Page 29 of The Demon’s Due (Bedeviled #5)

“He had a mole?” I teased out the thought. “Only Alastair and Delacroix knew about the ritual, and my father wouldn’t trust someone like Natán with his plans. Maybe Alastair?—”

“Despised Natán and wouldn’t give him a heads-up.”

“Even if the information bought Alastair his life?”

“He wouldn’t have lived long enough to plead his case. Natán works on the one-strike-and-you’re-dead rule. And he was betrayed by someone he trusted. A dhampir of all things.”

“How quickly you discarded the idea of Natán being the one to give Alastair that amplification rune.” I managed to knock Ezra aside to get at the buttons. Or he let me, but either way, I got the elevator moving again.

“I was letting emotion rule my thinking,” Ezra said.

“I wanted to blame him for all of it, but when Delacroix confessed to handing over the rune, I was forced to accept that Natán wasn’t part of this business with the Luce.

That said, he did know Alastair was after a procreation ritual.

My father would have puzzled out every conceivable outcome while Alastair was still on the run and put pieces into place to ensure everyone knew who the most powerful vampire still was. ”

“He would have anticipated an outcome where the ritual’s effects went this badly, even if he didn’t know what that would look like?” I said doubtfully.

The doors opened.

“As one of many? Yes,” Ezra insisted. “And he’d have planned accordingly. I need this thrall undone so I can leave you and investigate why my father and Secretary Pederson were in Burning Eddie’s notebook. That will give us answers to all of this.”

“Okay.” I exited the elevator. “Give me two hours. I promise?—”

“Aviva, no!” He slammed his hand against the door to prop it open. “This is the final thread between him and my mother’s death. I’m sure of it. You know how much I need this answer, and this is my one chance to get it, to finally understand.”

“I’m not trying to be a bitch, but you’ve waited this long, and two more hours won’t make a difference. Whereas I’ve called this meeting, and I can’t—I won’t —tell everyone to wait,” I said.

“You’re scared they won’t listen to you after seeing Cherry.”

I crossed my arms. “It’s not fear. Severing the thrall and speaking to Secretary Pederson is incredibly important and urgent, but two shedim were loose in HQ . I have to prioritize survival, and my idea of fighting fire with fire is the best chance we have. I’m sure of it.”

“Fear and ego, then.”

I took a deep breath so I didn’t say something I regretted. “I have to lead this meeting.”

“Ah yes.” My boyfriend looked up and down the empty hallway. “The meeting.”

“They’ll come,” I insisted. “They need a moment, but they’ll show up. Please don’t fuck this up for me.”

The thrall between us pulled taut like a chain.

“I give you my word that you’ll be free of it soon and you can go to Copenhagen. I’ll come find you. Meantime, don’t leave the building, okay?”

Ezra dropped his hand, his expression inscrutable.

The elevator doors closed on his silence.

“Fleischer.”

I jumped and spun around.

Gemma stood behind me with her arms crossed. “I will never like you,” she said, “but I do respect you.”

“Same,” I said tersely.

We shared a moment of utter revulsion over this fact.

Unwounded operatives I’d revealed myself to were filing into the largest conference room.

Gemma headed down the hallway to join them, then stopped and turned back. “Aviva?”

I froze in my tracks, waiting for the other shoe to fall. “Yes?”

She smoothed down her dirt-streaked trousers. “Thank you for saving me,” she said, and slipped inside.

Somewhere in Hell, a snowball was melting. I threw my shoulders back, strode into the meeting, and shut the door.

Not everyone who’d seen me had chosen to attend.

Michael took the floor first, her demeanor grim.

“Two lock cells containing shedim prisoners were in storage here. I’d arranged for them to be transported before the Brink collapsed, but in the ensuing chaos of the past few days, I didn’t personally confirm that happened, and the Luce dissolved the protective runes.

” The strain of responsibility was etched in the tight lines around her mouth.

“Operative Alan Greenberg, who was on duty in the evidence room, was killed.”

There were no gasps or cries or recriminations.

Each Maccabee simply absorbed the news of their fallen comrade, letting it fuel the cold fire of determination that burned within us all.

Alan’s death would be answered for, not with dramatic displays of grief, but with the ruthless efficiency that defined us.

“Aviva is going to take over now,” Michael said. “Phones on silent, focus on the topic.” She motioned that the meeting was mine.

“Eishei Kodesh magic stems from the Hanukkah fire, and the Luce’s healing magic is spreading like wildfire.” My voice was steady, betraying none of my anxiety. What if I said something that made them leave or second-guess supporting me? “Can we fight magic fire with magic fire?”

Ezra wouldn’t head off to Copenhagen and induce a heart attack in me, right? Was it fair of me to ask him to wait after he’d waited this long?

The director took a seat in front of a legal pad that Louis had set out for her and clicked her titanium-plated pen.

He was currently making himself useful bringing in bottles of water and a coffee dispenser that he set up at the back.

“I did some quick research,” I said, “and there’s a technique in firefighting called backfires or back burning.”

“I’ve read about that.” Joe, a level three, and one of our only Métis operatives, slipped into the room, followed by a few more level twos and threes. “It’s when firefighters light counterfires.”

Build it and they will come , Cherry said wryly.

“Yes.” I obsessively checked for the faintest sense of the thrall going off the rails, but all was well.

Ezra really had understood how important this was to me. My shoulders relaxed. I was so grateful I had a partner who got me.

“Backfires are deliberately set in front of an active fire front,” I said. “It’s a controlled prescribed burn that starves the fire of the fuel it needs to spread by consuming some of the combustible material.”

“It also creates a fire belt that the wildfire has trouble crossing, right?” Joe said.

I nodded. “At best, a backburn can totally prevent the fire from spreading.”

“What’s the risk?” Gemma said. “I don’t love something called backfire.”

Everyone chuckled.

“Fair,” I said with a smile. “There’s a risk of the counterfire spreading or even worsening the wildfire.”

“There’s something to this idea.” Marilyn, an older level three who had assigned Sachie and me the Toussaint art fraud case a million years ago, played with a paperclip. “But how do we mitigate that risk and create a backburn strong enough to circle the globe like the Luce has?”

“We use the model of our Maccabee rings and all the flame types working together. I’m not sure exactly how yet, but that’s what we’re here to figure out.” I uncapped a marker and moved over to a stand containing a chart with large sheets of paper.

“With the Luce releasing shedim prisoners on top of everything?” a level two cried out. “We’d be in the center of a death trap!”

The room broke into angry chatter.

Michael stood up with an ear-piercing whistle. “What happened here with the locks will not happen on a global scale. The Authority has measures in place which absolutely ensure that.”

I tamped down my snort, wishing Delacroix could hear himself referred to as “measures.”

“It’s above your clearance levels,” Michael continued, “so don’t bother asking. Yet that’s only part of why the Luce must be stopped in its tracks as quickly as possible.”

“Darsh, Silas, and Nasir,” Gemma said resolutely.

The level two piped up once more. “If Nasir is still?—”

“He is.” A bunch of us growled variations of that sentiment at the same time.

“We stop the Luce to help all vampire operatives,” Marilyn said.

Someone declared that it wasn’t enough to stop the Luce; we had to reverse its effects on infected vampires

“Exactly,” I said, “And we have to do it in a matter of days.” I waved my marker. “Bearing in mind that the Luce spreads faster in high humidity, and it will be most potent here in Vancouver on Saturday, throw out your ideas for a magic backfire.”

Using how our magic kicked in one type at a time in our ring’s cocktail as a template, we vigorously discussed the order in which it should be deployed now.

Did it make more sense for Blue Flames to go first to identify the current direction and flow of the Luce magic wildfire, determining where it was spreading the fastest and where it was weakest?

I was getting hand cramps from how fast I was writing, all while checking in psychically with Ezra—and never receiving a response. It wasn’t as if he didn’t hear me.

I’d been left on “read” in my own head.

I ground off enough tooth enamel that a visit to the dentist was mandatory, though he hadn’t left HQ. Yet.

The conference room had been growing more crowded, with everyone Darsh could spare given the option of joining this meeting.

Yet, there were plenty of operatives who hadn’t shown up. I couldn’t say whether it was because they’d stayed in the field to keep the peace or now regarded me with contempt, but I’d find out soon enough.

Our discussions intensified. Should step one not involve the Blue Flames but rather let Orange Flames create the right “conditions” for this backfire by banding together to lower humidity? How else could we create optimal spread conditions for our magic counter burn?

Eduardo, a level three with yellow flame powers, posited that Yellow Flames could create magic channels to ensure the fire devoured only the Luce and not physical structures.

Louis slipped in and whispered something to Michael. Her eyes widened for a split second, then she murmured, “Excuse me,” and left the room.

Olivier called, but I ignored the buzzing, pointedly staring at a couple of operatives who were checking their phones. It was like once Michael left, certain people no longer felt the need to obey her “phones on silent” directive.

Whatever. This was more important. They’d see that.

Whispering broke out in the back, along with glances my way.

Yeah, a half shedim was leading strategy talks and helping to save everyone. They could get over it. I was tapped out, crashing from the demon fight and my boyfriend’s angst, and yet, here I was, still giving my all.

“Order!” I snapped. “Red Flames use physical fire, but while devouring power could be launched into the path of the Luce with more energy concentrated on the high humidity spots globally, we don’t want to literally set the world ablaze.”

That set off another round of frenzied brainstorming. I shook my head. They were like kindergartners requiring their teacher to keep them focused and in line.

I blotted my forehead. The room was oppressively hot with all the operatives crowded in here.

Gemma said something, but her words filtered through to me slowly, like sound underwater.

My nodded response was several beats too late.

The whispering was growing; more operatives shot me hooded looks before leaving without even an “Excuse me” or “Sorry, Aviva, gotta run.”

My stomach sank as I registered their expressions, a mixture of doubt and something worse. Disappointment? Suspicion? What had I done to make them leave? Were they questioning my abilities? Had I lost their respect? My throat tightened.

I was roasting, my pits were damp, and sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. Was I having a visceral reaction to all this talk of flames? Great. Add looking like a dumpster fire in front of my colleagues to my résumé.

I gripped the edge of the table, my vision flickering.

Olivier phoned again, followed immediately by Sachie. This wasn’t because she was dead, so modeling professional behavior, I again ignored it. Plus, I felt guilty for even glancing at the screen when I’d mentally reamed out others for doing the same.

The fluorescent lights overhead pulsed and writhed, each flash a needle in my eyes, like I was living misaligned with everyone else.

I blinked dumbly at my notes about how White Flames had to amplify the spread of the backfire without any memory of writing them down.

Hanging on by my fingernails, I placed an operative in charge of each flame type.

I was obviously the Blue Flame rep, but I made Gemma White Flame chief, relishing her look of surprise.

She was the only level two given that responsibility.

Joe was tasked with Orange, and Marilyn the Reds.

Eduardo rounded out the team for the Yellows.

We’d work in conjunction with the Maccabees around the world who were already on the Luce problem—like Ha-joon in Seoul—to help refine our backfire process.

Olivier called yet again, the buzz grating like steel wool against my brain.

A knot of operatives huddled together, ignoring me and no longer bothering to whisper.

Fuck them. I’d done it. I’d come out as a half shedim and I was being the goddamn spark to usher us out of the darkness.

It would have been nice if Michael had bothered to stick around to see this victory, but she was always dropping out at the last second and missing the most important moments of my life to focus on her own work. This was nothing new.

The room spun and distorted, faces stretching like melting wax and mouths moving in slow motion.

A searing headache threaded through my temples like a hot wire, my skull throbbing with each heartbeat, and my ribs squeezing like they were constricting inward.

We’d gotten a lot of good ideas, and I was exhausted. Everyone else had to be as well.

I rapped my fist on the conference table. “Meeting adjorn?—”

Pain exploded behind my eyes like a supernova. Every nerve ending screamed in protest as the room dissolved into white fire. The cold floor rushed up to meet me, then everything went black.