Page 23 of The Demon’s Due (Bedeviled #5)

I was incredibly groggy on Sunday morning, yawning while I played a voice mail from Darsh.

“He wants us at brunch,” I told Ezra. This used to be a monthly tradition with Darsh, Sachie, and me, and I missed it.

My boyfriend had been stress knitting while I slept.

The ugly orange sweater was completed and he was working on a new project.

(He’d brought his canvas supply bag, with, yes, much nicer yarn.) On the menu today was a very, very long scarf that verged into blanket territory.

Or actual territory because another few feet and it would qualify for its own property tax assessment.

“Darsh is well aware of the urgency of the situation,” I said. “For him to ask for a time-out means he really needs this break, but Michael was clear about us getting to work.”

Darsh didn’t answer my return call. Instead, he texted—uncharacteristically—before I could leave my regrets on his voice mail. You need to eat . Fuel up then hit the library at HQ . Or take it to go. I want to see my friends outside of a code red situation.

Ezra gently tugged a lock of my hair. “He’s not the only one who needs to fill up on good friends and good conversation.”

“True.” I leaned against him. “You and I could both use that.”

“I barely like any of these people,” Ezra said. “I’m only doing it to remind you how incredible I am.”

I caressed his cheek. “Trust me, I remember.”

He caught my hand and kissed my knuckles.

“Head out in ten?” I said, sliding off the bed.

Ezra rolled up the scarf. “I have to make one quick stop on the way.”

Half an hour later, Ezra had run his errand, and I’d picked up a dozen spicy ginger cookies from Sachie’s favorite bakery.

Civilians should have been out for brunch or jogging and cycling, but it was like we were in a movie where all the extras were Trad cops and operatives. Storefronts and restaurants were dark.

Posters had gone up calling on Parliament to declare a national emergency and pass Jared Casey’s magic oversight bill.

They listed the benefits: wresting control away from the Maccabees, forcing Eishei Kodesh to register their magic.

We’d also have to pay special taxes to the government to monitor our community and increase security for the Trad population.

I drove over the Cambie Street Bridge. Sunlight glinted off Yaletown’s glass towers, while a seaplane skimmed low over the gentle ripples of False Creek. So normal and yet so not.

“This sucks,” I said. “Not the weather. That’s finally lovely.”

“Yeah. I can’t believe it’s been over a week.”

“Of rain?” I braked at a red light. “Or since the Luce hit? Not quite.”

“Since I fucked you,” Ezra said blandly.

“Oh. Jeez. We were alone in my bed last night and that didn’t even occur to me. Cockblocked by a magic virus and my father.”

My boyfriend grimaced. “Never say those words in that order ever again.”

I laid a hand on Ezra’s cheek.

Our eyes met, our breaths mingling in the quiet space between us.

“Avi,” he said regretfully.

“You’re my boyfriend. Wanting to kiss you is a perfectly normal desire.” I waggled my eyebrows at him. “We’re at one of the longest red lights in Vancouver, but if you don’t want to…”

He laughed harshly. “I want to, mi cielo.”

Our lips met like a whisper, soft and warm against each other. The gentle press held all the sweetness of a first snow, or dawn breaking over still waters.

I floated away on waves of bliss, clutching his shirt with a breathless sigh. My lids fluttered half-open.

Ezra pulled back slightly.

I followed him, needing his lips on mine.

“Avi. Aviva,” he repeated more sharply and gently slapped my cheek. “You’re unfocused and glassy.”

“Hmmm?” The sound floated between us like I was underwater. I reached for Ezra again, the world around us hazy except for the magnetic pull toward him.

“Snap out of it!”

HOOONNNNK!

The sound jarred me back to my senses. My reflection in the rearview mirror showed my head tilted toward Ezra and my mouth working like a fish.

Cheeks burning, I hit the gas and sped forward.

“It’s not your fault,” Ezra said.

“Could we not?” I mumbled.

“It’s mine. As the one enthralling you, it’s my responsibility to?—”

I smashed my hand on my horn, making Ezra jump and the asshole driver in front of me switch lanes.

“Have you forgotten why I initiated the thrall, Coma Boy? Yeah, it’s embarrassing acting like your mindless super groupie, but if that was it, I’d get over it.

I may not have fully comprehended how uneven it would be when I initiated it or how it would change our dynamic, but at least respect me enough to not make it worse by taking responsibility—” I did the air quotes with one hand.

“Like I’m some brainless puppet. My choices don’t always work out, but I’ve made them freely and I stand by them. ”

“Okay,” he said quietly.

Only a few more days until this thrall was gone forever. The Luce would also be at its most potent and there might not be a future to enjoy, but that was a problem for tomorrow me.

My biggest concern for the next couple hours would be my champagne to orange juice mimosa ratio at brunch.

We drove deeper into the heart of Kitsilano. I turned off the main thoroughfare onto a residential street not far from Darsh’s house.

Ezra slammed the dashboard. “Pull over! Now!”

He exploded out the door before I reached the curb, speeding toward a man with a hunting rifle trained on someone’s back.

“Real humans don’t need magic!” the Trad cried.

His victim’s pivot was halting and jerky, and when he finally turned around, the vampire stared at the man with milky-white eyes.

I gasped. That vamp was either seconds away from a Luce-induced death throe or about to unleash a murderous rampage. Possibly both.

Ezra grabbed the barrel of the gun, but he was a fraction of a second too late.

When the blast hit its target in the shoulder, the only one surprised that it enraged rather than killed the vampire was the man.

He enjoyed that emotion for all of two seconds, at which point the bloodsucker tore the Trad’s head off with a super speed that caught even Ezra off guard.

Ezra jumped the other vampire, killing him in less than a heartbeat.

I ran up to the broken vampire corpse splayed on the concrete, jumping the puddle of the Trad’s blood, and tugged on Ezra’s sleeve. “Get back in the car before someone sees you.” I phoned the deaths in, but said I’d come upon the crime scene after both were dead.

Jared Casey was up in arms about depending on vampire Mafias. He’d do anything to further his agenda, especially twist Ezra’s involvement—Natán Cardoso’s son—to implicate him in a Trad’s murder.

Standing there, watching dark fluid seep into the concrete while sirens wailed in the distance, I was struck by how easily I’d slipped into this bizarro reality, where covering up supernatural deaths wasn’t just necessary but sadly routine.

A soft, bitter laugh escaped me. My lifetime of keeping secrets and fabricating plausible half-truths was really coming in handy.

Ezra remained out of sight while the cleanup crew arrived. Even though they’d heard about vampires leaving corpses with transparent flesh, their veins glowing silver like fiber-optic cables, that didn’t stop their shocked expressions.

I gave them the same statement that I’d phoned in and left them to handle the aftermath.

Five minutes later, Ezra and I stood on Darsh’s front stoop in the mist. His character house was a jewel of a home with slanted creaky floors, richly painted rooms, and plenty of light coming in through the vampire-safe windows.

Ezra held two bottles of Golden Blood. The Rh-null liquid was the rarest blood type in the world.

“You really ponied up for people you barely like,” I teased.

“These are for me.” Ezra cradled the bottles to his chest. “I don’t trust the plonk Darsh will serve.”

The door opened, Darsh standing there with his hands on his hips. “Hand the good stuff over, Cardoso.”

Had Ezra not had lightning-fast reflexes to grab the bottle he’d almost dropped, it would have crashed onto the stairs.

Deep wrinkles carved valleys across Darsh’s once-smooth face, his skin now paper-thin and mottled. His brown hair had turned stark white and his eyes were unnaturally bright in their sunken sockets.

I blinked dumbly at him.

His shoulders were hunched forward, though his fangs still gleamed with predatory sharpness when he spoke.

“I’m trying a new look,” he said blithely. At least when he tossed his head, the movement was fluid. “Do you love it? I’m a little undecided.”

Ezra shoved the Golden Blood at Darsh, then vaulted past him, calling Silas’s name.

Instead of hugging my friend, crying, or raging at the universe, I shrugged. “I’d go back to your old skin care regime if I was you.”

“Bitch,” he whispered, and pulled me into a tight embrace.

I didn’t tense up at how cold and therefore how hungry he was, though Cherry was vigilant against his slightest movement. The Baroness had protected me from many dangers; one of my best friends was never supposed to be in that category.

It was too sad to be scary, and I reluctantly ended the hug, going to find Sachie.

My bestie was in the blue and white kitchen with Olivier, who’d been put to work making waffles.

His lean, muscular frame filled out his faded jeans and fitted Henley perfectly, his Black skin contrasting handsomely with vibrant green eyes that sparkled with warmth.

“Hey, Avi,” he said, wiping batter off the outside of the griddle. His Nova Scotian accent with hints of New York and Irish influences had softened but not disappeared during his time out west.

“Hey yourself.” I gave him a one-shouldered hug, tamping down my smirk at the fact that his hair smelled like Sachie’s favorite shampoo. “How’s the vampire patrolling going? Lots of volunteers?”

“No, but more than I figured would show up for Toothpick Sentry.”

I snorted. “Don’t let Darsh and Silas hear you call it that.”