by Hannah Jayne
Dixon looked away and then back at me. “Can you take off that hat? It’s a bit distracting.”
I clamped my hand over it. “No. It’s . . . crazy hat day. Here. At the office.” I laced my fingers together. “Promotes employee bonding. New thing from HR. You must not have gotten the memo.”
“Okay.”
“So has anyone else spotted this wolf? Or been attacked?”
Dixon shook his head. “Not as of late.”
I stood, my swinging shoulder bag a half inch from Dixon’s forehead. “I am going to take that information upstairs right now to Alex, and we will throw ourselves headlong into this investigation.” My eyes flashed. “Some more. I mean, still.” I shot him a bared-teeth smile. “I’ll have a report for you tomorrow. How’s that?”
Dixon rose slowly. “That would be nice.”
“Okay, well.” I waved frantically. “Gotta go.”
I was so amped by the time the elevator doors opened that I didn’t stop to consider how much I didn’t want to run into Alex, and hurried directly through the police station vestibule and right out the front door.
My poly-cotton twinset began sticking to my back the second I stepped onto the baked concrete of the parking lot. The fog inching in at a snail’s pace and the twilight pink-gray of the sky, coupled with the still-searing heat gave the entire town an eerie, zombie-apocalypse-type presence. I was pleasantly surprised that such an apocalypse hadn’t yet begun and that my car still looked as miserably pieced together now as it had when I left it this morning. I probably should have at least sprung for a paint job, but I was honestly growing accustomed to my little vamp-mobile. And besides, this way I would never mistake my Honda Accord for anyone else’s.
I slipped inside, blasted the air-conditioning, and backed out, screeching to a heart-wrenching stop when I saw Alex in my rearview mirror. He had his hands on his hips and he waited, nonplussed, while I threw my car into park and desperately swallowed my heart out of my throat.
“What the hell are you doing?” I screamed, wrestling my seat belt off and flying across the parking lot at him. “Did you not see my car? It’s a car. You should have.”
“It’s not a big car,” Alex said, cocking his head to the side.
“It’s multicolored and has the word VAMPIRE spray painted on the hood.”
“Yeah . . . are you planning to get that painted over anytime soon?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Yes. Right after they finish painting the house in Tuscany. Is there a reason for you standing behind my car or do you just hope to become a speed bump in your next next life?”
“Well, I guess someone’s feeling better.”
My heartbeat subsided long enough to remember that I had kind of professed my love to Alex the night before. I felt my mouth drop open. “Is that why you threw yourself behind my car? Because last night made you suicidal?”
“Suicidal?” Alex said, one eyebrow raised questioningly. “No. I’m not the one with the bad haircut.”
I blew out an annoyed sigh. “What exactly was it that you wanted, Grace?”
Alex’s grin was sly. “Thought you might like to grab a bite.”
I am a lot of things: strong. Mouthy. Semi-independent. But I wasn’t made of steel.
“What kind of bite?”
He shrugged. “Your call.”
I arched a brow. “Your wallet?”
“All right.”
Rather than try to wrestle my giant hat into the car I tossed it in the trunk and replaced it with a frayed ball cap that I pulled low over my eyes. When I got into the car Alex looked at me and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“I’m a little insulted that you’re not wearing the hat I got you.”
“Somebunny found another hat.”
Alex’s cheeks bloomed a bashful pink. “Forgot about the lovely inscription.”
I snapped the door shut and Alex and I were off, windows rolled down, air pulsing through the cab of the car.
“Feel like Italian?” I asked as I flipped on the turn signal.
“Always.”
“North Beach it is.”
“Hey, did you know there’s supposed to be a maze of underground tunnels under North Beach?”
I grinned. “And here I thought I was the expert on the goings-on under the city.”
We pulled up to a stoplight just off Union Avenue and I listened to the car idle, to the faint sounds of someone playing a saxophone on a distant corner. And then there was something else.
A wail—or a moan.
“Did you hear that?” Alex asked, ear cocked toward the open window.
I turned the stereo off and leaned out my own window, holding my breath for a silent beat. A lazy wisp of oregano-scented air wafted into the car, and on it, a chorus of low moans. They were desperate, insistent rumbles that cut through the city noise.
I furrowed my brow. “What is that?”
Now the moans and rumbles were joined by thumps, then a shallow scraping as though something—or someone—was being dragged.
Alex’s eyebrows went up. “Lawson?” I saw his hand hover around his concealed gun.
I held up a silencing hand. “Wait, Alex. I think it might be—”
“Zombies?”
They engulfed the car before the word was out of his mouth, their fingers scraping against the paint, lifeless limbs thumping against the mangled exterior of my vamp-mobile. Alex’s eyes were wide, distressed, his face ashen as their fingers came through the open window, clawing at him, touching his skin, ruffling his hair. Zombie fingers brushed at my face, too; a clammy hand landed on my arm, grabbed a fistful of my shirt.
I couldn’t help myself. I started to giggle.
Alex, swatting at the grey, rotting arms that waved at him, looked at me incredulously. “You’re laughing? This is funny to you?”
One of the zombies had curled his fingers under my neck and was actively tickling me now, giggling back at me as my laughter grew, his grin wide and goofy. I clamped my knees together and tried not to wet myself. “They’re—they’re—they’re real!” I squeezed out, throwing the car into park and doubling over myself.
“Of course they’re real!” Alex said. “How the hell do we kill them?”
“Double tap!” A zombie on Alex’s side of the car yelled. “Cardio-oooo!”
“Beeeeeer,” another one groaned, a rivulet of black-red blood dribbling out the side of his mouth. “Beeer!”
Alex wrinkled his brow. “Is that zombie asking for beer? Can they do that?”
I was laughing so hard now that tears were pulsing from my eyes and I started to cough. Finally, I got hold of myself. “They’re real, Alex. They’re real people.”
Alex paused, his lip curling up into a snarl as another zombie wannabe poked her full torso through my window. “Graiiiiiins!” she moaned, stiff arms waving. “Graiiiins!”
“She’s a vegetarian,” I said by way of explanation.
“What the hell is going on here?” Alex wanted to know.
Veggie-Zombie bared a mouth full of grayish teeth, half smeared with a thick coat of shiny black greasepaint. “Zombie pub crawl,” she informed. “We’re only on our second pub.” She craned her neck to look out the windshield. “Light’s green.” She wriggled out of the car and I inched forward, Veggie-Zombie’s undead brood wailing and flailing in the street behind us.
“There’s hundreds of them,” Alex said, staring out the back window incredulously.
“Probably.”
“You’re not the slightest bit spooked by that?” Alex said.
“Why should I be? Those zombies are in way better spirits than the ones from the Underworld. And they can be satiated with beer. The ones at the office? Ugh. They’re supposed to have eaten before they come in, but if you even look the slightest bit intelligent, they’re salivating all over your desk. I had a guy suck the hair tie right off of my ponytail once.”
Alex shook his head in disbelief. “I’m hearing the words, but they
don’t make sense.” He was silent for a beat and I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, his serious expression starting my giggles all over again. He gave me a dirty look. “Look, you’ve got to cut me some slack.”
I shot him a devious smirk. “And why’s that?”
“Come on. It’s ninety degrees in San Francisco, we processed a murder scene that was right out of a Wes Craven film, you were shish-kebabed by a hoarder, and suddenly, the streets are overrun with the thirsty dead.” He brushed the zombie-fist marks out of his shirt. “It’s perfectly normal that a guy would get a little unnerved.”
“Or that a guy could scream like a little girl.”
“I didn’t—”
“Geez, there’s no parking around here,” I said, letting Alex know in no uncertain terms that the case against his manly screaming was closed. “Did everyone in the city get a car?”
“Apparently, zombies don’t like to carpool.” He grinned.
“See? You’re warming up to the faux undead already. Ooh, spot!” I cut hard on the wheel and screeched my little tin can of a car into a shaded spot at the edge of a residential street. It was dark and quiet, a half block full of row houses with lights off or curtains pulled tight, silver flashes from televisions creeping out the cracks. We walked back down to North Beach and found a restaurant with tables set up along the sidewalk. It was flanked by moaning zombies carrying pint glasses and iPhones, but with the heat still heavy on the night breeze, it was perfect. I broke a greasy, cheesy breadstick in half and took a gooey bite.
“Mmm . . .”
“So, I take it you’re off the painkillers?”
I nodded, working to unstick the cheese that was sizzling on the roof of my mouth. “Yeah,” I said, my hand going up to my hat. “The cut doesn’t hurt much anymore. It’s mostly the sting of the bad hair.”
Alex smiled, the grin going all the way up to his eyes, making them seem to sparkle in the low light. I thought of the night before, of the gentle way he’d stroked my hair. and my stomach fluttered while my heart did a quick little double beat.
I may have had only half my hair and a scissor wound in my leg, but at that second, I felt like a very normal girl on a very normal date, with a good-looking man. No, an amazing-looking—and amazing in general—man. The way he smiled at me—the way his eyes burned right into me—made me feel like the only woman in the world, like a supermodel with a full head of hair. Suddenly, I didn’t regret last night’s drug-addled fog and romantic ramblings. Will was nice, but this was Alex.
And I loved him.
The realization shot through me from tip to tail, making me slightly dizzy and giddy at the same time. I loved him.
I, Sophie Lawson, loved him, Alex Grace.
My eyes started to water and my cheeks began to hurt from my love-struck grin.
“Someone looks like the cat who swallowed the canary,” he said to me.
I let out a slow breath, my heart beginning to thunder wildly. For once in my life, my mind was littered with images of rose petals and cartoon hearts, rather than blood bags and bodies. When Alex rested his hand on the table, I pulled my own out of my lap and tentatively placed it over his.
It was a test.
He smiled, and pressed his thumb on the outside of my hand, then opened his fingers so mine could slip inside.
My whole body sung.
“This is nice.”
Alex cocked his head. “What is?”
I shrugged. “This. Me, you, breadsticks. The city out there.”
“Don’t tell me Sophie Lawson is getting the suburban itch.”
“No, I love living in the city.” I frowned. “Sometimes I just wish it weren’t so . . . volatile.”
Alex seemed to consider, then cocked his head at me, giving one of those Father Knows Best expressions. “Lawson, you know that wherever you go—”
“Stop,” I said. “I don’t want to hear it. Please indulge me in my non-demonic, non-everyone-wanting-to-kill-me fantasy of a suburban life, complete with white picket fences, kids’ soccer games, and a big shaggy dog.”
“No minivan?”
“Volvo. Two-point-five kids. Laughable mortgage. One of those plastic ducks out front that you dress with the seasons.”
Alex grinned at me. “Seasonal duck dressing? Sheesh, Lawson, I figured you might want a break, but I never pegged you for the Donna Reed type.”
I narrowed my eyes, feeling indignant. “I can be the Donna Reed type. Why? Don’t you think I could be the Donna Reed type?”
Alex crunched on a particularly cheesy breadstick and spoke with his mouth full. “That’s right. Never question the homemaking prowess of a woman who can shoot a pot roast seventy-five feet.” He grinned and I felt my cheeks redden.
“That was one time. And, if I recall correctly, I was—”
“Three sheets to the wind?”
“I was going to say imbibing excessively, but we’ll go with yours, sure.”
“Okay.” Alex leaned back in his chair, wiping his greasy hands on a napkin. “So you’re living in suburbia with your shaggy dog and your two and a half—”
“Two-point-five,” I corrected.
“Two-point-five kids.” He blinked out at the starlit city. “Is there a guy in all of this Norman Rockwell goodness?”
My heart did a little neurotic patter. Was he saying he wanted to be a part of my future? I turned to look at Alex, who continued to study the skyline. His profile was perfect—a thick head of run-your-fingers-through chocolate brown curls, dark brows that, when cocked, could make a girl lose her inhibitions—and possibly her panties. A strong, straight nose. Pronounced chin with just the right amount of stubble. I felt the flutter in my stomach but mustered my courage anyway. First I batted my eyelashes in that sexy way that Nina did so effortlessly. Then I prayed to God that the majority of the cheese and marinara sauce in my appetizer had made it into my mouth. Then I lowered my voice into what I hoped with a sexy octave.
“Why do you ask?”
Alex’s head lolled toward me and he laughed. “Nice, Lawson.”
I rolled my eyes but eyed him. “Do you ever dream of running away?”
“To the suburbs?” He shook his head. “No.”
“Where would you go? You know, if you could?”
It was fleeting, and if I hadn’t been looking at Alex so hard I would have missed it—the hint of sadness that darkened his eyes and flitted across his face. He pursed his lips and the muscle in his jaw jumped and I had to look away, feeling a lump growing in my own throat.
“Sorry.”
The longer an earthbound angel walked the earth, the more he started to remember about his previous life. To us it would seem welcome, but to someone who will never again be able to touch a loved one or share a memory with a friend, it grew nothing short of hellish after hundreds of years. Alex had been earthbound for a while now, and I knew from the darkness that marred his handsome features now and again that the memories were pouring back, and they were strong, powerful—and hurtful.
I took a deep breath and squeezed Alex’s hand. “So, about the other night . . .”
“Now, what can I get you two?” The perky blond waitress bounded between us and the spell was broken. Alex broke his hand away from mine to pick up his menu, and I took an enormous glug of water, my stomach knotting. I blinked at Alex as he spoke to the waitress and lost all my nerve. After she took our orders and left, Alex leaned toward me again. “What were you saying?”
I smiled and chewed on my bottom lip, scanning the restaurant. “Um . . . check out that guy, three p.m.”
Alex looked to his right, his gaze blanketing the slow-moving traffic. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Your other three p.m.,” I hissed, jutting my chin.
“Okay, my right is your left. And your three p.m. is roughly nine-twenty.”
“Way to be precise. Do you see him?”
“Who? Nineteen-ninety-six?”
The man in question was clean cut, h
is bouffant at least three inches from his scalp and so stiff it moved in one giant mass in the light breeze. He was sitting by himself at one of the tiny patio tables, his rayon color-block shirt buttoned up to his neck. I felt my mouth drop open when he scooched back from the table and crossed his long legs.
“Shut up,” I whispered.
“What now?”
“Z. Cavariccis.”
Alex’s expression was blank. “I’m sorry?”
“Z. Cavariccis. The pants? Don’t tell me you don’t know what Z. Cavariccis are.”
Alex just shrugged and I gaped. “They’re pants. Really ugly pants, but like, the quintessential ugly pants of the nineties.”
“Oh,” Alex said, his mouth full of cheesy garlic bread. “Forgive me for misplacing that little nugget of Americana.”
I pointed at him with my own piece of bread. “You should know this shit if you don’t want to be found out as, you know . . . angelic.”
“Z. Cavariccis. Right.” He tapped a finger to his head. “Locked away. Have you seen our waiter?”
“He has a girlfriend!”
The woman who took the seat across from Nineteen-ninety-six was petite and elegant, wearing a silky one-shouldered sundress straight out of Paris fashion week.
“How did Fashion Forward end up with Ninety-six?”
“Who had the penne?” our waitress asked.
Alex raised his hand and shot me a triumphant grin. “I guess we’ll never know.”
I buried my fork into five inches of pasta-cheese, cheese-pasta perfection, but I couldn’t keep my eyes from wandering back to the fashion time machine going on behind Alex. There was something off about the couple.
I dipped my hand in my purse. “Can you excuse me for a minute?”
“Must be serious if you’re leaving lasagna.”
“I’ll be right back.”
I passed Fashion Forward and Ninety-Six with my cell phone pressed to my ear. Nina picked up on the second ring and I slipped behind a potted plant, where two pub-crawl zombies were groping each other lovingly. They scattered when they saw me.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Nina asked.
“Fashion question.”