Under Attack

under a round rack of extended-size cargo pants.

I held the phone to my ear and looked around at the bank of metal lockers, most etched with cheerful sayings like Mike was here and Hell=People’s Pants. I glanced at the big row of time cards stuck to one wall.

“Well,” I started, “I guess you could say I’m in the fashion industry.”

“Oh my God, I am so dying with envy right now! I would give my soul—if I had one—to work around clothes. You are so lucky!”

“Yeah,” I said, “but I think I’m going to keep looking. Oh, and I’m apparently closed to the occult, says my seventeen-year-old supervisor.”

“Seriously and seriously? You, closed to the occult, and you, with a seventeen-year-old supervisor?”

“I am the lucky one. Look, I’ll meet you at home as soon as I leave here.”

I heard Nina stammering on her end of the phone. “Um, actually ... would you mind meeting me here?”

My stomach clenched. “At UDA?”

“It’s just that I have a project that I need to finish up and I brought the stuff with me and it would just be way easier to hop on the freeway from here. Besides, Dixon’ll probably be gone by the time you get over here. He’s getting a haircut at five-thirty.”

“I don’t know, Neens.” My eyes shifted across the break room to Avery, who stood in the doorway pointing at the tattooed spot on her wrist where a watch would be. “Fine. Whatever. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Can’t wait,” Nina said.

The sun was setting outside People’s Pants when Avery officially dismissed me. I locked my terrible blue smock with the trainee name tag in my newly assigned locker—number forty-three, the one etched with Hell=People’s Pants—snatched out my purse, and headed for the door. After yesterday’s strip search, having Avery paw through my shoulder bag didn’t bother me quite so much.

I was sitting in Nina’s visitor’s chair at the UDA when Dixon poked his head in, his wide, slick-as-leather smile going solid and forced when he saw me. “Ms. Lawson.” I’m not sure if it was meant to be a greeting or a question, but the tone of his voice made my hair stand on end.

Nina jumped up, panic crossing her dark eyes. “Sophie is just here to see me. To ride home with me.”

Dixon’s forced smile faltered minimally. “That’s nice.” He gave an odd, stiff nod in my direction. “Nice to see you.”

I gritted my teeth and returned his approximation of a smile.

“Is there anything you need, Dixon?” Nina shimmied impossibly close to him.

“I’m leaving for the day, actually, but thank you,” Dixon said. And then, with a polite glance toward me, “Good night, ladies.”

I waited until Dixon was out of earshot before starting. “He is—”

“I know, fantastic, right? I really think he might be the one.”

I stood up and shut the door softly. “The one? I’m not even sure he’s the one to run the UDA. I mean, what’s his background even?”

Nina shrugged. “I don’t know. French?”

“I mean his business background. What do you even know about him?”

Nina thought for a second. “I know he’s a Leo. You know how well I do with Leos.”

“You also know that he fired me. Your best friend.”

“Relinquishing you to find an amazing job in the fashion industry.”

Amazing. Fashion. People’s Pants. Nope.

I shook my head. “So, back to the plan.”

Nina rubbed her hands together. “I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

I stood up, my heart beginning to hammer in my chest. “Then this is something we should do? It’s not crazy?”

“Of course it is. But it’s par for the course with the whole demon-slash-angelic world looking at you as some sort of cosmic prize.” Nina clapped her hand on my arm. “Maybe I should take you for myself.”

I gave her a look and she licked her lips, grinned. “Kidding. But as I said before, I love a challenge.”

“Okay, then,” I said, hands on hips. “I guess we go.”

“Wait.” Nina stood up and upturned her shoulder bag on her desk, the contents spilling out onto the floor. “You can’t just break and enter looking like that.” She gestured to my standard sheath dress distastefully.

“Are you kidding me?” I slumped back into my chair. “There’s a dress code for breaking and entering?”

“Hello? Watched any CSI lately? Black, black, and more black.”

“And let me guess? Ski masks?”

Nina’s hand went to her silky dark hair and stroked a lock. “No. That would mess up my hair. Anyway, I, obviously, am already dressed.” Nina twirled in her black velour Juicy Couture sweat suit, the word Juicy bedazzled in rhinestones across her butt.

“The Juicy is a nice touch.”

Nina wiggled her butt at me and grinned. “I got to dress down because I was helping Dixon redecorate his office. We had to move some furniture.” Nina waggled her eyebrows.

“I’ll bet.”

“Yeah,” Nina said, her eyes trailing over me. “The only problem is that I don’t have a whole lot of black in my wardrobe.”

I gaped and Nina crossed her arms, one hip jutting out indignantly. “I hate it how you all think that just because I’m a vampire that I have an entire wardrobe of black leather dusters and Elvira dresses.”

“I don’t think that. I’ve seen your closet.”

She rolled her eyes. “Black is so stereotypical. I don’t like it. It’s for amateurs. And besides”—she tossed her hair over her shoulders—“it washes me out.”

I raised one eyebrow, focusing hard on Nina’s back to lily-white, bloodless complexion. “You’re right. It’s definitely the black clothing that makes you look so deathly pale.”

Nina rolled her eyes and handed me a heap of black fabric from her desktop. “Just put this on.”

I shimmied out of my dress and stood there in my slip. “You’re kidding me,” I said, when I shook out the dress.

She shrugged. “I told you, it was all I had. And we’re running out of time. It’s either that, your slip, or lurk in the shadows in your Jackson Pollack-on-speed sheath dress.”

I eyed my multicolored sheath and then slipped into Nina’s black dress. “Oh yeah,” I said, ekeing the sequined fabric over my hips, “this is definitely made for B and E.”

The dress was a one-shoulder, bugle-beaded Romona Keveza cocktail gown with a blush-worthy side slit and a foot of fabric that trailed on the ground behind me.

“Wow,” Nina said, examining me, “that dress really is amazing. With the right shoes ...”

“No. An evening gown for breaking and entering is as far as I go. I am not wearing heels, too.”

“Suit yourself.” Nina shrugged. “It would really extend the line though.”

I blew out a sigh and yanked the extra fabric up, tossing it over my shoulder. Then I hiked the skin-tight skirt to mid-thigh. “I said bring a flashlight, too.”

Nina rummaged through her bag again and produced two mini Maglites. “Done.”

“And latex gloves?”

Nina bit her lip.

“You forgot the gloves? Well, that’s okay. We’ll just have to be very careful. If Lucas Szabo reports a break-in, I don’t want anyone to find our prints.”

“Your prints.” Nina waggled her fingers. “I don’t have any. And I said I couldn’t find latex gloves. Besides, they would do nothing for that dress. But I do have gloves. Voila!”

Nina produced two pairs of elbow-length cashmere gloves. She handed me the black pair that had rhinestone-studded ruching up the sides. “Aren’t those to die for?” she asked. “I want them back.” She slid her own delicate hands into a charcoal-grey pair with a tuft of faux fur around the tops, then stretched her arms elegantly. “Lohman’s. After-Christmas sale. Seventy percent off.”

“What every good criminal is after,” I muttered as I gathered my purse. “A sale. Well, are you ready?”