Hannah Jayne - Under Attack

“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?”

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 grabbed 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.