Under Wraps

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.

“Oh, it’s—”

“No, no. I mean, you look great. That’s a nice dress. Why don’t we go?”

I nodded gratefully, and Eric walked me to his car.

As we drove to the restaurant, I squinted into the darkened streets, my heart skipping a beat. I sucked in a sharp breath and bonked my head against the passenger window.

“Are you okay?” Eric asked.

I rubbed my forehead. “That was stupid.” I forced a smile. “I thought I saw … an old friend out there.”

An old friend. Huh.

I thought I saw Alex. Alex Grace, angel: fallen from grace, destined to walk the earth until he made his peace with heaven, buns of steel, lips that made my mouth water just thinking about them. Alex Grace who had walked out of my office and disappeared into thin air.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Eric asked again. “You look a little glazed.”

I hoped the heat radiating through my body wasn’t apparent, and I clamped my knees together. “I’m fine, thank you.”

I glanced over my shoulder out the window again and sighed when the man I thought was Alex turned and grinned a toothless, definitely not-Alex smile.

It had been six months since Alex left San Francisco, and I had been mostly fine until about two days ago. Suddenly, I saw Alex everywhere. He was the barista at the Starbucks on Geary. He was eating a ham sandwich at Mel’s on Lombard. Folding laundry at Wash’n Royal on Fillmore. Walking a three-legged beagle on Chrissie Field.

I turned to Eric and forced a smile. “So, Eric, tell me a little about yourself. We’re neighbors, and other than the fact that you read the New York Times, I don’t know anything about you.”

Eric smiled, and I liked the stern set of his profile. “I get the New York Times,” he said. “I rarely have time to read it. I’m a resident over at UCSF. Um, I’m from Pacifica, on the coast, originally. I like long walks, puppy dogs, and thunder showers turn me on. Now you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Thunder showers, huh?”

He waggled his eyebrows.