“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.