by Hannah Jayne
Ophelia.
Every muscle in my body tightened into a painful spasm and I looked around, panicked. I spotted a snatch of blond hair between two tall centaurs. Her elegant, sun-bronzed shoulder standing out against the stark whiteness of a vampire in line. Her laugh, tinkling in my ear. I shook my head and clamped my eyes shut.
“You’re not here, you’re not here,” I whispered.
I flinched when I felt a cold hand encircle my arm. “Sophie?”
Nina was still gripping even as I tried to flail. She was holding a paper cup filled with water and looking concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Ophelia,” I managed, my lips dry. “She’s here.”
“Drink this.”
Nina handed me the cup and I stared down into it and then blinked up at Nina. Is it Nina? Even my own hand circling the cup looked foreign to me and I dropped it, feeling the water splash against my ankles as I sped for the elevator. I mashed the CLOSE DOOR button and hung my head as the concerned and confused eyes of the demon Underworld bore into me.
I tore out of the elevator and ran with my head down through the police station vestibule, not wanting to be stopped. When I pushed outside the damp air caught in my throat and dripped down my cheeks. It was then I realized that I was crying.
I’m going crazy.
I doubled over and stared at the blacktop while I took in huge gulps of air. I was hiccupping and shivering, and I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I stumbled until Alex reached out and steadied me.
“Hey, Lawson, are you all right? You took off like a shot from the elevator. Didn’t even stop when I called. Hey, are you crying?”
I sniffled, feeling the itch of my runny nose, and then threw myself against Alex’s chest, letting out a day’s worth of heaving cries. I felt him stiffen and then soften, his arms encircling me, one hand gingerly holding the back of my head, the other patting my back softly.
“Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this.”
I snorted. “I don’t even know what this is. First you show up, and then Ophelia shows up. And then there’s maggots and my door and the mugging and you get stabbed, but you still look like”—I gestured to Alex’s perfectly sculpted chest and broad shoulders—“that and I look like, like crap.” I sniffled and used the back of my hand to wipe at my eyes, then winced when a starburst of pain set off through the bruise. “Ow!”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I dragged you into this.”
“I just”—hiccup, sniff—“want to be”—sniff, sniff—“normal. Or not normal. But not this in-between, my-butt-gets-kicked-and-stays-kicked human. And I want her out of my head.”
Alex pulled me forward, his lips laying feathery kisses across my forehead. “I am so, so sorry, Lawson. I’m going to do everything I can to make it up to you.”
I cried myself to exhaustion in Alex’s office while he dialed Nina at the UDA and asked her to bring up my things. She rushed in, my coat and purse clutched in her pale hands.
“What happened? Are you okay? Did she come after you again?”
“I’m fine,” I whimpered. “My life is just a toilet bowl of despair and I look like a battered wife, but I’m fine. I just want to go home and take a nap.”
Nina smiled sympathetically. “Can I drive you?”
I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. But can you cover for me?”
Nina’s sweet smile turned salacious and she popped a button on her blouse. “You mean distract Dixon until closing? You bet.”
I squeezed her hand. “I can always depend on you to be slutty when it counts.”
Nina gave me a military salute and sped back downstairs.
“You sure you’re okay to drive?”
I nodded again and Alex walked me to the parking lot. “I’m just going to wrap up a few things and then I’ll come over. I’ll pick up dinner and we can figure this out. Don’t answer the door to anyone and don’t answer the phone unless it’s me or Nina.”
I nodded robotically and started to turn, my head a heavy, foggy mess.
“Hey.” Alex took my hand, and I turned to stare at him, my eyes feeling like blank saucers. He kissed my palm and looked at me with kind eyes. “Be safe.”
* * *
I had just finished watching my third hour of Discovery Health and had diagnosed myself with sarcoidosis, Morton’s neuroma, and a mild case of dwarfism when there was a quick rap on the door, followed by someone trying the knob. My heart dropped into my stomach and my blood felt warm as I crept—keeping low to the ground—to the door. “Who is it?” I hissed, keeping my distance.
“It’s Alex.”
I raised one eyebrow and my hand hovered over the knob. “Are you sure?”
“Look, Lawson, I’m glad you’re taking my advice with the whole don’t-open-the-door thing, but it’s late and the grease from this takeout bag is eating through my sleeve.
“You brought Bambino’s?”
“Open the door.”
I pushed the door open a few inches and poked my nose toward the opening, sniffing cautiously. The overwhelming scent of garlic and oregano floated up to greet me and my mouth watered. I reached out and snatched the bag, examining it from every angle and sniffing like a patrolling bloodhound.
“Are you satisfied?” Alex asked, coming in and shutting the door behind him. “It’s dinner.”
I examined the dinner-plate-sized grease stain on the side of the bag. “It certainly looks like Bambino’s.”
“Lawson ...”
I put down the bag and put my fists on my hips. “Look, you’re the one who told me to be careful. I think you once even said, ‘You never can be too careful.’ Or maybe that was on Court TV, but either way, I think it’s good advice.”
Alex cocked his head, a half-smile playing on his full, tasty lips. “You’re cute when you’re belligerent.”
“I’m not belligerent.”
Alex opened the bag, removing tinned boxes of marinara-stained takeout. “I’m glad you’re being extra careful, but you know you can trust me.”
Do I? The thought lodged in my cerebral before I even had a chance to challenge it. I tried to shrug it off, to ply it with hunks of cheese-covered bread, but the nagging thought remained.
Alex pointed at me with a handful of plastic utensils. “Here, sit.”
I did as I was told and Alex helped himself to the two plates I owned plus a heap of paper napkins.
“Mangia.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are—were—you Italian?”
It occurred to me then that beyond the cut-glass blue of his eyes and his dark chocolaty hair, beyond his chiseled chest and a light introduction to his supernatural history, I didn’t know much about Alex Grace.
He nodded as he chewed. “Half. On my mother’s side.”
“And your father?”
Alex shrugged, reaching for a fork. “American mutt, I think.”
“Didn’t you know him well?”
Alex put down his fork. “I don’t remember.”
I swallowed. “It’s been that long?”
“When—when you die and come to grace, the events of your death are erased. You don’t remember. The longer you’re in grace, the less you remember about your Earthly life.”
“Well, that seems kind of lousy—having no memories?”
“You have no bad memories. You don’t miss anyone. You just ... are.”
I frowned. “So, how do you know about your parents?”
Alex and I reached for a piece of garlic bread at the same time, our hands touching. He pulled back, then pushed the plate closer to me. “The longer you’re fallen or earthbound, the more you start to remember.”
I nibbled the edge of my bread. “Isn’t that good?”
Alex swung his head. “No. The memories that start to come back—they’re the worst ones. You remember the pain, the hate—the miserable way people treated you.”
I shuddered. “That’s awful.”
“It’s
a powerful way to bring people to the dark side. They can’t remember anything good—can’t remember ever being at peace. They get angry, violent.”
“Like Ophelia.”
“Yeah. That’s how he persuades you to take the dark path.”
“He? He like ...”
“The devil.”
I felt a cold shiver—like a shot of ice water—speed through my veins, piercing my heart. “That sounds awful.”
We ate in silence for the next few minutes. I steered clear of the spaghetti—images of maggots kept coming back—but went headfirst into the meat lasagna. I was crunching through my third slice of the ultra-buttery garlic-bread goodness when Nina pushed through the front door, Vlad in tow.
Nina rushed over toward me and threw her arms across my shoulders, tugging me to her marble-cold chest. “Poor thing! Are you doing okay? You looked horrible at the office. Like, like—” I peeled myself away from Nina, wiping my greasy lips on a napkin. “Like that,” she finished.
“Thank you for your concern,” I said, patting her arm softly.
“What happened?” Vlad asked, keeping his distance from the dinner table.
“Sophie was attacked. And mugged!”
Vlad’s eyes widened, and I could see the rise and fall of his paisley silk ascot as he swallowed slowly. “By whom?”
Nina pointed a well-manicured finger in Alex’s direction. “His ex-girlfriend attacked her. But we don’t know who mugged her.”
Alex put down his fork. “We’re working on it.”
Nina crossed her arms, jutting out a single bony hip. “How are you working on it? Because it looks an awful lot like you’re sitting here, stuffing your face, wining and dining my roommate, not out trolling the clouds or galaxies or wherever you angels go when you’re not breaking our pottery.”
“It was an IKEA vase,” I protested.
“How can you just sit there, eating?”
Vlad’s nostrils flared. “Is that garlic?”
Nina pierced him with any icy stare. “Go get the donation clothes. The grown-ups are talking.”
“Oh whatever!” Vlad moaned, stomping all the way to Nina’s room.
I took another bite of garlic bread. “What else do you expect us to do?”
Nina stomped her foot.
Vlad poked his head out of Nina’s room. “Uh, Auntie?”
Nina held up a silencing hand and glared at Alex and me. “We need to be doing something.”
“We’re eating.”
Vlad stepped out of Nina’s room, his arms weighed down with a monster-sized heap of Nina’s discarded couture. “Nina?”
Nina shot him another glare, then focused back on us. “Sophie was practically useless at work today. Can’t you see how this is tearing her apart?”
Vlad stepped out and dumped the load of clothes on the living-room floor. He produced an iPod from his pocket and popped in the earbuds, then disappeared back into Nina’s room, shutting the door with a slam behind him.
I swallowed while Alex fished around in the Bambino’s bag, extracting a handful of red-pepper packets. “We’re going to get to it, but first we have to eat. Not all of us are—you know, dead.”
I poked at the remains of my lasagna and Caesar salad while Alex and Nina bickered.
“We’re close,” Alex was saying. “I know we’re close to finding the Vessel.”
“Yeah, but Ophelia actually has that going-out-and-looking-for-it thing going on. What have we done? Nothing. Nothing!”
“We’re researching,” Alex said, the muscle flicking in his jaw—the way it does when he is desperately trying to remain calm.
There was the faintest giggle—gentle, like the sound of tinkling bells—trilling in my head. They can’t help you, Ophelia’s voice intoned. They don’t even know where to begin. Your little friends have no idea how to deal with people like us. Us, Sophie ... you and I are one and the same.
“I am not dead!” I stood up, my fork clattering to my plate, my chair flopping onto the ground behind me. Nina and Alex’s faces swung toward me.
“Um, Sophie?” Nina asked, her dark eyes wide with alarm.
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my temples. “It’s Ophelia,” I said, “I can hear her.”
Alex stood up. “Where? Is she here?”
“Here?” Nina scrambled up on the kitchen table, eek-a-mouse style. “As in here?” She crouched down fighter style and clenched her fists. “I’ll kill her.”
“No,” I wailed, pushing my palms against my head. “She’s in my head. I can—I can hear her in there, talking to me. Taunting me. She’s driving me crazy.”
That’s good. Tell them you’re hearing voices. That’s just another nail in the nutty-mortal-girl coffin. They’re not going to save you, Sophie. Not when they think you’re already going crazy.
Nina pointed at me and angrily stared at Alex. “See what I mean?”
“I’m not crazy!” I yelled, feeling the red flush of blood as it rushed to my cheeks. “You’re the crazy one, Ophelia !”
Alex swallowed hard, his eyes intent and holding mine. “She’s in your mind?”
I felt the tears welling in my eyes. “I’m not crazy,” I said, my voice small. “I can hear her.”
“I know,” Alex said, taking my hand in his. “I know.”
I stepped back, shaking my hand from Alex’s. “You have to tell me everything,” I snapped, “everything that fallen angels can do. I need to know what I’m up against with Ophelia.”
Alex sighed. “I already told you.”
“You told me mind reading. Now she’s in my mind.” I crossed my arms. “What else?”
“Well ... we can manipulate your thoughts.”
I stepped back, looked Alex up and down, then leaned close, examining the curve of his chest, the muscular swell of his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I used my index finger to poke his firm stomach. “How do I know you’re not manipulating my reality right now? For all I know you could be some eighty-year-old bald guy with gold teeth and liver spots.”
Alex grabbed my outstretched index finger and pulled me against him, my breasts pressing against his chiseled chest. We were hip bone to hip bone and I could hear—and feel—the rhythmic beat of his heart. Alex’s lips brushed the tip of my ear and I gave a slight, involuntary shiver, relishing the delicious feeling of his closeness, of his breath on my neck. All the pain and fear of Ophelia’s visit was melting away.
“Are you willing to give me the benefit of the doubt?”
I shoved away from him. “Don’t be sexy when I’m seriously trying to be mad at you.”
“Or when your roommate might seriously be in jeopardy of losing her lunch,” Nina moaned.
I steeled myself, gazing at Alex. “Anything else I should know?”
Alex sucked in a breath. “Yes. I guess so.”
I gave him the universal “Spit it out!” look.
“But it’s not about Ophelia. It’s about your father.”
Nina looked up. “Is he dead? You said you didn’t know if he was dead.”
“Is he?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It’s not about that.”
“Okay ...” I said.
Alex avoided my gaze, looked at his hands. “Have you ever considered why you are the way that you are?”
I used the heels of my hands to wipe the last of my tears. “Neurotic? I can think of a few reasons.”
Alex raised his eyes. “No, your ‘power.’”
“Power?”
“Okay, your lack of power. Both your mother and your grandmother had real powers.”
“And I can’t do anything.”
“Not true,” Nina said, finger raised. “I’ve seen you make a pizza disappear. Ba-dump cha!” She held up her palms, played to an imaginary crowd. “Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all week ... starting in an hour.” Then she disappeared into her room.
“Not that you can’t do anything—it’s
that nothing can be done to you. Magical immunity.”
I shrugged. “So? What of it?”
“Look, you get your traits from both parents, right? Red hair, green eyes.”
I nodded. “Excellent use of high school biology, thanks.”
Alex rolled his eyes.
“Okay, sure, fine, whatever—family traits. But I didn’t get mind-reading abilities. So, what’s your point?”
I didn’t think it was possible for Alex to look even more exasperated, but he did.
“My point is that your father might also be magically immune.”
I wagged my head. “No, my father was one hundred percent grade-A normal.”
“You think. You look pretty grade-A normal and yet you’re magically immune.”
“Okay, so how does knowing my father might be magically immune help us? I mean, it’s not like it’s going to show up on his medical records or on a Google search. And, what does my family tree have to do with finding the Vessel of Souls? Or getting rid of Ophelia?”
Alex looked at the floor and then up at me. “You might want to sit down for this.”
I snorted. “I’m talking to an angel about the father that left me four days after I was born, in my apartment where I saw the image of my dead grandmother in the bathroom mirror. And got beaten up by a fallen angel in a sweater set. I really don’t think there is anything I need to sit down for.”
Alex shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
I stared at him. “Well?”
“Lawson, there is only one other known person who is magically immune.”
“And that would be ... ?”
“Satan.”
I sat down with a thud on the couch. “What? Satan? Like the Satan? Are you saying that I could be related to Satan?” I sprang up, went nose to nose with Alex. “Are you saying Satan could be my father?”
“I told you you might want to sit down.”
“Oh, Lord, I need to sit down.” I flopped onto the couch, letting my head sink into the pillows.
“What’s wrong with Sophie?” Nina asked, coming out of her room.
“Her dad might be Satan,” Alex answered.
“Oh. Bummer. Are we out of O neg?”
