by Hannah Jayne
“The contract is bound by blood and flesh.”
I felt my own flesh crawl and my mouth quirked into an involuntary grimace. “Flesh?”
Sampson nodded solemnly and I considered a hunk of demon buttock squirreled away in some file cabinet somewhere. “How is that even possible?”
“You know that things in the Underworld don’t work the same way that things in the over world do.”
“But”—I pantomimed dumping a hunk of flesh on the table—“I don’t get it.” I was silent for a minute, considering. Then, with a slight brightening, “Should we just be looking for someone missing a hunk of flesh? Where do they take it from? Would he have, like, a hook for a hand, or one of those prosthetic limbs? Or”—that grimace again—“is that where the vaginal mesh sling comes in?”
Sampson cocked an eyebrow, his brow wrinkling. “Excuse me?”
It may have been a matter of afterlife or death, but I couldn’t believe I had just spewed the words “vaginal mesh sling” in front of my boss. A hot redness bloomed in my cheeks. “So, where does the flesh come from?” I asked again.
“It’s mine.”
“Yours?” My eyes immediately slipped over the length of Mr. Sampson, taking in every chiseled inch. His face and neck certainly weren’t missing any flesh and his button-up shirt didn’t seem to bow over any fleshless gaps. I tried not to look any lower.
“It was cut from me when I was in my werewolf form. In order for the contract—the hunters—to consider the contract bound, it must include flesh from the”—Sampson swallowed slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing—“animal, and blood from the contractee.”
God, I felt bad for their file clerk.
“So, in order for us to end this thing, we have to . . .” I felt my lip curl in a disgusted grimace. “Get your pound of flesh back?”
“It’s not a pound of flesh. It’s a piece of flesh.”
“So, to end the contract . . .”
“We need to destroy the contract, the contract holder, or the hunters.”
“Who’s the contract holder?”
Sampson shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Well, it has to be someone who knows you—maybe someone who’s holding a grudge? Someone you met through work?”
“I don’t know. It was all I thought about up north.”
“Okay, well. How about the contract? Hunk of flesh and blood notwithstanding, the contract is, like paper, right? I mean, it’s not tattooed on the back of an ogre or burned into the side of a volcano or something, is it?”
“The binding part is written on the flesh.”
I fought the urge to heave while my stomach lodged firmly in my shoes. “So we’re looking for some wordy flesh.”
“No, we’re not. You’ve done enough for now.” He glanced at the clock on the microwave. “I know I’m not your boss anymore, but aren’t you about to be late for work?”
“Did I mention how nice it was to have you back?” I socked Sampson in the arm and pulled a healthy lunch—a Fresca and two Pop-Tarts—out of the fridge, then yelled for Nina and Vlad to get their undead asses moving. While I waited, I yanked open the blackout drapes in the living room and let the beams of glorious, rare San Francisco sunlight wash over me. I was marveling at the way our Ikea furniture sprung to glistening life in the natural light when Nina tore out of her room, like a tiny, raven-haired cyclone dressed in a painted silk kimono robe.
“What are you trying to do?” she screamed. “Kill me?”
Sampson raised his eyebrows and I set down my Fresca. “What are you talking about? And where’s Vlad?”
Nina turned to gape at me. Or at least I think she did, because she was wearing her enormous dark sunglasses. “Have you not seen the weather?”
Sampson and I exchanged uncertain glances. “We live in California, Neens. We don’t have weather.”
Nina wagged her head. “It must be so easy to live a life with so few consequences.”
Sampson hid his smile behind his coffee mug and I rolled my eyes, about to remind her that I had been hung up by my ankles and accosted by a lunatic with a gunshot in his ass (courtesy of me, but still), when she went on, slapping her arms and raving. “I’m practically burnt to a crisp thanks to your obsession with opening the blinds.”
I blinked at the blue-white of her forearms. “Sorry. But if you were burnt to a crisp you’d be, well, burnt. To a crisp.”
She narrowed her eyes. “We’re talking life-or-death situation here, Sophie. You’ll have to let Dixon know that I can’t come in today.” She shrugged her tiny shoulders and flopped down on the couch in pure Scarlett O’Hara fashion. “I can’t risk it.”
“If you can’t be out in the sun to get to work, what makes you think Dixon will?” Dixon Andrade, a vampire (and former Nina boy-toy) took over the UDA after Sampson’s “disappearance.”
Nina waved her hand, the reflection catching in her Jackie O glasses. “Just let him know I’ll be working from home today.”
“Holy crap!” The front door slammed open and I coughed, covering my mouth and nose over the plume of smoke that came racing in. A man was hunched, an ugly, military-looking blanket pulled over his head. The whole thing—the man, blanket and all—was smoking.
“Vlad!” Nina sprung to her feet and began smacking smoking Vlad with a rolled-up US Weekly.
“Oh my gosh!”
Vlad dropped the blanket and raised an eyebrow at me, nostrils flared. “I’m on fire.”
I tried to think of something soothing to say, but came up blank. “Sorry,” I muttered.
“Did you see the news?” Vlad asked.
Did you see the news? should be a basic, non-sweat-inducing question. And for most people, it is. But for me, it is nothing less than ominous and I had the sudden desire to jump in my Tae Bo fighting stance, or at the very least call Jennifer Garner as Sydney Bristow in for backup. I swallowed, finding my mouth immensely dry. “Did something happen?”
“Uh, yeah. The weather! The sun?” He gaped at me when my reaction wasn’t a mortified as his. “This heat wave is supposed to last all week! It’s supposed to be sunny in San Francisco. For a whole week!”
“All week?” Nina groaned, then flopped back on the couch, fainting goat style. Sampson edged away from her.
“What are we supposed to do cooped up in this house all week?”
“It won’t be so bad, guys,” I said. “We’re well stocked with blood bags and we’ve got cable and”—I rummaged through our junk drawer—“almost an entire deck of Uno cards! It’ll be like summer camp!”
Vlad and Nina glared at me, now both shoulder to shoulder on the couch, Sampson wedged at the end.
“Fun!” I said, injecting as much joy into my voice as I could.
No one moved.
“Okay,” I said on a sigh, “I’ve got to get to work, so . . . call me if you need anything.”
Nina reached out and clamped a frozen hand around my wrist. She looked up at me, her eyes an impossible black, wide and mournful. “Tell the world I said hi please.”
I blinked. “Um, okay.”
Chapter Four
Nina and Vlad weren’t the only ones upset by our recent weather pattern. As I pulled out from the underground parking garage, it was obvious that confusion riddled the streets. People walked aimlessly around, faces upturned, brows furrowed. I poked my head out of the car and spotted some teenagers sporting bare arms and naked bellies. They zipped past on bicycles, hooting and hollering and loving the sun. Generally, I feared ax murderers and the zombie apocalypse way more than good weather, but for me and my fellow townspeople who were used to seeing spontaneous drag parades, roadside preachers, and trees that spoke, heat was an uncomfortable anomaly and I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with myself. After a few lights I began enjoying the natural warmth so I rolled down all the windows and played “Walking on Sunshine” on an endless loop.
It’s going to be a good day, I told myself.
I was still hopped up on
vitamin D and walking on Katrina and the Waves’ special brand of sun-kissed pop perkiness when I skipped into the police station vestibule, and Alex made a beeline for me. He had a wad of file folders pushed under one arm and an expression on his face that killed any hope for a big musical number.
“I’ve been waiting for you. I need to talk to you about the Sutro homicides.”
As I knew Katrina and the Waves never sang about homicide, the music in my heart came to a slamming stop. “What, exactly, about them?”
It was then I noticed the heavy bags under Alex’s eyes; that the glistening blue of his irises had dulled with lack of sleep. “Is everything okay?”
“Sophie!”
Will’s accented voice pinged through my head as I blinked at Alex, trying to make sense of what had just happened—Alex in front of me, Will’s voice behind? I blinked and Alex stiffened; I felt Will’s hand on my shoulder. I spun and gaped at him.
“Where did you come from?”
Will grinned and jutted a thumb over one shoulder. “Lift. I thought you’d be at work by now.”
I looked from Will to Alex and back again, while the heat seemed to ratchet up at least sixty degrees. I felt the sweat bead on my upper lip and at my hairline, could feel my carefully straightened curls begin to spring back into place.
I don’t belong to either of them, I told myself. I’m walking on sunshine....
Uh-oh.
Nothing was said between the two men. There were no overt dirty looks or scowls, but even without taking a single step, Alex and Will seemed to be doing that menacing staring circle that dogs about to sink incisors in do. I should have felt glorious to be the prize that they growled over, but all I felt was an awkward, both-of-these-men-have-seen-me-naked tension. The ex-boyfriend, the almost-boyfriend—and me, not knowing which was which.
I licked my lips and forced a bared-teeth smile, patting Alex on the forearm. “Alex, you remember Will.”
Alex’s ice-blue eyes were fixed on Will’s hazel ones. “You don’t usually forget the guy who stabbed you,” he said evenly.
“Right, mate, sorry ’bout that. Misunderstanding with the whole Vessel–Fallen Angel thing.” He shot out a hand. “We good?”
I tried to read Alex’s expression as his gaze scraped over Will’s outstretched hand. I tried to decipher the nuance in Will’s stance, the inflection in his voice.
“Yeah,” Alex finally said, giving Will’s hand a quick, dismissive shake. “We’re good.”
“Great!”
Will clapped his hands, looking expectantly from Alex to me. “So, what are we Sherlocking this week?”
I shot him a tight-lipped, keep-your-stupid-English-trap-shut look. He just kept grinning.
“We”—Alex pointed to me and then back to himself—“are working on a homicide. Multiple. Nothing that would interest you. No fires, nothing about guarding the universe or whatever.”
Will, firefighter by day, Vessel Guardian by later that day, narrowed his eyes. “I don’t guard the universe. I guard Sophie from the big baddies in the universe. You know, fallen angels and such.”
Alex’s bristle was physical. “I’ve seen Lawson in action. She can take care of herself.”
I jumped in between the two men, who somehow seemed to have gotten closer by the puffing of chests alone. “Um, thank you, Will, for your guardianship. And Alex’s services are excellent, too, and he’s not a bad angel.”
There was a juvenile flash of triumph in Alex’s eyes and just-as-juvenile indignance in Will’s expression. “Your services are great, too, Will.”
I immediately dropped into a bout of lobster-red embarrassment. Because if you want to keep your romantic trysts under wraps, the best thing you could possibly do is thank a man for his services.
“Good Guardian,” I clarified, clapping Will on the shoulder. “You’re a good Guardian and you’re a good angel.”
There was a beat of dead awkward silence that I’m fairly sure lasted just under a millennium. Of all the times the earth couldn’t break open and swallow me whole.
“So,” I said, breaking the trance, “Will, what did you—?”
“What do you want, Will?” Alex broke in. “Lawson and I have a case to get through. Some of us like to protect the population from actual danger.”
There was a slight flare in Will’s nostril, then an equally as slight upturn of his lips. He raised his hand to eye level, a silver key on an Arsenal key chain pinched between thumb and forefinger. “I just needed to give you my key, love,” he said, his eyes focused hard on mine. I felt my mouth drop open as he looked over my head at Alex, then grinned supremely.
I spun. “I’m looking in on his bush. His plant. His house. Will’s going out of town and I’m watering his plant and thank you very much for coming all this way to bring me your key even though you live across the hall and could have very easily slipped it under the door.” I sucked in a huge breath.
“I know,” Will said calmly. “I meant to give it to you this morning at breakfast, but it slipped my mind.” He cut his eyes to Alex, then they flitted back to me.
“Headed out of town, huh, Will? Didn’t know Guardians got vacation. What are you taking—two weeks? Three?”
Will looked at Alex and back at me, then brushed a finger under my chin. “I’ll just be gone a bit. You’re a cop, right? I trust you to take care of my girl.”
I felt myself gape. “Your girl?”
Then I felt Alex’s arm as he slung it around me, the edge of his chin brushing the top of my head sweetly. “I always take care of my girl.”
Now I spun, fairly certain that one more gasp would send me into cardiac arrest. “Your girl?”
Neither seemed to hear me—or see me—as they held each other in steely glares. I was apoplectic, uncertain as to whether I would be in the middle of a massive fistfight or cuddle fest. I snatched Will’s key and mashed the down button on the elevator, then spun to point first at Will and then at Alex. “You’re an ass and you’re an ass,” I yelled, jumping in the elevator once the doors opened.
“Can you believe those idiots?” I screamed into my phone as I paced a bald spot in my office carpet.
“Yes,” Nina said. “What size do you wear?”
“Eight . . . ish. Ugh! I mean, neither Alex nor Will even raise an eyebrow and suddenly—”
“To be fair, Soph, both of them raised more than eyebrows. Or maybe it was you who raised their—”
“Not helping!” I snapped.
“Sorry. Are you more of a heather blue or a heather gray kind of girl?”
“I don’t know, gray, I guess. What the—are you even listening to me? They were acting like animals! One more minute, and one of them would have peed on me.”
“I’m listening, I’m all ears. I am. Have you ever actually watched the Home Shopping Channel? They have some pretty good stuff.”
“Neens!”
“Right. The guys peeing on you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, hoping to quell the ache that had started before it became a full-blown migraine. “It’s just that for like, my whole life, I couldn’t get a date. Not one!”
“I set you up with that one guy.”
“He was part goat, Nina.”
She harrumphed. “I’ve seen you eat. You might be half-goat yourself.”
“Remind me to drive a stake through your heart when I get home.”
“I wouldn’t fight you. This heat is killing me.”
“Nina?”
“Okay, I’m sorry. But Sophie, can you really blame two guys for fighting over you? Two incredibly hot, save-the-world guys? I mean, in the last couple of months, you’ve gone from sad and wimpy to uber-confident and gun toting. I mean, ask anyone. That’s hot.”
Even though I had just been called sad and wimpy, my toothy best friend spoke the God’s honest truth and it warmed me.
“Aw, Neens.”
“And you’re also just a little bit slutty.”
“Ms. Laws
on?”
I was eyebrows up at “just a little bit slutty” when Dixon knocked on my door and poked his head in.
“Gotta go,” I murmured to Nina. “Dixon, hi. I was just . . . giving Nina her assignments.”
Dixon nodded. “She’s staying out of the light?”
“Yeah. Um, sit down, please. Can I help you with something ?”
Dixon pulled the door to a soft close behind him and I felt my spine immediately stiffen. When he turned to look at me there was something in his eyes—in his stance—that was awkward, uncomfortable. In all the time I had known him, I had never seen Dixon misstep or misspeak; he was a pinnacle of confidence and surety, and this air of uncertainty made me nervous.
“Is everything okay?”
Dixon sat, and produced a folded newspaper from his breast pocket. “Do you know about this?” he asked, handing the paper over.
I gave it a cursory scan, my eyes sticking the second they saw the word “murder.” The story was detailing the incident as Sutro Point and the familiar sick feeling in my stomach bubbled.
I nodded. “I know about it.” I pushed the paper aside. “I was there.”
Dixon’s eyebrows went up. “You and Alex?”
I nodded again and Dixon pulled the paper toward him, unfolded it one more time, and slid it back. He stood over me now, and pressed a finger against the page. “Do you know anything about this?”
It was a tiny article buried amongst the blowout sales and freeway closures—a single emboldened headline: MARINA WOMAN SEES CREATURE.
I chuckled as I scanned the small story.
Eleanor Holt of Marina Green called police to report the sighting of a “creature” running through her backyard on Tuesday night. “It ran on two legs like a man, and then on four, like a dog.” Holt said the creature was “about the size of a bear” and covered in fur; it “snarled and growled” like a dog and frightened Holt’s own animals; she said it was after her rabbit hutch. Police searched the premises and found nothing. Holt maintains that she heard howling and crying throughout the night, that her animals remained on edge, and the creature “was probably Bigfoot.”