by Hannah Jayne
“Consider yourself lucky. Do you know how hard it is to have a full-time job and be a novelist?”
I put my hands on my hips. “Do you even know where your office is?”
Nina growled at me. “Funny.” She looked around, dark eyes raking over my pillaged space. “Sophie, you’re overreacting. So Dixon came in and handed a few of your cases over.”
“He’s edging me out, Nina, I know he is.”
“He already fired you once.”
“Thanks for never letting me forget that.”
“What I’m saying is, if he wanted you out, he would fire you. He did it before, and he’ll do it again.” Nina held up her hands when I tried to protest. “But it’s probably not that. The economy is bad everywhere. There’s a mass exodus out of the city. Everyone’s workload is getting cut.”
“Is yours?”
“No, but I’ve got the novel.” She flopped her hands around. “I think I’m getting carpal tunnel syndrome.”
“Is that even possible? Ugh!” I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. “I need some answers. I need help.”
Nina slid her arm across my shoulders and pulled me to her in a marble-cold embrace. “Okay, sorry. What can I do to help, Soph?”
“Aren’t you even the slightest bit concerned about any of this? Mrs. Henderson—she was murdered, Neens. And Bettina, and the centaur.” I swallowed a desperate sob as images burned into my brain.
“I’m immortal.”
“Unless someone knows how to hurt you.”
Nina nibbled her bottom lip as if considering. “Okay. So?”
“So I need you to check up on Dixon.”
“Why me?”
“Because Dixon can smell me a mile away. I just need you to tail him a little bit, find out what’s going on. Everyone on management is a vampire. Are they trying to take over?”
Nina cocked her head. “You realize I’m a vampire, right?”
“But you’re not one of those vampires.”
“Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll tail Dixon. I’ll see if I can find his file folder marked ‘Dixon’s Evil Plan.’”
“That’s all I ask.”
Nina’s dark eyes glittered. “I think my vampire romance is going to have a mystery in it, too.” She tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail against her chin; then she pulled her literary-minded half glasses from her sweater pocket and cleared her throat as she began to free associate.
“Cecila LeChambray stared at the mysterious stranger before her. Something about the darkness in his eyes cut her like ... like ...” She scanned my office; then her eyes settled on mine, expectant.
I flopped back into my desk chair, my forehead thunking against the cold wood of my nearly naked desk. “I can’t help with your fiction career right now, Neens. My nonfiction life is out of control.”
I heard Nina spin, and heard her voice dropping as she walked down the hall.
“Cecilia’s best friend, Stephanie Littleman, was of no help at all. An overanxious mortal, she had trouble with looking a gift horse in the mouth... .”
I spent the rest of my workday holed up in my office, determined that neither a vampire management team nor clients who didn’t want me around were going to push me out of the Underworld Detection Agency. By the time the clock rolled around to five, I had organized everything that remained in my office by color and subject, created a master list of “Things That Could Be Responsible for the Underworld Killings” and hung up on Alex’s voice mail six times. Finally I resigned myself and headed out the door, aiming only for a bottle of wine and a good, long session with my down comforter and pillow.
The next morning I woke up to ChaCha’s kibble breath pouring over my face and what passed for sunlight during a San Francisco summer pressing through my window. I growled at the red numbers on my alarm clock—10:52—and rolled out of bed and into a pair of sweats, which were either clean or stained consistently enough to look clean. I was lying on the couch balancing a mammoth bowl of Lucky Charms (I’m donut free, remember?) and watching a string of Disney TV shows when Nina plowed through the front door and gaped at me, eyes wide.
“Don’t tell me you’re wearing that,” Nina said.
“Okay,” I said, mouth filled with cereal, “I won’t.”
Nina snatched the remote and clicked off Hannah Montana smack in the middle of a song about ice cream.
“Hey! I was watching that.”
“Oh, thank God.”
I shot a narrow-eyed stare over my shoulder, where I found Vlad perched at the dining-room table, eyebrows raised over the top of his open laptop screen. “That ice-cream girl was giving me a toothache.”
I pointed my spoon at him. “When did you get here?”
Vlad gave me his disenfranchised-youth grunt. “I’ve been here.”
God, I hated that supersilent vampire thing.
“I’m buying you a bell,” I said.
Nina raked a hand through her glossy black hair and gave me a parental “I’m not angry, just disappointed” look. “Did you forget what today is?” she asked.
I shifted my cereal bowl, chasing a slew of marshmallows with my spoon. I took a heaping bite. “It’s Saturday.”
Nina looked at me expectantly.
“Saturday, the seventeenth?” I asked. “Wait, did I forget our anniversary?” I chuckled, then choked on a particularly substantial marshmallow.
Nina’s face remained stony. “It’s Saturday, the seventeenth, and my beau—and possible future afterlife mate—”
I raised my eyebrows at her, and Nina waved a hand.
“No one lives forever, Soph.” She stuck out a fat lower lip. “Harley is reading from his book today, and you promised you’d be there. You promised you’d come and support me.”
“I did?”
Nina nodded. “You did.”
“I don’t remember that.”
Nina shoved a single suede pump underneath one of my butt cheeks. “You were just about to get in the shower and wear that cute cashmere twinset that I bought for you, right?”
She bared a fang, and I snarled.
“You don’t scare me, Nina.”
She bared another fang, and I lumbered off the couch, shoving a final enormous scoop of the cereal into my mouth, watching in dismay as a shower of crumbs slid from my lap/dining tray. I turned around quickly, fairly sure my blush was visible from the back of my head, too.
“And hurry up! I told Harley we’d be there early to help him set up!”
After the shortest shower in the history of man or vampire, I shimmied into my birthday twinset and a pair of regular jeans, which had somehow turned into skinny jeans. (Maybe I should give up donuts and marshmallow pinwheels?) I was yanking on a sock and fumbling for a pair of boots that matched each other, when Nina came in and silently glared at me, hands on hips, lips pursed.
Though she was my best friend, and by far the most gentle pointy-toothed afterlifer I’d ever met, there is just something about a vampire staring you down that sends shivers up the spine, and made me suddenly have to pee.
I didn’t dare.
Instead, I pasted on a smile and beelined for my shoulder bag. “Ready to go!” I sang.
“In the car!” Nina bellowed.
Nina and I hurried toward the door, but Vlad stayed put. His dark eyes were intent on his computer screen; its light reflected eerily off his pale features. A series of gunshots, screams, and something that sounded squishy exploded from the computer’s speakers. He grinned.
“Shut it, Vlad. We’re going.”
Vlad looked over his screen, and Nina pointed a finger at him. “And don’t even think about protesting this one.”
Vlad rolled his eyes and clicked his laptop shut, grumbling and sighing the whole time.
Note to self: Find teenaged vampire summer camp. Stat.
I was waiting for Nina to grab Vlad by the ear, but she didn’t. We both went out behind Nina, who marched purposefully down the hall. Will popped his head ou
t as we passed his door.
“What’s going on here?”
“We’re going to see Nina’s new boyfriend,” I whispered. “Shh, she’s scary.”
Vlad must have heard my whisper because he spun around. He and Will shared one of those exceptionally manly head nods—you know, the one that basically says, “Hey, dude, I see you and acknowledge you without showing any actual emotion.”
“You’re all going?” Will asked.
My left eye twitched and I dropped my voice to a barely audible whisper. “Nina’s making us.”
Will grinned; then he disappeared into his apartment and returned a millisecond later, sliding a red Adidas jacket over his football jersey. “Then she won’t mind me coming along.”
We made it down to Java Script with the minimum of issues, and with my spine almost completely intact. The four of us huddled and squirmed in Nina’s Lexus as she vaulted through intersections. Her pale hand blared the horn as she yelled out admonishments and quirky warnings about tearing out people’s throats.
“She’s charming,” Will said, his smile hinting on crazy.
“Shh,” I hissed. “She can hear you.”
Nina slammed on the brakes and we all catapulted toward the dashboard, where my heart now rested. She turned to us and batted her lashes. “Okay, guys, listen up. Harley is a professional, and there are going to be all sorts of media types and likely some other big-name writers. These will be my peers.”
Will opened his mouth to say something, but I pinned him with a glare that threatened “Say anything and I’ll literally kill you.”
“I’ll need you”—Nina craned her head over her shoulder and eyed Vlad, her coal black eyes stern—“to be on your best ‘I’m a real boy’ behavior. No protests, no VERM, no glamouring any breathers. Understand?”
Vlad rolled his eyes and continued hunching in the backseat, resentment emanating from him. “Yes, ma’am.”
I fished a tube of ChapStick out of my bag. “So I guess you’ll just want me to keep these guys in line while you woo Harley, right?”
“I do not woo. And yes, you will be in charge of the KISS Army back there.”
I raised my eyebrows at Vlad and Will, who shrugged as Nina continued her tirade while using a traffic island as a bumper. “And I expect you to act as my best friend and wingwoman.”
I snorted. “Your wingwoman?”
Nina glared and the tops of my ears went hot.
“Maybe I can hand out some bookmarks or something,” I said with a hollow smile.
I was still shaking and praying that my small intestine would dislodge itself from my rib cage, when Nina’s black Lexus jumped the curb and came to a neat rest, directly in front of Java Script’s double glass doors.
Nina kicked the car into park and clapped her hands delightedly. “We’re here!” She turned to look at us, a smattering of pale faces holding down our lunches after “Nina LaShay’s Wild Ride,” I suspected.
“Ready, everyone? Big smiles!”
Will and Vlad un-pretzeled themselves and filed into Java Script. I was taking up the rear, but Nina stopped me before I could step over the threshold. Her dark eyes clouded, and her heart-shaped mouth started twitching, showing off one angular fang. She poked at my chest.
“All ready, Soph?”
I followed her finger down and fought the urge to giggle. The remains of something unnaturally blue had trailed between my breasts, leaving a cheerful line across the pale yellow knit of my shirt to my belly button.
“It’s not that bad,” I said. “I can just button up the sweater.” I hurriedly did the buttons and frowned at the way they pulled and gaped across my belly. “I guess it shrank in the wash.”
“You have to change your shirt.”
I held up my ultrasmall purse. “Into what? Does this purse look like I can carry a wardrobe?”
Nina pointed to the trunk of the car. “Take your pick and meet me inside.” She dropped her keys into my palm.
My good sense told me to take the car and flee back to the comfort of ChaCha, my couch, and what remained in the Lucky Charms box.
But I knew better.
I rummaged through Nina’s trunk, pushing aside Vlad’s VERM posters and his duct tape, three seasons’ worth of brown boots, and enough bronzer to turn Nina into a member of the Jackson 5. I finally found the clothing spilling out of a Louis Vuitton duffel over the wheel well. I pawed through the things on top: a delicate lace camisole, a few cute tees large enough to fit over my head, and some random shoes. I hunkered deeper into the trunk and gave the bag a yank to get a better look inside, but it was caught on something. One more yank and the bag came flying out—a metal pipe jarred loose and hit the pavement with a loud plink!
I stared down incredulously at the metal pipe. It started to wobble slowly into the street as if showing itself from every angle. I stepped closer, crouching to grab the pipe and return it to the trunk, when I saw the smear on the end. It was just a tinge, easy enough to miss if someone had run a rag hastily over the pipe in an attempt to clean it, but it was there. A dark, rust-colored smear of blood. And pinned to it were a few straggly strands of graying hair.
Suddenly my skin felt too tight. I looked at the pipe and then through the big glass doors of Java Script, where Nina was grinning broadly. Her fangs were hidden behind glossy, cherry red lips as she clung to Harley, her eyes glued to his winsome smile. Vlad stood behind them both, flanked by two Vampire Empowerment henchmen. The trio was almost unnoticed in the shadows, but Vlad stood out, his shoulders hunched, his lips held in a disgusted sneer as his eyes cut across the assembled crowd. He glanced out and caught me staring, standing openmouthed with the trunk open, the Louis Vuitton in my hand, the soiled pipe at my feet. I swallowed hard, broke his gaze, and tossed everything back into the trunk.
Chapter Twelve
I snapped the trunk shut, slid into a sweater I pulled from the bag, and used the sleeve to dab at the sweat that now dotted my forehead and upper lip. I was two feet into Java Script when Nina’s laser gaze burned through me. She yanked me by the sleeve, pressed her ice-cold lips to my ear and whispered, “That looks so much better.”
She tugged me to where Harley stood, uneasily smiling at Will and Vlad; the silent air that hung among them uncomfortable. I looked over my shoulder to where Vlad’s buddies had been lurking, but they weren’t there.
“Hey, have you seen—”
“And look who else came out to see you!” Nina’s eyes were glossy and gleeful; she linked arms with Harley, who looked handsome in a brown corduroy jacket and slacks. Nina pinned us all with a warning glare. For the first time in my life, I felt a tiny niggle of fear.
Could Vlad?
Could she?
“I told them all that they didn’t have to come here, but they wouldn’t stay away!” she gushed, a perfectly convincing lie.
No, not Nina. I kept wringing my hands in an attempt to bring some blood into them; they were as icy as Nina’s. Images kept slipping through my brain: Mrs. Henderson’s ruined house, the fear in Bettina’s eyes.
The pipe was hidden under a stack of VERM propaganda.
The Vampire Empowerment and Restoration Movement. Vlad.
I worried my lower lip. Has VERM moved on from picketing and protesting to ... cleaning up?
“Sophie?” Nina was asking.
“Yes, vampires, no,” I said, forming sentences that would make my high-school English teacher weep.
Harley looked at the group of us and smiled softly. “Thank you so much. It really means a lot that you came here to hear my talk. I hope you enjoy it.”
“They all read your book. My copy. But they’re all going to buy their own. And the Kindle version, too.” Nina looked at each of us, smiling politely, the edge of one sharp fang just visible against her pink lips.
“Loved it,” Vlad said.
“Going to buy a copy for my mum,” Will reported.
“Sophie?” Nina prodded.
There was a tabl
e heaving under the weight of Harley’s books, and I eyed the cover, the faded images of vampires, werewolves, witches, and ghosts covered with big red X’s. I felt a snarl growing.
“Yeah,” I said, “I’ve been sleeping with Nina’s copy underneath my pillow. She doesn’t sleep so much, you know.”
Harley looked adoringly at Nina. “I know, she’s such a night owl.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Will said.
Java Script was starting to fill up and Harley ushered us to our seats—a few reserved folding chairs in the front row.
“You’re not planning on throwing your panties up there, are you?” I asked Nina, nudging my head toward Harley’s vacant podium.
Nina waggled her eyebrows. “Who said I’m wearing any panties?”
I shuddered, then rolled around in my chair and was half relieved, half terrified, to see Vlad and his cronies sitting in the back row. Their arms were crossed, and their faces were drawn and stern.
“Hey, Neens, has Vlad borrowed your car recently?”
Nina snarled. “He better not have. He still has a nineteenth-century driver’s license. Buggy certified.”
Just then, Roland Townsend, Harley’s sweaty little agent, took his spot behind the podium. His bushy eyebrows were just barely visible over the wooden rim. He cleared his throat, then fished another yellowed handkerchief from his suit pocket and mopped his brow.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he addressed the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, please may I have your attention? Please?”
The slight din of conversation in the room quieted and Roland cleared his throat again.
“How many of you believe in ghosts?”
A few people in the small crowd raised their hands halfheartedly; others didn’t even bother looking up from their iPads.
“Okay,” Roland continued. “How many of you believe in the afterlife? Heaven? Hell? Spirits who walk the earth even after their corporeal being is physically dead?”
I cut my eyes to Nina, who stayed rapt. I stared at Will, then, who rolled his eyes and flashed me his “Can you believe this guy?” half smile
