Page 18 of The Demon’s Due (Bedeviled #5)

The male vampire from the Pont des Arts showed up as the last shovelful of concrete was smoothed out on top of the buried locks. The rest of the locks that had been removed were being contained in similar rooms in this bunker.

Twice he attempted to light his cigarette, but his thumb moved so fast that it slipped off the button. He gave a forced laugh. “Should have bought matches.”

I mustered up a smile.

“Bad habit I can’t break, even after two years of being a vampire.” He fanned the smoke away from my direction.

“No worries.” It wasn’t the cigarette troubling me; it was that I could see every injury he’d ever suffered (yes, I looked without his consent), including specific faint ribbons of blue around his kidneys, which meant kidney failure from when he’d been human.

But there was no sign of the Luce. It remained invisible.

“You were turned while an operative?” I said. “Sorry, I never got your name.”

“Mathéo. And yes. It happened shortly after I received my ring.” His expression became wistful. “Graduating from Maccababy was a great day.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Then a few months later…” Mathéo shook his head. “I’m your ride back to town. Whenever you are ready to leave.”

“Let me check in with Ezra.”

Mathéo dragged deeply on the cigarette. “Take your time.”

Ezra was in a tight knot with the Maccabees we’d ridden over with, chatting away in French while they cleaned up. Whether or not his position with the Authority had changed, he’d gone from persona non grata with operatives to a position of friendly neutrality.

Despite whatever Natán was up to, these Maccabees were cordial to his son and had taken directives from him without complaint.

The group announced they were heading out, so I pulled Ezra aside.

“We need to find that shedim brain we stole from the cactus safe,” I whispered.

“Tear the Copper Hell apart if we have to. I can’t sense the brain because it’s a full demon part, unlike infernals or cursed artifacts, but Delacroix would keep it close.

It’s there somewhere, and if he’s stashed it in a special warded-up box or something, I could sense that. ”

Ezra agreed, so we declined the ride, though we let Mathéo lead us back up to the surface.

By the time I got to the top, my thighs were burning. I was rubbing them and waiting for the ache to subside when there was a heavy thud.

Mathéo lay crumpled on the ground, his flesh eerily transparent. His veins glowed like fiber-optic cables, casting a silver light that was beautiful and horrifying.

Ezra crouched next to him. “He’s not unconscious or in a coma. He’s dead. Actually dead.”

“How—how can you tell with no pulse, no heartbeat, no breath—” My voice was growing pitchier, but what the fuck? Vampires turned to ash. Ezra had to be wrong.

He placed a hand on my shoulder. “We need to let the others working downstairs know.”

We headed back down into the bunker.

It took several tries for the operatives to understand us, and it wasn’t because Ezra’s French had suddenly gotten rusty. The manner of death was unprecedented.

I directed them to Mathéo, then we all stood motionless in the frozen air, our breath forming clouds as we stared at the strange remains. No one spoke. There was nothing to say in the face of a death that defied even vampire nature.

Healing magic. What a crock. It healed Mathéo right out of existence.

Out of respect, Ezra and I rode back to town with his body, parting ways with the other operatives outside HQ.

“Everything is code red urgent,” I said helplessly.

“We have to stop the Luce, but we also need to locate every last cell and ensure no demons get free. Maccabees have eyes on major cities with love lock traditions, but one escaped shedim in a rural area could devastate an entire community before we responded.”

Ezra pulled me into a tight embrace. “We’ll figure this out,” he murmured against my hair. “I promise.”

I wanted to believe him, but the memory of Mathéo’s corpse haunted me.

There was one place to find the answers I sought: Delacroix and that shedim brain I’d stolen for him.

Ezra was totally on board with heading directly for the yacht, because he was worried about his Li’l Hellions. All had been well when he spoke to them, but Mathéo’s death was an escalation.

Plus, Ezra confided in me that it required more effort now to maintain the security system on the Copper Hell. He hadn’t determined whether it was because the Luce was attempting to grind it down, but he wanted to head back and find out.

He found a spot away from CCTV or onlookers and portaled us to the yacht, choosing to bring us into the foyer instead of his private quarters.

I surveyed the packed casino, my stomach clenching at the sheer number of vampires crammed into the space, because even this shoulder-to-shoulder press of bodies was a drop in the bucket compared to all the ones left in Babel.

Most of the vampire patrons didn’t bother to hide their fangs, their edgy energy teetering on the brink of losing control.

Equally as troubling, some of Delacroix’s Brimstone Breakfast Club were present, when I’d never seen them around before.

The Bilge played craps with his one-eyed, four-tusked blue crony, while mopey Eeyore Demon groomed his donkey mane, occasionally gnawing on the nails of his short hooves that sprouted from his throat like a sunburst.

The Li’l Hellions maintained their professional demeanor, but anxiety rippled off them like an electric current. Every accidental brush of shoulders, every too-loud laugh sent tiny shock waves of tension through the crowd.

Predictably, Ezra was rushed by his staff with questions over his safety, the state of things in general, and a litany of on-board issues for him to solve.

Ezra’s casino manager and pit boss snarled at lesser staff to back off. The second those vampires scuttled away, the other two were on Ezra, making demands of him.

Generally, the Copper Hell ran like clockwork, the premises immaculate. But there were signs of strain now: dirt on the carpet, empty glasses perched precariously on the roulette table, and gaming machines with smudged screens.

A portly Eishei Kodesh woman in a bright orange blouse hurried past me, portal bound. The last human on the ship, she was guarded by four Li’l Hellions. She clocked my Maccabee ring and slashed a hand across her throat. “Get out while you can.”

My fingers twitched, and Cherry vibrated at the possibility of violence.

Ezra shot me a sideways glance. “Give me a minute,” he told his staff.

They didn’t listen, and when Ezra physically turned away from them, his pit boss grabbed his sleeve.

Ezra whirled on the vampire, fangs bared.

His Hellions took one look at his furious posture, and oh yeah his toxic green eyes , and bolted.

I couldn’t let him lose face, not here, not now. Maintaining a neutral expression, I slammed him with a psychic scream: STAND DOWN. The effort of holding Cherry—and Ezra— in check while projecting calm nearly brought me to my knees. The hunger in me grew savage, demanding.

Ezra touched the small of my back. “We should eat,” he said in a normal voice, his eyes once more their normal silvery blue.

“The famous buffet?” I said with a lightness I didn’t feel.

“Your wish is my command.”

A velvet rope still marked off the bottom of the wide spiral staircase, though no vampire stood guard now.

Ezra unclipped the rope, and we climbed the stairs up to the sprawling atrium crowned by a massive glass dome.

Even though stars winked down on us, their light competing with the honeyed glow from the modern chandeliers, it was unsettling being alone up here. All Eishei Kodesh had fled, and any vampires and shedim on board were herded together downstairs like that would protect them.

Well, all the shedim but one.

The glass doors were locked tight against any ocean breeze, but the dark water was as smooth as glass. The prow cut through the night with only the faintest rolling motion and hum of the engines.

I strolled past angular furniture grouped around cold fire pits, the air almost aggressively fragrant from predatory-looking plants in one of the themed lounges, toward the lavish buffet that dominated the center of the atrium.

Poached salmon had dried around the edges, tiny quiches sat cold and congealed, and the charcuterie board’s meats curled at the corners. Even the chocolate mousse I’d heard rave reviews about looked waxy.

Grimacing, I picked through a silver bowl of buns to find one that wasn’t hard, added some olives to my plate, and the least bruised fruit I could find.

Ezra helped himself to a chilled bottle of blood, his mouth a thin line. “You have to understand,” he said, “they’ve been doing their best given the circumstances. All deliveries were stopped, and they’ve been stretched thin running security as well as trying to keep everything else going.”

“The Hellions get a pass.” I forced down the few bites that were within food safety freshness. Ish. “But we need to search for the brain.”

Ezra pushed the plate closer. “Eat.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but all that came out was a giant yawn. I’d lost track of how long I’d been up, and jumping time zones didn’t help.

“More food and then you’ll nap.” He shot me a mock scary glower. “No arguing.”

I muscled down everything on my plate. Mostly because my boyfriend looked wilted, and if I didn’t rest, he wouldn’t either, but I was glad when he brought me to his private quarters.

A heavy bookcase anchored to the charcoal wall held novels behind glass doors. Moonlight spilled across polished floorboards, while a neat stack of logs waited in the fireplace.

The room carried Ezra’s scent, mixed with lingering notes of clove from cigars.

He dimmed the lights to a single floor lamp’s glow. Despite the dark masculine elements, the space felt personal: chess pieces neatly lined up awaiting the next game, bottles in the vintage bar cabinet gleaming, and above the mantel, a sensual watercolor of intertwined lovers.

After a quick shower, I changed into one of Ezra’s T-shirts and boxer shorts, headed back into the living room, and sank onto one of the leather sofas flanking the wide coffee table.

Ezra was playing solitaire. How many of these games had he played during his time at the Hell? Was it a holdover from his lonely childhood?

A pang of sadness hit me as I watched his practiced movements—the familiar comfort he took in this solitary pursuit spoke volumes about years spent finding ways to keep himself company. I stepped forward, wanting to hug him and assure him he wasn’t alone anymore.

He looked up from the game, his silvery-blue gaze heating at the sight of me in his clothes.

I batted my lashes at him. “I suddenly have a second wind.”

His returning smile was rueful. “Let’s wait until the thrall has dissolved.”

“Smart idea,” I said a beat too late and a fraction too brightly. “Where are my clothes?”

“They’re being washed.”

I weighed the pros of clean clothes without me doing laundry against rando vamps handling my unmentionables and decided that clean clothes won. “Great. Thanks. And my phone?”

“It’s charging on the side table.”

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” I said, a warm surge of happiness fluttering in my chest, and called my mother.

Even though it was Saturday afternoon in Vancouver, she was at work. The rain was so loud, I heard it beating against the glass on her end.

I told her she was on speakerphone and Ezra was present. Luckily—if I could call it luck—I didn’t have to break the news about Mathéo’s death or that some of the locks were perilously close to opening.

The Paris director had already been in contact, and Sachie had filled her in on the amplification rune and our visit to Burning Eddie.

“Not to pile more shitty news on you, but we have to talk about Natán,” I said.

“Saint Cardoso,” Michael said wryly. “Or should I say our evil overlord? Yes. Sachie told me that too.”

Ezra laughed bitterly and shot back two fingers of bourbon.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I said, “but you’ve got to convince the Authority to work with him.”

Ezra choked on his drink.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Michael said.

“I’m not. One of our operatives is dead because of the Luce. There’s no way Natán has special resources that combat the healing magic, but it seems other vampires do. Including some of our operatives.”

Wishful thinking? Perhaps, but it didn’t change anything.

“The Authority must show that they’re looking out for their own,” I said. “And if that doesn’t convince them, then use the argument that we’ll have better access to what Natán is up to, should Ezra be right about him wanting to consolidate power here on earth.”

There was a long pause, then my mother sighed. “That will be difficult.”

“They’re deciding the fates of all vampires on earth, aren’t they?” I said disgustedly.

“Obviously,” Ezra said. “I would, too, if I was them.”

“But their own operatives? If the Authority doesn’t have their backs when it matters most, we’ll lose them, and not to the Luce. How does that help anyone? Michael!”

“I’m not on board with that and neither are a lot of directors,” she said blandly. “Or half the Authority.”

“Fucking Dmitri,” I spat.

“Once upon a time, Natán was one of my closest friends,” Michael said, “but whoever he is now is a dangerous stranger. He claims to want this partnership, but what will he do if we call his bluff? Ezra, what do you think?”

“He’ll find a way to weasel out of it,” he said, sitting down next to me, “and blame the Maccabees.”

“Maybe that’s the reason to do it,” Michael said. “And have our own strategy in place to discredit him. I’ll propose it. When are you coming back?”

“Soon,” I said. “After we find the brain.”

“Be careful of Delacroix,” my mother said in a worried voice.

“I will. And leave the office, okay?”

“I’m meeting Keira for dinner in a bit.”

“Good.”

“Love you,” my mother said.

“Love you too.” I think I kept the surprise out of my voice at that sign-off.

I yawned, my lids heavy, and tossed my phone on the coffee table.

Ezra kissed the top of my head.

In that moment between waking and dreaming, I felt safe, the stillness of his immortal body somehow more comforting than any heartbeat could ever be.

Was this feeling—this profound sense of security—another effect of being enthralled? Or was it simply him, simply us, the way we’d always been drawn together.

I quieted my fears. I had everything I desired—and that wasn’t the thrall talking. I didn’t think.