Under Attack

wastebasket. I ran a shower as hot as I could stand it and worked hard to scrub the day—soot, death threats, and all—from my skin and hair. When I stepped out of the shower the bathroom was choked with a breath-stealing haze of steam. I slunk into my robe and glanced at the steamed-up mirror from the corner of my eye, half expecting to see my grandmother’s disappointed face, half glad when the only reflection staring back at me was my own.

“Sophie Lawson!”

I stopped dead, my hand hovering over the shiny doorknob. My grandmother’s face was stretched over it. Her brows were drawn, her wrinkled lips puckered. “Oh, my sweet girl, are you okay? I heard about the fire.”

I ran my hands through my damp hair, winding it into a weak bun. “I’m fine, Gram. We all got out okay.” I sank back. “How did you hear about it?”

I watched Grandma’s hand—her nails manicured an improbable tangerine—squeeze her chest. “Never mind. I was just so worried about you. What happened?”

“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days. Isn’t there some sort of heavenly paging system?”

“Sophie, the fire. Tell me what happened.”

I thought of the swirling stacks of polyester smoke, of Lorraine, Kale, and Avery hunching under the counter— of Adam’s clear, cut-glass eyes and his dagger. I bit my lip. “Grandma, what do you know about Nephilim?”

Grandma’s eyes widened, milky and blue in the doorknob reflection. “Sophie, what is this about?”

“It’s about the goon gang that tried to barbeque me and my friends this afternoon. They weren’t normal, Gram. They weren’t people.”

“Well, Sophie, you know how rare it is we run into actual ‘people’ in the city. Are you sure they weren’t —”

I crossed my arms. “They weren’t Underworld, either.”

Grandma tapped her nail against her lip.

“What do you know about me?”

Grandma’s eyebrows rose. “About you, darling? What are you talking—?”

“Please, Grandma.”

The reflection in the doorknob wobbled and started to fade. I crouched down. “Grandma! Grandma! Geez!”

I flung open the bathroom door and Alex stood in front of me, grinning. “Something you want to tell me?”

I crossed my arms. “I don’t know. I just spent the last twenty minutes talking to a doorknob.”

Alex held up a bulging plastic takeout bag. “Me, too. But I think they got the order right.”

Alex and I were halfway through our dinner when he leaned back on the couch, wiping his hands on a napkin.

“Are you planning on actually eating anything, or just pushing it around into fun patterns?”

I rested my plate on the coffee table and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Alex. I guess I’m just not that hungry. I can’t stop thinking about ... everything. With all the stuff that has happened, I feel more lost than ever. I don’t have a single answer.”

“Well, at least you know that you’re the Vessel,” Alex tried helpfully.

I shrugged. “Another question. Why? And how? And, what am I supposed to do about it? And, two weeks ago I barely knew who my father was. Now I know he’s Satan. And I still don’t know him, know him.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Do you think—if my dad is ... him—that he could have had something to do with my mother’s death?”

Alex swallowed. “It wouldn’t be the first time he was involved with someone’s death. That could explain why your grandmother is so against you searching for him.”

“Do you think she’s protecting me?”

“Of course she is. She doesn’t want you to find him because he’s the man who abandoned you. He hurt you once. Whether or not it’s because he’s the devil, too, well, she might be protecting you against that, as well. Maybe she could at least give you some information about the Vessel—how you became ... it.”

“And then there’s Ophelia.”

I watched the muscle in Alex’s jaw twitch as he looked at the food remaining on his plate and pushed it aside.

I looked down, tracing a pattern on the couch. “I don’t know how to protect myself against Ophelia.”

Alex took my hand; his grip was firm and encompassing. “You don’t need to protect yourself against Ophelia. I’ll do that.”

I felt the burning prick of tears behind my eyes. “I’m not sure you can.”

“I brought her into your life. I promise, I’ll find a way to get her out. And as for your father and the other stuff, we’ll tackle it, too. Together.”

I looked into Alex’s earnest eyes and call it exhaustion or trust, but something broke and I wanted to believe him. I wanted to live the rest of my life drowning in those eyes, believing in the safety of his firm arms, feeling the warmth from his chiseled chest. I wanted the only sound I heard to be his heartbeat.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” I asked.

“Anything,” Alex said.

I woke up to the delicious warmth of midmorning sun and Alex Grace. He slept soundly, his naked chest rising and falling in a perfect, slow rhythm, his arms wrapped tightly, safely around me. I snuggled closer to him and he shifted, his full lips brushing across my forehead in a gentle feather of small kisses.

“Morning,” he murmured.

I felt the smile spread across my lips, reaching all the way to my earlobes. “Morning,” I repeated.

Alex’s fingers trailed through my hair and the gentle tousle made me break out in delighted gooseflesh. Alex grinned. “What are you thinking about?”

I should have said something sexy, something sensuous or Carrie Bradshaw chic, but when I opened my mouth, I heard the word “donuts” tumble out. I felt my face flush pink.

I shook against Alex’s chest as he laughed. “See, Lawson? That’s what I love about you. You’re a real woman with a real appetite.” His fingertips danced lightly over my neck and shoulders. “And you have a very good taste.”

“Don’t you mean I have very good taste?”

Alex raised one eyebrow slyly and grinned. Then he gently slid out from under me, resting my head on my pillow. I pretended not to watch as he leaned down and slid into his worn jeans and then slipped his snug white tee over his head. He grabbed his keys from the nightstand, leaned down on his elbows on the bed, and pressed his lips against mine. “Donuts it is.”

I watched him rake a hand through his disheveled curls and slip out my bedroom door, then heard the lock on the front door tumble as he stepped out. I sunk deeper into my pillows letting the contentment of the night and of this sun-drenched morning wash over me. I breathed in deeply the comforting scent of laundry detergent and Alex Grace from my pillows.

Donuts it is, Ophelia mocked.

The millisecond of surprise at hearing Ophelia’s voice reverberating in my head was instantly replaced by searing anger. “This is my morning, Ophelia,” I said between gritted teeth. “Get out.”

Sophie, Sophie, Sophie, she intoned, you are so easily played. Do you really think you’re special? Suddenly my mind was filled with images of Alex again, of his strong naked back. A pair of female hands slipped over his shoulders, raked blood-red nails across his taut skin, leaving prickly red trails. There was a low, feral moan and Ophelia appeared, her pink lips nibbling and biting along Alex’s shoulder, the corner of her mouth turned up in a sly grin.

“Stop that,” I spat. “It’s not true.” I buried my head into my pillows, breathed Alex’s warm scent, flooded my own mind with memories from last night, with the sweet, salty taste of Alex’s skin, with the way his lips tasted on mine—plump, bee-stung, juicy—like ripe strawberries. I felt his fingers glide over my body, felt his palm pressing against mine. I heard his heartbeat, heard his breath as it went ragged, hungry in my ear. I felt his skin on mine, his chest pressed against me. I snaked my legs over his.

He doesn’t love you, Ophelia tried again. You’re a means to an end