Under Attack

don’t know, do you?’ Why does everyone seem to think that I know something I don’t, or that I don’t need to know something I should? Or you know, maybe should.”

Nina shrugged her small shoulders.

“It wasn’t even what she said was so weird. It was the way she said it. It was like I was a piece of meat. It was weird.” I shuddered. “Gave me the heebie jeebies.”

“Well, didn’t the fallen angels used to drink the blood and eat the flesh of man? So, maybe you were, like, dinner?” Nina grinned triumphantly.

I raised my eyebrows.

“Not that I’ve ever thought of you that way.”

“I know. But it wasn’t hungry-like; it was ... appraising, almost.”

Nina looked thoughtful. “Well, Alex said the Vessel could be anything or anywhere. Maybe you do have it and you don’t even know it. Maybe it is here.”

I looked around the apartment. “You said yourself you don’t think God shops at IKEA. That doesn’t leave much else around here.”

Nina sprang up from the couch and walked toward the bookcase. “Maybe it’s this.” She held up a porcelain elephant with gold tusks.

“Doubt it. My college boyfriend gave me that.”

She studied the figurine, then dumped it into the trashcan. “It’s definitely time to let go of that one. What if it’s this?” Nina snatched up a tattered copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. “Wouldn’t that be hilarious?”

I stood up and took the paperback from Nina, returning it to its spot on the shelf. “No.” I glanced at everything on the bookshelf, my hands on my hips. “I can’t imagine it’s anything here. And most of this stuff I’ve had forever or picked up randomly along the way. I would think that the Vessel of Souls would have come into my possession in a more regal way—not from an old boyfriend or from the used bookstore.”

“So IKEA is out then?”

“Wow,” Alex said from the hallway as he gingerly stepped over our crumbled front door. “Did I forget to tell you that you put the key in and then turn the knob?”

I rolled my eyes. “Ophelia was here.”

“Ophelia?” Alex’s eyes widened and he came inside, setting his slick leather jacket on the table. He crossed the living room in one swoop and rested his hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you at all?”

“Did she hurt me at all?” I pointed to my mask of bruises. “I look like a prizefighter. Who lost.” The frozen corn slid from my head and thunked on the floor.

“You dropped your corn,” Alex said, pointing at it. “Really, Lawson, are you going to be okay? Should we take you to the emergency room?”

“No,” I said quietly. “I’m okay.”

Alex pulled me against him and I melted into his warm chest, shivered as I felt his strong arms slide across my back, encircling me, protecting me, melting the bag of frozen peas between us. “I couldn’t stand it if she hurt one hair on your head.”

“Well,” Nina said from over Alex’s left shoulder. “She hurt our vase. Where have you been? We could have been dead! Or, you know, dead ... er. Don’t forget, you brought that psychopath into our lives.”

Alex ignored Nina, and held me at arm’s length, his cobalt eyes intense and locked on mine. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

I nodded. “I’m okay.” For the first time I noticed that Alex was dressed in dark jeans cinched with an expensive-looking brown leather belt. He was wearing a butter-soft deep green cashmere sweater that V’ed at the neck, a bit of his white T-shirt peeking out from underneath. The thin sweater was formfitting, and hugged the muscles across his chest and broad shoulders in all the right places. His hair—a usual jumble of chocolaty dark curls that spilled this way and that—was brushed back and gelled.

“You gelled?”

A flush of crimson went across Alex’s cheeks as he reached a hand up to pat his hair. “It’s stupid. I—”

“No, it looks nice. You look nice. Why do you look so—?” I slammed my mouth shut, knowing flooding over me.

My date. My big date.

Alex’s smile was polite. “You forgot?”

Nina stepped in between us. “Yes, she forgot. Can you blame her? She’s been tenderized by hurricane Ophelia!”

Alex looked pained and gingerly tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Does it hurt much?”

I rubbed the sore spot on my cheek. “I told you, it’s fine. It looks worse than it is. I’m pale; I bruise easily.”

“I would feel better if you were protected.”

“Like with a bodyguard?” I nodded toward Nina. “I’ve already got a vampire.”

Nina put her hands on her hips. “So that’s why you keep me around?”

“Geez! And you say my friends are messy!” We all swung to look as Vlad stood in the doorway, his calf-length velvet coat swirling in a nonexistent breeze, his jacquard ascot puffed against his silk vest.

“Sophie got attacked,” Nina filled him in.

Vlad frowned. “Wow! You look terrible.”

“Yeah, but you should see what the other guy looks like,” I joked.

Nina’s eyes were wide. “Yeah, she’s really pretty. I love her hair.”

I tried to glare, but my face was sore. “Geez, sorry,” Nina said, threading her arm through Vlad’s. “Come on.” She dragged Vlad toward her room. “You’re helping me organize.”

Alex leaned in toward me. “Do you still have the gun I got you?”

In Alex and my previous relationship incarnation, I found myself the victim of things going bump in the night. Alex’s gift of a lethal weapon wasn’t just romantic, it was practical.

Still, I would have preferred chocolates.

“Yeah, I still have it.”

“Somewhere close by?”

I went to the kitchen and retrieved the gun from its special hiding place in the junk drawer. The slick, black .357 Magnum kept my packets of takeout soy sauce, bubble gum, and twist ties safe.

Alex took the gun and released the magazine. “It’s not loaded. Do you still have any bullets?”

I dutifully went to the freezer and scooped a handful of silver-tipped bullets from their hiding place in an ancient box of Skinny Cow ice cream bars—ice cream bars having been eaten to make room for bullets. From the exasperated look on Alex’s face as I dumped the frozen ammo into his palm, I figured it was best to keep to myself the fact that I had, on occasion, used the butt of the gun for some light fix-it projects around the house.

Alex frowned down at the butt of the gun, picking at something white stuck into the grooves with his fingernail. “Is that plaster?”

“Either that or the sugar coating from the bubble gum in the junk drawer,” I said. And then, noticing the sheer annoyance marching across Alex’s face, “I don’t know. It’s your gun.” I batted my eyelashes attractively before Alex had the chance to roll his eyes.

“You know what,” he said, putting the gun aside, “we’ll deal with firepower later. We have a game to get to. Are you still up for it?”

I slapped my palm to my forehead—then winced. “That’s right! My Giants!”

Alex held out a hand. “We don’t have to go.”

“The hell we don’t!” I jumped up and tried to mask the sharp pain I felt by pasting on a home-team grin. Then I looked at Alex and frowned. “You can’t go like that.”

Alex looked down at himself. “Like what?”

“Like—” I struggled for the right word. Like “every fantasy I’ve ever had” didn’t seem to cut it. Instead, I grabbed his hand and dragged him toward my room. “Come on, let’s get you set.”

I rummaged through my pajama drawer and grinned, triumphantly holding out a Barry Bonds commemorative T-shirt. “Here, put this on. Just—”