Under Attack

I shrunk against the bookcase, feeling the wood pressing against my shoulders. Ophelia held the jagged glass edge of the lamp against my neck, pressing the tines in for effect. I winced as I felt them cut my skin.

“Okay, okay, okay,” I wailed, my head feeling tender and raw. “The Vessel. I know you want the Vessel.” I took a deep breath that made my bruised chest scream with pain and carefully, solemnly slid a pale green milk- glass vase from the lower shelf. I discreetly upturned it and brushed away the parade of crumpled gum wrappers that lived inside of it and then turned around, cuddling the dollar-ninety-nine IKEA vase to my chest reverently.

“Okay, Ophelia. You win.” With shaking hands I held the vase out to Ophelia, who stared at it, wide-eyed, wanting. “Here is the Vessel of Souls.”

Ophelia raised one sculpted eyebrow and jabbed at the air in front of her. “That?”

I nodded. “Yes, this. The angels often charm things so they can be hidden—”

“In plain sight, blah, blah, blah.” Ophelia finished. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

I licked my dry lips. “Of course. So, here it is. You win, fair and square.”

Ophelia reached out and smacked the vase with the back of her hand, sending it hurtling to the ground, crashing against the hardwood floor. Thick shards of pale green glass splintered in all directions; the one that held the dollar ninety-nine IKEA price tag skidded toward me and landed a quarter-inch from my sneaker.

We heard the gentle ahhhh of souls ascending to Heaven.

Ophelia stamped her foot, one hand on her hip. “Stop that!”

I snapped my mouth shut and the wailing ahhh stopped. Then Ophelia smiled. A grotesque smile of delight that twisted her normally lovely features into something awful.

You really don’t know, do you? Her voice was in my head again.

“Don’t know what?” I snarled out loud. “And stop with the head talk!”

“Sophie!”

I cut my eyes to our front door hanging askew, anchored by a single hinge. Nina flung it open and the bent hinge gave way, the door flopping to the ground.

“You stay the hell away from her!” Nina screamed, her dark eyes fierce and intent on Ophelia.

“Oh, wow.” Ophelia glanced from me to Nina. “And her toothy pal comes to the rescue. If only you knew what you were guarding.”

Nina was between Ophelia and me in a heartbeat, standing nose to nose with Ophelia, the jagged piece of lamp hanging limply at her side. “Don’t you have a harp to strum?” Nina spat from between gritted teeth.

Ophelia wrinkled her nose. “A harp, that’s cute.” She narrowed her eyes and elbowed Nina hard in the chest, sending her skittering to the ground. Nina landed on her back with a thud. I tried to lunge to Nina, but Ophelia clamped her hand on my shoulder. I heard myself cry out as her fingers dug into my muscle, forming heat against my skin.

A low growl escaped from Nina’s chest and she flung herself against Ophelia, who deftly stepped aside, taking me with her.

“Knock, knock!”

We all seemed to freeze, openmouthed and panicked, as we looked at Mr. Matsura, who stood in the doorway, his wrinkled lips turned up in a quizzical smile.

Mr. Matsura lived across the hall in an afghan-festooned apartment that was stuck in 1952. He wore a cardigan sweater over his button-up shirt and neatly pressed slacks with his house slippers when he went out at dawn and at dusk for his daily walks. In the waking hours in between, he ate takeout and watched the game-show channel, the volume turned up to an ungodly level. I credit my ability to correctly guess the prices of a catamaran, a set of Calphalon pans, and an electric skillet to his faulty hearing aid.

He let out a low whistle as he slid his palm over the cracked door frame. “Looks like someone did some damage here.”

Mr. Matsura looked like a smiling beacon of hope—or the next victim in Ophelia’s domestic destruction.

Without loosening her grip on me, Ophelia grinned, her smile dazzling and welcoming even as her fingertips continued to burrow into my shoulder. “And you are?”

Mr. Matsura jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Neighbor. Right across the hall.”

My heart started to beat again and the blood was returning to my extremities. Nina was pushing herself up from the floor and Ophelia snaked her arm across my shoulders, making our threesome look more like a group of overzealous girlfriends than a battle for the fate of the humankind.

“We just got a little out of control,” Ophelia said, sweet innocence dripping from her voice. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

Mr. Matsura opened his mouth to speak, his hand gesturing toward the broken door.

“Sorry to have bothered you,” Ophelia said again, this time slowly, her crystal-blue eyes focused hard on Mr. Matsura’s. He closed his mouth and nodded, his eyes taking on a dull, vacant glaze. He turned slowly and disappeared into his own apartment.

“How did you—”

“Shut up,” Ophelia hissed. She frowned. “That really harshed my buzz.”

Ophelia loosened her grip on me, and I shrugged away, trying to rub some feeling back into my shoulder.

Nina gaped. “Your buzz?”

Ophelia narrowed her eyes and they glittered a sinister blue. “Violence makes me giddy.” She shoved her way between Nina and me and stepped backward, heading toward the front door, the crumbles of our vase and shards of splintered door frame rustling under her feet. She hung in our broken doorway, her hands on what remained of the frame.

“Well, you know what they say about three being a crowd. Nina, it was just precious to meet you in person. Sophie, you and I will pick this up later.”

And I can hardly wait for that. Ophelia’s voice rang in my brain, her eyes brimming with intent and focused hard on me.

Once Ophelia disappeared out the front door Nina rushed to me, gathering me in her arms and crushing me against her cold, marble chest. “Oaf,” I groaned, feeling the bruise from Ophelia’s push.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Nina said, pushing away from me. “Are you hurt? Did she get the Vessel?” Her dark eyes traveled to the shards of broken milk glass on the floor. “Was that it?”

“No. Yes. I mean, I’m fine.” I massaged my chest. “Mostly. And no, that’s not the Vessel.”

Nina crouched down, gathering up the glass pieces. “Well, that’s good.” She picked up a piece, scrutinized it. “I’d hate to think that God shopped at IKEA.” She brushed the rest of the glass into her bloodless palm and dumped it into the trash in the kitchen. “So you’re okay?”

“I will be.” I went to the kitchen for a wet rag and caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror: bald spot slightly visible, black marks already starting to blossom under each eye, blood caking and starting to dry at the corner of my mouth. I checked my neck and groaned at the constellation of tiny bloody pricks there and Nina came up behind me, frowning.

“Wow, she really got you good. Are you sure you’re okay? Can I get you something—a Band-Aid, a transfusion ?”

I wet a rag and pressed it against my neck, then gingerly laid a package of frozen corn across my head. The sting of the cold seemed to counteract the sting of my lack of hair.

I slumped onto the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Now I’m just confused.”

“Confused?” Nina brushed her hands on her skirt and pulled a second package of frozen vegetables from the freezer. She sat down next to me on the couch and carefully laid the bag on the purple handprints peeking out of my shirt. “About what?”

“Ophelia.” I pressed the frozen peas to my chest, held the corn against my head.

“She’s a class-one nutter. What’s there to be confused about?”

“When I handed her the vase—which I tried to pass off as the Vessel—”

Nina grinned. “Nice strategy.”

“Thanks. Anyway, she knew right away that that wasn’t it.”

“So Ophelia knows what the Vessel looks like.”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “But then she seemed almost amused. She looked me up and down and said, ‘You really