Hannah Jayne - Under Attack

“Steve thinks Sophie likes what she sees,” Steve said, waggling his bushy caterpillar brows. “Too bad that ship has sailed.”

Steve’s affections for me had been replaced—immediately and irrevocably—when he met Sasha, a busty paramedic who had a thing for short guys. She had lost her sense of smell over a previous Zicam addiction, so she and Steve were an odd, weird-looking match made in Underworld heaven.

“Steve is meeting with the new bigwig today.”

“With Dixon? Why?” I wanted to know.

“Good business practice,” Steve said assuredly. “Steve wants Mr. Andrade to put the face with the name Elpher Brothers Moving.”

Steve and his three-foot-high troll brothers ran the moving and operations company that serviced the UDA. While his height and smell didn’t exactly promote a sense of well-being or ability when it came to large furniture moving, Steve and his brothers had a surprising way of getting things done. I just hadn’t been able to figure out what it was.

“Steve would love to stay and chat, but business calls.” He jabbed a pudgy finger at the gleaming face of his gold watch. “Time is money,” he said as he strutted toward Mr. Andrade’s office. Nina and I peered down the hall as Steve reached his destination. We watched him arch up on his tiptoes, small arm extended, his fingertips just missing the doorknob. Undeterred, Steve sank back onto flat feet and swiftly began kicking the door until one of Dixon’s henchmen pulled it open.

“That little troll’s got—”

I clamped my hands over my ears and shook my head. “Don’t say it! I don’t want to hear about anything that Steve has.”

“I was going to say ‘an appointment,’ little Miss Mind in the Gutter. So what was so rough about your morning?”

“My grandmother appeared to me. In the bathroom mirror.”

Nina’s eyes went wide. “Shut up! You are so Jennifer Love Hewitt ghost whispering right now! Did you lead her to the white light, cross her over?”

“I’m serious!”

Nina thrust out her lower lip and pouted. “Me, too. It’s not like I have a whole lot of ghostly experience. What’d she look like? All skeletal and stuff ?”

I glanced at Nina, who looked positively titillated. “I always wished I could talk to dead people,” she said. I held up a finger and Nina grabbed it, glared. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

“She said I was in grave danger.”

“Original. What does she know?”

“She didn’t tell me much; basically, you know, ‘hey, how you doing?’ and ‘you’re in grave danger.’”

Nina’s eyes were far away. “And then she crossed over into the light ...”

“No, she went to breakfast. Possibly with Ed McMahon.”

“We can learn so much from the dead.”

I had barely settled into my chair when I blinked up at an impossibly tall vampire in an elegant suit who seemed to materialize in my office doorway. He smiled down at me, a calm, disarming smile, and stayed silent for a moment.

“May I help you?” I asked.

“Ms. Lawson, correct?”

I nodded, scooting forward in my chair, my eyes glancing over my desk calendar, the stack of unopened files in my in-box. “I’m sorry. Did we have an appointment Mr.—”

“Rosenthal,” the man supplied politely. “May I sit?” He did so without me answering. His movements were fluid and he settled in comfortably, his eyes focused on mine, his legs crossed, hands folded in his lap. I chanced a look over his head, one of those “What the hell is going on here?” looks that best friends share, but Nina—who had been standing just outside my office door—had just as silently dematerialized.

“I don’t have an appointment. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.” Mr. Rosenthal kept smiling. “I’m just here to observe.”

I gulped. “Observe what?”

“Mr. Andrade would just like to get a better feel for what it is all of his key staff members do.” His smile, meant to be disarming, was starting to give me the creeps.

“Oh. Oh ...’kay.”

“Just go ahead, go about your business. Pretend I’m not even here.”

I took another look at Mr. Rosenthal, who now had a small notebook resting in his lap. He nodded encouragingly. I looked helplessly over his left shoulder, where Vlad was parading his team of VERM supporters down the hall, TAKE BACK YOUR AFTERLIFE! signs waving. I wondered if it would reflect poorly on me if I threw a blood bag into the hallway and let Mr. Rosenthal and the VERMers duke it out while I slipped out the back door.

I clicked on my computer and dragged a few files from my in-box closer to me, hearing the deafening pulse of my heart.

I have no reason to be nervous, I told myself. I’m good at my job.

I flipped open the file on top of my stack labeled Active Vamps—Sunset —and the thick red cover knocked over my teacup, dousing the remaining files and two stacks of Post-it notes with day-old tea. I felt my face flush as I pillaged through a box of Kleenex, dabbing at the mess. Mr. Rosenthal remained silent and smiled serenely as he leaned down and wrote something on his notepad.

I cocked my head, trying to hear Mr. Rosenthal’s low murmur. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” I said.

Mr. Rosenthal looked up at me, eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t hear what you were saying.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

I heard the murmur again and held up an index finger. “That! Someone must be outside... .” I concentrated, hearing a low snicker.

Mr. Rosenthal’s lips eased back into the smile that I thought was serene, but now I was starting to recognize as patronizing. “I assure you, Miss Lawson, no one is speaking.” He tapped his ear. “Supernatural hearing, remember?”

I felt my face flush, felt my blood thicken and rush through my veins. Mr. Rosenthal’s smile seemed to take on a more sinister edge.

“I heard that ,” he said with a thirsty smile.

I gulped; few things were more eerie than a fanged office superior who could hear the blood rushing through your veins.

I sunk back into my seat and tried to continue my work.

By the time Mr. Rosenthal stood up and brushed the imaginary creases from his impeccable suit, I had dropped the passport of a centaur who needed a sticker into the shredder, stapled the corner of my blouse to a deactivation request and mixed up the employment files for a Nichi demon and a Sousan demon. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if I didn’t send a baby eater to a nursery and a protector demon to a demolition site. Luckily, the mistake was caught before the Nichi demon actually ate any babies, but still, Mr. Rosenthal cocked his head and then wrote something down on his notepad. And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Nice save!

After Mr. Rosenthal left, I slunk into my coat and buzzed Nina. “I’m leaving for lunch,” I said to her. “I need to end this misery at least for a little while. You coming? We could go by that Italian guy you like so much.”

I could hear the low murmur of voices on Nina’s end of the phone, and then she said, “No, thank you. I’m not through just yet.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Nina?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice tight. “This is Nina.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Mr. Andrade is here in my office right now as a matter of fact. I’ll let him know that you bid him good afternoon.”

“I bit him what?”

I heard the clatter of the phone and then the dial tone. “Whatever,” I muttered, slinging my bag over my shoulder and slamming my office door behind me.

I stepped into the hallway and Steve stepped out from the shadows, his small troll legs working hard to keep stride with me. “Sophie doesn’t look too happy.”