Nava Katz Box Set 2

by Deborah Wilde

  “The portable mikvah that I bought.” Catalina pointed at the pearly coating on the inside of the tub. “The resin will keep the magic from eating through the tub.”

  The venom was actually quite pretty in resin form.

  “It isn’t toxic anymore?”

  “Not at all.”

  “But we don’t have Satan’s blood.” I couldn’t really see getting Malik to open a vein, fun as that would be.

  “We don’t need it. We’re bringing your magic back to the surface, not removing it. Take a shower while Rivka and I fill this with purified water.”

  I took a shower in one of the stalls in the changing room, once more using the non-fragrant, organic products that Catalina had purchased, careful to wash every inch of me. When I was finished, I dried myself in a cotton towel and put on the cotton robe she’d provided before joining them.

  Rivka handed Catalina the lighter.

  “Thank you,” I said to Rivka. “For trusting me with the lighter. With Esther’s inheritance.”

  She regarded me gravely. “You’re welcome.”

  Rivka would never fit into my life as Esther had, but she’d always be there for me, and I for her.

  I climbed into the water, thinking calming thoughts and not that I was sitting in a vat of demon cum about to be set on fire.

  Catalina flicked the lighter on. “Immerse yourself.”

  I took a deep breath and went under.

  She fiddled with my hair, pushing it down around my shoulders.

  My eyes were shut, so I didn’t see her light the water, but the water molecules suddenly charged. It was like being back in the demon gateway, but in reverse. This storm didn’t want to take me apart, it wanted to put me together.

  The mikvah magic scoured me clean, my entire body floating weightless. It found the dark patches that had held my anger and my darkness and healed them. Forgiveness felt lighter, not hollow but freeing. The mikvah emptied me out, yet made me more whole than anger ever had.

  Then things got trippy. I went with it, because really it was no weirder than having an ancient witch locked up inside of me. Fire danced around my body and a phoenix appeared, speaking to me in Alan Rickman’s voice. “The mikvah is the threshold. The mikvah is metamorphosis. The mikvah is hope.”

  “Thanks, Alan Rickman phoenix,” I said.

  “Not at all, Nava. Now brace yourself.”

  The phoenix stabbed me right through my snowflake tattoo. My body cracked wide open and magic rushed in to fill the gaps.

  I laughed, swirling in the water and that gorgeous blue and white electric current that I’d never ever take for granted again.

  When I was stuffed with magic, sparks dancing off my fingers and toes, the water pushed me to the surface like Botticelli’s Venus emerging from the shell, except soaking wet with my arms thrown up in victory.

  “I’m back!”

  Ro startled when I portalled back into his living room. “Geez, Sparky, wear a bell or something if you’re just gonna… Holy shit!” He swung me around. “How? When? How?”

  I covered my face, still unable to believe it, the story pouring out of me.

  Ro listened to the entire tale, then pronounced, “You are some kind of magic freak, lady.”

  “Right? Here’s to freakdom.”

  The rest of that night was spent celebrating in the best way possible. We went demon hunting in Brazil, and Ro and I fucking decimated a pair of boitatá demons, these giant snakes with bull horns and enormous fiery eyes that blinded people.

  It was glorious.

  High off our kills, we watched the sunrise on a white sand beach in Mozambique before coming back to Rohan’s house to catch some sleep before getting ready for his release party.

  Maya had taken care of all the details, so other than a quick sound check, all Rohan had to do was show up.

  Ro was hyped. Sporting a pair of black fitted pants that clung to his thigh muscles and glutes, he threw on the music and broke open a bottle of wine while we got ready. His biceps flexed in his black tank top as he squirted a ton of mousse into his hair and styled it into messy spikes.

  “Do you have an eyeliner sharpener?” he said.

  “No, but I have a liquid pen in my purse. Can you use that?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  I retrieved it from the other room.

  The old blues song that had been playing switched up into “Moves Like Jagger.”

  Ro was dancing around the bedroom, singing and shaking his ass.

  I leaned against the doorframe. I was only half-dressed, and my hair was still wet, but my throat was dry and I couldn’t take my eyes off him because he was mesmerizing.

  And mine.

  He grabbed me, swinging me into an old-timey, cheek-to-cheek dance for the rest of the song. Just like Fred and Ginger.

  My outfit of choice received a wolf whistle. I wore another Raquel creation, this one a black lace corset with black obsidian buttons. She’d told me to stock up since she wouldn’t have a lot of time to work on her designs for the foreseeable future. Wearing it under a slim-fit black blazer, I’d paired them with black linen shorts and chunky ankle boots with multiple silver buckles. On my wrist I had a black leather cuff with silver studs.

  Ro had topped off his outfit with this black velvet jacket with gold embroidery at the cuffs and on the mandarin collar. It brought out the gold in his black-rimmed eyes.

  “You excited, Snowflake?”

  “Yeah. I kept my promise to Asha.” Ro held out his hand.

  I took it, folding my fingers over his. “That you did.”

  Maya had found some renovated speakeasy that easily held two hundred people, which was good because it was packed. Most of the people were family and friends, but some of Rohan’s hardcore fans had also been invited.

  The cream parquet floor hosted multiple cozy, high round tables, and the metallic gold and blue wall paper glittered almost as brightly as the lucky guests partaking of sparkling conversation and highballs in cut-crystal glasses.

  Rohan disappeared into a makeshift green room as soon as we arrived, but I stayed to mingle.

  “Nava!” Lily scooted through the crowd to crush me in a hug. As always, she was model gorgeous. Her brown skin practically glowed, her eyes dancing behind thin wire frames, and her brown hair loose and wavy. She wore a pink sheath dress that looked both fun and stylish on her.

  I hugged her back, crossing my fingers that this wasn’t about to get really awkward.

  She smacked my shoulder. “You guys totally held out on me with that Rasha stuff. Though I’m glad that you have a better real name because Lolita was stupid. And omigod, I was kidnapped by a demon!” She chattered away, not requiring more than nods from me.

  A gorgeous black guy in heavy tortoiseshell frames joined us, balancing two drinks. He handed one to Lily, then shook my hand as she did the introductions.

  “Nava, Marcus. Marcus, Nava.”

  “You and Rohan should come for dinner and share all your stories,” Marcus said.

  “You should,” Lily squealed. “Marcus is a chef and you’ll die when you taste his food.”

  Marcus beamed down at Lily, who gave him a sappy look that I suspected I flung Ro’s way more often than not. Phew. Awkwardness avoided.

  “We’d love to,” I said.

  “One party in a month? Up your game, girlfriend.” My friend Blair linked her arm through mine. She wore a very mini red dress, her blond hair piled high and adorned with flowers.

  “Kinda busy saving the world, but I’ll bump you to my top priority now.”

  “As you should.” She peered at Marcus and Lily. “Are you rock stars?”

  “I’m a physicist,” Lily said. “And he’s a chef.”

  “Hmph.”

  “She’s Rohan’s ex,” Marcus added.

  Blair’s eyebrows rose. “Tell Blair all.”

  She swept Lily away, who shot me a panicked look. I threw her a thumbs-up.

  My parents w
ere in the corner chatting with Dev and Maya. Mom was in this purple wraparound dress and she had curves. Go, Mom. Maya, of course, was her rock-and-roll self in some kind of complicated leather thing with folds and studs and a sparkly jeweled bindi. While Dev vibed cool in his linen suit and fedora, Dad looked like he was ready to hit the buffet at a Bar Mitzvah. I hugged all of them.

  Dad threw an arm over my shoulders. “Dov and Shana,” he said, then pointed to Ro’s parents. “Dev and Maya.”

  “What are the chances?” Dev said. The two men grinned at each other while our mothers rolled their eyes. “Oh! Liam!” Dev waved him over.

  Ro’s godfather joined us. Liam was delighted to meet me in person and once more tried to push his son on me.

  “She’s taken,” Maya said.

  “By Rohan,” Liam scoffed.

  Maya pointed the straw of her gin and tonic at him threateningly.

  “Blair’s here,” I whispered to my mom.

  “We told her no social media and she seemed fine with it… is she terrorizing anyone?”

  “Rohan’s very sweet ex.”

  We looked at each other for a beat and burst out laughing. There was a reason I was going to Hell. It was genetic.

  The parents and Liam excused themselves to get a table.

  Someone poked me in the back.

  “Hi, Sienna.”

  “I suppose you’re going to want me to play nice with the hunters.” Even though she looked lovely, she tugged at her caramel-colored dress like it was ill-fitting and she’d rather be in loose nurse’s scrubs.

  “Yeah, your seat on the council pretty much demands it.”

  She snatched a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. “I hate you.”

  “You can make me rugelach in thanks. Easy on the cinnamon,” I smirked.

  “Don’t push it.” She shot back her champagne. “It’s not gone.”

  “What’s not?”

  “The induction ritual. I took away the rabbis’ memories, but I saved the archival records. Oh, stop gaping. The council discussed it, and we want to continue with Rasha. They’re an important part of this fight. No more rabbis though. It’ll stay in witches’ control.”

  I squashed her in a hug.

  “Don’t wrinkle my dress.” She smoothed out the fabric, and grumbling, went to get another drink.

  A commotion rippled through the crowd.

  “What’s happening?” Kane appeared beside me, trying to peer over everyone. Ari was behind him.

  People parted like the Red Sea. Raquel and Mahmud, both in sleek black, sailed through arm-in-arm, oblivious to everyone around them. Mostly because they were bickering, but that counted as being wrapped up in each other, right?

  Kane’s eyes widened. “I want to be them when I grow up.”

  “You wanted to be the cutest.” Ari speared a mushroom cap from a waiter’s tray.

  I shook my head at the fungal offering.

  “Now I want to be the most glamorous. Get on that, darling boy.”

  “Me?” Ari looked down at his black shirt and pants. “I’m glamorous.”

  Kane tsked him, plucking a scallop with black truffles on a cracker from another tray.

  “You’re wearing a gold lamé suit,” Ari said. “That’s not glamour. That’s a disco ball.”

  Kane glared at my brother. Ari wasn’t wrong, he was just dumb.

  “Did you two lovebirds celebrate your one-month anniversary?” I said.

  “I convinced Baruch to allocate funds so Ari could have a lab for further studies of chemistry and magic.” Kane gave a smug smirk.

  “Well done. Ace, did you meet that bar of gift awesomeness?”

  Ari wiped his hands on the napkin. “I dunno. Did I?”

  Kane melted, gazing at my brother like he was cotton candy, champagne, and the sun. “He got me a lease.”

  “Huh?”

  “I asked him to move in with me,” Ari said. “We’ve been best friends forever and I want to come home to him every night.”

  Ari wasn’t so dumb after all.

  The skin between my shoulder blades prickled. I did a sweep of the room, but nothing popped out at me. There would always be something out there waiting, but any fight was for another day.

  I didn’t get a chance to chat with the rest of my friends, because the lights dimmed. I got into position at the front of the stage next to Leo, who wore a fitted red sheath with a sweetheart bodice, and handed her a glass of champagne. “Out of curiosity, you get any weird vibes tonight? Like you’re being watched? Because I’ve been spooked big-time by it and I can’t figure out where it’s coming from.”

  Before Leo could reply, we were interrupted by a deep male voice.

  “You mattered, even when I knew you were a PD. I mean, a half-demon.”

  Leo and I blinked at Drio, who stood before us in a fitted navy pinstriped suit straight out of the pages of GQ. His blond hair was slicked back and his cologne had a rich gingery undertone. He could have been a cool, disaffected model off the runway, except for his jiggling foot.

  Leo shot Drio a dismissive glare. “Now that you mention it, Nee, I am feeling somewhat stalked.”

  “Did you hear me?” he said.

  “Do you want a medal?” she said to him.

  He pulled at his collar. “I was losing Asha. Everything I swore to remember, her voice, her scent, it was gone, but I remembered everything about you and I hated myself for it.”

  Inwardly, I groaned. It was heartbreaking about Asha, but he couldn’t have phrased his feelings for Leo worse if he’d scripted it.

  Leo didn’t bother keeping her disgust to herself. “You won’t have to remember anything about me anymore.”

  Rohan strode onto the stage, accompanied by the studio musicians who’d played on the album, including Zack on piano.

  When Zack saw me, he smiled, his white teeth flashing against his black skin. He’d shaved his goatee, exposing a strong jawline, his lean frame looking all relaxed in a skinny suit.

  I blew him a kiss.

  Zack caught it and pressed it to his cheek. Rohan rolled his eyes.

  The crowd went wild to see their main attraction, but I was way more fascinated by the drama unfolding here in front of me.

  “I want to spend the rest of my life proving I’m worthy of you. Leonie. Bella.” Drio implored her to look at him, but Leo watched the stage like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

  Drio’s shoulders slumped. He backed away, but I yanked him back beside me.

  “You kept her from Gog and Magog, which was a good start. This was a bit of a hash, but give it another try after the show.”

  Rohan moved to the front of the stage and held up his hand for silence. “Thank you for coming. Tonight is very special to me. It’s the release of my first solo album.” More cheers. “And it’s my cousin Asha’s birthday. For a long time, I couldn’t speak about what had happened to her. Not just because she was murdered by a demon, but because I physically couldn’t speak about it.”

  Dev put his arm around Maya.

  Leo glanced at Drio, her features troubled.

  I squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. Would wonders never cease?

  “But then I met this woman,” Rohan said.

  A lot of good natured “ooohs.” I blushed.

  “Don’t let Nava know,” Danilo called out.

  “I told you to keep him off the guest list,” Cisco said.

  Rohan smiled down at me and I waited for all the lovely compliments about to flow my way.

  “She bullied me into getting healthy about my feelings.”

  I laughed.

  “That meant making music again. These six songs represent my story over these past few years. I hope you enjoy them.” He nodded at the band.

  The coolest thing about this album was not just the story as a journey, but the music as one, too. Both the story and the album started with “Asp,” a haunting ballad about a brutal loss and the venom that pierced Ro
han’s soul that night. Zack played in a minor key for a soulful eight bars, one of the musicians on violin joined in and Rohan began to sing. There were no other instruments.

  The song segued straight into “Age of Consent,” which built on the lush evocativeness of “Asp,” adding in driving percussion. The song wasn’t about sex, it was an exploration of Rohan’s anger, how he hadn’t given his consent for this tragedy.

  “Tourniquet of Phrase” had that same dark thread, but cool electronic backbeats were looped through it, giving it the sense of a person lost in a labyrinth, hitting dead ends. That impression was heightened with Rohan singing of his descent into musical silence, the void that decimated his creativity.

  Under Maya’s keen producer’s ear, every song grew richer and more layered, while still keeping true to elements of the previous song. It reminded me of tap improv exercises where someone would dance eight bars and then the next person would have to weave that into their own eight and so on. Even though the tone and rhythm of the songs changed, there was a consistency of flavor to them.

  Most people would not consider racking up demon kills a “Silver Lining” to their grief, but most people weren’t Rohan. That song evoked shades of Green Day’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” but sped up, edgy and raw. With a horn section. It was wild and shouldn’t have worked, but Maya’s infallible sense of how to guide the tune paired with Rohan’s fight with his inner and outer demons was breathtaking.

  Rohan sang “Slay,” the fifth song on his album, directly to me. How different this performance was from the one in Prague when I’d tortured myself watching him sing “Toccata and Fugue” to Lily. Once again I found myself stealing glances at her, but to make sure that she was okay with this public declaration. I needn’t have bothered. She was so wrapped up in Marcus, I doubted she remembered who was onstage.

  The tightness in my ribcage loosened and I lost myself in his ode to our love.

  “I told Rohan not to fuck things up with you.”

  I did a double-take at Drio, who nodded gravely. “Does this mean we’re friends again?” I said.

  “Perhaps.” He turned away, but I caught his small smile.

  Ro sang the last line of “Slay.” I mouthed “bliss” at him and blew him a kiss, which he caught and pressed to his heart.