Hannah Jayne: Under Attack

“How do you know she’s back here? Have you”—I paused, tasting the bitterness of my words—“seen her?”

Alex wagged his head again, his dark curls bobbing. “No, thank God. But I’ve heard things. I know she’s here.”

I swallowed, waiting for the feeling of relief to wash over me. It didn’t.

Alex placed a thick file folder flat on the table and pushed it toward me. I glanced down. “Something tells me this isn’t the complete files of the Lolcats.”

I opened the file and the front page of a week-old San Francisco Chronicle was folded neatly on top. The headline blared HUNGARIAN DIPLOMAT AMONG CESSNA DEATHS. There was a full-color picture of the wreckage of the small plane in a shallow section of the bay; someone had drawn a red circle around a smudge of black on the wing of the plane. “Did you circle this?” I pointed to the smudge and Alex nodded.

“What is it?”

Alex took the file from me and rummaged past a few pages, then pulled out a tattered-looking Ziploc bag with a single black feather locked inside. I raised my eyebrows, squinted back at the circled smudge.

“ That is that?” I asked skeptically.

“No. This”—Alex dangled the bag—“is from a different crime scene.” He pulled a sheaf of papers from the folder and dropped them in front of me. “But that,” he said, gesturing toward the circled smudge, “is also a black feather.”

Nina stood up. “Are you saying that both of these murders were committed by crows?” She slammed her fist into her palm. “Damn birds!”

I continued looking through the file. “Homicide,” I read, flipping through a thin file with another Ziploced black feather enclosed. “Accidental drowning ... victim was recovered on shore near Crissy Field, DOA, five-inch black feather was—ugh”—I shuddered—“recovered from victim’s throat. Murder-suicide in Por-tola Valley, one dead in fiery crash on Devil’s Canyon Slide.” I scanned the last article. “Brendan Joel found dead when his car went off the road.... Three-to-four-inch black crow feather found in the victim’s right hand.” I shook my head. “I don’t get it. What’s with the black feather?”

I held up my hand to silence Nina before she could answer.

“It’s like a sign. Every time the angelic plane crosses the human plane—”

Nina crossed her arms in front of her chest. “In non-Heaven speak, please.”

“Every time an angel touches a human, something is left behind.”

“I don’t remember any black feathers,” I said.

“I don’t have my wings, remember?”

“Well, if Ophelia is a fallen angel, too, how come she’s got hers to toss around all crazy?”

Alex’s eyes were downcast. “She’s embraced the darkness.”

“You mean she’s playing on Team Satan, right?” Nina asked.

“We try not to mention it.”

“So bad-good angels, like you, don’t leave anything behind?” I shrugged. “I guess that’s good.”

Alex took my hand, turned my wrist so it faced upward. There was a tiny red dot—as though from a ballpoint pen—on the pale flesh of my wrist. He smiled; I gawked.

“That’s from you?”

He dropped my hand. “You don’t have to look entirely disgusted.”

“I’m not, it’s just—”

“You were expecting a halo burn?”

I put my hands on my hips, tapped my foot angrily on the floor. “No, you make it hard to forget you’re a fallen angel.”

“Just be glad you’re not covered with those stupid crow feathers.” Nina shuddered. “Birds totally freak me out.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t vampire trump fowl?”

“It was a pre-vamp thing,” I said, using my hand to partially cover my mouth. “She’s still not over it. So, this?” I brushed my index finger over the tiny strawberry-colored spot.

Alex shrugged, suddenly looking slightly bashful. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No, it’s ... kind of nice.” I felt the blush creep over my cheeks. “Anyway, back to the crime scene.”

“And the Vessel.”

“And the crow queen.”

Alex and I both swung to face Nina, who held her hands palm up and hunched her shoulders. “Sorry, sorry—just trying to help.”

I tapped my index finger against my chin. “So, Ophelia comes into town and just starts randomly killing people and that means the Vessel is here? That’s weird.”

Alex wagged his head. “I don’t think they’re random.”

I fanned out the photographs and newspaper clippings in front of me on the table. “A diplomat, a couple, a teacher ... some of these are outright murders, some of these look like accidents. I don’t get it; what’s the connection ?”

Alex sank onto one of the dining room chairs and began stacking the photos. “I think they were all guardians.”

Nina raised her black brows. “Of who?”

“Not who, what.” Alex looked at me. “The Vessel has seven guardians.”

“And there are six incidents with Ophelia’s trademark,” I said.

“She’s picking off the guardians?”

I eyed the fat stack. “Apparently, she’s pretty good at it. So, where’s the last guardian?”

“Lucky number seven?” Alex shrugged. “Don’t know. But I plan on finding him before Ophelia does.”

“And finding the Vessel.”

Nina came and sat at the table with us, leaning closer. “So back to this Ophelia chick. How do you know all this stuff about her?”

I saw the muscle twitch in Alex’s jaw. “Ophelia and I had a history.”

“Define history,” Nina said, one black eyebrow arched.

“Nina!” I hissed, secretly thankful for my best friend’s reliable nosiness.

“I’m asking because ‘history’ could mean a lot of things to people like us.” Nina gestured to herself and to Alex. “Like, we used to hit the movies together, or we assisted in overthrowing the Soviet power structure together.”

Alex looked at Nina, alarmed.

“She’s always had a thing for Russians,” I explained. “So, just for clarity’s sake, which was it? Dating or ... history?”

Alex suddenly became very interested in spearing his next bite of dinner. “The first one,” he finally murmured.

I swallowed, suddenly very aware of my stomach, of the mu shu pork that sat like a steel fist at the bottom of my gut. I forced a wan smile anyway. “How nice” was all I could muster.

Nina sat back in her chair. “So, this seems pretty cut and dry to me. Ophelia follows the Vessel, we follow Ophelia, nick the Vessel from her, and, bada-bing, bada-bang”—Nina slapped her hands together—“we hightail it to Rome to do some shoe shopping.”

“It’s not that easy. We need to find the Vessel before Ophelia does. That’s the bottom line. Once it’s in her hands, this world is as good as over.”

“Dramatic.”

I glared at Nina and let Alex continue.

“I figure I can hold off Ophelia while you go after the Vessel.”

Nina crossed her arms, shaking her head decidedly. “We don’t do minion work.”

Alex’s eyes were set hard as he glanced at Nina and me. “You need to stay away from Ophelia. She’s—she’s not like anything you’ve ever seen at the UDA.” I opened my mouth to protest, but Alex held up a silencing hand. “She’s evil incarnate.”

“But you don’t need to stay away from her?” I asked.

“She’s not going to expect me coming after her when the Vessel is near. I think she’ll assume I’m after the Vessel, too. Again.”

Nina arched an eyebrow. “Again?”

“Alex, um, was responsible ...”

Alex shrugged. “I lost the Vessel the first time. I went after it, found it, and then lost it.”

“How do you lose an ancient artifact stuffed with human souls? Did you leave it at the donut shop? Maybe trade it for a couple of maple glazed?”