Hannah Jayne: Under Attack

“He. Is. Beautiful,” she said, her voice coming out high-pitched and breathy.

“I intend to get to know each and every one of you, and to do that”—Dixon’s eyes scanned the crowd—“I am hoping to enlist the help of the Underworld Detection Agency’s human resources staff.”

Nina thrust her chest out with so much pride that I thought her rib cage would come sputtering out of her. She offered a brilliant, toothy grin—her fangs not nearly as spiked as Dixon’s—and raised one thin arm, waving proudly, Nadia Comaneci-winning-the-gold style. I felt myself cringe, and I was vaguely concerned that Nina might explode with a supernatural combination of horniness and joy.

“I am thrilled to be of service, Mr. Andrade,” Nina purred, her voice a sweet, tender pitch that was usually reserved for puppy dogs and enormous favors.

I leaned forward, whispering in Nina’s ear, “I thought he was a useless Pillsbury dough-vamp?”

Nina looked at me incredulously. “Can’t you see? He’s brilliant!” Nina’s eyes went from stunned wonder to naked want. I thought I saw a drop of saliva teeter on her lower lip.

“I will have ...” Dixon frowned, scanned his stack of papers “Nina, is it?”

Nina nodded with all the restraint of a bobblehead on a dashboard.

“Nina will be scheduling one-on-one interviews with me, which will commence immediately. And with that, the Underworld Detection Agency is ready for business. Demons, man your stations!”

The crowd slowly began to dissipate, a low chorus of grumbles with them, but Nina stood perched, erect, her small hands clapping spastically. “Wonderful speech, Mr. Andrade, just—motivating!” she said.

Dixon grinned at her as he stepped down from the podium and patted Nina gingerly on the shoulder. “You can call me Dixon, Nina.”

Again, Nina’s chest puffed and I vaguely wondered how that was possible, given that the woman hadn’t taken a breath in over a hundred years.

Dixon’s brown eyes set on me and I was entranced by the flecks of gold that danced in them. Though my magical immunity rendered me untouchable by the usual glamours that vampires use to mesmerize humans, I wasn’t above falling under the spell of a good-looking man—undead or otherwise.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Dixon said in his satin-sleek voice. He extended a slim, pale hand. “Dixon Andrade. And you are?”

I took his hand, the bloodless cold of his palm going all the way up to my shoulder. “I’m Sophie Lawson,” I said, pumping his arm.

“Sophie Lawson,” Dixon drew out the words, seemed to savor my name on his tongue. A knowing look flitted across his sharp features. “You were Mr. Sampson’s executive assistant, were you not?”

“That’s right.”

“And she was wonderful with Mr. Sampson,” Nina said, butting in between Dixon and me. “He was absolutely crazy about her.”

Dixon raised one black eyebrow and Nina licked her lips. “In a purely professional way.”

Dixon nodded slowly, his eyes still on me. “Good to know. And lovely to meet you, Sophie. I’ll be seeing you around and looking forward to our interview.”

“Likewise,” I said, my voice sounding thin and weak as Dixon nodded to Nina, then turned on his heel, his henchmen following closely behind him.

“Oh. My. God,” Nina said when Dixon was out of earshot. “I thought I was going to explode.”

I stepped back. “Well, don’t do it anywhere near me.”

“Do you not think that Dixon Andrade is downright yummy? I mean, look at him!” Nina gestured wildly as Dixon got smaller and smaller as he headed down one of UDA’s long hallways. “That is some delicious vamp candy!”

I crossed my arms. “I suppose he’s pretty hot. If you’re into that hot, good-looking, brooding type.”

“With a smile that could melt butter!”

And fangs that could cut glass. “I guess he’s okay,” I finished.

The plastic bag loaded with takeout Chinese was cutting off the circulation in my fingertips as I tried to shift my stuff—coat, laptop case, purse—and get my key into the lock. After four tries and an impressive show of inner-thigh muscle as I clenched the sliding bags between my knees, I got the apartment door open, grunting the whole time but managing to keep the mu shu upright. I dropped everything—except the takeout bag—in a heap on the floor when I saw what greeted me: a living room full of vampires, their faces pale and perfect, eyes narrowed, bee-stung lips full and dyed blood red. The house was in disarray and little droplets of blood spattered the coffee table, along with discarded bits of clothing and glasses knocked on their sides, plasma starting to congeal inside. Despite the blood on their lips, these vampires looked hungry. I blew out a sigh.

“Really, Vlad?”

Vlad sprung up from the flower-print easy chair and strode across the room toward me. His cold fingers chilled my arm as he steered me into the hall.

“We’re having an Empowerment meeting.”

“You didn’t tell me you guys have become the Slob Empowerment Movement.”

“Geez, Sophie, you’re as bad as Aunt Nina. I’ll clean up when we’re done. Promise.”

“Good. I have a meeting, too.” I swung the takeout bag in front of him.

“Another meeting of the Mu Shu Pork Society?” Vlad asked, crossing his arms and jutting out one hip.

I narrowed my eyes. “Just clean it up. You didn’t tell me you guys were meeting here today.”

“Do I have to tell you everything?”

I held my glare steady.

Vlad fluffed up his ascot. “We were chased out of the UDA by Lorraine. We need a place to meet. The Empowerment Movement is currently only in its infantile stages, so this is when we are most in need of a nurturing environment.” He smiled, a sweet, boyish smile that reminded me of the earnest kid he must have been—back in the eighteen hundreds or so.

“Shouldn’t you be meeting in a cemetery or something ?”

Vlad’s eyes widened. “Do you know one with mausoleum space?”

“Look, just wrap it up and give me fair warning the next time you plan on bringing the fang gang around.” I looked over his shoulder, eyeing the assembled vamps as they flipped through magazines and stuck skinny straws into their blood bags, à la Capri Sun. “You know I’m pro-vamp and I support the movement,” I glanced back at Vlad’s ascot and black-painted fingernails. “At least most of it. But Alex and I have some important business to discuss tonight.”

“The angel is back?”

Vlad’s eyebrows went up, but I stopped him before he could comment. “Yes. But this is just business—another case. So, can you wrap it up?”

“Geez,” Vlad said with an eye roll. “I can’t wait until I get my own place.”

“Not until you’re two hundred,” I muttered parentally as I followed him back into the apartment.

I set my bag down and nodded—graciously, though nervously—to Vlad’s vampire friends as they gathered up their trash and filed out the front door, Vlad in tow. I gave them a polite finger wave and then raced to the bathroom, telling myself that I was freshening up as a polite hostess and nothing more as I dabbed on a drywall layer of deodorant and slapped on some Siena Sunset lip stain. I undid the bun on the top of my head and my hair fell in soft, curled tendrils that swooped romantically around my face and stuck up like wheat grass in the back. I spent the next eight minutes pleading with said wheat-grass hair and finally finagled it in a downward direction with a handful of centuries-old Dippity-do that I found in the back of the medicine cabinet.

Deeming myself cosmetically presentable, I went back to the kitchen and unloaded the armful of takeout containers onto the dining room table, trying to arrange them artfully. If I couldn’t cook, the least I could do was arrange takeout beautifully. I finished off my Hang chow bounty with a meager-looking daisy stuck in a water glass. Not exactly The Slanted Door, but it would do.