“Is that true? Do you all feel this way?”
No one answered me, but Windy finally nodded, looking half apologetic, half matter-of-fact. “No one wants to take the risk.” His eyes went from my toes to my face. “Not for someone like you, anyway.”
Someone like me.
“Human?”
I watched the deceased remains of Windy’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed heavily.
“Okay.”
I turned around and headed toward my office, not bothering to turn my eyes from the private pixies in the hallway, not needing to avoid Lorraine and her ever-present stack of questionable invoices, because they all avoided me.
I swung into my office with a plan to take a heavy breather and talk myself out of a panic attack. Instead, I opened the door, stepped inside, and felt my mouth drop wide open.
“What the hell happened here?”
Though my desk and obsessive-compulsive straight lines of Post-it notes and pencils remained untouched, I couldn’t say the same for the rest of the office. The walls and carpet showed great rectangular lines of fresh paint and cleanliness, where file cabinets had been removed, and my ever-present spider plant was set gently on the floor, along with a stack of general office tchotchkes. Joining this disarray was a photo of my grandmother and me that usually lived on top of a bookcase normally stuffed with tomes on UDA standard operating procedures, The Modern Classification of Demons, Monsters, and the Undead for Insurance and Appraisal Purposes, stacks of life/afterlife insurance forms, and a tattered copy of What Color Is Your Parachute? The last book remained, but nothing else.
I didn’t know why, but I knew Dixon was behind this. Dixon, or at very least the newly formed fanged triumvirate that was Dixon, Vlad, and Eldridge, top-seated vampire representatives of UDA, VERM, and ... Queer Eye for the (Undead) Straight Guy. White-hot anger roiled through my veins, and I felt my hands automatically roll into fists so tight that my fingernails bored into my palms, cutting through the skin.
I made a beeline to Dixon’s office and didn’t even slow when Eldridge tried to feed me some crap about Dixon being a busy man and me needing an appointment. I breezed past him and kicked open Dixon’s office door, not even stopping to shiver when a series of pale-faced vampires stared up at me, surprised and hunger evident on their faces.
“Where are my files?”
Dixon, chilled as a pre–global warming iceberg, knitted his hands and looked up at me. His brown eyes were wide and open; his mouth pushed up into a calm smile. “Well, Ms. Lawson, what an unexpected surprise. Gentlemen, this is Sophie Lawson, the acting head of our newly established Fallen Angel Division here at the Underworld Detection Agency.”
I felt a snarl tug at my lip. “Acting head?”
Dixon tipped his head from side to side, but made no move to explain. “As you can see here, Ms. Lawson, I’m kind of in the middle of something. Is this something that Eldridge can help you with?”
I finally scanned the faces of the assembled—there were four men, all vampires—sitting around Dixon’s desk. Two I recognized as Dixon’s new promotions, one was Vlad, and the third, brand-new.
“What’s going on here?” I asked, unease walking up my spine.
“Board meeting,” Dixon answered breezily. “Now what did you need?”
“My files,” I said, suddenly uncertain, my anger turning to suspicion.
“We’ve simply lightened your load,” Vlad piped up. “Some of our clientele were looking for a change, a provider a little more in line with their needs. We thought it would also be a great opportunity for you to begin expanding your division.” Vlad’s answer smacked with scripted practice, and his lips curved into that same stupid serene smile that Dixon wore like a mask. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Unable to form a cohesive thought—or a witty response—I turned on my heel and sped back to my office, my mind ticking. I was there for a millisecond before Nina sauntered in, completely oblivious to the spring-cleaning that had cleared out my office, unaware of the gales of pissed-off heat that wafted off me.
“What do you think of Athena Bushant?” she asked.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing the thundering headache that was starting behind my eyes to hold off. “What’s an Athena Bushant?”
Nina rolled her eyes and flopped her head back, as if I’d just asked her to ride shotgun in a primer-colored Pinto. “Not what. Who. Athena Bushant.” She thrust out her chest and stepped forward, arms splayed, superstar style.
I shrugged. “Is she new?”
“I am Athena Bushant. Actually, Athena is me. Athena Bushant is my pen name. What do you think? Perfect, right? Just the right combination of mystery and wisdom. And it’ll look great on a dust jacket. I’ve already come up with my bio. Listen to this.”