Under Attack

Chapter Nineteen

My new position at People’s Pants may not have offered a 401(k), but it did offer hour upon hour of mind-numbing, repetitive duty. I worked to keep my mind focused on the People’s Pants–approved tri-fold technique and not on the events of last night—particularly, that my family tree seemed to be getting bogged down with more and more rotten fruit. I had slunk into my bedroom last night feeling betrayed and alone. Ophelia had known about me, but I hadn’t known about her. Who else did?

I folded another pair of pants and the silver button fly caught my eye. Four shiny buttons. My mouth went dry and I quickly glanced around, then hunched closer to the pants. “Grandma?”

I heard the snap of gum behind me and a burst of grape-scented air. I whirled, and Avery was behind me, her lips dyed to match her gum, her eyebrows raised. “Were you talking to the pants?”

I wagged my head furiously. “Of course not.”

She gave me a look of skepticism and disbelief and turned on the platform heels of her black plastic boots, popping another bubble as she went.

My cell phone chirped and I gasped, clasping my hand over my heart. “Geez!” I slid it out of my People’s Pant blue smock pocket.

“’Lo?” I answered, dropping my voice and dipping my head behind a mammoth stack of painter’s pants.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” Alex said.

I dropped the pair of pants I was folding and peeked around, periscope style. I watched Avery unwrap another chunk of gum and stick it into her mouth, then settle at the register with a rock magazine. Aside from the two of us, the store was empty.

“Okay, but I only get a half hour. I wouldn’t want to upset my teenybop supervisor.”

I clicked my cell phone shut and hurried for the break room, peeling off my smock and fluffing my hair as I went. I yanked out my shoulder bag—excessively heavy due to my new Taser—and dumped the black plastic case back into my locker. No need for a stun gun with Officer Angel by my side. By the time I made it out to the main floor Alex was leaning against the front counter, examining a pair of god-awful one-off chinos while Avery swooned behind him.

“We have them in slate, charcoal, verbena, and cherry, too,” she cooed. “Or I can show you something in a soft-weave nylon.”

Alex’s eyes met mine and I watched Avery immediately stiffen. “I’m going to lunch now, okay?”

Avery’s dark eyes went from mine to Alex’s; she used her thumb and index finger to rub the bridge of her nose as she let out a long, aggravated sigh. “Fine. Just make sure you’re back on the floor by one. My moon is in the seventh house and I can already feel my chakras backing up—I really need to meditate. And you have that entire pile of side-zip capris to mark down.”

I pasted on a smile. “Can’t wait.”

Alex ushered me out the People’s Pants doorway and pointed to his white SUV, parked across the street. I looked at him, impressed. “Someone has parking karma.”

San Francisco, while loaded to the gills with gourmet restaurants, killer fashion boutiques, and the best donuts on the planet, is sadly sparse on parking spots. Last I heard there were six.

Alex grinned and opened his coat, his badge glinting in the sunlight. “This isn’t just a fancy piece of jewelry.”

I gaped. “You flashed your badge to get someone to move?”

He shrugged. “I consider this official police business.”

We pushed through the double glass doors of the diner. The V-shaped restaurant was fronted by big glass windows looking out on the city and the bay, and sported dark wood booths with tall dividers that made patrons feel cozy as the swirls of fog rolled in just beyond the glass. Inside the restaurant was slightly dark, reflecting the afternoon sky, and the homey scents of meatloaf and French fries greeted me and made my stomach growl. We stood in the foyer waiting to be seated and I hunkered back, certain that everyone was staring. As the waitress led us to our table, I stared at the ground, focusing on the toes of my shoes rather than the questioning eyes I felt boring into me. I slid in the booth and looked around nervously.

“You’re paranoid,” Alex said.

“I am not.” I bit my thumbnail. “But everyone was looking at us, right? They were staring?”

“No more than usual, Lawson.”

Another waitress came by with a carafe and filled up our coffee mugs, handing us two laminated menus. We scanned our menus and she took our order—two burgers, two fries. I watched her disappear behind the counter while Alex studied me.

“You’re completely paranoid,” he said finally.

“Okay, if I am—which I am not—don’t I have the right to be?” I tried to keep my voice hissing and low, but I could feel my voice rising. “I am the Vessel, Alex. Everyone wants me!”

The diner patrons had the uncanny ability to drop into silence at the most inopportune of moments—like this one. All heads swung toward me, appraising. The waitress strolled back over and gave me an uninterested once-over, then sloshed coffee into Alex’s mug, ignoring my own.

I hunched lower in the booth and began to whisper, spitting dirty looks at Alex, who sugared and stirred his coffee with that stupid smug grin on his face.

“I mean, everyone wants the Vessel. And it seems that a whole lot of people are onto my little secret. So excuse me if I’m just a little jumpy.”

We were silent while the waitress slid our plates in front of us. I examined my sandwich like a crime scene investigator examines a crime scene—I checked the bread, both top and bottom, poked at all the fries, tore the burger in pieces. I waited for Alex to take a bite of his burger. He did, chewed quietly. No maggots. I took a tentative bite of my lunch. Once I felt my teeth sink into the moist meat—no squishing of maggots or crunching of rat bones—I chewed happily, licking the caramelized-onion grease as it spilled over my fingers. “This is the best lunch ever,” I said with a mouthful.

Alex sat forward, his voice low. “The number of people who know about the Vessel of Souls—let alone are searching for it—is miniscule.”

I swallowed my bite. “Fabulous! So only a small number of people want to kill me. I feel so much better now.”

“All I’m saying is that you don’t have to operate like there are snipers on every corner. I’m here.”

“For now,” I said, staring at my plate.

“And besides,” Alex continued, ignoring me, “you have your stun gun.”

I thought of the weapon in its hard plastic case, nine blocks away, casually thrown in the locker of a discount clothing chain.

“Right,” I agreed.

Alex picked up a French fry and popped it in his mouth. “How’s that working out for you, anyway?”

“Excellent. I electrocuted three people on my way to work this morning and then I used it to warm up my morning coffee.”

The waitress stopped in front of our table, thought better of it, and kept walking. I gaped and Alex grinned, pointing at me with a fry.

“People might not like you, but they’re not trying to kill you.”

“Be honest. You stole that from a Hallmark card, didn’t you?”

I was in a groove rhythmically folding a stack of 2XL peach terry sweatpants at the store when I felt eyes on me. I turned slowly, and Avery was behind me, her made-up eyes focused hard, the little silver hoop in her pierced eyebrow raised and angled.

“Can I help you?” I asked her.

She snapped her green-apple gum. “You’ve got a dark aura right now. Like danger, evil.”

I looked down at the pair of sweatpants I was folding and held them out. “I think you’re catching the aura of the pants.”

Avery wagged her head. “I know you don’t believe in this, but there definitely is something about you that attracts evil.”

If you only knew the half of it, I thought.

The bells above the front door tinkled and we both turned to look as a handful of scruffy-looking teenagers loped in. They nonchalantly poked around the racks of one-off brand-name jeans and lounge pants. Their collectively unkempt hair was scraggly and served to disguise their faces as they pretended to study the merchandise, but instead kept eyeing Avery and me.

“Look at them,” I said in a low voice. “They look like they’re up to something.”

Avery blew a bright green bubble and then sucked it back in and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Hooligans,” she said, wagging her head so that her royal-blue dreadlocks swung. “They just ooze misdemeanor.”

I scanned the racks of merchandise, eyeing the sea of sailor pants, capris, and walking shorts in an array of barf-worthy colors. “I can’t see what anyone would want to steal from this place,” I muttered.

Avery shrugged. “Not my problem. Everything has security tags on ’em anyway.”

The bells tinkled again and I felt my mouth form an O, then a huge grin. “Lorraine! Kale!” I said, racing through a rack of acid-washed shortalls. Lorraine pressed her hands to her face in that Miss America-winning-the-crown way and Kale stood back, smiling.

Lorraine broke into a smile as she rushed toward me. We all exchanged hugs and then I stood back, appraising. I looked at Lorraine’s earth-dyed crinkle skirt and at Kale’s upscale business slacks. There was no way they were People’s Pants shoppers out for a casual lunch-hour spree.

“Kale, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of the UDA.”

“Oh, I get out. I’ve even been to your house.” Kale, who looked adult in her business trousers, blushed a heavy pink and she looked like the teenager she was again, shadowing Lorraine for her witch’s license. “I was hoping Vlad would be there.”

I nodded, still smiling. “What are you guys doing here?”

Lorraine looked at my smock, at my trainee name tag, and a flash of sadness marred her lovely features. “This is where you’re working now?”

I flushed with embarrassment. “It’s just temporary, I hope. Not even Nina knows I’m here though—how did you two?”

Lorraine slung her arm around Kale proudly. Kale grinned. “My first locator spell was a success,” Kale said.

“Congrats. But, why were you looking for me?”

Lorraine frowned. “Because we miss you.”

“And because the UDA is going to Hell in a hand basket,” Kale supplied.

“It’s nothing like it was when you and Sampson ran it.”

I leaned against the acid-washed jeans. “Aw, thank you. But I didn’t really run the UDA and Sampson has been gone for a long time.” It still stung every time I said it. “I’m sure Dixon and his guys are doing a good job.”

Lorraine snorted. “Are you kidding? They’ve got Los handling transfer records now.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Los? The goat boy? We’re overloaded with demons because so far, Los has eaten sixteen files.”

“Sixteen?”

I heard a snicker from the group of hooligans who came in earlier. I looked over my shoulder at Avery, who had been watching us and then busied herself folding pink corduroy pants, effectively ignoring her customers.

“Excuse me, guys,” I said, putting my hand on Lorraine’s arm.

I headed over to the gang and pasted on a smile. “Welcome to People’s Pants. May I help you find something?”

One of the boys—who seemed to be the leader of the group—stepped forward. He towered over me by at least two feet and as I scanned the group I realized that they were all unnaturally tall. Which wasn’t completely unusual, given that I am unnaturally short. They all seemed to share the same carved features, too—upturned noses with slight angles, sharp cheekbones, skin so translucently pale it looked oddly luminous under the harsh fluorescent store lights. The five other members of the group sunk back behind the tallest, forming a narrow triangle.

The boy up front seemed to be sizing me up. His eyes were smoke grey and sharp as cut glass. His smile was cocky, bordering on menacing.

You know what we’re looking for.

I staggered back when his voice reverberated through my head. His grin lost all cockiness and was fully menacing—and it mirrored the five other kids behind him.

“You must be Sophie,” he said. “I’m Adam. We’ve been looking for you.”

My stomach lurched. My throat was dry and my breath came in short, hot gasps. “What do you want?”

“We have something for you,” Adam continued. “A little gift from your sister.”

I dropped my voice. “Can we not do this here?”

That seemed to amuse Adam.

“Sophie?” Lorraine came up over my left shoulder. “Is everything okay here?” She bristled when she looked at Adam and I could see that she sensed danger.

Adam’s eyebrows rose with interest. “A witch?” He raised one arm and quickly flicked his wrist. “I don’t like witches.”

I felt the draft from Lorraine’s body as she was flung across the room. “Lorraine!” I cried as she crashed against the back wall and crumpled to the floor. I tried to run to her, but something was pulling me back. It felt as though my bones were magnetized, pulling behind me, tearing against my skin. Pain seared through me. I whimpered and slumped just in time to miss a fireball that leapt from Kale’s outstretched palm and hurtled toward Adam and his gang.

The gang scattered and the fireball hit a rack of rayon palazzo pants; they instantly went up in flames, an impressive plume of choking black smoke snaking toward the ceiling. It took a millisecond for the fire alarm to screech its warning, for the sprinklers to start their meager shower from the ceiling. The water, the screech of the alarm, or the fire must have distracted Adam and his goons because I was able to grab Kale and run toward Lorraine. Kale leaned down and was shaking Lorraine’s shoulder; I looked up and coughed through the grey haze of smoke, then saw Adam materialize just behind me, grey eyes glittering, wide smile unfaltering.

“Get her out of here,” I called to Kale.

Adam lunged for Kale and Lorraine, but I intercepted him, kicking over a rack of cargo pants that he swiftly jumped over. I looked over my shoulder to see Kale helping Lorraine up and I heard the crack before I felt it. Adam had punched me square in the jaw and I reeled back, stumbling over a topless mannequin wearing bedazzled jeans. My nose stung and my eyes watered as the star of pain spread through my jaw. My teeth seemed to throb; I pressed my hands to my face in a futile effort to quell the pain.

I squinted through the growing haze of smoke and was able to make out Adam swiftly approaching me. I huddled back into the pale arms of the mannequin, then pried one off and lurched toward Adam, swinging blindly. I heard the thwack! of a plastic arm hitting fleshy calf and Adam’s loud “Oaf!” as he fell flat on his back.

I dumped the mannequin assault arm and crab-crawled backward, then dove behind the front counter, where Lorraine and Kale had gone and where Avery was huddled, her blue smock pulled over her head, her hands wrapped around the purple quartz.

“This place is going to go up like it’s the Fourth of July!” she yelled.

I clasped my hand in hers. “No, it’s not. I’m not going to let that happen.”

Water from the overhead sprinklers drizzled down the cash register and over the front counter in a steady stream. Kale tried to move her, but the rivulet drizzled on Lorraine’s scalp and down her forehead. The water seemed to be reviving Lorraine; she started coughing and blinking in Kale’s outstretched arms.

Avery pulled the smock off from over her head and there were dark black railroad tracks down her cheeks where her makeup had smeared. “You don’t understand. There isn’t a natural fiber in this entire store. You saw how fast the palazzo pants went up. This place is a powder keg! How are we supposed to get out of here? We have to get out!” Avery scrambled on her hands and knees and poked her head over the counter. She yelped as Adam and his goons closed in on us.

“Who are these guys and why do they hate our merchandise?”

I could think of several hundred rayon and candy-colored reasons why, but I remained silent. Instead Kale put her hand up. “The fire was my fault, actually,” she said apologetically. “I’m really sorry. My aim isn’t great.”

“Don’t apologize; your fire probably saved my life,” I said.

Avery gaped at me. “This is all your fault? Those guys are after you?”

I peeked over the counter and saw that Adam and his gang were pushing through the fire-strewn racks of clothing, not flinching as the white-hot flames licked at their bare arms and legs.

“Let’s play the blame game later, okay? We don’t have much time.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Avery asked.

I looked at Lorraine—who was starting to blink away the sprinkler water and was working to sit up—and Kale. “You’ve got to get out of here. All three of you.”

“What about you?” Kale asked

“Just go!” I jabbed my index finger toward an open aisle snaking out the back of the store. “That way.” The heat of the fire was starting to press on my chest and I labored to breathe. “Now!” I ordered.

Kale hurried the two women out and I stood up, coming face-to-face with Adam.

“Let ’em run,” he said, jutting his chin in the direction the girls had gone. “It’s you we want anyway.”

For the first time, I noticed the squat handle of a bowie knife tucked into Adam’s waistband. I swallowed hard and let out a relieved squeal when I remembered my shiny new stun gun in its black plastic case. Then I winced as I remembered the stun gun and its case, both fitted snugly in my purse, all three ingloriously dumped in locker number forty-three, Hell=People’s Pants scratched into the red metal. Adam seemed to read my distress; his face looked grotesque as he grinned, his cold eyes raking over me.

A bead of sweat inched its way down my back, and I wondered how Adam and his gang weren’t being singed by the heat from the fire. He took one step toward me, and I took one step back, my fingers desperately searching the register counter for some sort of weapon.

“Just get her, dude,” one of Adam’s henchmen called. “Get her and let’s go.”

My fingers walked the length of the counter, knocking over useless mugs of pens, a receipt pad, the can of Diet Coke that Avery had been drinking.

Adam leered at me. His eyes were bright, alive, the yellow flame reflected in them. “Ophelia wants you for herself,” he reported, pulling the knife out from his waistband, “but I know what you are and there is no way I’m turning you over to her. She won’t be in charge for long.”

The smoke was stinging my eyes, but I could see Adam’s arm raised above him, the blade held aloft, aimed at my chest. My hands closed around a stapler on the counter and I gripped it, walloping him on the side of the head, stapling and screaming manically. My tirade must have been enough to startle or confuse him because he stumbled back and I scrambled over the back counter, sprinting in the direction I had sent the girls. I pushed through the back door of People’s Pants and emerged into the alley, coughing and taking in large gulps of city-fresh air. Kale ran toward me and over her relieved wails I heard the howl of fire engines.

“Are you okay?” Kale looked over my shoulder. “Where are they? Are they still in there? Who are they?”

My head was buzzing and my eyes were stinging from the combination of smoke and the sooty water that dripped from my sopping hair. My blue People’s Pants smock was clinging to me, and I shivered as I stumbled around the alley.

I was dazed and a paramedic came and pulled Kale away from me. A second paramedic sat me down on the edge of the ambulance and shined a penlight in my eye, asking me questions. I mumbled answers robotically—my name, the date, where we were—as the paramedic slung an itchy blanket over my shoulders and slapped a blood pressure cuff on my arm. I watched with bleary eyes as another medic hustled Kale, Lorraine, and Avery to a second ambulance, and a stream of firefighters came out of the People’s Pants building, announcing it clear and turning the fire hoses on it. I stood up, shrugging the blanket off me.

“There was no one else in there?” I asked the paramedic.

“Ma’am, you need to sit down.”

“There was no one else in the building?” I repeated, this time shouting.

The medic put his hands on his hips. “Ma’am!”

“Hey!” I yelled at the sooty back of a fireman’s head. When he turned, I felt myself gape. “Will?”

Will grinned, his teeth blaring white against his dark, soot-streaked cheeks. “Now who’s stalking who?” He took off his helmet, revealing his spiky blond hair.

“You’re a fireman, too?”

He leaned the ax he was carrying against his shoulder. “No. I just like to dress up and rush into burning buildings.” He spun the helmet in his hand. “And the hat’s pretty cool, too.”

Just then another firefighter clapped Will on the shoulder, jutted his chin toward the remains of People’s Pants. “We’re going back in, Sherman.”

“Wait,” I said to both men. “Did everyone get out?”

“There was just the four of you, right? No customers inside prior to the fire?” Will’s eyes were suddenly dead serious and focused hard on me.

I paused for a beat and then shook my head no. “It was just the four of us.”

I was refusing to go to the hospital when I spied Alex’s white SUV speeding up the street. He parked crookedly in the back alley and sprinted out toward me, enveloping me in his arms. He held me tightly against him; I could feel the erratic beat of his heart. “I was so worried,” he told me.

I wiggled out of his embrace. “I’m fine,” I said to Alex and to the paramedic. “We’re all fine.”

Alex used his thumb to wipe the soot from my cheek, then smiled that cocky half-grin. “Geez, Lawson, I knew you hated your job, but burn the place down? Arson is a crime, you know.”

“So is floral-print polyester. And I didn’t burn the place down.” I slid off the tailgate and the medic strode toward me, frowning.

“Ma’am!”

“She’s okay,” Alex said, turning to the medic. “I’m taking her home.”

The medic shrugged and began packing up his things. “Whatever, man.”

Alex held me at arm’s length as if examining me for breakages. Then he pulled me aside and squinted into the darkness. “Hey, isn’t that Will?”

I blew out a sigh and nodded without turning around. “Yeah. I’m getting my own fan club. Can we just get out of here?”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

I touched the pads of my fingers to my cheeks. “I feel a little sunburned, but that’s it.” I left out the part about how every other sound made my heart do a double take while my breath constricted in my throat. I left out the part about wanting to curl up under my comforter and pretend this whole thing—the Vessel of Souls, Ophelia, the devil—didn’t exist. My shoulders slumped and I trudged to the car, sinking myself into the front seat.

Alex slid into the driver’s seat, and the slamming of the car door brought me back to the cool interior of his SUV.

“So tell me about these guys,” he said as the engine purred.

I took a deep breath, my lungs feeling ragged with lingering smoke. “Just a group of kids.”

“Kids?”

“I don’t know—teens, maybe early twenties. The head guy said his name was Adam. He said he had a message from Ophelia.”

Alex turned toward me as we coasted to a stop. “What was the message?”

“Gee, I don’t know. I was a little bit distracted by the fire and the giant blade hurtling toward me.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember. It happened so fast.”

The muscle jerked in Alex’s jaw. “Think.”

I sighed. “Um ... he said he knew what I was, that he wanted to keep me for himself. He wanted to stab me.”

“And?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Uh ... they had bad hair. I should have known something was off about them. I should have known they were evil. One of them was actually looking at the poly-blend clam diggers. Like, looking to buy them, Alex.” I shuddered.

“Anything beside their odd fashion sense stand out?”

“They were really tall. All of them. Like, really tall.”

This got Alex’s attention. “How tall?”

“Freakishly tall. Like an NBA team in to rob People’s Pants. Although we do—did—carry a large assortment of big and tall.”

“All of them were tall?”

I nodded. “And they all kind of looked alike, too. And the fire didn’t seem to bother them. And”—I sat forward in my seat, remembering—“they disappeared. They couldn’t have gone out the front of the building unless they went directly through the fire. They would have had to come out the back, but they didn’t. No one did except for us. The firemen said the place was empty.” I shrugged. “No bodies inside.” I blew out a sigh. “I don’t get it. Before, Ophelia showed up herself. Now, suddenly, she’s bringing in the B-squad to do her dirty work?”

“Maybe she had other plans.”

I forced a smile. “Well, at least we know killing me isn’t her first priority if she’s outsourcing.”

Alex’s lips were pursed, his hard eyes focused on the road.

“What?” I asked him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“They’re called Nephilim.”

“Nephilim?” I let the word roll over my tongue. “Are they angels, too?”

Alex shook his head slowly. “No. They’re half-angel, half-human.”

“I take it they’re evil?”

Alex’s nostrils flared. “Vile.”

“Well, now they’re working for Ophelia.”

I watched Alex’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “And now they know where the Vessel is.”

“How do we stop them?”

Alex shifted to a stop and looked at me. “I don’t know if we can.”