Riley smiled and shook her head in understanding. “Thank you for taking the time to help.” She hadn’t honestly expected Wyatt to find anything, but she wanted answers, and she needed to rule out who she could.
“It’s not a problem.”
“Is it—”
“Riles!” Heather’s voice called from the kitchen. “I need to borrow your muscles in here. All this delectable food isn’t going to carry itself. Seven and Maddie, you’re still banished.” Unlike the previous years, the aroma of the holiday feast smelled rich with herbs and spices. The exquisite scent had Riley’s stomach knotting in hunger.
“The Mistress has summoned me.” Riley sighed and released her grip on the backrest. “If I’m not back in five minutes that means I dropped something. Say something nice at my funeral?” she asked with a wink before backing into the kitchen.
Dinner turned out surprisingly well and without incident. The flaming turkey ordeal didn’t make a second appearance, and Heather was grateful that none were affected by food poisoning; she had made sure to check at several points during the evening.
As dinner ended and they all fell victim to lethargy and tryptophan, Riley found herself in the living room with Wyatt as her one conscious companion. An old western played on the television, but she was pretty sure no one was actually paying attention. Seven was nodding off on one end of the loveseat, and at the other end, Madison was doing her best impression of a zombie. Heather was busy on her tablet in the kitchen, and James was talking on his phone. He, unlike the rest of them, had a mother and a sister still involved in his life. From the way James’s brow was furrowed, Riley figured it was safe to assume that he was on the phone with his mom. Riley had met Annabelle a few times before, and every time she’d been left with a feeling of wonder at how such a charming, thoughtful, amazing man could have been produced by such a self-centered woman.
She watched James pace the empty family room. His hand swept through his golden mane, and he pinched the bridge of his nose on multiple occasions. He looked tense and flustered, nothing like his usual demeanor.
Wyatt’s cough disrupted her scrutiny, but it reminded her that she needed to resume the brief conversation they had had before dinner. She tossed a throw pillow at his head to pull his attention away from the black-and-white film. The firm material made a thumping noise against his skull, and Riley bit back a laugh.
“What was that for?” he complained, rubbing at the side of his head.
She shrugged. “I wanted your attention.”
“A simple psst would have worked.” Wyatt frowned and hugged the throw pillow.
“Earlier, you mentioned that you hadn’t found any connection between your people and Liam’s attack,” Riley started, confident that her other friends were otherwise occupied and wouldn’t overhear.
Wyatt nodded.
“Well, how can you be sure? Did you put everyone through a lie detector test? Aren’t there some rogue custodes who could have been involved?”
“Every group in the history of groups has had that issue.” Wyatt thinned his lips in thought. “But I’m fairly certain that it was no one in the Custodes, not locally at least. The ones I know can’t keep from bragging over how many cubare they’ve ‘put in their place.’ I can’t imagine those same people not talking about bringing down the playboy incubus.”
Riley made an unintelligible grunt at his response; she’d been hoping for a more definitive answer—a way to pinpoint who’d committed the crime. But Wyatt had done her a favor, and for that, she was grateful. Whatever information he provided was better than nothing. She drummed her fingers on the arm of the recliner. “You’re sure there’s no connection?”
He nodded his head. “But, as I was playing Sherlock, I did run into some curious things in our books.”
She perked and leaned forward. “Care to elaborate?”
“Well, it’s financial records.” He rubbed at his chin and frowned. “Things don’t add up—”
Heather plopped into the empty seat next to Wyatt. “James has been on the phone with his mother for over an hour now. What more does that woman have to say?”
“You know Annabelle,” Riley noted. “She’s opinionated.” She watched in amusement as Heather used Wyatt’s shoulder as a pillow.
“I wish I had your calm, Wy.” Heather’s voice was deflated. “But I think even Annabelle would break your cool.”
“There, there.” He patted her head. Riley wasn’t sure if his awkward gesture was due to his personal bubble being violated or if it was because petting Heather was like putting your hands on a wild tiger. “She can’t be that bad.”
“Yes, she is.” Heather pulled away from him. “You don’t know her. She is absolutely that bad. How she managed to raise a man like James is beyond me.”
James walked into the room to join them. “I’m ready for a drink. Mother seems lively as ever.”
“That’s a shame,” Heather muttered under her breath. It earned her a chastising look from both Riley and James.
“You should invite her to Christmas,” Seven piped up, suddenly alert from his perch on the loveseat.
“Why would I ever do that?” James shook his head.
“Because I’m dying to meet her.” Seven grinned before he licked his lips. “And from the photos I’ve seen of her, I think we’d get along famously.”
Seven’s words earned him a collective groan and a few throw pillows launched in his direction.
“You’d better hope Annabelle doesn’t visit,” Heather glowered. “Because wherever she goes, trouble isn’t far behind.”
“Can we all lay off my mom, please?” James sighed.
“Well.” Wyatt stood from his seat and returned the pillow to the sofa. “It’s late, and I think it’s best that I be off for the night. Thank you for the inviting me to dinner.” He nodded in Heather and then in James’s direction. “It was wonderful.”
He waved at all the conscious parties and made his way out.
Riley fidgeted in her seat before deciding to chase after him. Their conversation was still unfinished. “Wyatt?” She stopped a few steps away from his parked car in front of the home.
“Yes?” He looked at her with curiosity. He absently patted at his pockets. “Did I forget my phone, wallet, or possibly my head? That pillow was harder than it looked.”
Riley laughed and shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. I just wanted to see if you would like to meet up with me.”
“I’ll be at the next brunch?” he offered.
“That wasn’t what I meant.” Not being close with Wyatt, she felt unusually flustered in their conversation. It felt like she was asking the man on a date. She considered him a friend, but before the attack on Liam, she couldn’t recall them ever spending one-on-one time together. “I was hoping we could continue the conversation we were having before Heather interrupted.”
For a moment, the custos looked like he was debating if he should agree or not. “I think that’ll be fine.” Wyatt opened his car door and stepped halfway in. “Text me the details.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Riley sat on the concrete curb and attempted to ignore the tiny rocks that bit into the back of her naked thighs. It wasn’t raining, but it also wasn’t the sunshine to which she’d started to become accustomed. Instead, a fat yellow moon hung in the sky. She shifted her weight, but comfort never came. Her outfit wasn’t suited to this environment; it was meant to be pressed against the smooth silk of luxury bed sheets, not the cold concrete of the curb outside of Morgan’s house.
She grabbed a dandelion, its flower still a shock of yellow, and tugged it from the cracks of the sidewalk. The pollen left a yellow streak in the palm of her hand, and she tossed it into the middle of the street with disgust.
“Weed.” She spit out the word like a curse.
After their fight, she didn’t know why she had returned. She also didn’t know why she continued to dress to seduce when Morgan repeatedly showed no interest. It was
her habit, she supposed, to explore the contents of her deep closets before each new visit.
“She’s right.” Riley hung her head forlornly. The boning of her corset dug into her ribs. “A demon who likes to play dress up.”
She tugged at the top of her cherry red bodice. “This isn’t helping,” she muttered to herself.
The stiff material of the lingerie melted away to become a cotton T-shirt. Her vintage nylons flared out to form cropped shorts, and her stilettos became strappy sandals.
“But I’ve never complained about your outfits.”
Riley’s head snapped to attention at the sound of Morgan’s voice.
“Can I sit down?” Morgan visibly fidgeted on the sidewalk. Her grey cardigan was pushed back on her forearms, and her hands curled around two ceramic mugs. Twin coils of steam twisted in the air.
“It’s your dream,” Riley responded dully. “You do what you want.”
Morgan nodded and sat down beside Riley while balancing the mugs. Riley noted the deliberate space she’d left between them even though they’d been infinitely closer on Morgan’s twin bed, living room couch, and in the hammock.
Morgan offered one of the cups to Riley. “It’s tea.”
Riley took the cup without a word, but she didn’t take a drink.
“It’s not poisoned,” Morgan muttered. Her words, spoken into her cup, echoed.
Riley remained silent, staring into the murky tea.
“Are you cold?” Morgan tried again.
“I’m fine.”
“I could give you my sweater?” Morgan set her teacup on the concrete beside her and began to wiggle out of her cardigan.
“Morgan, I’m fine,” Riley insisted. She was a little cold, but her pride won out over physical comfort. It was why she continued to sit on the rough concrete when even the front lawn would be better. She could change her clothes at any point in the dream, but she didn’t want to admit her discomfort.
A warm wind whipped around outside, ruffling Riley’s long, curled hair. Despite her dour attitude, a smile slipped to her lips. “Ass,” she mumbled.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Riley nodded in agreement. Morgan was lucid, but she hadn’t demonstrated she knew how to actively control their physical environment. The sunshine and hammock could have been a fluke. She took a tentative sip of the tea.
“I’m sorry, you know.” Morgan’s voice was gravelly with the apology. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry with you; it’s not my place to judge other people’s relationships.” She shook her head, and her hair fluttered around her face.
“Your anger wasn’t unwarranted.” Riley dipped the tip of her finger through the surface of the warm tea and swirled the liquid around, making patterns in the drink. “I’ve been … sensitive … about the topic lately. I try so hard to have a normal life, when everything I am resists that desire.”
“Will you stay?” Morgan chewed on her lower lip. “I’ll understand if you have to go. I …” She sighed and her shoulders shook from the weight of it. “I want to know you.”
“There’s not much to know.”
“I know that’s not true.”
“You should go inside,” Riley said quietly.
“Oh. Okay.” Morgan’s hopeful features drooped with the rejection.
“It’s really too cold out here for those kinds of conversations. Either that, or I’m going to need a blanket.”
Morgan’s generous mouth curled at the edges when she realized it hadn’t been a rejection. She stood and offered a hand to help Riley up.
“Go on in,” Riley motioned. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Checking out my ass?” Morgan quipped. She brushed at the backs of her legs to dislodge any rocks and dirt that had become stuck to her yoga pants.
“Always.”
Morgan reentered her house and left the front door slightly ajar. Riley dropped her gaze down to her watch. The multiple clock faces kept track of a variety of things. The major clock face told her the current time, adjusted to her California time zone. A smaller gauge kept track of her monthly energy collection while another face ticked off the time remaining before the fail-safe would flash her out of the dream, unless she ingested sexual energy. In the span of a brief conversation, she had gone from wanting to speed up time to reach the hour so she wouldn’t have to remain in Morgan’s head longer than necessary to finding a way to extend her visit.
Riley thought about the glass vials in the cabinet beneath her bathroom sink. She stared at the palm of her hand, mentally picturing the outline of the container filled with red sexual energy. Focusing on its location in the waking world, she willed it to cross into the realm. She hadn’t expected for this visit to last longer than her allotted hour or else she would have brought the bottle along with her. Her palm shimmered as the vial and its essential contents began to take shape.
Her hand curled around the bottle, now solid in her grasp. She removed the tiny cork from the opening and made short work of its swirling contents. The counter on her watch restarted, and the gauge that tracked her progress towards her quota similarly reacted. But without taking more energy, that dial would drop by the end of her visit with Morgan. The energy Darren had provided her was enough to fool the system and extend her visits, but not enough to help her reach her energy production.
“Damn it.”
She helplessly clutched the now-empty bottle, realizing she’d brought no bag to hide the evidence. The bottle would return to the waking world once she phased out of the dream, but for now, she needed to hide its presence to avoid rousing Morgan’s concern. Conjuring a bag wasn’t worth the energy it would waste in order to bring it into the realm. Thinking quickly, she discarded the vial into a nearby bush.
Her breath was shaky as she stepped up the walkway and pushed through the threshold of Morgan’s childhood home. It was warm inside, and she roughly ran her hand over her arms to get rid of the goose bumps that had formed. She found Morgan in the front living room instead of their usual place at the back of the house. A fire crackled in the fireplace, steadily filling the room with a warm, smoky heat.
“A fire?” Riley questioned, hovering in the archway.
Morgan held up sooty hands and wiggled her fingers. “You’re not the only one with skills, Succubus.” She patted the space beside her on the couch. “Sit. Talk,” she urged.
Riley sat down on the couch, but kept her body erect, not able to fully relax around Morgan. If Morgan noticed the rigid posture, she said nothing.
“So what do you want to talk about?” Riley asked with a cursory glance to her watch.
Morgan noticed the movement. “Do you have to go soon?”
“No. It’s fine. I took care of it.” Riley picked at the material of the worn couch. It was too quiet in the house.
Morgan wet her lips. “You said you wanted to be normal. Is that why you’re dating a human?”
“We’re not …” Riley pushed out a long breath. She didn’t need to rehash details of a messy, incomplete break up. “Is this another therapy session?”
“Do you want it to be?”
Riley abandoned her interest in the furniture. “I don’t know if I can afford your patient fees.”
Morgan’s smile was crooked. “Lucky for you I’m not a licensed psychologist yet, so how about we wave the fees for now?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Too much.” Morgan leaned into the couch and her head tilted back. “In college, when that … that thing happened to me, I spent so much time researching your kind, trying to make sure it would never happen again. I didn’t get very far though. I guess when something wants to stay hidden hard enough, it does.”
Riley thought about her own overwhelming questions when she’d first encountered Liliah in the company archives. “What question is most pressing?”
“Will you look like this forever?”
“Unless I don’t get sex,” Riley confirmed. “T
hen I die.”
“Dramatic, much?” Morgan’s brief laugh sounded forced.
“It’s not a line. I promise.”
Morgan’s eyebrows knit together. “Could you ever have too much sex and, like, I don’t know, turn into a child?”
“Sex addiction is a thing, even among the cubare,” Riley confirmed, trying not to laugh, “but I’ll never get younger. I’m frozen like this.”
“When you don’t …” Morgan fumbled with her question. “… you know, with me, does that hurt you?”
“Only my ego.” Riley smiled charmingly and rattled the watch on her wrist. “This keeps me from overstaying to the point of injury. If I don’t feed, it phases me out of the dream for my own protection.”
Morgan nodded slowly.
“I’m glad you’re not charging me by the hour. This feels more like a game of twenty questions than therapy.”
Morgan ducked her head and regarded Riley through heavy eyelashes. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Riley lightly laughed. “But now it’s my turn.”
Morgan shifted on the couch.
“When did you lose your virginity?”
“Wow.” Morgan’s hazel-green eyes widened. “Starting with the big guns, huh?”
Riley smiled gently. “I can ask something else if you’d like.”
Morgan shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I was a late bloomer, I guess. I was a junior in college.”
“What was their name?” She was purposeful with the gender-neutral pronoun.
“Derek.”
Riley was sure she hated Derek. “Have you ever … with a woman?” she pressed.
Morgan shook her head.
“But you’re interested, right?” Her voice cracked. Had she been trying to seduce a straight girl all this time? Morgan’s user profile had marked her sexuality as unidentified, but that could have been for a number of reasons.
Morgan’s eyelashes fluttered at the question. “I’m amenable to the possibility.”
Drained: The Lucid Page 22
