6 Under The Final Moon

by Hannah Jayne

  “A little under the weather?”

  Abelard’s shoulders went up to his ears. “And there is, of course, the release of your Guardian then.”

  “The release of—you mean Will? Released how?”

  “Well, his services will no longer be needed by you.”

  I thought of Will lying crumpled in that hospital bed. Well, not so much crumpled as splayed out with his Swiss-cheese chest in the air, but still. He had been stabbed, bandaged, and full of painkillers and antibiotics because of me. He had been beaten up and bowled over because of me. If I were no longer the Vessel of Souls, Will’s life would no longer be hemmed in by me; his life would no longer be a catalog of soccer games and near-death experiences.

  “So the Vessel of Souls is removed from me and re-hidden. Then Will and I are . . . safe?” It seemed too simple, too good to be true.

  “Well, not exactly, no.”

  And of course, there it was.

  “Unfortunately, Sophie, you’ll always be imprinted with the energy of the Vessel. Those who seek to possess it will still come after you, searching, thinking that you must know where it has been removed to.”

  “Will I? Know, I mean. Are you guys going to tell me?”

  Abelard shook his head. “No. For your safety and for ours.”

  “So, I go through this, this removal—”

  “The ceremony.”

  “The ceremony, right, yeah, and the Vessel of Souls is removed and I’m back to my regular old Sophie Lawson self and Will is no longer my Guardian and people are still going to come looking for me? No offense, Abelard, but I’m not seeing the upswing on this one.”

  “Do you not seek to release your Guardian?”

  His words shot something through my veins. Was he reading my mind? Abelard’s pale eyes were firm on mine, his lips pursed, but there was no animosity there. Nothing that looked like he was quietly poring through the desires of my soul.

  “I don’t want him to be in danger because of me anymore.”

  “So then?”

  “But if it’s not going to do any good . . .”

  Abelard pressed the palms of his hands together in front of me. “Perhaps I should clarify. Those who seek the Vessel will always be after you. You are, let’s see, the trailhead, perhaps? But once those learn that you no longer possess the Vessel . . .”

  “Sorry, Abe, still not seeing the benefit for me in any of this.”

  He blew out a long sigh, and now I could see that the smile on his face was forced. “Your father wants you. He wants the Vessel. He is stronger than all of us, but so far, we have been smarter than him. As long as you possess the Vessel of Souls, it is within his grasp and the world will continue to crumble until he gets what he wants.”

  I leaned back in my chair and narrowed my eyes. “But if you took the Vessel and re-hid it, would that stop him?”

  “Well, no, not exactly. He will always seek—”

  I assumed my bravado and disdain for double-talk and bureaucracy came from shuffling endless papers at the Agency, but I didn’t pause to examine it. “Don’t get me wrong—it’s not like I’m particularly attached to this whole Vessel thing. It’s just that”—I cocked my head—“I’m supposed to just trust you to do this ceremony? Trust you to hide it where my fath—or the evil plane or whatever, can’t get to it?”

  I could see the tension pressing the wrinkles out of Abelard’s lips. He eyed me and I locked onto his gaze, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I wasn’t a particularly religious person, but it did feel a little heretical staring down a monk. On the other hand, we were underground at the Underworld Detection Agency—my territor y—and there were two vampires and a teenage witch huddling on the other side of my office door, pretending not to listen.

  Abelard cleared his throat. “Frankly, we’re not sure that you have the strength to protect the Vessel of Souls in this particular situation.”

  A little prick of anger started at the base of my spine. “You don’t think I have the strength? Do you know what I’ve gone through to protect this thing? It’s not been a complete walk in the park, let me tell you! And I noticed that you didn’t jump up to tell me that you and your little order are totally trustworthy when it comes to moving the Vessel. Do you have some kind of work order I could look at? Can I talk to your superior or something?”

  “I appreciate your fierce protection of the Vessel of Souls and your scrutiny of my order and myself. However, we just don’t think that when it comes down to your father, you’ll be able to think with the same kind of clarity.”

  I gaped. “Oh, so you think I’m going to go into some little-girl-lost thing, huh?”

  “Sophie—”

  “No, no. I have protected this thing and kept it safe and out of the hands of your greedy minions and everyone else who’s been after it, but now suddenly I’m supposed to give it up because you think I can’t face my father? Who are you guys, anyway? Who gave you the authority? You know what? I need to do my own research. How about you leave a card or something and I’ll get back to you.”

  I stood up so quickly that my chair shot out from behind me, its ancient wheels squeaking across the plastic slide mat. “I think it’s time you left, Mr. Abelard.”

  To my surprise, Abelard didn’t argue. He stood slowly and waited for me to lead him to the door. We walked in silence to the elevator, everyone at the Agency falling against the walls, giving Abelard and me a wide berth as they stared at us in silent fear. I pushed the up button and Abelard smiled at me, a kind, wide smile, and took my hand in his. He tenderly pressed my hand in between both of his and eyed me. “The fate of the world is hanging on you, child. And you are making a terrible, terrible mistake.”

  He must have stepped into the elevator and the doors must have closed, driving him upward, but I didn’t remember because all I could do was stand there, my hand still outstretched, feeling the cold from where his hand had been.

  You are making a terrible, terrible mistake. The words reverberated in my head, shooting terrifying licks of fire down my spine.

  FIFTEEN

  I wasted at least two hours sitting in my car in the police station parking lot, trembling, and drinking enough pilfered police station coffee to buy Juan Valdez a fleet of Mercedes. I still hadn’t heard from Will or Alex, and after Abelard left, I’d gathered what remained of my things and picked my way out of the UDA while Kale and the handful of clients left in the waiting room watched me go.

  The fog outside my window was starting to bleed into long fingers of gray drizzle when my phone started blaring “How Do You Talk to an Angel”—a nod to the eighties and Alex’s ringtone. I nearly hit my head on the windshield jumping out of my skin.

  “Lawson.”

  “Now you call me? I called you like, ten hours ago. I needed you, Alex!”

  “You called me?”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and gaped at it as though Alex could somehow see me. “Of course I did. If you didn’t know that, why are you calling me?”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “I’m in the police station parking lot. In my car.”

  “Stay there. I’ll be there in three minutes.”

  I had no idea if it was something about being an angel or just that Alex was police-officer anal, but he arrived exactly three minutes later, pulling into a spot close to the door of the station. I hopped out of my car and jogged toward him just as he came around the car to me. His eyes were blazing, his cheeks flushed.

  “Lawson, about the other day, back at my office—”

  My mind immediately went to Alex backpedaling about our relationship. It made sense that as my UDA family backed away from me, so would Alex.

  “Yeah, no, that’s fine, I understand. If you want to, you know, be . . .”

  “I’m not talking about us. The kid.”

  I swallowed hard. “The kid?” Oh, God. There was a kid now? Did Alex want me to get pregnant? Could that even happen? Would our child be immortal,
or like, half immortal? And what did that mean? Would he be immune to illness or just live to one hundred fifty-five? Would he have Alex’s ice-blue eyes, his hard, chiseled chin?

  “Did you hear me?”

  Sweat rolled down my back and was now oozing out of every pore as my skin radiated a fire of embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  Alex’s gaze was steady, his jaw set hard. Everything about him told me he had his cop armor on, and I stiffened, the tension still ratcheting.

  “Oliver. The kid.”

  I nodded. “What about him?”

  “He’s gone missing.”

  I took a step back as if his revelation had physically moved me. “What? What do you mean ‘gone missing’? Where did he go?”

  Alex shook his head. “We don’t know. He was being held at the children’s ward of SF General. Supposed to have had round-the-clock supervision.”

  “But?”

  “But sometime during the night, someone came in and signed him out. Took everything associated with Oliver—his medical chart, his things, his stuffed animal.”

  “Well, if someone signed him out, don’t you know who it is? Who signed him out?”

  Alex fished his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and swiped it on, showing me a photograph of a sign-in log. Oliver’s name was written in the PATIENT box with small, sure script. A name was written in the VISITORS box in careful cursive writing: . Szabo.

  My lungs popped. I tried desperately to suck in air, but even with my big, fish-face gulps, it felt like I was breathing through a straw. Alex, my car, the parking lot swayed in front of me as a vice tightened around my forehead. I could feel Alex’s hands on me again, on my shoulders this time, steadying me.

  “Lawson, breathe. Slowly. One breath in, one breath out.”

  I tried to focus on Alex, on his commands, and after what seemed like hours, I was confident my heart wasn’t in my throat, wouldn’t flop right out of my mouth and onto the glass-and-condom-littered concrete.

  “Lucas took Oliver?”

  “There’s more.”

  “More?”

  Alex turned the phone to me one more time, swiping the image. He was explaining as my eyes took in the image. Under the box that asked RELATIONSHIP, again in that careful, sure script was the word father.

  “Father? But Oliver has—had—a father. His father was killed. Was he—was he adopted? Oh, God, Oliver is my brother?”

  I had discovered my half sister Ophelia under circumstances that were less than optimal as well. And, as discussed, she’d tried to kill me and our relationship had culminated in a stabbing by trident. Purely self-defense on account of my sister was bat-shit crazy and clearly took after my father, the devil. I still don’t know who Ophelia’s mother is, but I would be willing to bet the farm and a half-dozen donuts that her side of the family line included at least one jackal.

  “My brother . . .”

  “Actually, no, according to his records. There is no indication that Oliver was adopted, and his father—his actual father—is listed on his birth certificate, as is his mother. Medical records match up, too.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek, a weird sense of joy and jealousy filtering through me. I was happy that Oliver wasn’t the son of Satan, even if unadulterated evil did seem to be his forte. But I was also weirdly upset that my father would devote so much time to a child that wasn’t even his when his real child had grown up without a father.

  “Are there any leads?”

  Alex cracked a half smile. “Look at you with the detective lingo.” His smile dropped. “But no, we don’t have anything. We weren’t even notified that Oliver was missing until about thirty minutes ago.”

  “But he was checked out last night!”

  “Technically, early this morning. The officer on guard has no idea how Lucas or Oliver got passed him.”

  I cocked my head. “No idea like he was off on a cigarette break or grabbing a donut?”

  “Why does it go directly to the donuts with you?”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Okay, no. The surveillance footage shows that he didn’t leave his post. And the two times he did, for bathroom breaks, no one came through. No one.”

  I leaned back against my car. “So . . . I don’t understand any of this. What do you need with me?”

  “Lucas is your father. Do you know anything—have any idea where he might be?”

  I gaped at Alex. “Where have you been the last three years? I don’t know Lucas from Adam. Well, I do, but not his haunts. He might be my dad”—it almost pained me to admit it—“but the only thing we have in common that I’m sure of is a couple of strands of DNA. If he has a secret fort or an evil lair, I’m not privy to it.”

  “Is there anything, anything at all? Think, Lawson.”

  “I am thinking,” I snapped. “I don’t know anything about my father except that he’s a killer and apparently, he was interested in every other kid except me.”

  Suddenly, I was crying. I was completely aware of the ridiculousness of the situation, crying because a mass murderer had never taken me to a father-daughter dance, but I couldn’t stop myself. I felt pitiful, I felt small. No matter who my father was, one thing was clear: he didn’t want me at all.

  “Oh, Lawson.”

  Alex wrangled me into a hug that only made me cry harder. Stupid, body-wracking tears as I slumped against him while he gently stroked my back.

  “Wha-wha-what’s wrong with me, Alex? Why wouldn’t he want me at all?” I snuffled into his neck, forgetting to be embarrassed by the fact that I was soaking the stiff collar of his button-down shirt with snot and tears. “I mean, it’s not like I want to go into the family business, but it would have been nice to be asked, you know?”

  I blinked up at Alex and he thumbed a tear from my eye. “I know, Lawson. Your father has no idea what he’s missing out on.”

  “But he does. He seems to know everything about me,” I wailed.

  “No. He doesn’t know how amazing and warm and kind you are. He obviously can’t even see how beautiful you are. If he knew any of those things, he would never be able to turn away from you. Never.” He swallowed. “No matter what it cost him.” Alex swallowed and wrapped one of my curls around his index finger with a small smile. I was about to say something witty and poignant—or, since it was me, something would have unequivocally ruined the entire warm and tender moment—when his cell phone buzzed.

  And just like that, warm, tender Alex was replaced by all thin-blue-line detective Alex.

  “Grace?”

  I watched the hint of smile drop completely out of Alex’s eyes as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. He gave two curt nods, then hung up.

  “What was that about?”

  “Chief said a call came in. A pretty viable tip. Someone in Fremont said they saw a juvenile fitting Oliver’s description with an older man.”

  “Did that older man fit my father’s description?”

  Alex shrugged sharply, but I knew his answer was yes. “I’m going with you.”

  He put out a hand and stopped me. “No, you’re not.”

  I grinned. “I like how after all these years you still think you can stop me from doing things.”

  “I’m serious, Lawson.”

  “Alex, I’m a part of this case. And Oliver’s kidnapper is my father. I think that warrants a ride along, don’t you?”

  “Actually, that’s exactly why you’re not going within twenty miles of the last known location.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  He blew out a sigh. “Look, Lawson, I know we usually do this stay-here/don’t-stay-here dance. And usually, I don’t really care whether or not you tag along.”

  A little needle of pain stabbed at my heart, and I crossed my arms in front of my chest, narrowing my eyes so Alex wouldn’t see.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of sugarcoating, ass hat?”

  Alex sighed. “M
ost of the time I’m happy when you tag along because I know you’re going to be safe. But we have no idea what we’re dealing with on this one.”

  “But it’s my father!”

  “Which is exactly why you have to promise me you won’t follow me.”

  I opened my mouth and Alex pushed it back closed. “You’re too close to this one. You’ve got too much emotion to be counted on to act rationally.”

  “I never act rationally!”

  It was out of my mouth before I realized that it wasn’t the best argument.

  “I’ll call you once I get there, and everything I find out, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

  I cocked out a hip. “I’m just supposed to believe you?”

  “For God’s sake, Lawson, I’m an angel.”

  “Fallen.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’ve got to go. You’re staying here.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yeah, I’m staying here.”

  Alex stared at me for a long, silent beat before grabbing my purse and fishing out my keys. He slipped them in his chest pocket and spun on his heel, moving toward his black SUV.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “I said I was staying here!”

  He disappeared around the driver’s side of the car, then poked his dark mop over the top of the car, followed by his stupidly mischievous blue eyes. “And I’m just supposed to believe you?”

  Alex was out of the driveway, practically on two wheels, thirty seconds before the Muni bus wheezed to a stop. I jogged and boarded the bus, then sunk in my dollar, scanning the assembled riders for even a sliver of empty seat.

  There wasn’t one.

  I edged my way down the center aisle and reached up for one of the leather steadying loops, my arm firmly in place while the rest of my body cursed Muni’s apparent disdain for shocks as I thumped against my fellow riders. Three stops and plenty of inappropriate bumps later I was pretty sure the man behind me was my new husband, and either in celebration or desperation, I realized I wanted a drink. And though I knew better than to solve problems with alcohol, today was one of those days when I figured it couldn’t hurt. Lucky for me, San Francisco is filthy with bars, specialized for everyone from hipsters to hookers, and the first establishment I walked into fell somewhere in the middle.