Under Attack tudac-2

by Hannah Jayne

I took another step back, the hammering of my heart so dramatic it hurt as it thumped against my rib cage. I blinked and Ophelia was right in front of me, standing on the vacated desk. She held her hands out, palms up, like a scale.

  “Have a kid sister to control”—she sank her left hand down a quarter of an inch—“or have the entire world to control.” Her right hand thudded downward, and Ophelia cocked her head, looking genuinely sad. “Sorry, sis, looks like you lose.”

  Ophelia lunged for me and I skidded out of the way, winding my way back to the storage-room door. I heard the slap-slap-slap of Ophelia’s bare feet on the concrete; I heard them gaining on me. I crouched, snatched my .22 out of my bag, and then used my bag to wallop Ophelia on the side of the head. The bars of soap made a satisfying thunk as they made contact with Ophelia’s pretty blond curls.

  “Ow!” she howled, looking stunned. “What the hell do you have in there?”

  I took the opportunity to lunge closer, arm outstretched, gun aloft, finger firmly on the trigger. I tried to focus, but the barrel trembled, and so did Ophelia’s shoulders.

  She pressed her fingers to her mouth and I felt a bead of sweat make its way down my back.

  Ophelia couldn’t hold my gaze—because she was laughing so hard.

  “Really, Sophie?”

  I swallowed, my throat constricting. I was afraid if I opened my mouth I’d vomit, so I just nodded, hoping the movement looked cool and certain.

  Ophelia laughed harder and skipped toward me. She flicked my hand, then pressed her forehead against the barrel of the gun.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I will,” I said with every ounce of confidence I could muster.

  “I’m waiting.” Ophelia’s ice-blue eyes locked on me and her lips turned up into a mocking smile. “You wouldn’t. I’m your sister—the only family you have left. And you’re a complete wimp.” She stepped back, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

  A pinprick of pain started behind my eyes and began pulsing, coursing through every fiber of my being. The room dropped into stony silence. A drop of sweat fell from my hands in achingly slow motion and then the world cracked. Loudly. There was a spit of fire and I was vaulting backward.

  “You bitch!” Ophelia was a hairbreadth away and she smacked the gun from my hand. “You shot me!”

  I didn’t notice any blood on Ophelia so I hurriedly glanced at the ceiling and floor (my two usual targets). Nothing.

  Ophelia grinned at my confusion. “Not corporeal,” she said, thumping her chest. “There is nothing inside here!”

  I’ll say.

  I took off running toward the waiting room with Ophelia close behind.

  “Come on, Sophie,” Ophelia yelled. “Don’t you want to be a part of something bigger? Don’t you want to be something greater than yourself?”

  I stopped and held my ground. “Like a Vessel?” I said, my own voice a fearsome snarl.

  Ophelia giggled—a sweet, completely inappropriate giggle. “Oh, you know about that.”

  I snatched a metal ruler out of Pierre’s I Heart Tuscaloosa penholder mug in the waiting room and brandished it like a sword. “And I know about our father.”

  Ophelia paused, her eyes wide. She pulled herself up on a desk and sat down, crossing her long bare legs. “What do you know about Daddy?”

  Hearing her say the word daddy tugged at my heart. Ophelia cocked her head and stuck out her lower lip. “What’s the matter, Sophie-pie? Feeling a little abandoned since Daddy left you and Mommy couldn’t stand you?”

  I felt that snarl of anger roil through me again.

  “Shut up, Ophelia.”

  Ophelia bobbed her foot playfully. “Don’t worry; it probably wasn’t you at all. I mean, Daddy did have me at home and your mom, well”—Ophelia looked at me, her eyes sharp and icicle blue—“he always said she was a regular nutcase.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Oh come on, Sophie! How many people who are square in the head go out and kill themselves?”

  I bit my cheek hard, feeling the bitter taste of my blood.

  Ophelia jumped off the desk and landed, sure-footed, on the ground. “Okay, enough with the family reunion crap. I’m impatient. I’m ready to rule.” She snapped her fingers. “Come here, chop, chop!” Ophelia giggled at her own horrible pun. “Or shoot, shoot.” She dug into her prissy straw purse and pulled out a gun. I gulped, the sudden thunderous beat of my heart—corporeal as I was—nearly choking me.

  “Um, will that really work to release the Vessel?”

  Ophelia looked at the gun in her hand and frowned. “Yeah, why?” She acted confident, but I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was unsure. I sucked in a breath and stood a little taller.

  “You have to know that something with”—my eyes flicked over the barrel of the .357 Magnum she held—“that kind of firepower runs the risk of shattering the Vessel.”

  Ophelia faltered for a split second, the barrel of the gun dropping a fraction of an inch. “You don’t know that.”

  I shrugged. “Suit yourself. But, being the Vessel, I think I pretty much know how this works.”

  Ophelia narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t even know what you were until I came along.”

  I raised my brows. “Really? Is that what you think? The Vessel of Souls—a divine vessel used to hold the souls of the recently departed until their fate is decided. Desired by the fallen, protected by the righteous. The holder has the power to tip the scales and control both worlds. Hidden in plain sight. The guardian of the Vessel must do anything in her power to ensure the safety of the Vessel.” Even as I said it—a definition made up from snippets I had heard from Alex, read in my father’s journals—things were becoming clearer. I couldn’t let Ophelia see me falter.

  I put my hands on my hips, jutting my chin toward the butt of Ophelia’s gun. “So, you tell me. Do you really want to risk it?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ophelia lowered the gun slowly and I felt the race of my pulse begin a miniscule slowdown. I kept my eyes fixed and watched her every motion: she slid her purse strap off her shoulder, daintily laid it on the desk. Carefully laid the gun next to it. And then her eyes were fierce and sharp as she bared her teeth, fisted her hands, and launched herself into me. I skidded back with a pained thud and felt my limbs flailing uselessly as I kicked, punched, and scratched in every direction, Ophelia laying on top of me, working to pin me down.

  I felt her knuckles as she landed a blow to my chin that made my teeth rattle. I reached up and grabbed a lock of her pretty blond hair in my fist and gave it a fierce yank. She howled but didn’t let up, and her next punch caught the side of my head as I flopped like a caught fish.

  “If I can’t shoot the Vessel out of you,” Ophelia huffed, “I’ll choke it out of you!”

  I slapped at Ophelia’s hands as they dove for my neck; I felt my feet slide uselessly against the industrial carpet as I worked to gain footing. I scratched and tried to bite at her arm, but Ophelia found my throat, used her nails to get a tighter hold. My breath caught in my throat as she gripped my neck, her thumbs pressing against my windpipe. I huffed and squirmed against her body, pinching my eyes shut against the bruising pain threading across my throat. I reached behind my head and felt the metal ruler, gripped it hard, and brought it down on Ophelia’s head with a loud thwack!

  Ophelia frowned, loosened her grip on me, and felt the tiny beads of red velvet blood that bubbled from the cut on her forehead. “You hit me! You bitch! My own sister.”

  I gasped, sucking in all the air I could with painful, hollow breaths and clawing at her hand that stayed clamped on my throat.

  “You’re trying to kill me! You’re my sister and you’re trying to kill me!” I wriggled like a centipede and Ophelia lost her balance, tumbling over. Scrambling to my feet, I scanned the office for something to use as a weapon. Ophelia lunged for me, her hands missing my ankles by a hair. I sprinted toward the bank of waiting-room chairs and gra
bbed one, then tossed it with all my might like I had seen stuntmen do in the movies, but Ophelia swiftly dodged it. I threw a Time magazine at her and she smiled maniacally, watching the glossy pages flutter in front of her. I tossed a cup full of pens, a potted plant, Nina’s wireless radio.

  The radio hit Ophelia squarely in the chest.

  “Ow!” She rubbed the rapidly reddening spot. “Now I’m mad,” she growled.

  I stepped back and she lurched forward. There was a loud snap! and a pair of tattered, tar-black wings sprung from Ophelia’s bare back. The wings were sharply angled with a shadowy black gossamer that stretched between jet-black bones and was fringed with anemic-looking black feathers.

  “Oh my God,” I muttered, stunned.

  Ophelia’s lips curved up into a grotesque smile; her eyebrows took on a sinister arch. Her wings flapped and she was almost on top of me. I bobbed, tumbled to my knees, and crawled into the main waiting room vestibule, then crawled to my feet.

  “Come’ere!” Ophelia sneered. She sprinted behind me, the wide berth of her wings slowing her down as I wound around the waiting-room chairs and velvet ropes. She had to angle herself to follow me or risk being dragged down by the furniture.

  Finally, I was where I needed to be. When Ophelia saw my back pressed against the wall her smile widened and her wings gave an anticipatory flap. “I win!” she sang.

  “Okay, Ophelia. You want me? You want the Vessel of Souls? Come and get it.”

  Once again Ophelia lunged and I danced out of the way, snagging the trident left in the UDA wall as I did. I turned on Ophelia and now her back was up against the wall.

  The last time I looked into her eyes, they were wide and ice blue as she saw the trident coming at her chest, pinning her to the wall.

  I stumbled back when she finally stopped seething and writhing. I dropped to my knees and hung my head, trying to catch my breath, trying to will my heart to start beating its usual rhythmic pace again.

  The cheerful ding of the elevator arriving caught my attention and I turned to look, the huge metal doors opening on the drawn, concerned faces of Alex, Vlad, and Will. All three men were in fighting stance, weapons drawn.

  “Sophie!”

  “What happened here?”

  The men all gathered around me, Alex kneeling low and gingerly rubbing my back, Vlad staring at the ruins of the Underworld waiting room, and Will eyeing Ophelia, wings splayed, head lowered as she lay pinned to the wall.

  “How did you know where to find me?” I managed to say through parched, blood-caked lips.

  “You mean after you snuck out the window?”

  Will puffed out his chest. “I am the guardian. I knew you left.”

  Alex’s nostrils flared. “He knew you left when the water started coming in under the bathroom door. You forgot to take out the stopper and the tub overflowed.”

  “Oh.” I tried to straighten, but pain raged through me. “Nina. Save Nina.”

  Vlad crouched down in front of me, dark eyes huge. “Where?”

  “Storeroom.”

  Vlad turned and took off down the hall; Will and Alex hovered over me, glaring at each other. I pushed at Will’s leg “Please help Vlad. I don’t think Nina can walk.”

  Reluctantly, Will turned, casting one last glance over his shoulder before running after Vlad.

  “Are you okay?” Alex asked, his voice soft as his fingers picked bits of flowerpots and Bic pens out of my hair.

  I had never considered the idiocy in that question before now. Every inch of me ached.

  “Okay?” I repeated absently.

  Dried blood mixed with dirt stung my eyes. I tried to move my lips, to form another word, but my throat was dry and my tongue felt heavy, immovable. I worked to raise up from my hunched position, but every motion—breathing included—set off a series of wailing pains, every one a reminder of my fight with Ophelia.

  “I think I’m okay,” I was finally able to whisper.

  Which was more than I could say for Ophelia.

  Though struck through with a trident, oddly, she wasn’t bleeding. Her body seemed small and crumpled with one leg bent, her arms hanging limp at her sides, head bowed. Her lovely blond hair was streaked through with dirt and blood—apparently, mine. There was a gunpowder-black penumbra cast on the wall around her.

  “Is she dead?” I asked softly.

  Alex went to her and used a single index finger under Ophelia’s bowed chin to lift her head. I couldn’t bear to look into her eyes and I imagined Alex reverently thumbing them closed.

  “Not dead, exactly,” Alex said.

  I involuntarily stiffened, wincing as my rib cage protested. Alex hurried to me, carefully sliding his strong arms underneath me, raising me gently to my feet.

  “What do you mean, not exactly?”

  Alex steadied me and I took a few sharp, shallow breaths—each one making my head spin—and then I looked at him and repeated my question.

  “You can’t kill someone”—he glanced over his shoulder, back at Ophelia, as if making certain she was still there—“or something that is already dead.”

  I stepped back. “Then she can come back?”

  “No, she’s not coming back. The black shadow there? That means she’s been called back.”

  “Called back?” I asked. “Where?”

  Alex just raised his eyebrows.

  “Oh,” I said softly, feeling strangely sad. “She was my sister.”

  Alex led me to the employee break room, where he doused a dishtowel in warm water and gently touched it to my face. I winced.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “It just stings a little bit.”

  “I don’t mean about that,” Alex said, dipping the towel back into the sink.

  “I’m sorry I failed you.”

  I felt my brow furrow.

  “Failed me?”

  Alex touched the cool towel to my head again, worked at the dried blood. “I should have been there for you. I should have protected you. I should never have let Ophelia into your life.”

  I wrapped my fingers around Alex’s wrist. “This isn’t your fault,” I said sternly.

  “If I hadn’t been around, Ophelia would never have known what you are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Alex and I sat in silence as he worked the dried blood and dirt from my face. We both stiffened when we heard the clunk of the storeroom door opening, the slap of feet racing down the hall. I was relieved when I saw Nina zip by the break-room door, Vlad and Will right behind her.

  “Oh my God!” Nina howled.

  Alex helped me to my feet, and when we emerged in the UDA waiting room, Nina—her lips a fresh, healthy blood red, the cuts and bruises already growing faint—was sitting on her knees among the rubble, desperately crying, clutching an Alhambra water jug to her chest and rocking it gently.

  “Sophie, Sophie, Sophie,” she was murmuring. “We failed you, dear Sophie. Poor, sweet Sophie.”

  Alex put one hand respectfully on Nina’s shoulder and crouched down. “Are you sure that’s Sophie?” he asked.

  The offense washed over Nina in waves. She looked incredulously at the water bottle and then at Alex. “Of course this is Sophie. I would recognize her anywhere, in any form. Alex, she was my best friend. Our friendship transcends any physical manifestation.” She held out the empty jug. “Look at her. Look at her!” She cuddled the bottle again. “Sophie ...”

  “Um, Nina?”

  I stepped through the rubble and Nina stiffened. “See?” she said. “If you listen carefully, you can hear her talking. Hello, my Sophie,” she called into the jug. “You may now be an empty Vessel, but you will forever be our Sophie.”

  I stomped my foot—then wished I hadn’t, as the pain seared through me. “Hey! It’s me. I’m here.” I picked my way to Nina, Alex, and the jug. “I’m not a jug.”

  Nina’s eyes were wide as saucers; Vlad and Will stepped aside.

  “We tried to tell her,” Will said.


  “Sophie!”

  Nina came toward me, flinging the not-me plastic jug aside and throwing her arms around my waist.

  “Ow,” I whimpered.

  “I’m so glad you aren’t an Alhambra bottle,” she said softly.

  “I’m so sorry I let her hurt you,” I said back.

  Nina shrugged. “No biggie.”

  I patted Alex on the shoulder when he turned toward Ophelia. “I’m sorry about that,” I told him.

  I watched Alex’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed slowly. Finally he turned to me, cobalt eyes clouded, and said, “I’m not. She wouldn’t have stopped hunting you, ever. Fallen angels are inflexibly determined in their mission. Obstinate in their evil.”

  I pushed a lock of Alex’s dark hair across his forehead. “Not all of them.”

  Alex caught my hand and kissed my fingertips. “Right. Not all of us.”

  “Hey—how did you find me here?”

  Vlad stepped forward. “We pored through all the books.”

  “We were on our way to your grandmother’s old place when Alex realized that Ophelia was probably just baiting him—again,” Will said. “It wasn’t my choice of locales, but you heard the man—fallen angels, their mission, blah, blah, blah.”

  Will came closer and Alex dropped my hand, the muscle in his jaw flicking as I stood between them. He picked a clod of dirt off my shoulder, flicked it in Will’s general direction. “You really can’t fault someone for taking their life’s mission too seriously.”

  Vlad piped up, “I don’t know about you guys, but all of this drama has made me incredibly hungry.” He patted his gut. “I think my blood sugar is low.”

  Nina nodded. “I need grease. And fat. I so want to eat a fat guy right now.”

  Will blanched and Alex clapped him on the shoulder proudly. “You’ll get used to it.”

  The cool night air was heavy with fog, and the city seemed oddly quiet. Alex led me out to the parking lot with Nina, Vlad, and Will in tow, but I felt completely alone. I looked back over my shoulder at the closed door of the San Francisco Police Department and expected to hear Ophelia’s hollow giggle. All I heard was the lonesome whoosh of wind as it pushed the fog toward the bay.