God, I felt bad for their file clerk.
“So, in order for us to end this thing, we have to . . .” I felt my lip curl in a disgusted grimace. “Get your pound of flesh back?”
“It’s not a pound of flesh. It’s a piece of flesh.”
“So, to end the contract . . .”
“We need to destroy the contract, the contract holder, or the hunters.”
“Who’s the contract holder?”
Sampson shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Well, it has to be someone who knows you—maybe someone who’s holding a grudge? Someone you met through work?”
“I don’t know. It was all I thought about up north.”
“Okay, well. How about the contract? Hunk of flesh and blood notwithstanding, the contract is, like paper, right? I mean, it’s not tattooed on the back of an ogre or burned into the side of a volcano or something, is it?”
“The binding part is written on the flesh.”
I fought the urge to heave while my stomach lodged firmly in my shoes. “So we’re looking for some wordy flesh.”
“No, we’re not. You’ve done enough for now.” He glanced at the clock on the microwave. “I know I’m not your boss anymore, but aren’t you about to be late for work?”
“Did I mention how nice it was to have you back?” I socked Sampson in the arm and pulled a healthy lunch—a Fresca and two Pop-Tarts—out of the fridge, then yelled for Nina and Vlad to get their undead asses moving. While I waited, I yanked open the blackout drapes in the living room and let the beams of glorious, rare San Francisco sunlight wash over me. I was marveling at the way our Ikea furniture sprung to glistening life in the natural light when Nina tore out of her room, like a tiny, raven-haired cyclone dressed in a painted silk kimono robe.
“What are you trying to do?” she screamed. “Kill me?”
Sampson raised his eyebrows and I set down my Fresca. “What are you talking about? And where’s Vlad?”
Nina turned to gape at me. Or at least I think she did, because she was wearing her enormous dark sunglasses. “Have you not seen the weather?”
Sampson and I exchanged uncertain glances. “We live in California, Neens. We don’t have weather.”
Nina wagged her head. “It must be so easy to live a life with so few consequences.”
Sampson hid his smile behind his coffee mug and I rolled my eyes, about to remind her that I had been hung up by my ankles and accosted by a lunatic with a gunshot in his ass (courtesy of me, but still), when she went on, slapping her arms and raving. “I’m practically burnt to a crisp thanks to your obsession with opening the blinds.”
I blinked at the blue-white of her forearms. “Sorry. But if you were burnt to a crisp you’d be, well, burnt. To a crisp.”
She narrowed her eyes. “We’re talking life-or-death situation here, Sophie. You’ll have to let Dixon know that I can’t come in today.” She shrugged her tiny shoulders and flopped down on the couch in pure Scarlett O’Hara fashion. “I can’t risk it.”
“If you can’t be out in the sun to get to work, what makes you think Dixon will?” Dixon Andrade, a vampire (and former Nina boy-toy) took over the UDA after Sampson’s “disappearance.”
Nina waved her hand, the reflection catching in her Jackie O glasses. “Just let him know I’ll be working from home today.”
“Holy crap!” The front door slammed open and I coughed, covering my mouth and nose over the plume of smoke that came racing in. A man was hunched, an ugly, military-looking blanket pulled over his head. The whole thing—the man, blanket and all—was smoking.
“Vlad!” Nina sprung to her feet and began smacking smoking Vlad with a rolled-up US Weekly.
“Oh my gosh!”
Vlad dropped the blanket and raised an eyebrow at me, nostrils flared. “I’m on fire.”
I tried to think of something soothing to say, but came up blank. “Sorry,” I muttered.
“Did you see the news?” Vlad asked.
Did you see the news? should be a basic, non-sweat-inducing question. And for most people, it is. But for me, it is nothing less than ominous and I had the sudden desire to jump in my Tae Bo fighting stance, or at the very least call Jennifer Garner as Sydney Bristow in for backup. I swallowed, finding my mouth immensely dry. “Did something happen?”
“Uh, yeah. The weather! The sun?” He gaped at me when my reaction wasn’t a mortified as his. “This heat wave is supposed to last all week! It’s supposed to be sunny in San Francisco. For a whole week!”
“All week?” Nina groaned, then flopped back on the couch, fainting goat style. Sampson edged away from her.
“What are we supposed to do cooped up in this house all week?”
“It won’t be so bad, guys,” I said. “We’re well stocked with blood bags and we’ve got cable and”—I rummaged through our junk drawer—“almost an entire deck of Uno cards! It’ll be like summer camp!”