Hannah Jayne - Under Attack

I sucked in an anxious breath when I heard the lock tumble on the front door. My heart gave a little pitter of warmth that dropped down into my nether regions and I imagined myself gripping Alex by the lapels and dragging him into the living room, lip to passionate lip. Instead, I crossed my legs and forced myself to look nonchalant.

“Oh,” I sighed when I opened the door. “It’s you.”

Nina gave me a sour look. “Nice way to greet your roommate.”

I wrung my hands. “It’s just that I was expecting Alex.”

Nina gaped. “Don’t tell me you gave him a key now, too!”

I wagged my head and Nina arched an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t sure you were interested in getting involved with him again.”

“What are you talking about? We’re just two old friends meeting for dinner.”

Nina sniffed at the air. “Hang chow?” She sniffed again. “And you sprang for the prawns chow fun.”

“I like prawns.”

Nina squinted and pointed at my pursed lips. “And that’s Siena Sunset. That’s name-brand product. You don’t shell out for shrimp and name-brand product for someone you’re not getting involved with. I bet you even shaved your legs.”

I bit my lip—whoops.

I sighed, a meager attempt to center myself. “I’m not exactly getting involved. I’m helping him with a case.” And possibly out of his clothes.... I put my hands on my hips. “And I thought you were anti-Alex.”

“I’m not anti-Alex. I’m pro-love. You’d be surprised how pro-love one becomes when they’re not getting enough blood to their personal parts.”

“So love is all about what gets to your personal parts?”

Nina licked her lips and winked. “Honey, love can be about anything having to do with the personal parts.”

“Silly me. I thought it was about the heart and all that malarkey.”

Nina waved a dismissive hand, twisting her glossy dark hair around her finger. “Eh, it’s all the same after a while.” She yanked open the fridge door and rooted around for a blood bag, then pulled herself up onto the kitchen counter and kicked off her shoes, aiming them into the dining room.

“So”—she took a long sip that crumpled her blood bag—“back to you and Alex.”

“A case,” I reiterated. “That’s all this is about. Shrimp chow fun, name-brand lip gloss—which was a free sample by the way—and that’s it. Just a case.” I was talking so loudly I was beginning to convince myself. “He’s coming over so we can discuss the particulars.”

“Discuss the particulars?” Nina’s lips went into a sleazy half-grin. “Something tells me I know the particulars you’re interested in... .”

“Uh, hello?”

Alex was standing in the open doorway, head cocked, eyebrows raised. I sucked in a traumatic breath, my body not knowing whether to die of embarrassment or of sheer desire.

Tonight, Alex Grace looked good enough to eat.

His pale grey T-shirt looked soft and was fraying a little at the collar. It stretched across his broad shoulders and the short sleeves were pulled taut against his thick, ropey muscles. His arms were crossed and the bottom edge of his tattoo—a single angel’s wing—poked out from underneath the fabric covering his left bicep. I worked hard to keep my eyes welcoming and friendly, but they kept slipping to Alex’s slim waist, to the way his well-worn jeans hung on him, and visions of him stepping out of those jeans clouded my “friendly” stance.

Alex held up a six-pack of beer and stepped into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. The click of the door and the clink of the beer bottles shook me out of my revelry.

“Hi. Nina and I, we were just ...”

There was a playful look of knowing in Alex’s eyes and I felt the heat of embarrassment wash over me. I looked down and went to work opening the beer, certain that my face was flushed as red as a midlife-crisis Corvette.

“So,” Nina began, “Sophie tells me there’s another mystery to be solved. Count me in.”

“Great.” Alex walloped the backpack I didn’t realize he was carrying onto the dining-room table, making the Chinese food and my pitiful flower jump.

I handed Alex his beer, our fingertips brushing in the exchange. My stomach did a little butterfly flutter and I took a quick pull from my beer, gulping a mouthful of foam.

“Is that mu shu?” Alex asked, sniffing at the air.

“Yes,” I said. Then I pointed at the backpack. “Is that your homework?”

Alex took a pair of chopsticks and the takeout box of mu shu. “I guess it’s our homework.”

Nina frowned. “There’s going to be reading in this one? I don’t know if I want to play anymore.” She pierced her blood bag with a single angled fang, sucked earnestly on what remained and then looked up, her full lips stained a deep red. “What are we after, anyway?”

“The Vessel of Souls,” Alex said in between bites.

I took my own takeout box and chopsticks and dug into some Kung Pao. “Hey, how do we even know the Vessel is here anyway? Shouldn’t it be like, in Europe—like Vatican City or something?”

Nina looked up from her second blood bag, eyebrows raised. “Rome? Okay, I’m back in.”

“The Vessel is definitely here. I’m sure of it.”

“Is your angel sense tingling?” I asked.

A flash of darkness skittered across Alex’s cobalt eyes and his smile dropped. “I know it’s here because Ophelia is here.”

I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. Alex and I weren’t exclusive or even dating, really—and I had no idea where he went when he wasn’t stretched out drinking a beer on my couch or eating day-old donuts at the police station—but I still felt a sudden, illogical pang of jealousy.

“Who’s Ophelia?” Please say your mother, please say your mother, please say your mother , I silently prayed.

“Ophelia is a fallen angel.”

“Like you,” Nina said.

“No.” Alex shook his head, holding a piece of mu shu pork between poised chopsticks. “Not like me at all. She’s currently the head of the fallen and she’s very bad news. Evil bad.”

I had a faint sliver of hope that her being the head of the fallen meant she was horned or cross-eyed or wore gaucho pants.

“The head of the baddies?” Nina looked impressed. “Who do you have to kill to get that gig?”

Alex looked away. “Ophelia was why I left here—why I left San Francisco—the first time.”

I swallowed, not tasting my food. Instead I imagined Alex and his fallen-angel friend Ophelia frolicking on clouds and harmoniously strumming harps while I had spent those solitary six months after he disappeared in elastic-waist pants trolling the ice cream aisle at Cala Foods.

“Oh.” My voice came out a choked whisper.

“No—it wasn’t—wasn’t like that. The word got out that she was looking for me. So I decided I’d better find her first.”

“And did you find her?” Nina asked, toes tapping angrily, eyes narrowed in the ultra-protective best-friend mode.

“No.”

I felt remotely better. “So why is she here? And why does that mean the Vessel is, too?”

“Ophelia has been tracking the Vessel ever since—” Alex looked down at his hands, ashamed. “Ever since I lost it. She wants it for herself. She’s desperate for it—has been the whole time I’ve known her. Ophelia is the kind of woman who gets off on power. Lots of power.” Alex looked at Nina and me. “She’ll kill for it. And if she’s here, then the Vessel can’t be far off.”

I felt a breeze—like icy breath—creep up the back of my neck and I shivered. Hollow laughter rang out in my ear and I frowned, going to the kitchen window and scanning for errant, laughing kids. There was nothing but darkness and the occasional sound of horns honking so I slammed the window shut. The breeze went away, but the chill and the sound of laughter hung in my head for another few seconds.