by Hannah Jayne
“You don’t look so well, love.”
I pressed my fingers to my temples. “I don’t feel so well. I got—”
“The flowers, I know.”
“How did you know?”
He shrugged folding up the paper and laying it on the table. “I’m your Guardian. It’s my job to know. And Nina told me.”
“You’re welcome,” Nina called from her room.
“You okay?” Will asked.
“Should I be?” I sighed. “I honestly have no idea. I mean, my father is back? Does he want to see me or is this all part of his elaborate scheme?”
“With all due respect, love, dear ol’ dad is the devil. There’s a pretty solid chance he’s up to something.”
I don’t know if I’d expected—or hoped—the flowers to be an innocent attempt to connect from an arcane father to his daughter. But they seemed even more tainted and hideous now.
“What could he want with me?”
Will’s eyebrows went up.
Face palm. “Right. Vessel of Souls. But what about this ‘he’s looking for you’ and ‘it’s time’ stuff? Does the Vessel have some kind of time limit? Am I supposed to like, spit it up on my thirtieth birthday or something? Does he want to be there to catch it? I don’t get it.”
“If we could understand pure evil, love, then it wouldn’t be so scary.”
Will’s statement was simple, but it fluttered something like butterflies in my stomach.
I bit into my lower lip. “Have you ever wished you could do something else, Will?”
He turned and looked at me, his expression confused. “I’m a fireman, love. That’s pretty much every little boy’s fantasy.” He smiled salaciously. “And every big girl’s.” He waggled his eyebrows and, when I didn’t react, rolled his eyes. “I get to spray shit with a hose. It’s good fun, pays the bills.”
“Not do something else instead of firefighting. Do something else instead of being my Guardian.”
Will kicked his feet off the table and clapped his palm over his chin, considering. “Not be your Guardian? I guess I’d never considered it.”
“How could you not? You’re saddled with me and your job is to protect me by fighting to the death. To the death, Will. You can’t tell me you’re totally cool with that.”
He shrugged, as nonchalant as if I had just described the duties of a hot dog vendor. “I suppose it would be nice to do something a little less punchy.” His fingertips gently brushed over the wound on his chest. “And a bit less shooty.”
“And to not be stuck with me.”
He slung an arm roughly over my shoulders and pulled me to him so that I was half balancing on his lap. “Ah, but come on. Hanging out with you is the only perk I get on this route.”
It was sweet, but I couldn’t help but hate the fact that every ache Will had gotten since he walked into my life was because he was protecting me. And this last time, he had nearly lost his life because of it.
Thoughts and ideas were percolating in my head.
I was curled up on the couch starting my second sleeve of chocolate marshmallow Pinwheels when Nina came through the front doors like a tiny, well-dressed hurricane. She was loaded down with shopping bags that were leaking glitter and streamers, and I was immediately suspicious as Nina was both anti-party, and anti-cheap decorative cut-outs and confetti.
“What’s all this?”
“Oh! Remember how I found my calling? You know, because I’m so giving and so good at helping people?”
I remembered most of those words being thrown around. Not in that particular order, but I nodded anyway.
“Well, I was talking to Vlad and he just seemed so sad and everything. I mean, everything that has been going on has been pretty heavy and”—she made a cut-throat motion and stuck out her tongue—“blech. So I thought, what would Vlad want?”
“A girl Vlad with boobies?”
Nina rolled her eyes. “The world may be ending, Soph, and you know what—”
“Wait, wait, time out. We’re going with ‘the world may be ending’ now?”
She blinked at me and went right on talking. “So I thought, what does Vlad not have that every other kid his age—you know, his littler age—have?”
“Blood, a heart, life, breath, the ability to pick up socks or go to the beach, a reflection . . .”
“No.” She upturned the Party City bag. “A birthday party!”
I scratched my head. “A birthday party?’
“Uh-huh.”
There was a quick rap on the door and then Will came strolling in. “So, any news on the big bad?”
I shook my head. “Not having the greatest luck contacting my father.”
“So we’re having a party?” he asked skeptically.
“Nina apparently bought the whole store out.”
She slapped at the air. “He’s my nephew! And this is his first birthday party in almost a hundred years. It has to be special.”
“A birthday party.” He shrugged. “Well, seems like as good a time as any to break out the noisemakers. Come to think of it, as all signs are pointing to imminent doom, maybe I should go out and buy a lottery ticket or something.”
“Why? It’s going to be useless if you win. I’m pretty sure the great overlord Papa Satan won’t allow you to run around with extra bills in your pocket.”
Both Will and Nina turned to stare at me.
“What?” I said, pulling a packet of Pop Rocks candy from the melee of party supplies on the table. “I’m on edge. Give me a break.”
Will poked through the plastic-wrapped contents on the table and flipped up a stack of plates. “Cowboys? You went with a cowboy theme?”
Nina put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “What did you expect? Twilight?”
I pressed a hand over my mouth but couldn’t hide my laughter. “That would have been awesome.”
Nina swung her glare to me and I snatched up some cocktail napkins emblazoned with a giant cowboy boot. “But this is even more awesome . . . er.”
“I know it’s a little bit juvenile given his age and all, but I just wanted something really classic. And red looks great on me. See what else I got?” She produced another bag and pulled out a fitted red plaid blouse, some brand-new worn-looking denim shorts, and a pair of red leather cowboy boots. She topped the whole ensemble off with a hat, shiny silver sheriff star glistening in the overhead light.
Will grinned, swigged his beer, and leaned back into his cheer. “That’s brilliant.”
I yanked a red plastic cowboy hat from the Party City bag and smacked Will with it. “Get your mind out of the feed trough, you ass.”
Nina pointed at me and nodded appraisingly. “That’s getting into the spirit. And to get you further into the spirit, you”—she handed me a notecard with an address written on it—“are getting the cake. And invite Alex, too. And you.” She cut her eyes to Will. “You’ll be picking up the kegs.”
Will waggled his eyebrows. “Keg service? That I can do.” He tossed his empty bottle into our recycling. “Just don’t expect ’em to be full when they get here.”
“They’ll be O-neg, Vlad’s favorite.”
Will paled and tucked the notecard Nina handed him into his back pocket. “Noted.”
She handed him a twenty. “Why don’t you grab a six-pack for the breathers?”
“Brilliant.” He skulked across the room and right out the door.
I sat down. “I’m really excited about this. I don’t think we’ve ever had a party here.”
“Not a good one. I figure we’ll get balloons and hang the streamers from there.” She pointed to our IKEA bookshelf. “And we can hang the piñata from that sword you left stuck in the door. It’ll be so festive!”
Cowboy hats, a keg full of blood, and a piñata hung from a long sword. Oh yeah, apartment 3B really knew how to party.
I headed downstairs while dialing Alex.
“Lawson?”
“Grace?”
> He signed into the phone. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah. Nina is on a new kick. She has decided now that her reason for being brought back—”
“Brought back where? To San Francisco?”
I snorted like that was the dumbest thing I ever heard. “No, for being brought back to life. It’s to make people happy.”
Alex was silent on his end of the phone for a beat. “Did you tell her that she was brought back to life because some vamp saw fit to open a vein for her?”
“No, weird, I didn’t think of mentioning that because I like being alive this time around. Anyway, the first stop in Nina’s happy-go-round is a birthday party for Vlad.”
“A birthday party? For Vlad?”
“I know how ridiculous it sounds, but it’s tonight, you’re invited, and we’re supposed to pick up a cake.”
Alex blew out a breath. “I seriously don’t know why I let you talk me into these things, Lawson.”
“So, you’re on your way?”
Alex pulled to the curb not more than twenty minutes later, and I was reminded that that was one of the things I truly loved about this city: at seven square miles, it was always bound to take twice as long to get anywhere.
I jumped in the passenger-side door and started reading from the note Nina had written for me. “Apparently, it’s at a bakery in Noe called La Su-crene and it’s a horse cake. I really, really hope that the cake is shaped like a horse and not made of one. Especially since we’re likely to be the only ones eating it.”
Alex pulled off into traffic and I poked at his shoulder. “You’re supposed to turn there. Noe Valley, Alex. It’s that way.”
“We have to make a stop first.”
There was a tight set to Alex’s jaw so I folded the paper in half and stayed quiet while we zipped through the city, lights flashing on his unit, siren quiet.
“Is it an emergency? Crime scene? Shouldn’t we”—I raised my hand, making the universal motion for a siren going around—“whew-whew-whew?”
He finally cracked a grin and cut his gaze to me. “Is that supposed to be your impression of a police siren?”
“Yes. And it’s obviously pretty good because you got it right off the bat.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have if you weren’t making those finger sirens, too.”
I slugged him in the shoulder. “Are you at least going to tell me where we’re going? Oh! Is it a stakeout? Are we going to watch a drug deal go down?”
He didn’t answer me.
“Pick up your dry cleaning, what?”
Alex maneuvered the car through a choked street on the outskirts of Japantown. I craned my neck to see where he was going and tried my best to predict his next move as I was always keen to work my own investigative skills. From the looks of it, we were either going to a McDonald’s or the Orchid Emporium. I deduced it was probably the McDonald’s as there was likely more crime happening there. It wasn’t very well lit and it backed up to a semi-shady area.
And then Alex turned into a church.
“We’re going to church?”
He pulled into the first parking space and stopped the car, then leaned back in and said, “You can stay in here if you want.”
I paused for a half second and kicked open my own door. “Okay, but is this investigative or . . . ?”
“Biblical?” That smile played at the edges of his lips again. “It’s about the case.”
I’d never gone to church as a child, what with my mother not claiming a significant religious affiliation and my father being the devil, but I had always been fascinated by the buildings, the old, stone structures that held more whispered prayers and theological knowledge than anything a half-evil orphan could ever conjure. The buildings were hallowed, and I had long since gotten over my fear of churches imploding on me should I set foot inside, like Shirley Maxwell had said was going to happen back when we were in the third grade.
I followed close behind Alex when he walked in and strode directly up the front aisle toward an older man who sat praying in the first pew. The man turned when we approached, and he and Alex shook hands and embraced. I felt completely awkward and out of place so I attempted to blend in by waving like an idiot to a priest in a Catholic church.
At least I didn’t give him a high five.
“Thank you for coming,” the white-haired man said, nodding to both Alex and me. “This is what I want to show you.”
The man retrieved a thick envelope from the pew beside him and slid out a sheaf of papers. I inched closer to see that they were crayon drawings—bright slashes of waxy crayon done by kids. I felt a little warmth when I thought about what the children must have been drawing—their interpretations of peace or love or God—and then I squeaked like an idiot when Alex paused on a drawing.
I tried to point to it, but my hand was locked at my side, my outstretched index finger pointing at the concrete ground. Alex shot me a look and slid the pages back into the envelope.
“Thank you, Father. I will take these in for analysis. I think they will be very helpful.”
The priest nodded as we turned on our heels, me biting the inside of my cheek the whole way out. When we opened the double doors, I snatched the envelope out of Alex’s hand and started to sputter.
“Who did these? What are these? Oh my God!”
The crude drawings started with pink, smiley women with bell-jar-shaped hair and triangle dresses. There were men by their sides in boxy suits and wide smiles, stick feet jutting out from their trousers. Progressively, the pictures got darker until the woman and the man were covered in thick red and yellow slashes and two new characters were drawn into the picture: a little boy and an older man. They were smiling broadly, their smiles getting bigger with each progressively more heinous picture until the triangle-dress woman and the boxy suited man were completely engulfed by angry-looking red slashes.
“These were Oliver’s, weren’t they?”
Alex nodded solemnly.
“And that’s Oliver.” I pointed. “And that . . .”
The man holding Oliver’s hand had pale red hair and red eyes. He was wearing a hat, a little, stocky fedora, and even though his expression was child-artist crude, there was something unsettling about it.
“Oliver says that’s his friend, Lucas.”
Alex and I got back into the car, and the air in there seemed solid, incredibly dense. I could feel it pressing against my chest, and as much as I wanted to cry, to scream, to say something, it snatched at my breath and sucked the moisture from my eyes. We started to drive.
“No.” I heard myself saying the word and then I was shaking my head. “I can’t believe that he’s going after a little child like this.”
Alex pulled the car over on the shoulder of a road that abutted a park, and I hopped out immediately, relishing the cool air.
Alex came around the car. His eyes slipped over mine but wouldn’t focus on them. “Lawson . . .”
I pushed myself back, still shaking my head. “I can’t believe he did it. I can’t believe that little boy did it. He drew Lucas. It was Lucas who probably killed the kid’s parents, not Oliver. Not Oliver. He’s just a kid, Alex. Why—why would my father come after a little kid?”
I knew that Alex wanted to tell me something, but I also knew there was nothing left to say. Evil was evil, and whenever Lucas Szabo was around, even the innocent weren’t safe.
Alex raked a hand through his hair, the loose curls springing back under his palm and I remembered the first time I saw him standing in the Underworld Detection Agency, his badge winking on his belt, those curls lolling over his unlined forehead, licking the tops of his ears. If I had known then that I would be standing on the precipice of Armageddon—or possibly causing it—would I have turned away? I knew the answer would be no. Even at this moment when the world was whirling toward a giant sinkhole of doom, I wanted to get lost in those eyes; my fingers ached to feel his silky hair wrapped around them.
“This can’t be happen
ing.” My voice came out meek in the darkening cab and in a half-second, in a heartbeat, Alex’s arms were around me and I was crushed against his chest, my body instinctively curling into his. His arms were around my waist and then his hands found their way up my spine, fingers gliding over my neck and tangling themselves in my hair. For once, my body didn’t spring to inappropriate sexual attention. It was more than that. I didn’t want Alex near me; I needed it. I couldn’t bear the tiniest bit of space between us, and I felt myself press against him, felt his body respond with equal pressure.
“I’m sorry, Lawson.”
I nodded against his chest, tears running over my lips. I still wasn’t sure what to believe. I had spent the last five years of my life on high alert, jumping to crime-fighter attention when even the slightest thing seemed off. But now, in the face of earthquakes and hellfire and aged rock stars falling from the sky, I didn’t want to believe. I couldn’t. If I did, it would mean that my father really didn’t love me and he was everything everyone else said he was. Evil. He didn’t see me as his daughter with a life and feelings and friends. He saw me as an item, a stumbling block to his essential power, and my life was only valuable as long as he could manipulate me into doing everything he wanted.
The sad thing was, as a daughter who never could give up the need to please an absent father, I would have done anything for his approval if only he had asked.
Alex kissed the part in my hair, the gentle brush of his lips sending shivers throughout my body.
“Lawson, this is happening. This is real. You can’t deny that the gates of Hell have been blown wide open.”
I unclenched the fists that were holding him to me and blinked up, pushing away. “With all due respect, Alex, I think you underestimate me.”
Alex paused for a beat, and his lips edged up to that familiar half smile. “Lawson . . .”
I sniffed and used the heel of my hand to wipe at my wet cheeks. “I know. But can’t we pretend for a few more minutes?” I took a step closer, my arms snaking over his neck, my hands playing with his hair. “Just a few?”