owed us something.”
Will sat back, clearly looking pleased. “Looks like you’ve got a little bit of street cred, after all, love.”
I felt myself grin.
“I just can’t believe you stole something from a woman who decorates with deadly weapons and tracks demons for a living.
My knees shook a little bit.
Chapter Seventeen
I let myself into my apartment and was pleasantly surprised to find the only inhabitant was ChaCha, who did berserk circles around my ankles. She finally settled into a bowl of Alpo and I shrugged out of my clothes, took a hot shower, and oozed into some comfortable clothes. I popped a Lean Cuisine into the microwave and watched it spin, trying to keep my mind off Bettina, Kale, who had just been let out of the hospital, and what was going on in the Underworld.
I must have fallen asleep somewhere between my knockoff spicy chicken enchiladas and an
“Fine. If you’re going to play sleep, things are going to get rough.”
I felt fingers on the collar of my sweatshirt inching slowly toward the naked skin of my neck.
“Wake up, Sophie... .”
I thought that if I could just keep my eyes closed a little longer, then it would be a new day and this would all have been some terrible dream.
“I warned you... .”
Nina plunged both hands down the neck of my sweatshirt, pressing her palms and icy fingers against my once-warm skin. I jumped and howled and landed with a thud between the couch and the coffee table.
I glared at Nina, and she grinned at me, her fingers raised like six-shooters. She blew each pointed index finger and tucked them into imaginary holsters. “I warned you.”
I rolled my eyes and kicked the plastic enchilada tray onto the floor; ChaCha pounced on it with gusto. Nina beelined for her bedroom, a tiny tornado of slick black hair and flying couture. “We don’t have much time.”
“For what?” I helped myself to a marshmallow pinwheel. I had eaten a Lean Cuisine, so I deserved it. I took two.
Nina had done a marathon makeover in eight seconds. She had slipped into a body-hugging black dress and slid a lacy black skirt on over it. Glovelets, fishnet tights, and an Art Deco brooch weaved into her hair finished her look.
“You look amazing!” I complimented, slightly jealous that the same outfit would make me look like a ballerina hooker.
Nina blew out her “I can’t eat you, but I could smack you” sigh, and I jumped back a quarter inch. She rubbed her forehead. “Did you forget about tonight already?”
I fished in the marshmallow pinwheel bag. “Forget what?”
“Our date!”
I chewed, relishing the feel of oozing chocolate as it melted over my teeth. “We have a date?”
“We have dates. Plural. Didn’t you get my message?”
I crossed my arms and jutted out one hip. “Were you sending me telepathic messages again? I told you that doesn’t work.”
“I wrote it down here.” Nina picked up the notepad we kept by the phone and waved it at me. “And I left a message on your cell phone and I Facebooked you. I would have sent a carrier pigeon, but I ran out of time.”
“And you’re scared of birds.”
“I’m not scared. I just find them winged and disgusting. Apparently”—Nina snatched the last pinwheel out of my hand—“I should have written it in chocolate and marshmallow. Get ready. Harley will be here in twenty minutes.”
I took the notepad and read:
“I can’t go out tonight. I’m grieving.”
“Over your roots or the death of elastic?” Nina snapped my pajama bottoms for effect.
I crossed my arms, fighting off a growl, and I shook my head. “This whole Underworld violence thing. Aren’t you worried?”
Nina bared her fangs. “Not really. Besides, nothing more you can do but clear your head. Start with a tabula rasa tomorrow.”
I frowned. “It’s never good when you speak Latin.”
“Come out tonight. If you stay here, you’re just going to obsess and cry and mope, and your pity quota is totally up. Clear your head and get a free dinner. Wear that black dress from Wasteland.”
I groaned. “Why do I have to look cute for your date? I’m going to be like a third wheel. I don’t want to be a third wheel.”
Nina brushed past me, stomping into my bedroom. “You’re not going to be a third wheel.”
She was standing in front of my open closet, hands on hips, her fangs working her lower lip as she scrutinized my wardrobe. “Don’t you have anything that’s not from the Talbots ‘Administrative Assistant Collection’?”
I angled myself between Nina and my offensive wardrobe. “Why?”
“Because.”
I fought to hold Nina’s gaze, but her eyes flitted all around me.
“Do I have a date tonight, too?”
Nina nodded. “And you don’t even have to thank me.”
I smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
Nina tossed me a silky green dress that lived at the back of my closet. “Put this on and wear your hair up.”
I paused. “Am I going out with one of Harley’s writer friends?”
Again Nina avoided my eyes. “Not exactly. But he’s seriously in the business. I’m borrowing your chandelier earrings, okay?”
“In the business?”
Nina dangled the earrings. “Okay?”
I nodded.
“Now get dressed. We’ve got”—she checked her watch—“fifteen minutes.”
I slid into my green dress. Well, slid with a back-and-forth combination of groaning and yanking—and used a bath towel to dab the new round of sweat under my arms. I’m neither a big fan of double dates or Spanx, so I wasn’t about to spend extra time on glossy lips or smoky eyes (which made me look like a prizefighter who lost, anyway). Instead, I did an understated wash of pressed powder, mascara, and ChapStick. When the doorbell rang, I met Nina in the living room, where she gave me an appraising once-over.
“You’ll love Roland, I promise,” she whispered.
“Roland?” I hissed back. “As in Harley’s agent, Roland?”
“I know he’s not much to look at, but give him a chance. Harley says he’s really a great guy and super-loyal to Harley.”
“Great,” I groaned, crossing my arms. “You get the hot writer and I get Old Yeller.”
Nina pasted on a gorgeous grin and I tried to turn my scowl into something remotely welcoming when Nina opened the door.
“You look amazing.” Harley’s voice, slow and rich, floated through the open door.
I craned my neck to see over Nina’s shoulder and caught Roland’s eye, an unremarkable brown. He smiled at me; then dug into his pocket and pulled out his trusty, yellowed handkerchief. wiping up the beads of sweat that
