by Hannah Jayne
“And the bullets?”
“When I’m stressed, I can reach for bullets or ice cream.” I polished off the last of my waffle and licked my fingers, satisfied.
Alex scratched his chin. “I think I’ve been earthbound for way too long. That’s actually starting to make a lot of sense.”
I grinned, vindicated.
“But that doesn’t mean that I feel better about you being unprotected—frozen ammo or no.”
“I told you, I have a vampire, too.”
“And Ophelia has the hounds of Hell and an entire army of the fallen behind her. Plus her Nephilim goon squad.”
“I have a dog, now, too,” I remembered. “Nina got her for me as a lovely parting gift.” I pointed to ChaCha in the living room.
Alex looked at her, snoring away in her Nina-furnished little pink doggie bed, rhinestoned PRINCESS inscription sparkling above her splayed furry belly.
Alex looked unimpressed. “Ophelia has Cerberus and you have ...”
“ChaCha,” I supplied with a smug smile.
“ChaCha. Excellent. Well, despite your obviously ironclad protection system”—again Alex’s eyes scanned my crime-busting paraphernalia: the bubble gum–scented, unloaded gun, the three-pound Chihuahua-terrier mix in her pink leatherette collar—“I think you should have this.” Alex produced a hard-sided black plastic case, just a bit smaller than a shoebox. He slid it across the table to me.
I popped the lock on the plastic box and opened it, staring at the device inside, encased in its own red velveteen–molded casing. I took the black-handled device out, and frowned. “You want me to shave Ophelia’s legs?”
Alex rolled his eyes. “It’s a stun gun, not an electric razor.” He cocked his head, taking the gun from my hands. “Although I can see where it does look a little bit like that.”
He used his index finger to depress the side trigger and the two metal tines shared a hairline-thin electric blue charge. I involuntarily jumped as the jolt of electricity crackled in his hands.
“That would definitely give you a close shave.”
“Do you know how to use one of these?”
The electric current crackled again and my saliva went metallic. Little pinpricks of cold sweat budded on my upper lips and palms and I felt myself go stiff. “I’ve had one used on me.”
Alex squeezed my hand softly. “Even more reason why you need to be prepared.”
I took the stun gun from Alex and felt its weight in my hand.
“Flip the trigger,” Alex suggested.
I licked my lips and slid my finger over the trigger button without depressing it. “I think I’ve got the picture.”
Alex reached into his pocket and produced two extra cartridges. “Don’t keep these in the freezer, okay?”
I nodded and Alex took the stun gun from me and slipped it into the smaller carrying case in the box, then handed the whole thing to me. “And for the love of God, this time, if something or someone comes after you, use the stun gun on them.” He raised one brow. “And that doesn’t mean throw it at them.”
I nodded curtly and slipped the gun case closer toward me. “Noted.”
Alex grinned. “Good.”
I crossed my arms and glowered. “I still don’t see why I need all this. Shouldn’t I be okay if I’ve got you around?” I waggled my eyebrows in an effort to look suggestive and adorable. “Like my guardian angel?”
The muscle in Alex’s jaw jumped and I watched his lips purse, nostrils flare. I don’t think Alex got either my suggestive or adorable vibe.
“Don’t you see, Lawson? That’s just it. I’m not always going to be around to protect you. I wanted to stick around here today to look in on you, but the department has me working on a case today out in Hunter’s Point.”
My heart swelled as I considered Alex’s sweet, protective side—but then the nag of anger overlooked it when I thought about Alex’s need to “look in” on me as though I were a charge he was babysitting.
“I’m fine, Alex.”
Alex ignored me, seemed to be lost in his own thought. His eyes were focused on the table as he mumbled, “You can’t ... you can’t just depend on me all the time.”
I was taken aback. “Oh. Right. You mean because you’re a fallen angel. And you guys are inherently unreliable.”
“I mean because I won’t always be here.”
I swallowed thickly. “You want to go home.”
Alex looked at the ground. “That’s what this is about. That’s what this has always been about.”
“You want to find the Vessel so you’ll be restored.”
Alex nodded but avoided my gaze.
“So it’s never been about us. Or me.” I could feel the tears starting, but I refused to let them flow, refused to let Alex know that I had, once again, stupidly fallen in love. “It’s always just been about you finding the Vessel.”
“No, Lawson, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You may not have meant it that way, but that’s exactly what it is, right?”
Alex opened his mouth and then closed it, dumbly, still avoiding my gaze. Instead he stood up, plucked his keys from the table where he had left them, and pressed the black plastic Taser box toward me. “Promise me you’ll be safe, okay?”
I sat at the table, staring at the plastic box until I heard Alex walk out the front door, clicking it shut behind him. I swallowed the lump in my throat and slid the Taser box into my purse, then brushed all thoughts of Alex and the Vessel aside. ChaCha stood up in her little dog bed and yawned mightily, and then trotted over to me, her toenails making a comforting tap-tap sound on the linoleum. I scooped her up and nuzzled her.
“You’re not going anywhere, are you, ChaCha?”
She licked my face agreeably and I smiled, handing her a dog bone and feeling an immediate sense of prideful dog ownership. “Let’s go for a walk!”
Chapter Eleven
I pulled on a pair of yoga pants and tossed on a sweatshirt, winding my bed-head hair into an unemployed-girl updo before yanking on my sneakers and finding ChaCha’s leash. I did a few obligatory stretches before striding proudly out the front door with ChaCha prancing in front of me in all her pink-studded-collar glory. We were three-quarters down the first city block when ChaCha abruptly flopped over onto her little doggie side, closed her eyes, and started snoring.
I gently tugged at her collar. “Come on, ChaCha. It’s time for a walk, girl! We’re still walking! Come on, girl!”
“The little thing is pooped,” I heard.
I whirled around and grinned when I saw him: tall, with Men’s Health muscles, short, ash-blond hair that spiked up around his scalp, a deep olive complexion highlighted by the flecks of gold sparkling in his hazel eyes. If my brand-new dog hadn’t been playing dead on the sidewalk I may have recognized him.
“We’ve hardly gone a block!” I said.
The guy leaned down, his polo shirt sliding back and revealing a strong neck and traps that could choke a pony. He uncapped his water bottle and poured some out; ChaCha sprang back to life, popped onto all fours, and drank gratefully.
“She was just thirsty.”
I felt like a heel. “I feed her and give her water. She had water before we left, I swear. It was even bottled—no tap!” I said, certain that CPS—ChaCha Protective Services—was going to spring out from behind the potted palm and nab me for tiny animal cruelty.
“I’m Will Sherman,” the guy said, standing up and offering me a hand to shake. “And I believe that you’re a good pet parent.”
I shook his hand, oddly grateful for the positive judgment from a complete stranger.
“I’m Sophie. And you’ve got an accent.”
Will smiled, his cheeks tinting a shade redder. “It’s that obvious, huh?”
I liked the way he stretched out the words, the relaxed lilt of his voice.
“Yep, it’s true. I’m from Oregon.” We both did that mildly uncomfortable small-talk chuckle. “By way of Engla
nd.”
“Ah.” I smiled into his bright eyes, cocked my head, and then my stomach started to sink. “You look familiar.” My mental Rolodex started to go and I tried to place him—with a horn, from the UDA office; with a knife from one of my many near-death experiences; with a fra-paccino from the local Starbucks. I prayed for memory to lodge itself in the normalcy of a Starbucks but nothing stuck. “I feel like I know you from somewhere.”
Will grinned. “Wow. And I was going to use the ‘if I could rearrange the alphabet’ line.”
I felt my brows furrow. “What?”
“I would put ‘u’ and ‘I’ together. You know, if I could rearrange the alphabet.”
“What?” I said again.
“You weren’t picking me up? You know, with the ‘don’t I know you?’ thing? That wasn’t a line?”
I felt the corners of my lips pull down. “No! Geez, no. I really thought I knew you. Or had seen you or something.”
Will looked away, sheepish. “Sorry.”
“So, do I know you in a non-flirtational, non-coming-on-to-you kind of way?”
Will frowned. “Well, when you say it like that you take all the fun out of it.”
“Never mind.” I bent to scoop ChaCha up, but Will stopped me with a soft hand on my arm.
“Sorry. You might have seen me around.” Will shrugged. “I’m local—now. We’ve probably run into each other a hundred times and never even noticed. It’s a small city.” He grinned; his teeth were shockingly white and straight, except for two on the very bottom that crossed a little, giving him a semblance of little-boy cute.
I forced a smile. “I guess. Anyway, thanks for the water. Seems to have done the trick.”
ChaCha was nuzzling against Will’s pant leg now, sitting on his shoe and looking up adoringly at him.
“Ready to finish our walk, girl?”
ChaCha popped onto all fours and trotted around my ankles, winding her leash around my calves and into a pink-studded tourniquet.
“I think your dog is trying to tell you something.”
I looked down at ChaCha, who did indeed look like she was trying to tell me something as she sat down, smugly licking her genitals. I stepped out of my leash lasso and scooped up my traitorous pup.
“You may have won this one, dog,” I told her with a nuzzle, “but when we get home, you’re hitting the treadmill.” I looked back at Will and offered a friendly smile. “Thanks again.”
“Sure.”
I turned on my heel and started toward my building. Will followed the same direction, a foot or so back. Within a second he had caught up and fallen in step with me.
He offered me a polite smile and my hackles went up. I considered how to juggle my dog and my stun gun when Will decided to plunge a dagger into my heart/rape me/beat me/force me to watch an endless loop of How Stuff Works. He seemed like a perfectly normal guy out for a perfectly normal coffee run on a perfectly normal day, which meant, most likely, he was some sort of demon.
But then again, I was the spawn of Satan.
“Are you walking with me?”
“I’m walking near you. I happen to be going in that direction. I live right there.” He poked his index finger to the building in front of us. My building.
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?” Had he seen me come out? Did he have telepathic powers? “What apartment?”
“3C.”
I felt a little flutter in my chest. The previous resident of 3C—a sweet, dirty old man who had a penchant for slightly younger women in leopard-print spandex—had fallen in the stairwell and died. At least that’s how the story went.
I stopped in midstride. “How come I’ve never seen you around the building, then?”
Will took a sip from his paper coffee cup. “Why would you? Wait, is that your building, too?”
I crossed my arms. “Like you didn’t already know that.”
Will put up his hands. “Whoa, lady, I don’t know who you are and I have no idea where you live. I was just getting some coffee and walking back to my place. I’m not some kind of stalker freak.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No. That’s why I said ‘I’m not some kind of stalker freak.’”
He looked earnest and offended.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m just a little ... cautious.”
Will grinned, his hazel eyes doing a quick toe-to-head scan. “That’s okay. Paranoia looks good on you.”
I felt my cheeks flush so I looked at the sidewalk as I hurried back to the apartment vestibule, careful not to look back to see if Will was following me. ChaCha looked up at me and yawned, pushing her paws over my arms. “I’m going to teach you to be an attack dog, ChaCha. I’m going to get you a steak.”
I pushed into my apartment and checked the fridge. No steak.
“Okay, ChaCha,” I sighed. “How do you feel about Cap’n Crunch?”
I poured us each a bowl and set up my laptop on the kitchen table. I was one day out of a job and in desperate need of another. I eyed the newspaper heaped on the chair next to me, was about to type in the Web address for the Monster job search engine when I felt the tiny prick of anger nag at the edge of my mind.
“No.” I thumped my fist on the table and ChaCha jumped. “I am not going to take this lying down, ChaCha.”
She cocked her head at me, her velvety brown eyes reflecting my Cap’n Crunch box. “Dixon thinks he can just fire me? He thinks that I—me, of all people—am not UDA material?”
ChaCha leaned down on her forepaws, downward-dog style and growled deep in her throat.
“You’re absolutely right, ChaCha! I am the UDA!” I thumped my chest. “I’m going to get my job back. Today. They can’t run the Underworld Detection Agency without me. I made that company! Well, I made the color-coded demon filing system—and that is very important to the Underworld.” I stood up with a start, my chair flopping to the floor behind me. “I am going to march right now there and tell Dixon that I am taking my job back, and he can take his UDA material and shove it right up his bloodless—” ChaCha blinked up at me with those big doe eyes. “Tush.”
I marched into the bathroom, stripping my clothes off and formulating a fierce, wordy speech, pockmarked with profanities and three-syllable words, that I planned to take to Dixon. I imagined myself in a killer pencil skirt and sky-high heels, slapping my palm into my fist while Dixon cowered at his desk, nodding spastically, agreeing to every one of my demands. In my fantasy, I had luscious, waist-length hair and for some reason wore glasses that I whisked off and pointed at him as I narrowed my eyes and called him emasculating names.
In my fantasy, Dixon may not have been a vampire with two-inch long, scalpel-sharp fangs and a penchant for blood sucking and general throat-ripping-outing.
“Sophie!”
“Geez, Grandma!” I crossed my arms over my naked chest and yanked a towel from the peg by the door. “Can’t you knock or something?”
Grandma rolled her eyes. “Do you remember who used to diaper and powder that bottom of yours? It’s not like it’s something I’ve never seen.”
I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. “Can we not talk about my bottom right now?”
Grandma looked indignant. “Well, you brought it up.”
“Is there a reason for this visit?”
Grandma’s lower lip jutted out. “Can’t a dead woman visit her granddaughter without being grilled?”
“I’m sorry, Grandma, it’s not that I’m not happy to see you ... in my bathroom mirror ... several years after you’ve died. It’s just that I have an important—thing—to take care of.”
“Well, my thing is important, too!”
I wanted to strike at Dixon while the fire still roiled in my belly, while the profanities and words like dedication and commitment to UDA excellence still flitted around in my mind. I leaned over and turned on the bath tap. “You know, Grandma, let’s take this up later, okay? Let’s make, like, a date. Bathroom mirror, say about seven o’clock? Does
that work for you?”
The steam from the tap started to cloud the mirror but not before Grandma’s eyes narrowed and she blew out a long sigh. “Fine. Mine can wait. I just hope what you have to do is important. More important than having a conversation with your dead grandmother whose time on this planet may be limited ...” She sniffed, though her eyes remained dry.
I leaned on my toes and kissed the mirror. “Thanks, Gram, I knew you’d understand. And you’re already dead, so the walk-the-earth thing isn’t as guilt inducing. Good try, though!”
I jumped in the shower with the sound of Grandma groaning behind me.
I didn’t have a pencil skirt or a pair of glasses, but I had the sky-high heels down. Nina had given me a pair of Manolo Blahnicks for a birthday two years ago and I had never worn them. I pulled them out of their box now, examining their narrow, chest-piercing heels, and tossed them on with a businessy black skirt and a no-nonsense French blue button-down. I took a few steps, wobbled uncomfortably, and managed to make it to the front door without breaking an ankle or getting a nosebleed.
Things were starting to look up.
I pulled my hair into a severe-looking French twist in the hallway mirror. I let a few strands fall loose around my face when I thought the look was a little too Russian prison warden, then grabbed my shoulder bag and blew a kiss to ChaCha.
“Wish me lucky, baby girl!”
I practiced my speech the entire way to the UDA but seemed to get less and less confident the closer I got. I belong at the UDA, I reminded myself as I pulled into a space.
Do you?
It was barely a voice, a weird flutter in my mind, but it stopped me. I sucked in a deep breath and gave myself the once-over in the rearview mirror, half expecting to see my grandmother’s exasperated face glaring back. When I didn’t, I straightened my blouse and hopped out of the car, walking—with purpose, as Gram used to say—to the police station vestibule.
“Sophie!”
I whirled and saw Alex over my left shoulder. “Hey, Alex.”
“What are you doing here?”
