It wasn’t very crowded at this time of day, and the redheaded barista stared at me with wide eyes as I walked up to the counter. She looked like she had seen a ghost, which meant she probably recognized my face from all those unflattering news stories last year.

  Her hair was up in a messy bun, and black feather pendants dangled from her ears. I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to figure out if I’d seen her somewhere before. She felt familiar.

  She came to her senses quicker than I did, a cheerful smile replacing the look of terror on her face so quickly it left me wondering if I’d imagined it.

  “Let me guess!” she said in a charming British accent, and her enthusiasm immediately reminded me of Becca. That must be why she seemed familiar to me.

  “Hmm? Guess what?”

  “Extra-dark mocha cappuccino?” She gave me a hopeful look, biting her lip a bit nervously.

  “Sure,” I said. I needed to order something anyway, so why not?

  With a bright smile, she skipped away from me to make the drink, and I stood there wondering whether she was even going to charge me. The counter beside the register had colorful papers scattered around, what looked like abstract watercolor paintings.

  I felt my heart tighten a little as I was forced to picture what her life must be like. Aspiring artist, working at the cafe to pay the bills, clearly empathic but not driven mad by it—yet. Happy. Peaceful. Innocent.

  I’d never known any life like that. Not even when I was a child. I’d been thrust into hospital rooms with dying patients as early as I could remember, asked to juggle life and death amid blood and gore while the other children were juggling balls outside. What would I even make if I had the space in my life for art? I supposed I had, this past year. And I’d been creative with my bartending. But not with the wholesome enthusiasm I saw in this girl. I’d done it with only half my heart, maybe even less. Always distracted, feeling sorry for myself, plotting my revenge.

  Maybe that was what Becca had meant when she’d said I needed to get laid. Maybe what I really needed to do was lighten up a little, give myself permission to enjoy something in life without feeling like I should be doing it better.

  The warm memories of Becca coursing through me seemed to get stronger when a steaming cup of nutty-smelling, foamy coffee slid towards me. I looked up and the barista was smiling at me, unnervingly wide, and holding out a card.

  “It’s lovely to see you again!” she said. “You know, I was worried.”

  I took the card from her with a frown on my face, confused. For the life of me, I couldn’t recall ever having met this woman. I opened my mouth to ask how she knew me, but she started talking again before I could get anything out.

  “Oh, this one’s on the house,” she said, breezing through my confusion, and then she winked at me. “You’ll be back.”

  “Thanks,” I said, looking at the card.

  Minnie Davidson, Diviner.

  “I have a studio upstairs,” Minnie chirped. “Tea leaves are for the ancients—I’ll paint your future beautifully, even if it’s tragic. All lives are works of art.”

  I guess she’s older than she looks, I thought. And she was probably just pretending to know me, to get me to hire her. “Um . . . can you point me to your restroom?”

  She did, without losing her bright smile.

  I sipped the coffee on my way there, and it was like Becca’s presence was still there with me as the warmth from the drink made its way from my lips to my fingertips, comforting my soul.

  Invigorated, I tucked Minnie’s colorful card into my jacket, already deciding I liked her. Clearly, this was my biggest weakness. Any annoying person could worm their way into my heart just by handing me yummy coffee. But I knew then that Minnie was right—I would be back. If she didn’t ban me for life because of what I was about to do.

  I ducked into the hallway leading to the restroom and then made for the door to the stairs instead. It swung open easily, without a creak.

  Excellent. I didn’t even have to break any locks. Hoping things would be a fraction this smooth once I made it to the building next door, I climbed the stairs. Curiosity tempted me to peek into Minnie’s studio at the top of the first flight, but I kept going without stopping. I would have plenty of time for that later.

  After two more flights of stairs, I opened the door to the roof and took in a breath of the crisp air. I loved the feeling of the wind in high places. The higher, the better. It was cold, yes, but also comforting. Pressing against my skin like an infinite blanket that never stopped moving. If I fell, I might die, but it would feel like the wind was cradling me, rocking me to my death as one might rock a child to sleep.

  Yeah, I was crazy. But I needed to be crazy to do some of the things I did on a regular basis without letting fear overwhelm me. Like jumping from the rooftop of one building to another.

  After a brief look around to make sure no one was up here smoking, I reluctantly set down my unfinished coffee and did exactly that. One smooth leap, with my still-strong leg muscles, and for a moment I was flying. The wind embraced me, whispering words of strength into my skin. Telling me I could do anything, go anywhere, be anyone. I might be rusty in combat, and aim, and investigative work, but this one superpower would never leave me.

  The intoxicating feeling left me as quickly as it had taken me over, when my feet hit the pavement and my body rolled forward to absorb the shock. And when I uncurled myself to stand up and get my bearings, a familiar face welcomed me.

  Adrian stepped forward out of the corner he’d apparently been hiding in and gave me a little wave. He looked a lot more alive than the last time I’d seen him, and the jelly was gone from his neck, but the two days’ worth of light stubble he’d grown while asleep with me was still there. And seeing it only made me remember the intoxicating feel of it grazing my cheek.

  Damn it. I could have used the rest of Minnie’s mocha right about now.

  “Hey,” he said. “You’re lucky it’s me here and not Dirk, because that . . .” He gestured his head at where I’d just jumped from. “That definitely wouldn’t have helped your case in his book.”

  I brushed myself off, discreetly making sure all my weapons were still in place, and the corner of my mouth turned up in distaste. “What are you even doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be inside?”

  “Yeah, well, the Sweepers have cameras outside, and they spotted you going in next door,” he said. “It was either me up here waiting for you or them.”

  “It’s just a precaution,” I snapped. “I’m sure they won’t admit it, but these guys do want me dead for some reason. Badly.”

  I really wished I could get rid of the bitchy tone in my voice, but it refused to leave me. What I needed to do was apologize to this guy, because he was honestly better at this shit than I was, and for Becca’s sake we needed to work together.

  But it had shaken me more than I’d thought, our sleep-hazed encounter. It had brought back all the terror of losing myself I’d associated with Simeon. The terror of becoming useless again. And my defenses had put themselves way, way up, even though I knew they wouldn’t help me here.

  “Oh, I know,” he said, unfazed by my bitchiness. “They tried to kill me too, remember?” Before I could respond, he kept going, and a little excitement crept into his voice. “You know, that creature was another thing I never thought I’d see—not in this day and age, and not in this region. Cipactli, a sea monster documented in Aztec mythology that was said to have been there when the earth was created. The gods actually created the earth from its body, supposed—”

  “Aztec, you said?” I interrupted. Never mind that it was crazy for him to even know what that thing was, or that he seemed to want to nerd out about it after it had come so close to ending us . . . my stomach had dropped as soon as he’d said Aztec.

  “Yeah. That mean something to you?”

  It did and it didn’t. I knew now that Ray and Carina were minions of an Aztec god. The same god’s molten bunnies had been following me around and were still lurking in my car. And I had seen a vision of Becca’s soul in that god’s realm . . . But how could a volcano god be connected to all these ice witches? The sea monster had been plated in ice, and the ice magic had led us here, to the Sweepers, and not to Ray.

  “Maybe,” I said, in the interest of saving time. Hopefully, we would know more after talking to the ice-cold murderers downstairs. “Let’s just go in and see what they say.”

  No one tried to kill us on our way in. Maybe Adrian and Dirk had cleared the way earlier, or maybe all the Sweepers’ minions were smart enough to hide from me. Either way, I found myself a little disappointed. Even now, I wanted to avoid this conversation—I wanted to just fight the problem to make it go away.

  “You’ll have to accept our deepest apologies, Miss Pierce,” a small, young, meticulously put-together woman said to me when we walked into her office—which, as it turned out, was the most un-officelike office I’d ever been in. It looked more like a garden.

  Green things grew out of pots and over trellises everywhere I turned, flowers were blooming in every color, and there was even a fish tank built into the floor in the corner of the room, made to mimic a pond.

  The woman had her back to us when she spoke, with Dirk inspecting some flower beside her, and she sprayed something out of a mister onto the tall plant in front of her before she turned to face me.

  “I was just showing your associate here some of my rarer specimens,” she said, her bright blue eyes catching in the light, offsetting the harsh look of her sleek black hair and her sharp gray suit. “Although, of course, all natural life is becoming rarer these days.” She cocked her head to the side and gave me a half smile as she offered me her hand. “I’m Shelby Wren, President of the Sweepers Society for Natural Rights. Pleasure to meet you.”

  It was only when Adrian widened his eyes at me from her side that I gritted my teeth and shook her hand.

  Not that it meant I was accepting the bitch’s apology. I wanted to snap at her about how sorry doesn’t cut it when you try to kill someone and they kill all your pathetic assassins right back, but that wouldn’t get me anywhere useful. So instead I said, “What exactly are you apologizing for?” Get her to admit what she did. My interrogation teachers at the Academy would be proud.

  But she only smiled at me and said, “For assuming the worst of you, of course.”

  Dirk let out a little chuckle at that, then quickly averted his eyes from my gaze, and I choked down a comment about wondering whose side he was really on.

  Shelby moved over to her desk, which I’d almost overlooked because it was covered in so much foliage, then sat down and rested her chin on her hands as she continued, “After what happened last year to Senator Drake, I’m afraid we couldn’t help but suspect you when one of our esteemed donors was assassinated in his home a few days ago and we found he had ties to your other associate.”

  Did she mean Omar and Becca? I gulped, trying to keep my jaw from dropping at the brazenness of it all. But she wasn’t done.

  “I’m just glad Detectives Crane and Quincy were able to pinpoint the real culprit before we could take any action against you. You look like an absolute dear; I almost can’t believe now that we thought you were a killer.”

  Before we could take any action against you… Yeah, right. So this bitch had been trying to have me killed since yesterday because she’d assumed I’d been the one to burn Becca’s ex. And now she was using Becca as a shield, as proof that she had no reason to want me dead.

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Part of me was trying not to laugh at her calling Dirk by his ridiculous last name. Mostly, all I wanted in that split second was to prove to her that I was actually a killer, no matter how dear I may look.

  But she was clearly just trying to get under my skin, distract me from the fact that she was both admitting she’d tried to have me killed and denying it at the same time—and it was working.

  Luckily, Adrian stepped in and saved me from myself. “That’s actually what we’d like to talk to you about. We’re trying to gather as much information as possible about Omar so we can ensure we have the right culprit.”

  “Oh, you aren’t sure?”

  “We’re . . . quite sure about Rebecca Linden as the arsonist, but she herself was murdered shortly after Omar. It’s likely their deaths are connected, which means it’s likely Rebecca wasn’t the only culprit in Omar’s murder. We’re investigating both cases.”

  “I see.” Her eyes drifted over to me for a moment, and I could tell that if there was any part of her that had actually believed in my innocence for a moment, it was gone. But she couldn’t say it, because my supposed innocence was the only thing keeping us from accusing her of trying to have me killed. And now she might need to keep trying.

  “So, what can you tell us about Omar?”

  “Well . . . he was our most generous donor, by far. Still, not everyone here was happy to be associated with him. He was, of course, not human. Not a natural creature in any sense. But . . . he was one of our most important allies, just for that reason. He knew he was a threat to humanity, and the others like him as well. Too old, he said, too powerful, and getting more and more reckless as the years went by. He said he’d spent his life watching others of his kind be driven mad and wreak destruction, and that he would do whatever it took to ensure it never happened again.”

  “He wanted to eliminate his own species?” I asked.

  “I think so, yes. Of course, I told him many times that we in this society are not in the business of eliminating anyone. We are not killers.”

  She offered no further explanation on that count, and I gathered that was because she had none. It was an outright lie. Legislation may be their official starting point, but I’d seen these people’s propaganda and rhetoric. Genocide of everything they deemed “unnatural” was the logical conclusion. And already they seemed to be trigger-happy with assassins.

  Fuck it, I thought. “Is that why all the assassins you hire are non-humans? Non-natural, as you would say?”

  She smiled, and the twinkle in her eyes told me her answer was yes even as she said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But if you’ve run into multiple assassins and all have been non-human, I’m not surprised. The violent tendencies of the supernatural are exactly what my organization hopes to protect against.”

  “And yet you were happy to take money from Mr. Kanaan? A . . .” I squinted and looked at Adrian, realizing I still didn’t know what type of non-human, non-fae, possibly-djinn Omar had been.

  Adrian just shrugged.

  “You don’t know what he was?” Shelby asked, seemingly happy to take back some of the control in our exchange.

  “Do you?” I shot back.

  “Of course. And it’s the only reason I’m talking to you in the first place. The only reason I care about finding his killer. He wanted to die anyways—I have no need for vengeance. But the others of his kind . . . they will be looking to avenge him. They must. It’s a compulsion, rooted into their makeup. That’s why he needed our help to find a way to neutralize the rest of his kind without bringing their wrath down on all of humanity.”

  “So, he was . . . ?”

  “An ifrit.”

  “A type of infernal djinn,” Adrian supplied, enlivened now. “Inherently evil. One of the myths I read about them suggested that they often act as vigilantes, following murdered souls to their murderers and then trapping the killers’ souls in eternal torment and flame.”

  “Like hell walking on two legs,” Shelby finished for him, venom in her voice.

  “But if they only go after murderers . . .” I started, confused at why this was so evil. Killing murderers was one of my favorite pastimes, personally.

  “They don’t,” Shelby said. “Murderers are like dessert for them. Icing on the cake. Evil souls are the most delicious to an evil creature. But Omar told me there’s always collateral damage. Especially when it’s one of their own that’s been murdered. When that happens, they go on sprees. Rampages. Devouring souls indiscriminately until they’re sure they’ve gotten the killer. Sometimes even beyond that, extending their rage to anyone and anything the killer ever loved. To further torment the offending soul.”

  “And that’s why you want so badly to find out who killed Omar . . .” Adrian said.

  Shelby squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “I’m amazed we’re all still alive. If I were an ifrit looking to go on a rampage against humans who may have killed Omar, this would be the first place I’d try.”

  “So you thought if you could find his killer first, that could save you,” I said. “And you thought his killer was me, because I’m friends with Becca and she had a motive.”

  “And you have a history of assassinating—”

  “I don’t, and you should fucking know that,” I snapped, getting up. I could play nice when need be, but this was the one person I couldn’t tolerate insinuating I’d assassinated Simeon. This was the woman in charge of the society who had actually had him killed.

  She looked shocked at my response, but she quickly looked away from me and composed herself. When she turned back to us, her expression was cold, hard. “I think we’re done here,” she said. “I hope you can find everyone involved in Omar’s death and make that information very public—and do it soon. Because I don’t want to be trapped for eternity, burning inside an infernal djinn’s private hell.”

  My insides went cold when she said that, and not only because it appeared I’d been wrong about some kind of afterlife existing. I should have made the connection much sooner in the conversation, but once again, my brain worked slower when distracted by anger.

  A trapped soul, burning for eternity . . . We were all still alive because the ifrit avenging Omar already had the soul of his killer in its private hell. Becca’s soul. That must have been what Ray’s god had been trying to show me outside of the obsidian cave, all those burning souls trapped along with Becca’s.

 

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