mother would still be alive. My mother killed herself and Ophelia knew it. I rolled onto my side and curled my knees up into my chest and let the tears shake me. One time in my life the strangest thing was being the only breather in an office full of the undead. Now I had no idea who—or what—I was, though it seemed like the whole world already knew. I hugged my knees, rested my head on my arm, and fell asleep.
I tossed and turned most of the night, staring at the red numbers on my digital clock and finally putting on my iPod to try and drown out the chatter that was going on in my brain. The next morning I awoke with the cord from my headphones wrapped around my neck and my sheets bunched on the floor. I was still achy and tired but did my best to keep the events of the last night—from jail to Vessel to suicide—out of my head. When I padded into the kitchen Nina was still there, sipping from a coffee mug and leaning against the cabinets, ChaCha asleep at her feet.
“You look good today,” she said with a cheerful smile.
“I love that I can always count on you to lie to me.”
Nina handed me a Starbucks from the fridge and slung her arm across my shoulders. “That’s what best friends are for.”
I unscrewed my drink and slumped at the kitchen table. Nina sat across from me. “So, speaking of fabulous best friends, I couldn’t sleep last night.”
“Because you’re a vampire?”
“Yeah, and because my best friend feels like her life has been turned upside down.” Nina reached out and grabbed my hand, giving it a squeeze.
I felt another lump forming in my throat, but I smiled. Nina’s skin may be cold, but her touch warmed me nonetheless.
“You need answers, so I’m going to help you get them.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
Nina offered me a wide grin that showed off her white teeth—pointed incisors and all. “Close your eyes.”
I laid my head against the table and moaned. “No, no more surprises. From now on, I’m never losing consciousness, never closing my eyes, never opening doors. And I’m only eating clear broths.”
I could practically hear Nina’s eyes rolling.
“I was in jail!” I wailed.
I looked up as I heard the paper fall onto the table. A piece of folded yellow notepaper lay in front of me. I grabbed it.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
I raised a suspicious eyebrow and Nina snatched the paper out of my hand and unfolded it, smoothing it on the table. At the top of the paper was written Lucas Szabo, and underneath it, his full address. I felt my jaw drop.
“You found my father.” My voice was a near whisper. “What? How?”
Growing up without a father, I went through the typical stages of child-abandonment feelings: making believe my father was looking for me, never wanting to see my bastard-making father, assuming he had a good reason for leaving, dating guys who wore blazers and used fatherly expressions like “cotton-pickin’” and “malarkey.” At times I pored through old records or did halfhearted Internet searches. As angry as I wanted to be, I couldn’t help but feel a meaningful tug around Father’s Day or The Men’s Wearhouse, but not knowing where my father was—only that he existed somewhere out in the world—gave me a weird sense of comfort. Not anymore.
“Lorraine owed me a favor,” Nina said, her voice smug.
I felt a little stab of warmth. “And you used it on me? How? When?”
Nina shrugged. “Turns out Lorraine’s as much of an insomniac as I am.”
I looked at the paper, pinching it hard between my thumb and forefinger. “Thank you.”
Nina threw her arms around me, engulfing me in one of her cold vampire hugs. “I’m really sorry about everything, Soph.”
I barely heard her as I stared at my father’s address. He lived in Marin County, less than forty-five minutes from my home in San Francisco. I wondered how long he had lived there. I wondered how long he had lived just across the Golden Gate Bridge and had never bothered to see me.
“I want to see him,” I finally said.
“What? Now?”
“No, not now. I want to see him, at least see his house. I want to see where he lives, but I don’t want him to see me.”
“Because he might be Satan?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want him to see me because I’m not ready for that. I just want to see where he lives. I want to see what I can find out about him before I actually”—I swallowed hard—“meet him.”
Nina and I shared a glance.
“And also, I guess I wouldn’t mind finding out if he is actually the devil.”
“We can go there. He lives close,” Nina said softly.
Too close. My father lived less than an hour away from me, yet made no attempt to find me. Satan or not, shouldn’t every father want to check on his little girl? I steeled myself, reminded myself that my so-called father just might be the cornerstone of evil, the King of Darkness, Hell personified. Not the kind of guy you want driving your car pool.
Nina put her hands on her hips. “What are we supposed to find at his house, though? Pictures of his Hell- adjacent condo? Pitchfork in the coat closet?”
I grinned in spite of myself. “Whatever works.”
Nina shrugged. “Either way, I guess a little sleuthing couldn’t hurt.”
“Unless we’re found and flayed alive,” I said helpfully.
Nina slung an arm over my shoulder. “Sophie, do you really think your dad would flay you alive? And he should be happy to see me. Technically, I’m one of his people.” She bared her fangs. “He probably even has my soul somewhere in one of his file cabinets. Alex’s, too.”
I stood up, my heart hammering in my chest. “Then this isn’t a crazy idea?”
“Of course it is. It’s downright suicidal.” She licked her lips as my stomach sank. “But I love a challenge. It’ll be a midnight mission.” Nina held out her tanned arms. “And now I won’t stand out in the dark. We’ll go tonight.”
My heart stopped. I tried to swallow, but my throat was suddenly bone dry.
I had spent the last thirty-three years pretending that I didn’t care about my father’s whereabouts and inwardly hoping that somehow, he was searching for me. Now, in less than twenty-four hours I could be face-to- face with the man who abandoned me, who walked out, leaving behind my mother and a four-day-old infant. I could ask him why and he could tell me. He could tell me that he missed me and that he looked everywhere for me, that he dreamed of me, too. Or he could tell me that he just didn’t want me.
“Okay, then,” I said, my voice wavering. “Tonight.”
Nina put out her pinkie, hooked it with mine. “To your family tree. May it not be growing in Hell.”
Chapter Seventeen
At just after four o’clock—my second break, and forty-five minutes after hefting an armload of “slightly irregular” skinny jeans to the front of the store—I slumped into a plastic break-room chair and called Nina.
“So, I got the text! How did I know you’d get hired in a heartbeat? So, what are you doing? Where are you working?”
With the excitement of last night—felonious misunderstandings, a rather invasive strip search, and a vampire with a spray tan—I had forgotten to mention my new career in the retail sector to Nina. I tried to call and tell her over the phone, but for some reason I couldn’t make the statement “I work at People’s Pants” come out of my mouth. Besides, didn’t rayon look better in print? Instead, I had shot her a vague text while holding my cell phone
