Hannah Jayne (17 page)

From a scroll found embedded in the wall of an Irish monastery, circa 1216, we find that the Vessel of Souls has taken the shape of an emerald that has been embedded in a neck-lace worn by a noble woman. In 1481, the Vessel turns up in Italy, where it has taken on the guise of a painting (La Primavera ) by “Vessel Guardian” Sandro Botticelli.

I blinked up at Will. “Did you know Sandro Botticelli?”

Will nodded, his eyes wide as saucers; the gold flecks were dancing and alive. “Sandro was my great-, great-, great-grandfather. Times fifty.” He managed to get the majority of his statement out before collapsing into ridiculous guffaws.

“This is serious!”

“No, love,” Will said, shaking his head and using the heel of his hand to wipe at his moist eyes. “This is bollocks. Harley doesn’t have the foggiest what he’s talking about, so he just spews. It’s not like anyone’s going to call him on it.”

I shrugged, considering, while Will took the open book from Vlad’s hands. He read to himself, then snorted. “According to old Harley, you were an organ in a Roman Catholic church, a crumbling penny fountain in a small town in Greece, and a paper crane in Japan.”

“Why is that so funny?”

“Because everyone knows the ‘crumbling penny fountain’ was at a Golfland and the paper crane thing? Way off. It was an actual crane in Detroit, back in ’71.”

“Did you learn all of this in Guardian school?”

Will raised an annoyed eyebrow and went back to reading the book; Vlad scanned the text while looking over his shoulder.

“This book is great,” Vlad said, sharp edges of his fangs showing through his goofy, happy-vamp grin.

“Really?” I asked.

Vlad nodded. “Think about it. We’re not exactly the kind of people who want our existences documented. So the way I see it, Harley is doing us a favor.”

Will shrugged and snapped the book shut. “Sounds about right to me. Now who’s up for a pint?”

I looked at Vlad and then at Will; for the first time since I’d known them, they seemed to be in relative agreement. Leave it to them to agree on the one thing that pissed me off.

“But it’s all lies!” I hated how whiny I sounded, and I knew, intellectually, that Vlad was right. Another person debunking ghost myths, or laughing at those of us who considered the idea of “others” among us, actually did help the Underworld inhabitants far more than a book confirming their existence ever would.

Right?

Nina came outside then, carrying a stack to her nose of Harley’s books.

“Did you buy all those?” I asked.

Nina grinned. “Yep. I’m supporting my man. I think they’ll make excellent Christmas gifts.”

“Leave me off your list,” I said. “Can we just get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Nina said, “we need to get home and straighten up the place. Harley and Roland should be there in about a half hour.”

“You invited Harley and Roland to our house? Where we live? Actually, where I live and you cease to live?”

Nina rolled her eyes. “Really, Sophie, you can be so close-minded sometimes. Harley is really a great guy. He just happens to have a different way of viewing things. Cut him some slack, okay?”

I felt my lips kick up into a ridiculous, incredulous smile. “A different way of viewing things?”

Nina blinked at me, arms crossed, and I did the same. Finally I sucked in a large breath of what I hoped was calming air. All it did was highlight the fact that my ears were blowing steam.

“You know what? I’ll meet you at home. I’m going to walk.”

“You can’t walk alone,” Will said.

“Is that spoken in your official guardianship capacity?”

“Nope.” He tossed Harley’s book to Vlad and slung an arm across my shoulders. “I can’t be official when I’m nonexistent, now can I?” He eyed me, a mischievous grin playing on the edges of his lips. “Now, how about that pint?”

Under Suspicion

Chapter Thirteen

Will and I strolled through the hordes of tourists as we walked away from the bookstore, stopping at an Irish pub on the edge of Geary Street. Will raised his eyebrows and I pushed past him, muttering, “After Harley’s speech, I need a drink. Or maybe a tranquilizer.”

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust; but when they did, I felt instantly at home. Not that our home featured posters of half-naked girls hawking beers in the mountains or anything. It’s just that the pub was cozy, with a long, smooth, dark wood bar, mirrors etched with curlycued Guinness slogans, and a worn leather couch set in front of a crackling fire.

“I like this place.”

Will nodded to the bartender; and before I had a chance to shrug out of my jacket, he had a pint glass in each hand, walking steadily so as not to spill any of the to-the-rim pour. We sat down on the leather couch, and my kneecaps immediately felt toasty from the heat of the fire.

“Are you drinking both of those?” I asked.

“Not tonight,” Will said, sliding one pint glass toward me. “I’m a gentleman.”

I stared at the glass he handed me, the thick black liquid a foamy brown on top. “So you got me motor oil?”

“It’s a Guinness. Try it.”

I wrinkled my nose, but I took a small sip, anyway. I felt a smile spread across my lips.

“Mmm. It tastes chocolaty. I like it.”

“So what do you think about this Harley bloke?”

“I think he’s a quack and an idiot, and I’m wondering what’s going to happen when he finds out his beloved is a vampire.”

Will took a slug from his glass. “You really think he’ll find out before he takes off?”

I shrugged. “Probably. I don’t have many more purses.”

Will raised his eyebrows and I waved my hand. “Roommate thing, nothing to worry about.”

“Hm.”

“Hm.”

Will and I sat and drank in companionable silence for a few minutes, both of us staring at the fire.

“So,” Will said finally, “any word on what happened at the dragon’s place?”

“You mean Mrs. Henderson?” I shook my head, taking another sip of my drink. “I told Dixon and he said they had an investigative team look into it, but I think he just said that to shut me up. I don’t know, Will, I just have this feeling. I think Dixon might have something to do with this—with everything.”

Will seemed to consider that for a moment. Then he replied, “I’m not doubting you, love, but what would Dixon want with a dead dragon? Or beating up a ... What was she exactly?”

“Bettina? Banshee.”

Will sat back, looking impressed; I shook my head, worrying my bottom lip. “I don’t know.

He’s replacing all the UDA higher-ups with vampires. If he were to take out some of the less desirable clientele, then ...”

Will sipped. “Then?”

The word hung in the air and I turned it over and over, trying desperately to figure out why Dixon, his toothy brethren, or even VERM would start taking out other demons. Coming up blank, I shrugged, took a heavy slug of my beer. “I have no idea, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible. Vampires can be zealots. And someone did try to stake me through the heart.” I rubbed the fat bruise that marred my skin.

“Why would a vampire try to kill you, Sophie Lawson, human, with a wooden stake?”

“It could have been a sign.”

“Or coincidental. Or the theory of three.”

I cocked a scrutinizing brow. “All bad things happen in groups of three?”

Will opened his arms and looked around the half-empty pub. “And yet, nothing bad has happened since we’ve been here, right?”

“So we’re out of the woods?”

“It’s possible.”

I set down my drink and used my index finger to trace the exposed wood grain on the coffee table. “I’m afraid everything that has happened has had a common link.”

“That link being you.”

I nodded woefully. “Of course. Closing in on me. Killing people around me to let me know they have the power. Its practically textbook. I mean, you’re my Guardian. You should know.

Doesn’t the Vessel always draw”—I dropped my voice, my eyes darting around the room—“unrest? And what about it being a fallen angel? Alex said that once Ophelia was ...”

I still had a hard time saying “once Ophelia was dead”—both because I was the reason she was dead and technically (however technical demon blood lines went at least), she was my half sister. For a while there, she was the only family I had.

Unfortunately, she spent our entire sisterly relationship trying to kill me.

I swallowed hard. “He said even after Ophelia, it wouldn’t be over. Another fallen angel would just come and take her place.”

Will held up a silencing hand. “True. And generally, that’s how it is. Once Ophelia was stopped, all it meant is that someone else will take her place and come after you, trying to get the Vessel for himself. But, Sophie, no one knows about you. Ophelia had a connection to you.”

I sat back, both startled and impressed. It must have shown on my face because Will stiffened. “What? You don’t think I know anything about this whole fallen angel business?

You’re my charge, love, and I’m well-versed in all the things that go bump in your nights.”

An inappropriate hot blush washed over me. I clamped my knees together, mentally claim-ing that the fire was the reason for the sudden sweat at the back of my neck—it had nothing to do with Will and what went bump in my nights.

I took a refreshing sip of my beer. “What about Adam? He was working for Ophelia and he knew what I was. He said he did.”

“Just before the building he was in went up in flames.” Will smiled. “Remember? I was there. I was the bloke with the rubbers”—he pointed to his shoes—“and the enormous hose.”

The hopelessness of the situation must have gotten to me, because I found myself giggling uncontrollably when Will said “enormous hose.” He watched me, his hazel eyes catching the gold glow of the cracking fire. The warmth raged inside me again and I sucked down half my beer in a single gulp. I winced, burping softly.

“’ Scuse me. And I don’t mean to be naïve, but aren’t fallen angels like”—I struggled for the words—“immune to fire? Adam didn’t even flinch, and the flames were right on us.”

“Adam isn’t here, love.”

I finished my beer. “So you’re just going to dismiss this whole thing? Just like that?”

“I didn’t say that. As per our otherworldly agreement, I’m keeping an eye on you, and you’re keeping an eye on the Underworld.” Will smiled and clinked his glass with mine; then he finished his beer. “Another?”

“I guess,” I groaned.

By the time Will came back with our second round, I had kicked off my shoes and had tucked my legs under myself, enjoying the calming warmth of the fire, the comfort of the little pub with its beer-and-shepherd’s-pie scent.

“I guess I could be wrong,” I said, taking a hearty sip.

Will turned to stare at me, full in the face. His eyes were wide with incredulity. “You don’t say!”

I took another gulp. “Shut up. I do have another theory.”

Will raised an interested eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“Well, Mrs. Henderson burned Nina up.” I held up two fingers. “Twice.” Then I hiccupped and took another sip to wet my mouth. “And Kale ...” Here I looked over each shoulder, scanned the bar for intruders, and crooked my finger, beckoning Will closer. “Kale,” I started in a hoarse whisper, “and Vlad were almost doing it on my living-room couch. I walked in on them.” I didn’t know if it was the beer or the recalled image of Vlad’s deathly white chest, but a shudder washed over me. I clamped a hand over my mouth because suddenly the idea of Kale and Vlad—Vlad!—writhing on my living-room couch was far more hilarious than disgusting. “Get it?”

A mask of confusion—or maybe disgust—set across Will’s handsome features. “Get what?”

I gestured wildly, slopping some beer on my wrist and licking it up. “Mrs. Henderson burned up Nina.”

Will grabbed my near-empty glass as I tried to negotiate it to my other hand to make the requisite two-finger gesture.

“I know, twice,” he said. “But you told me yourself there is no way Nina is involved, and I have to agree with you.”

I scooched closer toward Will, until he and I nearly were nose to nose. I began enunciating exaggeratedly, certain that that is what it would take to get my point across. “And then Kale seduces Vlad, and she gets hit by a car.” I took my drink from Will and finished it, wiping my foam mustache with the back of my hand. “Get it? It could be VERM, out for revenge. They’re protecting their kind.”

Will blinked at me and I fanned myself. I leaned over and deposited my empty beer glass on the table and took a healthy slug from his. “It’s hot in here.”

A waitress stopped by and poked at my glass with the nub of her pencil. “’Nother?”

“No,” Will said, eyes firm on me.

“Yes,” I said, eyes just as firm. “He’s trying to be my party pooper.”

The waitress returned with another round of beers and a selection of appetizers, which Will had suggested. He read off the menu and I nodded to each one. Now we had an army of deep-fried deliciousness picking up the comforting flames of the fire.

I smashed a hunk of deep-fried mozzarella in between two slabs of boneless buffalo wings and tossed the whole thing in my mouth, reveling in the hot, deep-fried goodness as I licked the gooey residue from my fingers. I finished off my bar menu canapé with a slug of cold beer.

“So what do you think?”

“I think maybe you’ve had enough.”

I slapped down my glass. “You know, I’m really tired of you patronizing me. You would be out of work, if not for me.”

“You do realize I work for the San Francisco Fire Department, right?”

I nodded my head hard and rolled my eyes. “I mean out of guardianship work. And what’s with that, anyway? Do I need to remind you who drove a stake through the last fallen angel?

Shouldn’t that have been”—I poked Will in the center of his rock-hard chest—“your job?”

Will looked unfazed. “Do I need to remind you who climbed out her flat’s bathroom window to fall into dubious battle with the fallen undead?”

“And whose fault was that?” Somewhere in my sober subconscious I was fairly aware that it was me, but I could see the alarm growing in Will’s four eyes, so I left it alone.

“You might want to calm down, love.”