“Okay,” I said, standing shoulder to shoulder with Alex. “Where do we start?”
Alex smiled wistfully. “Thanks, Sophie, but you don’t need to …”
“No, really, it’s the least I can do. You saved my life. I can, you know … get one of those metal detectors and go amulet searching. Maybe the chief buried it in Golden Gate Park or something.” I grinned.
“To be honest, I don’t even know exactly what the amulet looks like.”
“Weren’t you protecting it?” I asked.
“I was, but we weren’t able to see it. It’s charmed, so even though it’s called an amulet, it could really be anything. It’s a security thing.”
“Like Fort Knox?”
He smiled. “Something like that.”
I stood up. “I could still help you. I mean, there’s a good chance that maybe the amulet—or whatever it is now—has fallen into demon hands. Maybe the UDA can help you. And if it’s charmed, then I’ll be able to see through it. You know, if they got all squirrelly and decided to hide it in plain sight of something.” I was starting to dip back into my Sophie Lawson, CSI revelry. Although, maybe when working with angels I wouldn’t need a gun. Maybe just a bow and arrow or a sword or something. Yeah, I could deal with a sword….
Alex put both his hands on my shoulders and squeezed gently, bringing me back to reality. He looked at me, his cobalt eyes bright and clear, his smile soft.
“Thank you, Sophie. I appreciate you wanting to help. Your life is here, though.” He rubbed his thumb against my jawline, cradled my chin in his palm, and then his lips were on mine.
If I didn’t believe in angels before, I did now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
He had a shock of my hair wrapped around his knuckles, yanking so that my chin rose toward the ceiling and my neck stretched and elongated uncomfortably.
“Please,” I murmured, my eyes traveling to his glistening fangs as they pressed hungrily against the corners of his mouth. “You’re getting soap in my eye.”
Gerard angrily slapped the faucet off and draped a towel over my head; I could hear his sigh from under my pink terry cloth towel.
“All you breathers ever do is complain,” he moaned, wringing my hair in the towel. “Where’s Nina with my lunch?” He eyed my neck again, and I felt myself inch a little farther back in my chair.
Gerard was a recent UDA hire. He had transferred in from our Los Angeles office as part of the new team called in to keep things flowing in Mr. Sampson’s absence. In addition to being the executive assistant to our current UDA head, he was the king of the makeover. Or so Nina had convinced me.
Gerard and I were set up in the UDA bathroom, and today, in addition to running a meeting on how to handle a group of unruly banshees terrorizing the Castro, he was in charge of turning my carrot-colored hair into a lush mane of rich auburn during today’s lunch hour.
“How does it look?” I asked, sliding the towel from my head and beginning to turn toward the mirror.
Gerard’s eyes widened, and if he had had any blood in his undead cheeks, I’m confident it would have drained. He put both his hands on my shoulders and smiled a bright, dazzling smile, fangs bared.
“You can’t look until it’s all finished,” he said. “Stylist’s rules.” He pushed me down hard into the office chair Nina had wheeled in. Gerard chewed his lower lip and cocked his head, using a long, slender finger to brush a lock of pink hair from my shoulder.
A lock of hot pink, fingerin-a-light-socket-frizzy hair from my shoulder.
“What the—?” I sprang up, kicking my chair out from beneath me, and glared in the mirror.
“Holy crap!” Nina exclaimed when she kicked open the bathroom door. I turned around and her pale hands were pressed hard against her mouth, her coal-black eyes wide. She looked desperately from Gerard to me. “You look fabulous!” she finally squeaked, her brow pinched.
I swung back to the mirror, my heart thundering in my chest. “I look like a troll doll. My hair is pink. Hot pink!” I tried to run my fingers through the cotton-candy mess. “And it’s curly.”
“Well,” Nina said, fluffing the mess affectionately around my shoulders, “you said you wanted a change, and it is certainly … different.”
Gerard frowned at the empty tubes of hair color dumped in the sink. “I have no idea what went wrong,” he said. And then, quickly, “Not that there’s anything wrong with it. Really, you do look smashing. It really brings out your eyes. You know, the red part.” He smiled politely. “I like it.”