“Right.” I cleared my throat and stumbled toward my bedroom. “Let me get your clothes—uh, your shirt. It’s—it’s late.”
I picked up his sweater. It was cold from sitting on my desk, just under my open window all night. I pressed the soft fabric to my face, held it against my nose and breathed, but the scent, the warm, comforting scent of Alex, was gone. All I could get was the distant scent of the ocean on the night air. I felt a lump rise in my throat, felt the frustratingly familiar sting of tears starting to form behind my eyes.
He ate hot dogs. He stepped on popcorn. He slurped when he drank his beer, he howled at the umpire, he slung his arm around my shoulders and belted out “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” with the thousands of other fans in the stadium.
But he wasn’t like them.
I glanced down at the scratch on my arm, red and puckered and angry, throbbing with a gentle, warm heat and so distinctly alive.
“Lawson?” Alex called from the living room.
“I’ll be right there.”
Chapter Eight
When I woke up, my bedroom was blanketed in a warm canary yellow. It was comforting, until I realized it was a Post-it note stuck to my forehead. I peeled it off and read Nina’s loopy, bubbled script: Put some Mercurochrome on that scratch. I can smell you from the living room! xoxo Neens.
Did I mention that living with a vampire took some getting used to?
I rolled out of bed and trudged, still half asleep, to the kitchen, where I flicked on the coffeemaker and repeated the slow plod to the bathroom.
“Ahem!”
I glanced into the mirror and sighed. “Grandma, I’m really not in the mood.”
My grandmother’s bushy white brows raised, then furrowed. “What happened to your face?”
“Alex and I got mugged last night.”
Grandma’s milky blue eyes widened and she pursed her bright red lips, the stain of the lipstick sinking into her wrinkles. “What is that city coming to? Used to be a girl and her beau—” Grandma’s eyes flicked back to me. “He is your beau, isn’t he?” I didn’t answer and she prattled on, oblivious. “Could spend a night out without fear of being attacked by some animal. Or some dope-head or some criminal all hopped up on—on marijuana.”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad. This”—I pointed to the purpling mask of bruises under my right eye—“is actually from a different incident.”
Another tsking sigh.
I rolled up on my toes and gripped the sides of the sink. “Hey, Gram, can I ask you something?”
“Of course you can, honey. You can ask me anything.”
“Why didn’t you ever get married?”
Grandma’s shoulders stiffened and I could tell that I had caught her off guard. “What are you getting at?”
“Nothing, I just—I don’t remember there ever being ... someone ... in your life ... that way. And Mom and Dad didn’t work out and ...”
Grandma raised her brows. “And?”
I sunk back onto the souls of my feet. “And never mind. I have to get ready for work.”
I didn’t remember dressing myself in charcoal-grey slacks and a black cowl-necked sweater. I didn’t remember driving to work or the six hours that passed between getting there and processing the last demon request—a notice of intention to cease terror—offered up by a fanged creature with an unfortunate underbite.
“You understand that by giving up your right to terrify, you are also giving up all underbed, dark-corner, and closet access?” I mumbled.
“I just don’t want to be the boogeyman anymore. I’m hoping to get this underbite worked on and I can’t get a dentist to even look at me without the cease notice.”
I stamped his form and sent him to the next line over, then hung my head and rubbed my temples.
Suddenly, I had a pounding headache and the fat velvet ropes that held our daily demons in orderly lines were bulging, and everyone was talking at once—a cacophony of groans, growls, and wailing howls. My blood started to pulse in my veins and my heart sped up to a feverish, sickening pace. My hairline started to prick with little beads of sweat.
“I’ve got to get out of here.”
I slid the closed sign across my window and pressed out of my chair so quickly that I left it spinning behind me. I was making my way toward the elevator when I stopped, taking in a lungful of freesia-scented air.
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.”