI business.
I clasped my sparking hands behind my back and gave him a faint smile and a non-committal “oh.”
Oskar went to confer with Rabbi Mandelbaum, who gave me another assessing look.
The sheen of sweat on my face was edging into gross territory so I locked myself in the women’s washroom and splashed cold water on my face and hair, blotting myself dry with one of the folded hand towels laid out in a rectangular basket for my convenience. My eyes were clear, and aside from a splotch of heightened color on my cheeks, I looked normal.
My body, however, throbbed in a dull ache. I was cold and I wished I had some ginger chews.
Rohan was waiting for me when I emerged. He placed his hand on the small of my back. “Walk with me?”
He looked uncharacteristically solemn, so I accompanied him in silence, reading some of the names on the gravestones as we cut through one section of the cemetery.
“You holding up okay?” he said, turning us onto a tree-lined path.
I rubbed my arms. “I feel like I have the flu. Esther will be here tomorrow. We’ll get Lilith out and all will be well.”
After another few minutes walk, Ro squatted down by one of the graves on the lawn. He pulled a smooth pebble from his pocket and placed the rock on the corner of the gravestone. “Hi, snake.”
I knelt down as best I could in my pencil skirt.
Asha Sarah Patel. Beloved daughter and cousin. The inscription, along with the dates of her birth and death were set into a heart in the marble gravestone that lay flush with the ground.
Rohan sat down on the grass next to the grave and placed his palm in the center of the heart.
“Hi, Asha.” I sat down beside him. “Why did you call her ‘snake?’”
“A.S.P. Her initials. It started when I was little and since it annoyed her, I kept it up.”
“Asp! That’s why the song title. Some of the track names were leaked,” I said.
He gave me an odd look. “Nava, you don’t have to read my fan boards. If you want to know something, ask me.”
“I wasn’t sure I had the right.”
He tucked a curl behind my ear. “Sweetheart, you have the right.”
I leaned in to his touch, savoring it. “I thought the title was some metaphor about me being the death of you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not everything is about you.”
“But mostly it is, right?” I grinned at him.
He rolled his eyes then leaned in and stole a quick kiss.
“The song,” I said. “Is it about a specific memory?”
He plucked a handful of grass out, systematically shredding the blades. “It’s the last remaining track I have to write and I can’t get it right.”
“Could you release the album without it?”
“No. Asp starts my story. It has to be there and Ascending has to be released next month on the twenty-seventh.”
“Why?”
“Because Asha’s favorite artist was Prince and he wrote Purple Rain, her favorite album, when he was twenty-five.”
“Did he release it on the twenty-seventh?”
He smiled and tapped the gravestone. “It’s her birthday. Asha made me promise that since she couldn’t write music and release her own album at twenty-five, that I should immortalize her at that age.”
“I like her logic.”
“You would.” He lost his smile. “I can’t l
et her down again.”
I scratched at my arms. “You’ll get it.”
Rohan caught my hands. “Tell me how I can help you, but stop hurting yourself.”
My skin had red nails marks slashed across them. “Distract me. Talk to me about Asha.”
He laughed softly. “You’ll love this. When we were really young, she’d dress me up in her mom’s clothes because she wanted a little sister.”
“Did she make you have tea parties?”
“I wish. She’d make us pretend we were TLC and perform their albums.”
“That doesn’t seem so bad.”
“And Destiny’s Child.”
“Right.”
He ducked his head. “And Spice Girls.”
“Tell me you were Scary.”
“Baby.”
“Did she put you in a blonde wig?”
Rohan scrunched up his face and I lost it, howling with laughter. “Shut up.” He nudged me. “I’ve never come here with anyone.”
I stopped laughing and squeezed his hands in mine.
“Not even my family since her funeral. It’s too hard to be here with them, so I come by myself.”
“I’m honored you brought me.”
He jumped up, pulling me to my feet. “I wanted you to meet.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, granting me the same importance in his life that she’d had. My bones unstitched and knit back together with the shattering simplicity of a single thought:
I love him.
I thought I’d been in love once before with Cole, but that was puppy love. Sweet and young and light and short-lived. My feelings for Rohan were anchored in every atom. We were each other’s best friends, lovers, protectors, and confidants. There was a strength and a surety and a completeness to it. He was the one I wanted to wake up to and fall asleep with, the heart of my heart, my one and only.
The moment I’d seen him standing in the alley those many months ago, I’d been intrigued. The moment he’d first kissed me, I’d been besotted. The moment he’d trusted me with Asha here, I’d fallen head-over-heels.
I pressed a hand to my side like I’d run a marathon and couldn’t quite catch my breath, but the bliss of this new-found knowledge was better than any runner’s high.
He was my person and I loved him with everything inside me.
Was it tacky to tell him here? Standing at his cousin’s grave? Maybe when we got back to the car?
We needed to get back to the car.
“Ro–”
“It’s him!” A dozen women cut through the row of trees lining the nearby walkway. Forget any semblance of privacy and respect in this place of mourning. It was like the running of the bulls as they charged us. They were led by Tia, who’d forgone her red leather trench for a demure sundress.
Bitch shouldn’t have stood me up.
“Can I have your autograph? I know it’s rude, but I’m your biggest fan.” Tia’s voice quivered. Oh, she was good. As she spoke, she drew closer and closer to Rohan, away from the rest of the group who’d hung back waiting to see how he reacted. She reached into her black purse and pulled out a pen and photo of Ro from his Fugue State Five days.
“Quite the secret identity, Rasha.” Only we could hear her. “I had no idea.”
“Now that we both know where we stand.” He trained a glittering smile on her.
“You could kill me.” She glanced back. “But do you really want to replace the adoring look in their eyes with the fear that nightmares exist? You’re supposed to keep them safe, not terrify them.”
She held the pen out to him.
Rohan’s mouth flattened and he snatched the pen away to autograph the picture. The move was the starter pistol, the other women rushing him.
Tia took her photo and disentangled herself from the mini mob. “Do you get off on being with the big bad hunter, sweetheart?”
This demon piece of shit was fucking with the man I loved. Defiling Asha’s grave with her presence.
I gripped her hip, letting my magic flare between my palm and her dress. “I get off on being the big bad hunter, sweetheart.”
She jerked away, her pupils dilated. “Fascinating. I suspected something was up with the interview request, but I never imagined this.”
Adrenaline flooded my system, but I’d only used my magic, not Lilith’s. My rage blew away some of my achiness. The hard part was not eviscerating Tia on the spot.
“Tia!” A petite Asian woman held up a signed photo, triumphant.
I jerked my hands behind my back, shutting my magic down.
“Way to go, D’arcy!” Tia said. “Told you he was a class act.”
“Holy moly.” A woman in a dress patterned with cats was standing on Asha’s grave. “Is this your cousin that died?”
“Please get away from there,” Rohan said, his voice strained, but still attempting to be gracious and finish signing autographs.
Tia raised her eyebrows and went to look. She stared at the grave for a very long moment, then started laughing. Doubled over, uncontrollable, gasping for air, belly laughter.
“What’s so funny?” he snarled.
“Ask Desiderio.”
Rohan froze, confusion morphing into horror. “No.”
Why would Drio know? Had this been a demon he’d hunted? But no, that was dumb. Drio always made the kill. After the demon who murdered Asha escaped, he’d honed his tracking skills and ruthlessly dispatched his assignments. His record since her death was flawless. I’d even creeped on his Brotherhood stats via Orwell one slow day, just to see it for myself. Every single demon he’d tracked, he killed. Every single demon he’d hunted was gone.
Every single demon except for one.
Oh. My. God.
The other women were murmuring and exchanging odd looks.
“Everyone needs to leave.” I clapped my hands together. “Yo! Now!”
“We don’t need to listen to you,” one snarked.
“Get out of here,” Rohan roared.
The women fled.
“She didn’t scream in the end. I’ll give her that.” Tia knelt down and petted the grave like she was complimenting a precocious student.
We were screened from prying eyes by the trees, plus, she had to die, so I blasted her, but she vanished before I hit her, reappearing behind Rohan and wagging a finger at me.
“You weren’t the demon Drio was tracking.” Rohan looked perilously close to short-circuiting, his left eyebrow twitching, and his body trembling like he was battling both shell shock and nuclear rage.
“No. But he was on my radar. The ultimate hunter. The pride of the Brotherhood.” She wrinkled her nose. “It was such fun to take Desiderio down. And look! I got two for the price of one.” She leaned toward Rohan, inhaled and shivered. “You are going to be a delight to destroy.”
Rohan lunged for her, stumbling off-balance when he swiped at empty air.
She was gone.
“Nee!” Ari and Baruch were sprinting our way. My brother skidded to a stop and grabbed my arms. “What happened?”
“The demon we’re tracking. She killed Asha.”
A howl of unendurable pain ripped from Rohan’s throat. He stared into the distance, his eyes blazing with a fanatical intensity. “We’re going to burn her world to the ground.”
22
It was a tense and silent drive into the downtown core, and even the cool art deco buildings around Olvera street didn’t lighten Rohan’s stormy mood.
I met Baskerville in a wide-open plaza featuring a massive twisted tree with exposed gnarled roots situated across the street from this beautiful little church called La Placita, Our Lady Queen of Angels.
Hispanic families dressed in church finery poured out the front doors, headed for the parking lot next door. Chic parents held the hands of little girls in white poufy dresses and young boys in white suits. Even the grandmothers set a gold standard of working it, sporting dresses in bold colors that showed off their every curve.
&n
bsp; Baskerville had glamoured his blue skin and snout and as a result, looked more like a bespoke Wallace from “Wallace and Gromit” than ever.
The two of us strolled along Olvera Street, a tree-lined pedestrian zone, flanked by Mexican restaurants pumping out hip-shaking salsa. Two long lines of red painted stalls in the center of the street hawked a variety of products: Frieda Kahlo T-shirts, gold jewelry, sugar skull printed wallets, Los Luchadores masks, candles with photos of the saints, embroidered dresses, and miniature guitars painted vivid blues, reds, and purples.
Too vivid. The riot of colors hurt my eyes, the music set my teeth on edge, and the scent of churros made my stomach rumble in disgust.
I presented the demon with the tzitzit I’d stolen from Rabbi Mandelbaum. “We good?”
He tucked it into a suit pocket. “It’s satisfactory.”
I jumped out of the way of a little girl barreling down the street on a ribbon-bedecked scooter.
Baskerville handed me a hinged pendant covered in engraved symbols, dangling from a silver chain. He stopped me from opening it. “Not until you’re ready to use it.”
I slid the chain over my head, but could sense nothing magic about it. It was heavy for its size and cool against my skin. “If you’re faking me out with some dud, I’ll kill you. Ooh. Avocado sauce. Let’s try that.”
“Thank you, no. I’m not hungry.”
“Don’t be rude,” Rohan fell into step with us.
“Hiya, babe. Good timing,” I said.
Rohan still had that feral quality from our Tia encounter, emanating the off-kilter energy of a man on the verge of going postal.
I hustled us all into the shack of a restaurant that Ro and I had scoped out before the meet-up as the best venue to conduct our business. Aside from the galley kitchen there were maybe eight square wood tables with benches. A family of six squished in together around a table at the front eyed us warily, but other than that, the place was empty, the dinner rush not yet begun.
Baskerville glared at me but he didn’t disappear because one of Ro’s finger blades was jammed in between the demon’s shoulder blades. One wrong jostle, even to portal out, could kill him.
Ro maneuvered himself and the demon so their backs were against the wall, facing out to the stalls.
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Fall Page 22
