Zero—San Francisco is
“Well,” she said, arcing her arms in a flourish, “how do I look?”
I crushed the package of pinwheels to my chest. “You look beautiful. Is that why you left the office at three today?”
Nina just winked at me, and I couldn’t help but admire her for the easy way things slid off her back, for the way that she would never miss a meal or gain an inch. I would be satisfied with eternal life and no earrings if I could have her countenance that simply broadcast “piss me off and I’ll eat you.”
I shoved a whole pinwheel into my mouth and sat down at the dining table. ChaCha must have heard the rustle of the package—anything rustling must be for her, she assumed—as she came bounding up and into my lap.
“You look incredible, Nina,” I said, chocolate dribbling down my chin. “Sometimes I wish I could be like you.”
“Immortal?”
“That”—I popped open a warm Coke Zero and took a swig—“and uncomplicated.”
Nina’s eyes narrowed and the temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees. Even ChaCha started to shiver, a stripe of hair on her back standing straight up like spines.
“I didn’t mean you’re uncomplicated,” I backpedaled. “I just meant your life is so much fun. You know, your dad’s not Satan. You can go out with whomever you want, without the fate of the world hanging in the balance.” I fished out a second pinwheel. “Must be nice.”
Nina was going more and more stiff; her lips held tighter and tighter.
I wasn’t making any friends.
“And that’s my cue,” Vlad said, throwing his leather duster over his arm and beelining for the door.
She leaned over so that we were an inch apart. Both her hands lay flat on the dining table; her clip-on earrings swinging.
“Wah, wah, wah! I’m Sophie Lawson and my life is horrible because my dad abandoned me and might be the devil, and I can’t figure out if I want to be with an angel or a Guardian. Wah, wah, WAH!” Nina crossed her arms, and genuine anger roiled in her eyes. “You know, some of us are damned, Sophie. That’s a little bit of a pain in the ass, too. I love you, but I’m getting really tired of your world-is-ending pity parties. All of us have stuff to deal with. You’re looking for your soul mate between Will and Alex? Be happy you have a soul to share.”
Nina snatched her purse and keys from the peg by the door and slammed the door hard behind her. I sat at the table, openmouthed, partially pinwheeled. I felt even worse about myself, feeling a tiny warmth starting at my belly.
A beat passed and I stood up fast, rushing to the front door, throwing it open. “I’m sorry, Nina!” I called out to the empty hall. Will’s doorknob rolled and he poked his head out.
“What’s going on out here?” He looked at me and then frowned—with disgust or concern, I couldn’t be sure. “What happened to you? It’s barely been fifteen minutes and you look like you’ve gone from bad to worse.”
I looked down mournfully at my shirtfront, now heavily flecked with bits of chocolate cookie—and dog pee.
“It’s pinwheel,” I said sadly. “And, apparently, dog pee.”
I dragged my feet over to Will and threw my arms around him. “I suck, Will. I’m a sucky friend and a sucky Underworld protector, and I’m out of pinwheels.”
Will initially arched away from me—likely in an effort to keep himself dog pee free—then held me close to him, patting my back tenderly.
“Tell me about it, love,” he said, his lips nestled just above my ear.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Will took me by the hand and I stumbled behind him into his living room. “Still moving in, huh?”
Though it had been at least a year, Will still had nothing more than the two lawn chairs in the living room, a Wii console and now, an entertainment wall unit so sleek and modern, I was certain NASA was probably missing it. He shrugged, offering me that carefree, lopsided grin.
“I think the pillow there”—he pointed to a needlepoint Arsenal pillow nestled on one of the chairs—“really makes the place look homey. You want to go across and change your shirt? I’ll make you a cuppa.”
I looked down miserably at my pee- and chocolate-soaked shirt. “I don’t want to go home. I’m afraid I’ll blow it up, or something will come barreling in there and kill me. Can I hang out here?”
“Sure. If anything is coming after you, it’ll never find you here, right across the hall.”
I felt my lower lip jut out childishly. “But you’re my Guardian.”
“I was just kidding, love. It’s my job to protect you. But if you blow up my apartment, you’re on your own.” He gestured to his living space as though it were palatial or furnished. “I quite like it here now.”
I nodded, looking around. “I kind of do, too.”
He jerked his head toward the bedroom. “Why don’t you go grab yourself a less scenty shirt, though? I’ve got a clean stack on the bureau. Yes”—he nodded his head modestly while patting his flat-as-a-washboard stomach—“I do laundry.”
I nodded and padded into Will’s room. It was smaller than mine and dim, with a tasteful bedroom set that belied the lawn furniture out front. I looked around and breathed in Will’s scent—part laundry detergent, part some sort of spicy, fresh cologne. The stack of clean clothes was on the bureau, and next to that a framed photograph of an older woman, with a sweet, serene smile. Her head was slightly cocked, and her eyes were the same gold- flecked hazel as Will’s. She had the same warm, playful look that I had seen so many times when I looked at Will. I knew his mother was back in England, that he talked to her often; and the thought—Will’s family, his roots—struck something in my heart. No one I knew—myself included—had roots.
I turned around and grinned at Will’s rumpled bed; at his nightstand, which held a half glass of water, a stack of Harlan Coben books, and a pair of eyeglasses. Nothing mysterious or mythological. Nothing magical. Nothing that said he was just passing through, only here long enough to change the fate of the world. Roots.
I slipped out of my shirt and reached for one of Will’s. It smelled like laundry detergent and cleanliness. I couldn’t bear to slip into it in my dirty state. Instead, I shimmied out of all my clothes, and turned the shower on extra hot in the attached bathroom.
When enough steam filled the room, I stepped into the shower and held myself under the pounding spout. The hot water poured over my shoulders and I felt my whole body melt. I clamped my eyes shut and suddenly I couldn’t tell the shower water from the tears flooding over my cheeks. I was tired. So, so tired. I didn’t want to think of the Underworld or fallen angels or a father who didn’t want to see me. I didn’t want to piece any puzzles together or let anyone down.
I didn’t want to be the Vessel of Souls.
I didn’t want to protect the Underworld.
I stepped out of the shower and dried off with one of Will’s ultra fluffy towels, enjoying the soothing normalcy of a bathroom stocked with all the usual stuff; and a bedroom that contained a slept-in bed and a giant picture window that could be thrown open to allow the sunlight to stream through.
I was tired.
Will’s bed was welcoming with its disheveled sheets, which smelled like Will. Comforting. Clean. Simply human. I dropped my towel and snuggled under the covers for just a second, just to feel normal—like a girl who had a boyfriend. Not an angel.
Not a vampire roommate.
I was so, so tired.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t sure where I was. The light was dim and I was comfortable; I felt alive and well rested. And then I heard the breathing next to me. It was a rhythmic rise and fall, a normal human cadence.
