6 Under The Final Moon

by Hannah Jayne

  “My God, that was close—hey.” I craned my neck. “What are you doing?”

  Luna seemed to be following something. She was taking dainty steps, her head slightly cocked as she walked deeper into the alley, into the part that was shadowed and hard to see from the street.

  Having spent my fair share of time in alleyways being shot at and such, my stomach sank. This was not good. Luna was about to be swallowed by something unholy or raped by a wino with a hook for a hand. I pushed myself up and ran after her.

  “Luna, what are you looking for? You should come out of there. We should go back to the—”

  But my breath was cut off my a choking gasp, and before I could figure out what was going on, I felt my shoulder blades slap against the brick of the alley wall, my head smacking hard against a protruding brick.

  “What are you—”

  Luna’s eyes were wild with an electricity I hadn’t noticed before. She was gripping my throat and pressing me against the wall. I tried to wriggle, to struggle, to kick away, but she was ready for my every move and was able to dodge and weave without loosening her hold on my neck.

  “I’ve been waiting all day for you, Sophie Lawson.”

  “What?”

  The absolute joy of her actions was apparent in Luna’s face, rolled off her in waves. I tried my best to breathe.

  “I wasn’t sure it was you at first. But then I saw your little angel and I knew.”

  “Alex.” It was barely a breath and my eyelids were feeling heavy, my head feeling light. “What do you want from me? Money?”

  I gagged when Luna squeezed harder. “I don’t want your money,” she spat. “I know who you are. I know what you are.” She narrowed her eyes, lasering them on mine. Her focus was chilling.

  “Son of a bitch! You, too?”

  I could feel each one of Luna’s fingers digging into my throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The term “trickster” spun in what remained of my consciousness.

  “Why are you doing this? I don’t know what or who you think I am, but I’m not . . . that. Please let me go!”

  “Don’t play dumb, Sophie.”

  I sucked in a shallow breath, feeling myself begin to tremble even as I was pressed against the wall. Luna was about my height. I had a good ten pounds on her. She didn’t have a weapon.

  Luna’s other hand rose and I was blinded by the glint of the enormous blade she was wielding. It was attached to a heavy black handle, the whole thing wrapped with what looked like golden twine. My eyes widened and my legs went rogue; I slipped down the wall before Luna realized it. The hand that was around my throat was now tangled in my hair, and the knife was shoved snugly in the crumbling mortar between two bricks. I chanced a glance up just in time to see the absolute rage on Luna’s face. She was working to free her knife. I gave her a swift kick to the shin, hard as I could muster, then clawed at the ground, trying to get my bearings, to get back on my feet.

  “Damn it!” Luna yelled, leaning over to cradle her knee.

  I started to run, started to will my legs to move forward, but I felt like I was dream running—legs going, but body going nowhere.

  “You’re fucking dead, Sophie Lawson! You’ll never get away from us!”

  I was sprinting—finally feeling like I was making headway—and looking over my shoulder at Luna’s anger stained face when I ran smack into Alex’s hard chest.

  “Oaf!”

  It was like running into a brick wall, and the back of my head throbbed while my lungs burned. Alex snaked his arms around my waist and held me hard and firm.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, staring down at me.

  “The waitress.” I pushed against Alex until he was forced to take a step back, me Velcroed to him. “She wants to kill me.”

  Alex looked over my head. I didn’t see what he saw, but he broke our embrace immediately and sprinted into the alley. I spun on my heel and reached out for him, Lifetime-movie style, without actually moving. “She’s going to get you, too!”

  My words bounced off the concrete walls of the narrow alley and sprung back at me. Alex was examining the darkened spot where Luna had been looking before I’d so innocently followed her. “It’s a trap!”

  Alex didn’t seem to hear me so I sighed, steeled my courage and jogged into the alley. My heart thundered with each step I took as I neared the spot where Luna pinned me.

  Alex turned quickly and held out a hand. “Stay back,” he said.

  I opened my mouth—either to protest or to hardily agree, I couldn’t be sure—at the same moment a flash of light cracked. It was like a camera flash times a thousand and the sheer magnitude seemed to push against my chest, seemed to pick me up and shove me back.

  I don’t know when I scrunched my eyes shut, but when I opened them, I was flat on my back on the sidewalk just in front of the alley. A couple slowed, looked down at me silently, and then continued on their way.

  By the time Alex trotted out to me, I was breathing heavily, terror infecting my every pore. “What the hell was that?” My body started to shake and my teeth started to chatter. I clamped my knees against a bladder that threatened to betray me and my new Victoria’s Secret underwear.

  Alex was looking at me hard. “Are you okay?”

  “No!” I shouted. “Did you not see that? Someone tried to kill me. Again! And before you say something smart-assed like you’d think I would be used to it by now, don’t bother, because I will kick you so hard in the balls.”

  Alex closed his mouth, working hard not to grin. “Really?”

  Anger seemed to eat away at my primal fear. It was better than crying. “What was that? Another goddamn Grigori? They’re everywhere, Alex! They’re waitresses and bartenders—they’re like cockroaches but with weapons and a major chip on their shoulder.”

  Alex sat down next to me on the cement and blew out a sigh. I looked at him, terrified. “Oh, don’t do that. Don’t sigh. Don’t sit down. Sitting down and sighing means you’re not going to say that that was a raving band of LARPers or a rogue group of Dungeons and Dragoners. Sitting down and sighing means this is more than the Grigori. Who is it now? Who else have I pissed off just by virtue of being?”

  “I’m sorry, Lawson.”

  The tears started then. Big, earnest, hopeless. They rolled down my cheeks and plopped onto the cement. “Who?” I asked.

  “There’s every indication that this attack was also Grigori-based.”

  “Grigori-based?” I sniffled. “I can’t do this anymore, Alex. I can’t. I can’t live this way. Either I’m running for my life or I’m fighting for it.”

  Alex wagged his head, but his eyes were sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Lawson. They want you dead.”

  My lower lip started to tremble. It wasn’t the first time I’d learned that someone wanted me dead. Heck, to be completely honest about it, my being dead would be a boon to Alex—he could restore his grace. But really, I was getting pretty tired of it.

  “You know what?” I spat. “You know what would be really nice? Some sort of mortal enemies list. A little something that came along with those damn angels’ decision to shove this stupid Vessel in my body. Just so I would know how many people—or who, like my dentist, my gynecologist—are trying to kill me. Was that really a routine pap smear? Or is Dr. Harlow trying to kill me? That would be really nice.” Rage was coursing through my veins again, cold and hard. I felt my nostrils flare and I fisted my hands, my fingernails digging half-moons in my palms. I didn’t care about the pain. Try to kill me once? Shame on you. Try and kill me four times? Well then, I’m really going to get pissed.

  “There’s a lot of people who think that the Vessel itself is evil.”

  His eyes flashed when mine widened.

  “Not that you’re evil. Not at all. Some people—beings—think the Vessel of Souls is just something that perpetuates the whole good and evil thing.”

  I paused, chewing the inside of my lip. “So what do you think?” />
  “I don’t think anything about the Vessel, Lawson.” Alex fixed me with a stare, his eyes the clearest, most crystal blue I had ever seen. His fingers found mine and very gently laced through. “All I think about is you.”

  A zing went through me. Something that wasn’t just physical, but spiritual as well. I felt whole. I felt whole like I never had before, like I, Sophie Lawson, was all there. Not like I was Sophie Lawson, the holder of something else.

  “If you take the Vessel, you can return to grace, Alex. You wouldn’t have to walk the mortal plane anymore. And I . . . I wouldn’t have to run from it. Will would be free. This, this kind of stuff wouldn’t happen anymore.”

  The muscle along Alex’s jawline jumped and it twisted my heart. “There is nothing worth losing you. Nothing. I—I’ve pushed you away for as long as I could because I wanted to protect you.”

  “From who? The other fallen?”

  He avoided my gaze, his handing going limp in mine. “From me.”

  “What do you mean from you?”

  “I fell from grace because I was imperfect. I lusted after the power of the Vessel of Souls.”

  I straightened. “You were tricked though, you were duped. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

  Alex let out a growling little chuckle. “I knew.” Something flitted across his face, something dark settling in his features.

  I scooched back on the concrete, and for the first time I could remember, I felt fear when I looked into Alex’s eyes.

  “At least that’s what I told myself. That I was pushing you away because that bad was still inside of me and because of it, I could hurt you. I could take advantage of you and take the Vessel.” He shook his head slowly. “But I started to realize that I could never, ever hurt you. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to keep you safe.”

  A sob choked in my throat. “And that’s changed now?”

  “I don’t exist, Lawson. I’m dead. I’m doomed to wander, to be”—he gestured toward his body as though it were something less than astounding—“this for all of eternity.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I can’t give you a life. I don’t have anything to give you.”

  I felt my teeth digging into my lower lip as my whole body thrummed, electric with the adrenaline of the fight, with the carnal want of having Alex this close.

  “I can give you something, Alex. I can give you life.”

  We drove home in silence, and when I walked into my apartment, I went directly for my laptop, popping the thing open and shaking out Abelard the monk’s card. I’d thought it was strange that a man who wore burlap underwear would have a glossy business card with a phone number and address, but now I was thankful.

  There was something that I could do to step in and stop all this. There was something that I could do to straighten the bad in the world, free Will Sherman, and bring Alex to grace. The fact that I could very likely die while doing it didn’t seem like the greatest trade-off in the world, but I would rather die of my own accord than at the hands of a Grigori warrior bartender or waitress.

  I plucked up Abelard’s card and studied the black raised numbers on the white cardstock until they swam in front of my eyes. I had my hand on the phone, dial tone droning, when Nina poked her head in.

  “I’m going to order Italian from that guy that I like. I feel like delivery. Don’t want to go out.”

  I looked at Nina and a lump grew in my throat as my best friend rambled on in her hot-pink velour tracksuit, trying to decide if she wanted the light-colored guy or the darker one for her dinner.

  The place she was talking about made incredible homemade pasta with fresh bread, and for deliveries to our place, offered a side of blood from a breathing donor. They also did gluten free.

  Nina finally stopped talking long enough to pause and stare at me, fists on her hips. “Something’s up with you.”

  “I’ve been attacked multiple times in multiple days and I think I’m developing a perpetual goose egg in the middle of my forehead.”

  “No.” She tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail against her pouty lips. “That’s not it. You’re all weight-of-the-world-y.”

  I looked away, knowing that Nina could read me, as well as smell me, from eighty paces.

  I challenged her stare, but she didn’t flinch, so I slid Abelard’s card against the desk to her. She snapped it up and immediately dropped it, screaming, “Ow!” and sticking her index finger into her mouth.

  I felt my eyes widen. “Did that burn you? Because it belongs to a monk?”

  Nina screwed up her face and showed me her finger, a faint little slice down the middle. “Paper cut.”

  As quickly as it happened, it healed up over itself.

  She leaned down, picked up the card, and glanced at it. “What were you planning on doing with this?” Nina looked up, her coal-black eyes fierce. “And if you say anything other than starting a prayer circle I’m going to kick your ever-loving ass.”

  “Well, that’s kind of harsh.”

  “I know what he wanted you to do, Sophie.” She flicked the card so it fluttered back down to my desk.

  “You do?”

  “I heard every word. He wants you to do some ritual. Some ritual that may kill you. I can’t believe you’re actually considering it. You are, aren’t you? God, I can’t believe you, Sophie! You’re so selfish.”

  I gaped, taken aback. “How am I being selfish? If I—if the Vessel of Souls can be hoodooed out of me, then we’ll all be safe. Will wouldn’t be tasked with watching over my danger-magnet butt and Alex . . .”

  “Alex can get his wings. Ring a fucking bell, Sophie. Neither of those men’s lives is worth yours. And you don’t even know if this Abelard guy is legit! Did you even check him out?”

  “I—I think he has a Facebook page.”

  I could see that Nina was fuming. She threaded her arms in front of her chest and glowered at me.

  “Can’t you see this from my point of view at all, Neens?”

  “No, no I really can’t.”

  I wagged my head. “Someone will always be after me. Someone will always be chasing me.”

  “Boo freaking hoo,” she snapped, her eyes fierce. “Join the club. Every time there’s a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon or anything starring Wesley Snipes, Vlad and I have to take cover from the hordes of tiny blondes scissor kicking and wielding wooden stakes or, you know, whatever Wesley Snipes did in Blade.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Yeah but nothing. In addition to that, I’ve also got to get around all the inanimate shit that wants to kill me, too. Like the sun. And fire. And fucking garlic. Think your life is bad, Sophie? I can be killed by a spice. A spice!”

  “Garlic won’t kill you, Neens, you just don’t like it.”

  Nina ignored me and ranted on. “And all people want to do is chase Vlad around so they can rip off his shirt and see his sparkles.”

  “That sounds really dirty.”

  “It is, if you mean I-just-threw-up-a-little-in-my-mouth dirty.”

  I sighed. “I’m not as strong as you, Nina.”

  She batted at the air. “And you’re not as pretty as me either. But that doesn’t mean that you have to sacrifice yourself to a monk, who, for all we know, could have sewn that awful burlap ensemble in his basement. Hell, he could even be Grigori. Aren’t they tricksters, too?”

  I shook my head. “No, no, that one is only my pops. The trickster god is my dad.”

  “So, we’re two chicks who have mortal enemies coming out of every corner—”

  “Including the spice rack.”

  “If you give up the Vessel without really knowing what you’re doing, you’re handing your life over and everybody—the Grigori, your dad—wins. Everyone but you.”

  I cocked my head, listening, only half-convinced.

  Nina slid her tongue over the angled point of one fang. “You promise to do me a favor and not call Burlap Boy until we’ve had a chance to re
ally figure things out and to make sure he’s not evil?”

  I paused, looking up into Nina’s eyes. There was the typical Nina hardness, that little sheen of attitude and sass, but there was also a warmth that reminded me that we were so much more than friends. We were family.

  “Okay,” I said, taking the hand she offered. “I promise.”

  EIGHTEEN

  If my life were a big Hollywood movie, this would be the part where we broke into a training montage of me in frumpy sweats trying to sneak a donut, glaring at a jump rope, then ultimately finding joy in exercise and hot pants. But this was my real life, so I lay on the couch and read pro-Satan/ pro-killing-Satan books all day, popping ibuprofen and staying as far away from hot pants as the law would allow.

  I glanced at my phone when it vibrated its way across the coffee table toward me, and finally swiped it up.

  “I’m downstairs. Come out.”

  Nina’s eyes were shining when I met her on the street outside of our building. She was standing in front of her car, her pink-and-black key chain dangling, the little rhinestones on the moustache pendant catching the speckled bits of sun that peeked through the blanket of fog, blurring the harsh outlines of the cityscape. Nina was grinning from ear to ear, too, hands on hips, legs akimbo. I immediately slowed my walk.

  “What’s up?” I asked tentatively.

  She clapped her hands together. “I think I finally know why I was brought back!”

  “Brought back? To . . . San Francisco?”

  Having recently spent a stint in Manhattan working on her fashion line and evading the police (it’s not that long of a story, really, but she can tell it better), plus the whole afterlife thing, I was never really certain what Nina meant when she referred to being “brought back.”

  “Not to San Francisco,” she gushed. “To life!” She spread her arms and burst out with the words as if everyone else thought being brought back to life was normal. Although maybe they did, since the man pushing his carrito, hawking chili-sprinkled mangoes, barely stopped ringing his little bell long enough for a passing glance.