Under Wraps

Chapter Nine

The sunlight that streamed through my curtains was warm on my back and I felt myself smile in my half sleep. I rolled over, and the events of the night—as well as the needling, searing points of pain—came flooding back. I kicked back the covers, popped a few Advil, and whipped off my shirt, checking out the waxy yellow and purple bruises on my arm, shoulder, and ribs. I poked at them, winced, and changed into a new tee.

When I padded into the living room, Nina was sitting cross-legged on the dining room table folding laundry, and Vlad—clad in a brand-new three-piece suit and another printed ascot—was sitting behind his laptop.

“Wow,” Nina said when she saw me, “someone looks like the dead.” She grinned. “Huh. I made a funny.”

“You’re brilliant. Morning, Vlad.”

Vlad gave me a half nod, his eyes not leaving his laptop screen.

“Good game of Bloodlust?” I asked his bent head. Vlad didn’t answer, so I ignored him, helping myself to a cup of coffee.

“I’m going to assume you had a wild late night with Mr. Sampson.” Nina spun around on the table to face me, raised her dark eyebrows, and grinned salaciously. “And from the looks of it, he likes it rough. Me-ow!”

Vlad looked up, his lips set hard. “Is sex all you two ever talk about?” he asked.

“If we’re lucky,” Nina said. “You should be getting ready for work, Louis.”

“Vlad!” he moaned.

“Whatever.”

I pulled my bangs over the cut on my forehead and caught the sage-green cashmere sweater Nina tossed at me.

“This will be bril with your eyes. You can tell me all about the intricacies of crossbreed love on our way in. Can werewolves even do it missionary style?”

“Ugh!” Vlad moaned, shuddering. “I don’t know what’s worse—my aunt talking about sex or crossbreed love.”

Nina pointed to the open door of her room. “Vlad, go change your clothes and get over yourself. We’re going to be leaving in a few minutes. It will reflect poorly on me if you’re late. And if you’re dressed like Thurston Howell.”

Vlad stomped out of the room, muttering, “I hate living here,” under his breath.

Nina crossed her arms in front of her chest and smiled at me. “We’re good parents.”

I put the sweater Nina had tossed to me down on the couch. “Nina, when I went to UDA last night Mr. Sampson wasn’t there.”

Nina blinked and hopped off the table. “We’re going to be late.”

I grabbed Nina’s cold arm and pulled her to the couch. “You don’t get it. He escaped.”

“He didn’t escape. He’s a grown man, Sophie. He doesn’t have a curfew. And UDA’s a job, not a prison”—Nina held up a single finger—“although it can feel that way sometimes.” She craned her head over her shoulder. “Are you ready, Vladimir? Come on.” She went to the kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator, pulling out a bottled Starbucks for me and a couple of blood bags for herself and Vlad. “Ooh,” she said before she punctured her bag, “Ooh, AB negative!”

Living with a vampire took a lot of getting used to.

Nina’s fingers hovered above the key rack. “Want me to drive? I can strand you after work so you can ride in the detective’s squad car of love.” She wiggled her butt and shimmied with her chest. “He can turn on his love siren and—”

I held up a silencing hand. “It ate my car.”

Nina’s cheeks went hollow as she sucked the last of the blood from her pouch. “Whoa. Sounds like we’re out of UDA and straight into Transformers.”

I gave her a look.

“I know,” she said, tossing her pouch in the trash, “more than meets the eye. Vlad, come on!”

Vlad stomped out of the room, looking more sullen than the usual brooding vampire. He had kept on his suit pants but changed into a fitted black T-shirt and lost the ascot.

“Better,” Nina said, examining him. “Almost.” She rolled up on her tiptoes and mussed his perfectly coifed and gelled back hair until it stood up around his crown in slick black spikes.

“Gosh,” Vlad said, ducking Nina’s hand, “Aunt Nina, stop!”

We were halfway down the hall when Nina leaned into me. “So, are you going to tell me what happened or not?”

I looked over my shoulder at Vlad, sullen, earbuds pressed in, black iPod peeking out of his pocket. “I don’t know—can he hear us?”

“Yes,” Vlad said.

I leaned closer to Nina, whispering. “I don’t know if it’s appropriate to talk about it in front of him. I wouldn’t want to scare him.”

Nina scrunched up her forehead. “Soph, he’s sixteen.”

“One hundred and twelve,” Vlad corrected.

“For a long time, he brought ugly death and carnal destruction to the entire eastern seaboard.”

My eyes widened. Nina held up her hands, placatingly. “But that was a super long time ago. He’s over that now, aren’t you, Vlad?”

Vlad simply shrugged and I quickened my pace.

I filled Nina and Vlad in on last night’s activities as we pulled into the police department parking lot. Nina’s brows were furrowed, and she was gnawing on her lower lip.

“But you’re okay though, right?” Her eyes were as wide as saucers, and there was a tiny bit of flush in her normally pale cheeks. “You didn’t actually get bitten or anything, did you?”

“Werewolves are always looking to increase their numbers,” Vlad said from the backseat, his eyes focused on his iPod.

I felt myself sink back into the passenger seat as Nina’s cold eyes slipped from my face to my collarbone.

“Or scratched?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t take much.”

“No, I didn’t get bitten or scratched, and I’m fine. You mean it doesn’t take much to be turned into a werewolf?” I frowned.

Nina pressed her lips together. “A bite, a scratch.”

Vlad leaned forward, his cold fingers brushing the back of my neck as he craned his into the front seat. “In the olden days it was drinking rainwater out of a wolf’s paw print.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Gross.” I leaned forward, out of Vlad’s reach. “And, Vlad, I’m trying to be a good hostess, but you’ve seriously upped the creep factor in here by like, a thousand.”

He grinned, pleased with himself.

I turned to Nina. “I’m not concerned about me turning into a werewolf. I’m really worried about Mr. Sampson. Did you guys hear anything at Dirt last night, anything about anyone going rogue or new blood in the city or anything?”

“No,” Nina said, her fingers trailing over the steering wheel. “As a matter of fact, Dirt was pretty quiet last night.” She looked at me sideways. “Do you really think Mr. Sampson could be in trouble?”

“I hope not,” I said, staring through the windshield.

The UDA was humming by the time we walked in. Lines were already starting to form, and the waiting room chairs were all filled. There was a wizard snapping the pages of a two-month-old Sports Illustrated, a centaur named Nick discreetly nibbling on a Martha Stewart Weddings, and a demon with a horrible overbite and a horn through his nose shuffling and reshuffling his papers. I bit my lip, getting the distinct feeling that Sampson really didn’t just take a midnight sojourn and head back to work this morning, fresh and shiny.

“Uh-oh,” I muttered to Nina, “this doesn’t look good.”

Nina just shrugged and pointed to the calendar pinned to one wall. “It’s the first of the month,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s always crazy on the first.” Nina grabbed Vlad by the arm. “Come on. I’ll take you to the mailroom. You’re going to be working with a banshee named Ari. He’s super nice. Just don’t look him directly in the eye or show him his reflection. It sends him to a parallel dimension, and he gets so pissed when that happens. It also really messes up payroll. Let’s go.”

Nina skipped down the hall, dragging a very slow-moving Vlad sullenly behind her.

Lydia, a pixie from HR, looked up while handing out papers to a group of Kholog demons. She narrowed her eyes when she saw me, and instantly I heard her voice reverberating in my head.

“Thank God you are finally here,” she said. “This place is about to explode, and half the staff is MIA!”

I squeezed my eyes shut; no matter how long I’ve worked here, I never seemed to get comfortable with her telekinetics.

“What do you mean half the staff?” I said to Lydia after we’d gotten behind the counter.

She stamped the Khologs’ papers and slammed her window shut, her blond bangs falling into her eyes.

“Mr. Sampson is out today, and you guys are”—her violet eyes darted to the clock on her desk—“forty-five minutes late. Esme in receiving never showed.” Lydia drew her long, slender fingers to her temples and rubbed in little circles. “I swear, this place is a zoo.”

“Did Mr. Sampson say he was going to be out today?”

Lydia’s face went pinched, annoyed. I stepped back, remembering—you should never anger a pixie. “I’m just asking,” I said calmly, “for your sake.”

Lydia pinched her pink lips together and raised a questioning brow. “Wouldn’t you know? You’re his little pecksie.”

I turned on my heel and headed for Mr. Sampson’s office.

I was standing with my hands on hips, surveying the damage in Pete’s office when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whirled, my stomach in my throat. “Oh,” I said, clutching my chest, “it’s just you.”

“And I’m thrilled to see you, too,” Parker said, his grin wry.

“I’m sorry. I was just hoping …” My eyes wandered back to the broken chains and I sighed, hugging my arms to my chest. “I guess I was kind of hoping last night didn’t happen. Or that Mr. Sampson would have come back by now.” My eyes raked over the damage, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “It looks pretty bad in here.”

“Sampson must have gotten pretty violent.”

I gritted my teeth. “Or the people who came after him did.”

Parker opened his mouth and then closed it again; he patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. “We’ve got work to do.”

“Shouldn’t we look for clues here?” I said, stepping over crumpled furniture. “Or maybe we should go back to Sampson’s den, check to see if everything is okay over there? I already tried his home phone and his cell phone, and there was no answer on either.”

“Lawson,” Parker started. “We’ll get to all of that. But right now …”

“Fine,” I said, cutting him off in midsentence, “but give me a sec.” I closed the door gently, making a mental note to come back and gather clues. I gestured for Parker to follow me, and I headed to processing, where I found Lorraine, sitting at her desk, her black cat Costineau curled up in her lap. Lorraine grinned when she saw us and knitted her fingers together, elbows poised.

“Hello, Sophie,” she said sweetly, “how may I help you?”

Lorraine was a Gestalt witch—of the green order. She was as sweet as pie with honey-colored hair that hung down her back and eyes that flashed from midnight blue to a green that was as clear and as deep as a jeweled pond. She didn’t swear, eat cheese or drink, but she was known worldwide for causing two tsunamis and an earthquake that decimated her ex-boyfriend, his new girlfriend, and an ancient civilization. But as long as you stayed on her good side, she was a complete gem.

“Hi, Lorraine!” I said brightly. “You look great! And Costineau!” I reached out to stroke the sleeping kitty. He opened one milky yellow eye and hissed at me, his little cat back arching, black fur spiking.

“Hey, I was just wondering …” I felt myself twirling my hair around my finger and I stopped, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Mr. Sampson has been out the last couple of days. Do you think, possibly, you could do a sweep for him? Just a quick one, just to check?”

Lorraine could send a sweep around the world in record time and tell you exactly where anyone was, right down to the position he was in while lying in bed. Very handy for finding werewolf bosses and checking in on the occasional cheating spouse.

“Sorry.” She wagged her head, one long-nailed index finger tapping the sign above her head: ABSOLUTELY NO WITCHCRAFT FOR NON-BUSINESS PURPOSES ON THE PREMISES.

I looked over my shoulder at Parker, who looked dumbfounded, and I blew out a small sigh.

“But it’s an emergency,” I said to Lorraine, trying my best to make my green eyes look innocent and imploring. I dropped my voice. “We’re worried that Mr. Sampson could be in danger.”

Lorraine’s shining eyes shifted left and right, and she leaned closer toward us so that Costineau squealed and jumped off her lap, settling at her feet under the desk.

“Well, if it’s an emergency …” She sucked in a breath, letting us hang. “Okay, fine. But just a quick one,” she said finally, holding up a single finger.

I nodded quickly, and Lorraine eyed me, then settled back in her chair, breathing deeply and closing her eyes.

I stepped back, letting her work, and I glanced at Parker, satisfied. His blue eyes were wide, terrified, and I looked back at Lorraine, who had paled considerably. Tiny beads of sweat stood out at her hairline and above her lip. Her thin shoulders shook underneath her black shawl.

“Is that normal?” Hayes mouthed. I shrugged.

“No,” Lorraine said finally, letting out a gasp. “I can’t find him.” She blinked repeatedly. “I can’t find anything at all on Mr. Sampson.” She cocked her head. “It’s weird.”

“Are you sure?” Parker said, stepping in front of me.

Lorraine raised one dark eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m sorry. And you are?”

“Sorry,” I said, pulling Parker by the arm. “This is Detective Parker Hayes. He’s concerned about Mr. Sampson, too.”

Lorraine nodded, her eyes fixed on Parker.

“Thank you, Lorraine, for trying. Sorry we bothered you.” I began to pull Parker along with me.

“Sophie, wait.” Lorraine was on her feet behind her desk. She pulled a dark pink envelope out of her top drawer and pressed it across the desk to me. “This is for you.”

I eyed the envelope. Clues? A love note from Sampson? I headed back, holding Lorraine’s eye as I took the note. “Thank you,” I said, slipping it into my pocket.

I followed Parker out the door. We paused in the hallway.

“So?” Parker asked.

“So, right now I’m really concerned,” I said. “Lorraine can find anyone. Anyone who wants to be found—or anyone who’s not being hidden.”

“Hidden? Someone can hide someone … magically?” Parker fell into step with me.

“Yeah. Magic shields hide a lot.” I nodded hello to a gargoyle stepping out of the ladies’ room trailing a half yard of toilet paper from her hoof.

“Like that?”

“Yep, like that. They’re everywhere. We—norms—just don’t think they are, so we don’t see them, even if the veils are thin.”

“Oh,” said Parker, “I’m pretty sure if I saw that walking down South of Market, I’d remember it.”

“This is San Francisco. A fire-breathing dragon shimmying down the street beating a tambourine wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow.”

Parker frowned. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But, no. This isn’t right.”

“Parker …”

Parker looked me up and down. “What about you?”

“What about me?” I asked, frowning.

Parker lowered his voice. “Can’t you do your hoodoo-voodoo thing, too?”

“Hoodoo voodoo?”

“You know, seeing. Isn’t that your thing?”

I crossed my arms. “My thing is filing papers and taking fingerprints. And seeing through veils. The whole seeing-people-in-my-mind thing is … not there yet … with me. Right now Lorraine is the only one who can mind sweep.”

“No.” Parker stopped and stood, military style, legs spread, arms crossed, lips pursed. “This thing with Lorraine—I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. And I’m really getting worried. She should have at least been able to pick up something on Pete. Even she said it was weird.”

“No.” Parker wagged his head, going into detective mode. “I think she did find something on Sampson—or maybe she found him. I don’t think she was telling us everything.” He gestured toward my pocket. “Check the note. What does it say?”

“I don’t know why she would lie,” I said, fishing out the envelope.

“I don’t know either, but I’m pretty sure she was. So?”

I peeled open the envelope. “Uh-oh.”

Parker’s eyes went wide. “What?”

I flipped the note toward him and grinned. “She’s having a Tupperware party on Thursday. Shall I pick you up a juicer?”

Parker rolled his eyes and turned on his heel. “Meet me upstairs at one,” he said, before heading toward the elevators.

Parker disappeared down the hall toward the elevator, and I turned, heading to my desk—the one that sat outside of Mr. Sampson’s office and was now sporting a jagged gash and a spray of broken glass along its side. I kicked aside the tiny shards of glass and rifled through my drawers, stacking up the folders that contained the more personal aspects of Mr. Sampson’s life: his car registration, his calendar, the list of client contacts I used to mail out his Christmas/Solstice/Sorry Your Spouse Got Sucked into a Swirling Vortex cards. I was scanning for anything that might give Parker and me some useful information on where Pete Sampson may have gone—or where he may have been taken.

“Ahem,” I heard a male voice.

I looked over the top of my desk, saw no one, and frowned. I went back to stripping my files when I heard it again.

“Ahem?”

I slammed the files down and stood up, palms pressed against my desk. I was craning my neck to look out the open door when I saw two dark, bushy eyebrows and a spray of black hair at the edge of my desk.

“Oh, Vlorg,” I said, my hand to my heart. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Vlorg smiled apologetically, his yellowed, snaggled teeth pressed against his pale gray lips. “It happens.”

He came around the side of the desk, and my hand went over my nose instinctively. “I’m sorry,” I said again, then shoved it in my pocket, feeling ashamed.

Had I mentioned that trolls smelled? Besides bearing the burden of being only three feet tall, having constantly moist skin that grows a downy layer of lichen, and being orthodontically cursed, they smelled. Badly. Like a more pungent combination of blue cheese, belly button, and wet dog.

“Oh good, you’re already cleaning out your desk. The boys will be along any minute and we’ll move it out for you.”

“Move it out?”

Vlorg rolled up on his toes and grinned. “Elpher Brothers Moving, at your service.”

“Right.” I nodded, remembering my run-in with Vlorg’s brother, Steve.

Vlorg rubbed his stubby fingers over the bashed side of my desk and let out a low whistle. “This baby really took a beating.” He grinned at me, and I noticed that his two snaggled front teeth were his only teeth.

“Who told you to move it?” I asked.

Vlorg shrugged. “Don’t know. The work order was in my box when I came in this morning, and the new desk is supposed to be here on Monday.” He looked around. “Are you going to be at the public desk until then or something?”

“Uh no, I’m working on a—another project. Um, what about the new desk? Who ordered it?”

“Don’t know that either.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Well, someone must have initialed the PO. Mr. Sampson is the only one with that kind of buying power.”

“Then it must have been Sampson then,” Vlorg said, obviously bored. “In here, guys!” he shouted out the open door, and I slumped into my seat when Olak and Steve filed in.

Olak was a shyer, slightly more stooped version of Vlorg, and Steve, as I mentioned before, was the redheaded stepchild of the troll kingdom—or the velveteen-tracksuit, gold-chain-wearing stepchild. Today he looked like a very tiny adult film producer—only not as charming—with his tracksuit unzipped halfway down his troll sternum, loops of pale green lichen snaking over the zipper.

Steve grinned when he saw me, his gray lips curving up salaciously, his angled tongue sliding over his teeth. He put his tiny troll hands on his hips and sucked in a satisfied breath.

“Steve likes what he sees.”

I wrinkled my nose, this time not caring who I offended. “Steve.” He stunk in more ways than one.

“Oh, yes, Steve. Has Sophie missed Steve? Steve has missed Sophie.” He laced his fingers together and balanced his chin in his hands, donning a look that I think was supposed to look innocent. It came out looking lewd.

“Steve apologizes for not being around more. The business”—he gestured to Olak and Vlorg behind him—“has really been ramping up.” Steve rubbed his fingers together. “But Steve has been making lots of money. Would Sophie like a shopping trip? Perhaps a visit to the Sizzler?”

“No, thank you. And really, your absence has been just fine.”

“Still—Steve apologizes from the bottom of his heart. Steve will be around from here on out for Sophie. At your beck and call.”

I crossed my arms. “Kind of like a stalker?”

Steve crossed his arms. “Steve prefers the term ‘mythical protector.’” He waggled his bushy black eyebrows. “Or perhaps beloved boyfriend?”

“Stalker. And why do you always refer to yourself in the third person? Is it just a troll thing?”

Steve raised one eyebrow. “It’s a Steve thing. Steve is a lot of man.”

I rolled my eyes and pulled out another file folder.

“When is Sophie going to give Steve a chance? Steve can be Sophie’s knight in shining armor. Steve would never leave Sophie.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Sophie is—I mean I’m flattered”—I forced a smile—“really, Steve, but no thank you.”

“Is it because Steve is a troll? Because, you know, not everything about Steve is troll-sized.” The gray corners of Steve’s thin lips snaked up in a lascivious, obnoxious grin.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, grimacing and gathering up my files.

Steve rushed toward me. “Does that mean Steve has a chance? Because Steve can do things to Sophie—”

I dropped my files and pressed my hands over my ears. “Not hearing this!”

Steve frowned. “Steve just wants to make Sophie happy.” That salacious grin again. “Very, very happy.”

I knelt down. “You know what would make Sophie happy? Steve, leaving.”

Steve started to back away, the lewd smile still playing on his lips. “Sophie is going to miss Steve. Sophie is going to miss Steve a lot.” Steve disappeared into the hallway.

“That’s a risk I’ll have to take,” I sighed quietly.

Steve poked his head through the open doorway. “But Steve is always just a heartbeat away. You just watch. Steve will wear Sophie down.”

I could hear Steve whistling as he strolled down the hall.