Under Attack

Chapter Six


I squinted in the midday sun and followed the crowd of businesspeople down the block toward Loco Legs sandwich shop, skipping a little, working to contain my giddiness. A Giants game—and a date. A date! There may be romantic touching. And kissing. Kissing Alex ...

I felt a low heat start in my belly and spread downward. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from breaking into maniacal giggles and focused on a list of predate activities—shave, pluck, tweeze... . It was somewhere between tweeze and spritz when I glanced across the street while waiting for the light to change and caught the eye of a man standing on the opposite corner. His eyes were small, lime Jell-O green—like mine. He raked a pale, freckled hand across what remained of his red hair—a frazzled mess of unruly curls.

Like mine.

He looked at me from across the street, and I saw him blink, saw his lips tighten, felt the thunderbolt of realization that must have gone through him roil through me.

“Lucas Szabo.” The name settled on my dry lips and I was focused, rushing out into the intersection toward him. I felt someone clawing at my shoulder, felt someone try and grab the back of my jacket.

“Stop, lady!” I heard.

“What’s she doing?” someone yelled. “There’s a car coming!”

“Idiot,” someone groaned.

The admonishments seemed miles away.

I stumbled into the street, my eyes never leaving Lucas Szabo’s, until the raging howl of a Muni bus hurtling toward me gave me pause. I was rooted to the cement, the scream of the bus’s horn all around me. I felt the warm puff of smog as the driver yanked the bus to the side and the bus narrowly missed me.

Suddenly everything was really loud. The city came back to life and I was standing in the middle of a San Francisco intersection. Cars whirled by me, honking, drivers glaring at me from their tinted windows. Pedestrians shook their heads at me, chalked my suicidal jaunt into the intersection up to drug use, to being one of those “city crazies.”

Lucas Szabo wasn’t on the corner anymore.

He wasn’t anywhere.

My saliva tasted metallic; my head felt heavy, as if I had just come out of a drug-induced fog. I rubbed my eyes and ducked into the nearest café, abandoning my plan to eat at Loco Legs.

I didn’t want anyone to see me.

I flopped down in the nearest booth and hung my head, my fingertips making small circular motions at my temples. Am I seeing things now?

No. He was there. He had been there, standing on the street corner, his eyes trained on mine.

My father.

“What can I get you?”

I looked up to see a pierced, pale waitress snapping her gum at me. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen, and when she wound her ink-black hair around her index finger, I saw that she had a series of navy-blue stars tattooed on her hand.

“Uh,” I said, “a burger. Cheeseburger, actually. And fries. And a Diet Coke, please.”

The waitress scrawled my order on her pad and snapped her gum. “Coming right up.”

When she was safely out of view I reached into my shoulder bag and took out my cell. I flipped it open to dial, but it shook in my hand. My entire body was quaking. I took several deep breaths and a few calming gulps of ice water. By this time the waitress returned, carrying my lunch.

“Are you okay, hon?” she asked me.

“Fine,” I said without looking up.

“Sure thing,” she said, sliding the plate in front of me.

Suddenly, I was ravenous. I took one bite of my burger and chewed hungrily, but when I tried to swallow, the meat stuck in my throat. I felt a prick go up the back of my neck, felt the cold sting of sweat as it beaded along my hairline and then blanketed my skin. The whole café dropped into silence; all I could hear was the heaving beat of my heart, the whoosh of my own breath as it filled my lungs. I looked around slowly, my whole body feeling leaden and foreign. I turned a quarter inch to my left and I saw her, perched on a bar stool, her body facing me. Her posture was ramrod straight and her hands were folded daintily in her lap, her knees bolted together, legs crossed at the ankle. Her blond hair was nearly waist length and hung in brilliant waves over one shoulder. She smiled and her lips were full and berry-stained; her chin was defined and defiant. She stared at me with eyes that were an icy, piercing blue.

She was the same woman from the coffee shop, and suddenly I knew without having to ask—she was Ophelia.

It was as though she knew exactly what I was thinking. The second I came to the realization, her lips parted into a smile that was part sweet, part bone-chillingly sly and she raised one hand, arching her fingers into a prim finger wave.

Ice water filled my veins.

Ophelia turned around on her bar stool so she was facing away from me. I turned back to my lunch and the sounds of the café crashed over me. I looked down at my plate and clamped my hand over my mouth. My eyes watered, my stomach heaved.

The top bun of my burger moved slowly, jerkily. My fries were covered with fat, yellow-white maggots writhing, falling off my French fries, dripping onto the table. I poked my burger bun with my fingernail and it fell aside, revealing my hamburger patty, my arched bite mark, and a hundred pulsing bugs.

I let out a howl and stood up, scratching the electric-blue vinyl of the booth as I clawed for my shoulder bag. I knocked over my Diet Coke, heard the clatter of my plate as it crashed to the floor.

“You’ve got to pay for that,” I heard as I ran through the café. “Hey, lady!”

I fished a few bills out of my purse and tossed them onto the counter—right at the empty spot where Ophelia had been sitting a half second ago. I paused and looked over my shoulder at my lunch: my burger bun spilled open, the grilled brown patty lay on the floor in a pool of gelling grease. My fries scattered in a thousand directions. There wasn’t a maggot anywhere.

I pushed out of the café and ran the entire way back to the UDA, my tears making cold, wet tracks down my cheeks. I was heaving and hiccupping by the time I barreled through the doors of the police station, by the time I ran full force into Alex’s chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around me and I was enveloped in his soothing warmth.

“Whoa, Lawson! Slow down! Hey, sweetie, what’s wrong?” he was saying. “It’s okay, calm down.” He pressed his lips into my hair, and I buried my damp face into the warm skin of his neck, breathing in his familiar, calming scent of cut grass and cocoa. When I was assured that my heart wouldn’t beat out of my chest, I loosened my grip on Alex, sniffed, and looked up at him.

“It was Ophelia,” I said, my voice sounding very small. “And my father. And maggots.”

Alex held me at arm’s length, his eyes going wide. “You saw Ophelia?”

I nodded and began to tremble again as the image of her wry smile blazed in my memory.

“Did she hurt you?”

“No,” I said, breaking away from Alex and running my fingers through my hair. “She didn’t have to.” I flopped into the vinyl waiting-room chair in the police station vestibule and looked up at him. “Alex, I think I’m going crazy. I’m hearing things, seeing things... .” I shrugged miserably, cradling my head in my hands.

Alex sat down next to me, his thigh brushing against mine. “Crazy?” His mouth pushed up into that sweet half-smile. “From the girl who spends forty hours a week with the dead and horned among us?”

I tried not to smile but gave in—slightly. It wasn’t easy to focus on my bizarre upside-down life with Alex sitting so close to me, but I reminded myself that thanks to him—my bizarre life was upside down—and maybe even in danger.

“So, crazy is relative. But seeing maggots? And my father? And Ophelia—all in the same day? Heck, all in the same lunch hour. That’s not weird?”

Alex put his hand on mine, his thumb stroking my skin. “Ophelia is trying to get to you.”

“Well, she did.”

Alex wagged his head, the muscle in his jaw jumping. “This isn’t good. She could have hurt you. Ophelia’s intentions are never good.”

“If she was so into me, why didn’t she attack me just now at the café?”

“She did. Your father, the maggots—she can make you see things. She can get in your head—if you let her.”

I pulled my hand away from Alex’s, squeezing my fingers into fists, feeling my nails digging into my palms. “The maggots, maybe. But my father? You think that was Ophelia playing with my head? That he wasn’t really”—I swallowed a sob that I had no reason to have—“here?”

“No, Lawson, I don’t think your father was really there. I don’t think he was walking down the street in the middle of the day.”

I tried to blink back the sting of tears. “What?”

Alex swallowed; his voice was soft. “You haven’t seen him in more than thirty years—and suddenly you see him walking down the street? I’m not saying it’s impossible, I just think it’s unlikely.”

“But it was him. I know it was. How would Ophelia know what my father looks like?”

“Angels draw strong influence. And with Ophelia—if you let her—she’ll get in your mind and show you anything you want to see. And probably a lot of things you don’t want to see, too.”

I paused, considering. “Why do you keep saying that, ‘if I let her’?”

Alex shrugged. “Relax, Lawson. I’m not trying to attack you.”

“Well, you seem to be pretty sure of your ex-girlfriend’s skill set.”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“No, it kind of is. You think Ophelia is stronger than me.”

Alex inched away from me and drew in a breath. “All I am saying is that the human mind is very easily influenced. You react well to suggestion. It’s not a dig, it’s a fact.”

I stood up. “Easily influenced? React to suggestion? I am not making this up, Alex. I saw what I saw. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was maggots. Fat, creepy, crawly maggots on my plate, on my French fries, everywhere. I don’t see things, remember? I am magically immune.”

Alex bit his lip. “It’s not magic. It’s powers. We have powers. Angels and demons, we’re ... it’s different.”

I shook my head, working to block out Alex’s words “It was my father. I saw him, and I just knew it was him—your angelic superpowers or not.”

“Lawson.” Alex’s voice was low, his eyes scanning the police station, where people had started to notice us, to drop their papers and swing their heads to the girl with the fire-engine-red hair stomping and screaming in the waiting room.

“I don’t know how she did it or why she did it, but your girlfriend”—I spat the word—“tried to poison me. Or freak me out. Or whatever.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend. And could you keep your voice down?”

I growled, turned on my heel, and jabbed at the elevator’s down button. “I have to get back to work.”

The elevator bell dinged and the heavy metal doors slid open. I jumped inside and kicked the CLOSE DOOR button, Alex’s face with its mix of anger and concern getting narrower and narrower as the doors eeked shut.

When I got downstairs, the UDA was buzzing. Demons stood hoof-to-hoof in long lines, mildly held in place by swooping velvet ropes. I tried to keep my head down and my eyes low, but I wasn’t two feet into the office when Mrs. Henderson—our resident busybody and fire-breathing dragon—stomped over to me, a thick sheaf of papers clutched in her manicured claw.

“Sophie—finally, someone who knows what she’s doing. I tell you, that—that—vampire that you have working behind the counter is completely useless. Has she ever heard of customer service? I don’t think so.” Mrs. Henderson turned up her nose, tiny tendrils of black smoke trailing from each nostril. I stepped aside.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Henderson.”

Mrs. Henderson and Nina had a long history of glaring at each other and mild name calling, usually culminating with someone (Nina) being set on fire and someone else (me) coming in to diffuse the situation and sign off on whatever dingbat issue was cheesing Mrs. Henderson off at the moment. Apparently, this afternoon it was Mrs. Henderson’s inability to collect alimony from Mr. Henderson, who took up with a showgirl he met on a dragon’s weekend in Vegas.

“We’ve got little ones, you know. How am I supposed to feed them?” Mrs. Henderson clutched at her pashmina scarf with her jeweled hand and batted her eyelashes.

“The UDA was supposed to serve him with the papers and garnish his wages. I know for a fact he’s making very good money over there at the Luxor, that louse. I’m just so concerned about my little ones.” She choked a manufactured wailing sob.

Mrs. Henderson’s little ones—two ornery, grey-scaled teenaged creatures—were stretched out on our waiting-room chairs, madly texting on their matching iPhones, Juicy Couture sweatpants pushed up over their scaly knees.

I took the papers Mrs. Henderson was waving. “I’ll get these approved right away for you, Mrs. Henderson. I’ll get this request in by the end of the day and we can send out a gargoyle to serve Mr. Henderson tomorrow morning. Your check should be here by the end of the week.”

Mrs. Henderson clasped her hands. “Oh, Sophie, you’re just a lifesaver! I don’t care what they say about you—I really think the UDA is lucky to have you.”

“Um, thank you,” I started.

She quickly put her finger to her narrow lips and her eyes took on a more sinister hue as they looked off into the distance. “Make sure you have the gargoyle get there early in the morning. I only wish I could see the look on that little showgirl-breather’s face when she opens the door to a gargoyle.” Mrs. Henderson seemed to remember I was there then and smiled kindly at me, big eyelashes batting. “You know, for the children.”

I nodded and Mrs. Henderson turned on her heel, leaving me to skip over her long tail. I stumbled backward and got poked in the shoulder by a pushpin holding up a VERM poster advertising their latest meeting. Then I walked down the hall to find Nina.

“Maggots, ugh!” Nina spit out her pale tongue as she sat across from me at her desk. “That is so gross. I hate when maggots get on my food.” She shuddered while I arched my eyebrows. “That’s why I stopped eating leftovers.”

I shut out the image of a half-drained human wrapped in tinfoil that might have once been in Nina’s fridge.

“So, I wonder what Ophelia’s deal is.”

“I don’t know. Just messing with me?”

Nina bit her fingernail. “Yeah, but I thought we were in a fight to the finish for this vase thing. Why would Ophelia be sitting around tossing bugs on stuff when she could be out trapping souls in the Vase of the Lord?”

“It’s the Vessel of Souls. And I have no idea. But I know who might.”

Nina looked up at me, interested.

“My father was there, Nina. It was him. I need to find him. I think he might be able to answer some questions, help us out with this Vessel thing.”

“Sophie, are you sure about this?”

I stood up, wringing my hands. “No, but I know that I have to. Everything is just getting so weird—and that’s saying a lot in my life. Maybe he can help me put some things together.”

Nina offered a friendly, understanding smile, showing off her fangs, her bloodstained lips. “If you think he could help.”

“I think it might be the only way to find the Vessel. I mean, he was hunting for it. Alex said he was the one who got closest.”

Nina frowned. “I wonder what made him stop searching.”

“I don’t know, but hopefully, he can tell me. And maybe get Ophelia out of my life—and my head.”

“Or,” Nina started, aiming her pen at me, “it could open up a universal war between good and evil, with Ophelia picking teams first and us ending up with the pasty kids who spent their school lunch hours playing Dungeons and Dragons.”

I crossed my arms. “So does this mean you’re not going to help me?”

Nina stood up, crossed the room and put her arms around me, squeezing me against her ice-cold chest. “Of course I’m going to help you. You’re my best friend. Besides, what’s a little danger to me? I’m immortal.”

“Thanks. I think. But—for now—this is just between you and me, okay? I don’t want Alex to know that I’m looking for Lucas.”

Nina held out her pinkie and I hooked it with mine. “Deal,” she said.

There was a crackle from Nina’s desk, and then a smooth, velvety voice came from the intercom. “Nina, may I see you, please?”

Nina dropped my pinkie and rushed to her desk, leaning close to the telephone, seductively pressing her breasts together.

He can’t see you, I mouthed.

“Just one second, Mr. Andrade—I mean, Dixon,” Nina said, her voice a vixenish trill. Nina clicked the intercom off and yanked open her top desk drawer, revealing a three-tiered makeup collection that Lancôme would be jealous of. She puckered her lips and painted them a ravishing red, then powdered her cheeks an even paler shade of pale.

“I thought you were going to show the new UDA management who they’re dealing with. Weren’t you all about keeping the new guy in line?”

Nina snapped her compact shut and blotted her lips, then unbuttoned another button on her blouse. “Oh, I’m all about letting Dixon know who he’s dealing with.”

I rolled my eyes and Nina grabbed my arm, giving it a quick shake. “Oh, come on, Sophie. You have to admit he is a wonderful piece of dead man candy. I mean, those eyes, those lips, those fangs! You know what it means when a vampire has big fangs, don’t you?” Nina waggled her eyebrows and I groaned. “Besides, he’s got all the traits I adore in a man: He’s tall, dark and demonic.” She kicked up a happy leg and sauntered on her sky-high heels out the door, then poked her head back in. “Don’t wait up. I have a feeling I’ll be working late.”