Under Wraps

Lucy’s eyes were wide and terrified; her smoky black eye makeup was halfway down her cheeks, her tears leaving pink tracks in her white pancake makeup. “He’s going to get me!”

She screamed, and when she looked over her shoulder, I could see that her blouse was torn around the collar, and her neck and chest were covered with fresh blood.

I pushed open my car door and grabbed her by the wrist. “Get in!”

Lucy dove through the open driver’s side door and scrambled across my lap, panting, crying, trembling. “Close the door, close the door, close the door,” she was mumbling. I slammed the door, locked it, and hit the gas, hearing the squeal of my tires as we raced through the intersection.

“Lucy, what happened to you?”

Lucy had curled herself against the passenger side door, her bird legs pressed up against her chest, her arms cradling them. She was whimpering and shaking uncontrollably.

“It’s Vlad,” she said finally. “He’s gone crazy. He tried to bite me. Sophie, he thinks he’s a real vampire.”

I looked sideways at the terrified girl who looked like a tiny child curled up on the seat. “Lucy,” I started softly, “Vlad is a real vampire.”

She took the news better than I expected, staring blankly out the windshield. “Where are we going?” she asked finally.

“My boss’s house. I have to find him. I’d drop you off, but there’s no time. I think he’s in danger.”

“More vampires?” Lucy whispered.

I swallowed, my eyes on the road. “Worse.”

By that time I gathered my composure enough to maintain a nonlethal speed, but when I glanced down and noticed the line of fresh blood smeared on my steering wheel, I wanted to cry again. Instead I took a deep breath, resigning myself to be strong for Lucy.

“Is it bad?” I asked her.

She looked at me, blinked. “What?”

“Your neck. Is it bad, do you need to go to the hospital?”

Lucy shook her head, her long black hair dancing around her shoulder. “Uh-uh. He didn’t really bite me, bite me, just sort of nicked me.” She produced a Kleenex and dabbed gingerly at the blood.

“Even so, I need to call my roommate and warn her about Vlad—and Parker—and maybe we should call you an ambulance.”

I looked around for my purse and remembered it hanging on its little hook by the kitchen counter, my cell phone comfortably charging in its cradle. “Damn it! My cell phone is at home.”

Lucy smiled weakly at me. “That’s okay, Sophie. I’ll be fine. I was just really scared is all.”

I nodded, thinking of Parker, of Mr. Sampson. I’ve got to warn him, I thought. If only I could contact him … When we pulled up to the next red light I clamped my eyes shut and tried.

“Mr. Sampson! Mr. Sampson!” I said in my head, hoping that my power would kick in. “Mr. Sampson, I’m so sorry. It’s Parker, Parker Hayes is the killer and I—I—I stabbed him with a fork!”

“What are you doing?” Lucy wanted to know.

I looked at her, rested my hand on her knee reassuringly. “Lucy, there is a lot about this town that you don’t know. Vampires are real, demons are real, and me—well, I’m a seer. I can contact people with my mind. That’s what I was doing just now. Although”—I bit my lip—“it didn’t really work.”

Lucy smiled warmly at me and snuggled back into her seat.

The lights of the Golden Gate Bridge swirled in front of my eyes, and I pushed the gas pedal down once more, hearing the angry groan of the car as it reached higher speeds. I sucked in my breath and focused hard on the road in front of me.

“I’m coming for you, Mr. Sampson. I’m coming for you, I promise,” I whispered.

Chapter Twenty

I had managed to get my breathing under control as Lucy and I crossed the bridge, heading toward Mr. Sampson’s ritzy, hilltop house in Marin. I’d spent many a UDA Christmas party running dishes under the kitchen faucet, imagining a brood of half-werewolf kids with shocking green eyes running under foot as I stared over the twinkling lights of the city. It wasn’t exactly that I was obsessed with my boss; it’s just that I’d never lived anywhere with a view.

I pulled my car to a jerking stop in Mr. Sampson’s super-sloped driveway. I saw Lucy’s eyes widen as she took in the house. “Is this where your boss lives?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’m just going to go inside and get him. Do you want to wait here? I’ll lock the doors for you.”

Lucy wagged her head. “No, I can help you inside. Besides, I’m way too creeped out to stay here. Vlad said he would get me.” She shuddered, and I stroked her arm.

“It’s going to be okay, Lucy. I’m really sorry you had to get involved with that. Come on.”

Lucy followed me out of the car and looked on while I fished around for the outdoor key that I knew Mr. Sampson left for his housekeeper, Fortuna. After turning over a slew of damp, mossy stones and sinking three inches into the front lawn, I found the spare key on the porch, under the Wipe Your Paws! welcome mat.

“Provincial werewolf,” I muttered, plugging it into the lock.

I inched the door open, poking my head in first. “Mr. Sampson?” I whispered. And then, louder, “Mr. Sampson, it’s me, Sophie. I’m here to rescue you!” I bit my lip. “From your house.”

When nothing but silence answered me, I stepped in, ushering Lucy behind me, and kicked the door shut behind us both. I walked a snaking trail of grass and mud across Fortuna’s sparkling handiwork on the marble entry floor before kicking off my shoes, even though walking barefoot in someone else’s home didn’t seem very detective- like.

I gestured toward the hallway. “Lucy, why don’t you go on down the hall. The bathroom is the first door on the left.” I pulled a half roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter and handed them to her. “You can clean up your neck, and then we’ll see if we need to take you to the hospital.”

“Thanks, Sophie,” Lucy said, taking the paper towels from me. “You’re really sweet.”

Once I heard the water running in the bathroom, I crept back into the kitchen, hoping that Mr. Sampson had pinned an I am at … note to the refrigerator. No such luck. I opened the fridge, impressed by his stash of highbrow groceries. It wasn’t that I expected Alpo and Milk-Bones; it was more that I didn’t expect thin-sliced prosciutto, a selection of fine cheeses, and a filet mignon nearing its expiration date. Mr. Sampson certainly did not plan on vacating the house for any period of time. I poked at the steak, grimacing as a blob of purple-red blood rushed around the raw meat.

“Okay,” I said, slamming the fridge door shut, “Mr. Sampson is definitely not in the fridge.” I went into the home office and started opening drawers and file folders, finding a detailed and organized collection of check stubs, timely payments, and platinum plus cards just waiting to be activated, but no giant map with a flag on it, directing an amateur sleuth where to find Mr. Sampson should he ever go missing.

“Crap!” I muttered, fists on hips.

I padded down the hall and popped my head into the last room on the right: Mr. Sampson’s bedroom. Before I realized it I was in the room, my toes disappearing into the lush, mocha-colored carpet. I tiptoed to the bedside, palming the soft fabric of the bedspread: Calvin Klein Home Collection. Egyptian combed cotton. One thousand thread count—if I had to guess. I was very accurate because by that time I was lying on my back, making snow angels in Mr. Sampson’s silky sheets. Sinking my head in his luscious, down-filled pillows. All the tension was seeping out of me and I felt the heaviness in my limbs, the dull ache of my bruised skin and healing muscles. It was while I was reveling, rolling around in my Goldilocks moment that I looked up, seeing Lucy standing in the doorway.

I rolled over onto my stomach and grinned sheepishly. “I was just looking for clues.”

Lucy crossed her arms in front of her chest, her expression unreadable. “So, where’s the wolf?”

I sat up. “What?”

“Your boss. The wolf. Where is he?”