We both stood looking at each other in stunned silence—her rubbing her reddening cheek, me rubbing my new bald spot. She lunged for me again, barely missing me as I crab-crawled to the bookshelf and used it to pull myself up, the ache in my leg tightening like a fist. I used the back of my arm to swipe at my nose, and my stomach lurched when I saw the bright red ribbon of blood on my arm. Other people’s blood never bothered me that much, but my own was a different story. I felt woozy and Ophelia seemed to know it, her face breaking into a satisfied half-smile.
“This could go so much more smoothly, you know,” she said, picking up a lamp and smashing it on the coffee table Van Damme style. She held the broken shards to me, her baby pink lips distorted into a gruesome snarl. “Give it!”
I shrunk against the bookcase, feeling the wood pressing against my shoulders. Ophelia held the jagged glass edge of the lamp against my neck, pressing the tines in for effect. I winced as I felt them cut my skin.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I wailed, my head feeling tender and raw. “The Vessel. I know you want the Vessel.” I took a deep breath that made my bruised chest scream with pain and carefully, solemnly slid a pale green milk-glass vase from the lower shelf. I discreetly upturned it and brushed away the parade of crumpled gum wrappers that lived inside of it and then turned around, cuddling the dollar-ninety-nine IKEA vase to my chest reverently.
“Okay, Ophelia. You win.” With shaking hands I held the vase out to Ophelia, who stared at it, wide-eyed, wanting. “Here is the Vessel of Souls.”
Ophelia raised one sculpted eyebrow and jabbed at the air in front of her. “That?”
I nodded. “Yes, this. The angels often charm things so they can be hidden—”
“In plain sight, blah, blah, blah.” Ophelia finished. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”
I licked my dry lips. “Of course. So, here it is. You win, fair and square.”
Ophelia reached out and smacked the vase with the back of her hand, sending it hurtling to the ground, crashing against the hardwood floor. Thick shards of pale green glass splintered in all directions; the one that held the dollar ninety-nine IKEA price tag skidded toward me and landed a quarter-inch from my sneaker.
We heard the gentle ahhhh of souls ascending to Heaven.
Ophelia stamped her foot, one hand on her hip. “Stop that!”
I snapped my mouth shut and the wailing ahhh stopped. Then Ophelia smiled. A grotesque smile of delight that twisted her normally lovely features into something awful.
You really don’t know, do you? Her voice was in my head again.
“Don’t know what?” I snarled out loud. “And stop with the head talk!”
“Sophie!”
I cut my eyes to our front door hanging askew, anchored by a single hinge. Nina flung it open and the bent hinge gave way, the door flopping to the ground.
“You stay the hell away from her!” Nina screamed, her dark eyes fierce and intent on Ophelia.
“Oh, wow.” Ophelia glanced from me to Nina. “And her toothy pal comes to the rescue. If only you knew what you were guarding.”
Nina was between Ophelia and me in a heartbeat, standing nose to nose with Ophelia, the jagged piece of lamp hanging limply at her side. “Don’t you have a harp to strum?” Nina spat from between gritted teeth.
Ophelia wrinkled her nose. “A harp, that’s cute.” She narrowed her eyes and elbowed Nina hard in the chest, sending her skittering to the ground. Nina landed on her back with a thud. I tried to lunge to Nina, but Ophelia clamped her hand on my shoulder. I heard myself cry out as her fingers dug into my muscle, forming heat against my skin.
A low growl escaped from Nina’s chest and she flung herself against Ophelia, who deftly stepped aside, taking me with her.
“Knock, knock!”
We all seemed to freeze, openmouthed and panicked, as we looked at Mr. Matsura, who stood in the doorway, his wrinkled lips turned up in a quizzical smile.
Mr. Matsura lived across the hall in an afghan-festooned apartment that was stuck in 1952. He wore a cardigan sweater over his button-up shirt and neatly pressed slacks with his house slippers when he went out at dawn and at dusk for his daily walks. In the waking hours in between, he ate takeout and watched the game-show channel, the volume turned up to an ungodly level. I credit my ability to correctly guess the prices of a catamaran, a set of Calphalon pans, and an electric skillet to his faulty hearing aid.
He let out a low whistle as he slid his palm over the cracked door frame. “Looks like someone did some damage here.”
Mr. Matsura looked like a smiling beacon of hope—or the next victim in Ophelia’s domestic destruction.
Without loosening her grip on me, Ophelia grinned, her smile dazzling and welcoming even as her fingertips continued to burrow into my shoulder. “And you are?”
Mr. Matsura jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Neighbor. Right across the hall.”
My heart started to beat again and the blood was returning to my extremities. Nina was pushing herself up from the floor and Ophelia snaked her arm across my shoulders, making our threesome look more like a group of overzealous girlfriends than a battle for the fate of the humankind.
“We just got a little out of control,” Ophelia said, sweet innocence dripping from her voice. “Sorry to have bothered you.”