Hannah Jayne: Under Wraps

“Please,” I murmured, my eyes traveling to his glistening fangs as they pressed hungrily against the corners of his mouth. “You’re getting soap in my eye.”

Gerard angrily slapped the faucet off and draped a towel over my head; I could hear his sigh from under my pink terry cloth towel.

“All you breathers ever do is complain,” he moaned, wringing my hair in the towel. “Where’s Nina with my lunch?” He eyed my neck again, and I felt myself inch a little farther back in my chair.

Gerard was a recent UDA hire. He had transferred in from our Los Angeles office as part of the new team called in to keep things flowing in Mr. Sampson’s absence. In addition to being the executive assistant to our current UDA head, he was the king of the makeover. Or so Nina had convinced me.

Gerard and I were set up in the UDA bathroom, and today, in addition to running a meeting on how to handle a group of unruly banshees terrorizing the Castro, he was in charge of turning my carrot-colored hair into a lush mane of rich auburn during today’s lunch hour.

“How does it look?” I asked, sliding the towel from my head and beginning to turn toward the mirror.

Gerard’s eyes widened, and if he had had any blood in his undead cheeks, I’m confident it would have drained. He put both his hands on my shoulders and smiled a bright, dazzling smile, fangs bared.

“You can’t look until it’s all finished,” he said. “Stylist’s rules.” He pushed me down hard into the office chair Nina had wheeled in. Gerard chewed his lower lip and cocked his head, using a long, slender finger to brush a lock of pink hair from my shoulder.

A lock of hot pink, finger-in-a-light-socket-frizzy hair from my shoulder.

“What the—?” I sprang up, kicking my chair out from beneath me, and glared in the mirror.

“Holy crap!” Nina exclaimed when she kicked open the bathroom door. I turned around and her pale hands were pressed hard against her mouth, her coal-black eyes wide. She looked desperately from Gerard to me. “You look fabulous!” she finally squeaked, her brow pinched.

I swung back to the mirror, my heart thundering in my chest. “I look like a troll doll. My hair is pink. Hot pink! ” I tried to run my fingers through the cotton-candy mess. “And it’s curly.”

“Well,” Nina said, fluffing the mess affectionately around my shoulders, “you said you wanted a change, and it is certainly … different.”

Gerard frowned at the empty tubes of hair color dumped in the sink. “I have no idea what went wrong,” he said. And then, quickly, “Not that there’s anything wrong with it. Really, you do look smashing. It really brings out your eyes. You know, the red part.” He smiled politely. “I like it.”

I blinked at the pink halo in the mirror. The hot pink mess made my pale cheeks paler, my red eyebrows redder, and the lime Jell-O green of my eyes that much more limey. “I don’t know what I expected,” I sighed, plopping down into my desk chair. “Nothing ever goes my way.”

“Oh no,” Gerard said, carefully brushing a lock of his immortally perfect blond hair from his bony shoulder. “Here we go again—pity party. Nothing works out for Sophie. Sophie was almost killed by the power-crazed chief of police. Sophie fell in love with a dude who turned out to be a fallen angel. Sophie’s the only employee at UDA who actually breathes. Whine, whine, whine, whine.”

So, Gerard was right—kind of. But this wasn’t going to be a pity party.

My lower lip stuck out, and I could feel the moist heat of tears beginning to form. “I’m not having a pity party,” I huffed.

Nina perched herself delicately on the arm of the chair and went to pat my head, thought better of it, and patted my shoulder instead. “I know you’re upset about Alex, Sophie. But it’s not like it would have worked out between you two anyway. He’s a fallen angel and you’re … you. You know, regular.”

I frowned. “You really need to work on your pep talks.”

“Besides,” Nina continued. “I think the pink is very chic. I’m sure your date will love it!”

My stomach dropped. My date.

Generally, there are two things I don’t do: date, and sing in public. But since I had been a little bit hermitlike since the whole Alex Grace/chief-trying-to-kill-me incident, Nina had cajoled—cajoled, pleaded, begged, forced, kicked—me into accepting a date with the sweet, unassuming UCSF resident who had moved in upstairs from us.

It was either that or perform a half-vamp mash-up of “I Will Survive” and “Brick House” at a demon karaoke bar. I chose the lesser of two evils.

“Ahem.”

Gerard, Nina, and I all swung our heads to the open bathroom door as Lorraine poked her head in, her mane of enviable, honey-colored locks swishing smoothly over her shoulder, Costineau circling territorially around her feet.

“Nina, you’re needed up front.” She grinned shyly at Gerard. “Hi, Gerard.” Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed when she saw me. “Oh. Wow. Sophie.”

Nina and Gerard filed quietly past Lorraine, and I rushed toward her, gripping her arms. “Lorraine, can you fix my hair?” I begged. “Please? It’s pink. It’s pink.”

Lorraine stepped in the bathroom, letting the door snap shut behind her. “I don’t do hair,” she said apologetically. “Besides …” She tried to brush a finger through my candy mess, but it stuck. She had to yank to remove it. “It’s really … perky.”

“No.” I wagged my head. “Spell it out! Magic it out! Anything!”

Lorraine raised both her eyebrows, and I slumped down in my chair. “Oh. Right,” I muttered. “Damn magical immunity. Thanks anyway.”

I pulled a hat down low over my forehead and glared out the window. Leave it to the weather gods to open up the rare portal of San Francisco sunshine the one day I actually needed to wear a hat. I was back at my apartment after spending the final three hours of my workday being goggled at by trolls, centaurs, and three Kholog demons and spending another day staring at my phone, pretending I didn’t want it to ring. Pretending that I wasn’t waiting for a phone call from Alex.

“Nice,” Nina said as she walked in the front door, Vlad following sullenly behind her. “I hear the bank robber look is very in this fall.”

Vlad tried to keep up his brooding countenance, but even he couldn’t keep his eyes from widening when he saw the wisps of pink hair poking out of my hat.

I narrowed my eyes at Nina. “This is all your fault.”

“The pink hair or the date?”

“Both.”

She yanked open the refrigerator door and pulled out a blood bag, tossing it to Vlad, who punctured it like a Capri Sun. They both drank and stared me down while I glowered in the corner.

“Couldn’t you just let me be a hermit?” I moaned. “I never make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

Nina sucked the last of her blood bag and patted me on the shoulder, heading for the front door when the bell rang. She snatched the hat off my head. “You’ll thank me for this,” she said, pulling open the door and shoving me through.

Eric’s eyes widened as I mashed up against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “Nina, my roommate is—” I looked behind me as Nina slammed the door shut. I pasted on a reassuring smile and turned to Eric. “Are you ready to go?”

Eric Bowers was all California surfer: disheveled, sandy-blond hair, ocean blue eyes, and berry-stained lips set in golden, sun-kissed skin. He was lanky, thin, and wiry, and had no problem filling out the pale blue button-down and pressed chinos he was wearing.

“Wow,” he said, his blue eyes studying my hair.