Under Attack tudac-2

by Hannah Jayne

  I pushed out of the café and ran the entire way back to the UDA, my tears making cold, wet tracks down my cheeks. I was heaving and hiccupping by the time I barreled through the doors of the police station, by the time I ran full force into Alex’s chest. He instinctively wrapped his arms around me and I was enveloped in his soothing warmth.

  “Whoa, Lawson! Slow down! Hey, sweetie, what’s wrong?” he was saying. “It’s okay, calm down.” He pressed his lips into my hair, and I buried my damp face into the warm skin of his neck, breathing in his familiar, calming scent of cut grass and cocoa. When I was assured that my heart wouldn’t beat out of my chest, I loosened my grip on Alex, sniffed, and looked up at him.

  “It was Ophelia,” I said, my voice sounding very small. “And my father. And maggots.”

  Alex held me at arm’s length, his eyes going wide. “You saw Ophelia?”

  I nodded and began to tremble again as the image of her wry smile blazed in my memory.

  “Did she hurt you?”

  “No,” I said, breaking away from Alex and running my fingers through my hair. “She didn’t have to.” I flopped into the vinyl waiting-room chair in the police station vestibule and looked up at him. “Alex, I think I’m going crazy. I’m hearing things, seeing things... .” I shrugged miserably, cradling my head in my hands.

  Alex sat down next to me, his thigh brushing against mine. “Crazy?” His mouth pushed up into that sweet half-smile. “From the girl who spends forty hours a week with the dead and horned among us?”

  I tried not to smile but gave in—slightly. It wasn’t easy to focus on my bizarre upside-down life with Alex sitting so close to me, but I reminded myself that thanks to him—my bizarre life was upside down—and maybe even in danger.

  “So, crazy is relative. But seeing maggots? And my father? And Ophelia—all in the same day? Heck, all in the same lunch hour. That’s not weird?”

  Alex put his hand on mine, his thumb stroking my skin. “Ophelia is trying to get to you.”

  “Well, she did.”

  Alex wagged his head, the muscle in his jaw jumping. “This isn’t good. She could have hurt you. Ophelia’s intentions are never good.”

  “If she was so into me, why didn’t she attack me just now at the café?”

  “She did. Your father, the maggots—she can make you see things. She can get in your head—if you let her.”

  I pulled my hand away from Alex’s, squeezing my fingers into fists, feeling my nails digging into my palms. “The maggots, maybe. But my father? You think that was Ophelia playing with my head? That he wasn’t really”—I swallowed a sob that I had no reason to have—“here?”

  “No, Lawson, I don’t think your father was really there. I don’t think he was walking down the street in the middle of the day.”

  I tried to blink back the sting of tears. “What?”

  Alex swallowed; his voice was soft. “You haven’t seen him in more than thirty years—and suddenly you see him walking down the street? I’m not saying it’s impossible, I just think it’s unlikely.”

  “But it was him. I know it was. How would Ophelia know what my father looks like?”

  “Angels draw strong influence. And with Ophelia—if you let her—she’ll get in your mind and show you anything you want to see. And probably a lot of things you don’t want to see, too.”

  I paused, considering. “Why do you keep saying that, ‘if I let her’?”

  Alex shrugged. “Relax, Lawson. I’m not trying to attack you.”

  “Well, you seem to be pretty sure of your ex-girlfriend’s skill set.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

  “No, it kind of is. You think Ophelia is stronger than me.”

  Alex inched away from me and drew in a breath. “All I am saying is that the human mind is very easily influenced. You react well to suggestion. It’s not a dig, it’s a fact.”

  I stood up. “Easily influenced? React to suggestion? I am not making this up, Alex. I saw what I saw. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was maggots. Fat, creepy, crawly maggots on my plate, on my French fries, everywhere. I don’t see things, remember? I am magically immune.”

  Alex bit his lip. “It’s not magic. It’s powers. We have powers. Angels and demons, we’re ... it’s different.”

  I shook my head, working to block out Alex’s words “It was my father. I saw him, and I just knew it was him—your angelic superpowers or not.”

  “Lawson.” Alex’s voice was low, his eyes scanning the police station, where people had started to notice us, to drop their papers and swing their heads to the girl with the fire-engine-red hair stomping and screaming in the waiting room.

  “I don’t know how she did it or why she did it, but your girlfriend”—I spat the word—“tried to poison me. Or freak me out. Or whatever.”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend. And could you keep your voice down?”

  I growled, turned on my heel, and jabbed at the elevator’s down button. “I have to get back to work.”

  The elevator bell dinged and the heavy metal doors slid open. I jumped inside and kicked the CLOSE DOOR button, Alex’s face with its mix of anger and concern getting narrower and narrower as the doors eeked shut.

  When I got downstairs, the UDA was buzzing. Demons stood hoof-to-hoof in long lines, mildly held in place by swooping velvet ropes. I tried to keep my head down and my eyes low, but I wasn’t two feet into the office when Mrs. Henderson—our resident busybody and fire-breathing dragon—stomped over to me, a thick sheaf of papers clutched in her manicured claw.

  “Sophie—finally, someone who knows what she’s doing. I tell you, that—that—vampire that you have working behind the counter is completely useless. Has she ever heard of customer service? I don’t think so.” Mrs. Henderson turned up her nose, tiny tendrils of black smoke trailing from each nostril. I stepped aside.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Henderson.”

  Mrs. Henderson and Nina had a long history of glaring at each other and mild name calling, usually culminating with someone (Nina) being set on fire and someone else (me) coming in to diffuse the situation and sign off on whatever dingbat issue was cheesing Mrs. Henderson off at the moment. Apparently, this afternoon it was Mrs. Henderson’s inability to collect alimony from Mr. Henderson, who took up with a showgirl he met on a dragon’s weekend in Vegas.

  “We’ve got little ones, you know. How am I supposed to feed them?” Mrs. Henderson clutched at her pashmina scarf with her jeweled hand and batted her eyelashes.

  “The UDA was supposed to serve him with the papers and garnish his wages. I know for a fact he’s making very good money over there at the Luxor, that louse. I’m just so concerned about my little ones.” She choked a manufactured wailing sob.

  Mrs. Henderson’s little ones—two ornery, grey-scaled teenaged creatures—were stretched out on our waiting-room chairs, madly texting on their matching iPhones, Juicy Couture sweatpants pushed up over their scaly knees.

  I took the papers Mrs. Henderson was waving. “I’ll get these approved right away for you, Mrs. Henderson. I’ll get this request in by the end of the day and we can send out a gargoyle to serve Mr. Henderson tomorrow morning. Your check should be here by the end of the week.”

  Mrs. Henderson clasped her hands. “Oh, Sophie, you’re just a lifesaver! I don’t care what they say about you—I really think the UDA is lucky to have you.”

  “Um, thank you,” I started.

  She quickly put her finger to her narrow lips and her eyes took on a more sinister hue as they looked off into the distance. “Make sure you have the gargoyle get there early in the morning. I only wish I could see the look on that little showgirl-breather’s face when she opens the door to a gargoyle.” Mrs. Henderson seemed to remember I was there then and smiled kindly at me, big eyelashes batting. “You know, for the children.”

  I nodded and Mrs. Henderson turned on her heel, leaving me to skip over her long tail.
I stumbled backward and got poked in the shoulder by a pushpin holding up a VERM poster advertising their latest meeting. Then I walked down the hall to find Nina.

  “Maggots, ugh!” Nina spit out her pale tongue as she sat across from me at her desk. “That is so gross. I hate when maggots get on my food.” She shuddered while I arched my eyebrows. “That’s why I stopped eating leftovers.”

  I shut out the image of a half-drained human wrapped in tinfoil that might have once been in Nina’s fridge.

  “So, I wonder what Ophelia’s deal is.”

  “I don’t know. Just messing with me?”

  Nina bit her fingernail. “Yeah, but I thought we were in a fight to the finish for this vase thing. Why would Ophelia be sitting around tossing bugs on stuff when she could be out trapping souls in the Vase of the Lord?”

  “It’s the Vessel of Souls. And I have no idea. But I know who might.”

  Nina looked up at me, interested.

  “My father was there, Nina. It was him. I need to find him. I think he might be able to answer some questions, help us out with this Vessel thing.”

  “Sophie, are you sure about this?”

  I stood up, wringing my hands. “No, but I know that I have to. Everything is just getting so weird—and that’s saying a lot in my life. Maybe he can help me put some things together.”

  Nina offered a friendly, understanding smile, showing off her fangs, her bloodstained lips. “If you think he could help.”

  “I think it might be the only way to find the Vessel. I mean, he was hunting for it. Alex said he was the one who got closest.”

  Nina frowned. “I wonder what made him stop searching.”

  “I don’t know, but hopefully, he can tell me. And maybe get Ophelia out of my life—and my head.”

  “Or,” Nina started, aiming her pen at me, “it could open up a universal war between good and evil, with Ophelia picking teams first and us ending up with the pasty kids who spent their school lunch hours playing Dungeons and Dragons.”

  I crossed my arms. “So does this mean you’re not going to help me?”

  Nina stood up, crossed the room and put her arms around me, squeezing me against her ice-cold chest. “Of course I’m going to help you. You’re my best friend. Besides, what’s a little danger to me? I’m immortal.”

  “Thanks. I think. But—for now—this is just between you and me, okay? I don’t want Alex to know that I’m looking for Lucas.”

  Nina held out her pinkie and I hooked it with mine. “Deal,” she said.

  There was a crackle from Nina’s desk, and then a smooth, velvety voice came from the intercom. “Nina, may I see you, please?”

  Nina dropped my pinkie and rushed to her desk, leaning close to the telephone, seductively pressing her breasts together.

  He can’t see you, I mouthed.

  “Just one second, Mr. Andrade—I mean, Dixon,” Nina said, her voice a vixenish trill. Nina clicked the intercom off and yanked open her top desk drawer, revealing a three-tiered makeup collection that Lancôme would be jealous of. She puckered her lips and painted them a ravishing red, then powdered her cheeks an even paler shade of pale.

  “I thought you were going to show the new UDA management who they’re dealing with. Weren’t you all about keeping the new guy in line?”

  Nina snapped her compact shut and blotted her lips, then unbuttoned another button on her blouse. “Oh, I’m all about letting Dixon know who he’s dealing with.”

  I rolled my eyes and Nina grabbed my arm, giving it a quick shake. “Oh, come on, Sophie. You have to admit he is a wonderful piece of dead man candy. I mean, those eyes, those lips, those fangs! You know what it means when a vampire has big fangs, don’t you?” Nina waggled her eyebrows and I groaned. “Besides, he’s got all the traits I adore in a man: He’s tall, dark and demonic.” She kicked up a happy leg and sauntered on her sky-high heels out the door, then poked her head back in. “Don’t wait up. I have a feeling I’ll be working late.”

  Chapter Seven

  The sun was slipping behind the fog when I got into my car and headed home. I was still annoyed with Alex and the prospect of finding—and facing—my father weighed heavily on me. I tried to erase it from my mind, or to call up images of all those wonderful father-daughter reunions on the Maury Povich Show and from Disney movies, but nothing helped. By the time I pulled into my designated parking space I was jumpy and grumpy.

  I was reaching for my bag when a gentle tap-tap got my attention.

  “Christ, Grandma, you scared the—”

  Grandma narrowed her eyes, staring out at me from my rearview mirror. “Language, Sophie.”

  “You scared me. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to talk some sense into you.”

  I raised my eyebrows and slumped back into my car seat. “Yeah?” The lady in the mirror was going to talk some sense into me? I didn’t know what was more nonsensical: Grandma showing up in my rearview mirror or me holding a conversation with her.

  “Word around town is that you’re going to go looking for your father.”

  “Word around town? Like, word in Heaven?” I whistled. “Sheesh, news travels fast up there.”

  Grandma shrugged. “You can only play a harp for so many hours each day.”

  “I guess.”

  “Sophie, dear, don’t go looking for your father. It won’t help.”

  “What do you know about my father?” I asked, feeling a familiar prick up the back of my neck. “If you know something, you should tell me.”

  “I know enough about him to know that you should steer clear of him.”

  “Grandma ...”

  “Look,” Grandma said, “I’m not going to tell you what to do, honey, but listen to me: Don’t try to find him. It’s not worth it. Trust me on this.”

  “So much for not telling me what to do.”

  Grandmother’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t sass me, young lady. Mark my words: Your father is only going to let you down.” Grandma’s voice softened, and there was a moist wistfulness in her milky eyes. “Just like he let your mother down.”

  “Grandma, don’t I deserve to know my father? At the very least, just to know a few things about him? Why would that be such a bad thing?”

  Grandma sucked on her teeth and shook her head, her long dangly earrings jangling against her jawbone.

  “I just need to know a few things about myself.”

  “Like what?” my grandmother huffed. “I can tell you everything you need to know. You learned to ride a bike when you were seven. You’re a rubbish card player, you come from good Hungarian stock, and you have a weakness for anything with marshmallow in it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  Grandma relented, her shoulders noticeably sagging. “If you’re going to look for your father, you need to be prepared for what you find.”

  I felt my shoulders stiffen. “Like what? What am I going to find out about him? You’re not telling me anything about him. No one is!”

  “Even if I wanted to tell you about him—which I don’t—I couldn’t.” Grandma looked around, her eyes checking the corners of my rearview mirror. “It’s not something I can just talk about all willy-nilly out here.”

  I was getting frustrated. “What can’t you talk about?”

  My grandmother pursed her lips in an expression that tugged at my heart. I had seen it before whenever she was trying to protect me from something she didn’t think I could handle.

  “I can handle whatever you tell me, Gram. And isn’t it better for me to find out things from you rather than on my own?”

  “I’m sorry, Sophie,” Grandma said. “I’m sorry, honey, but I just can’t.”

  “Gram? Gram!” I peered into the mirror, my own squinting eyes reflecting back at me.

  I got out of the car feeling deflated, the frustrated, grumpy feeling still around me. I walked the entire way to my walk-up looking behind me and jumping at ever
y little sound.

  I pushed open my apartment door and stood in the foyer, looking around anxiously. “Hello?” I called out, reminding myself of every character ever killed in horror movies. “Anybody home?”

  When no one answered me, I dumped my shoulder bag onto the couch and then flopped there myself, letting my heartbeat slow to a normal, non-frenetic pace.

  I almost swallowed my tongue when I heard the knock on my door.

  “Son of a—!” I cursed, rolling off the couch and heading for the door. I popped the chain and inched the door open.

  “Sophie Lawson?”

  Her eyes were impossibly pale and lined with huge, delicate lashes that cast spiderweb shadows across her ruddy pink cheeks.

  “Ophelia,” I whispered, without opening the door any wider.

  Ophelia’s pink lips split into a delighted sweet smile, and she bobbed her shoulders in that cute, sorority-girl way that I couldn’t get away with. The movement left the faint scent of her freesia perfume on the air. “You know me!”

  I stood there, dumbfounded, trying to work out a plan in my head: let her in, try and talk? I chanced a quick second glance at her through the two-inch gap in the doorway: tall, blond, primly dressed in a melon-colored twin set and pencil skirt, a strand of glazed pearls demurely wrapped around her neck. She looked more like a PTA mom than a crazed supernatural killer.

  Then I thought of Alex, his stern eyes and the hard set of his jawline as he warned about Ophelia. Maybe I should slam the door and take off running? I was seriously considering the latter when there was a splitting smack against my cheek. A piercing heat starburst through my nose, up against my forehead. I reeled backward, stumbling into my living room, my eyes watering from the sting. I blinked rapidly and the tears tumbled down my cheeks as I pressed my fingers against the mashed-in spot where my nose once was. Now it stung and started to tickle as the blood came.