Succubus Takes Manhattan

by Nina Harper

“I thought the case of the Knight Defenders was on hold for the time being,” I said. “Have they found a new leader so quickly?”

  “They have not,” Azoked answered, not looking up from her grooming. “But I have not come on Satan’s business. I have come as your friend.” Friend? Since when had Azoked ever been anything but a thorn in my side? For any of us? My actual friends, who had met her only briefly in Aruba, thought I must secretly belong Upstairs just for dealing with her.

  She had been some use when we were being attacked, and even then it was hardly worth dealing with her. But—a friend? Not in this universe.

  “Do you know who was following me in Venice?” I asked immediately. “Was it the Knight Defenders, or was it just some random thing?”

  She shook her head. “I have seen nothing in the Record about the Knight Defenders. If you were followed, perhaps it was your succubus pheromones.”

  I didn’t think so, but I remained silent. Azoked didn’t have the one piece of information I cared about, at least that she could give me. She couldn’t tell me anything about demonkind, and that was where Meph’s enemy lay.

  “I have some information that may be of use to you,” she continued, as if she thought my behavior perfectly normal. “About your boyfriend. He is planning to come to Hatuman’s party, it appears. How very odd indeed. I do not know whether he is searching for you, or if he has reasons of his own for attending.”

  I shook my head. “Impossible. He can’t deal with me being a succubus. That’s why he isn’t my boyfriend anymore.”

  Azoked shrugged. “I only know what I read in the Akashic. I thought you would want to know, to be prepared.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Is that all?”

  She licked her fingers delicately. “You could offer to take me out to Balthazar. You could invite me to join your brunch at Public.”

  “Not even Satan joins our brunch,” I told her. Which is true, but Satan would have been most welcome at any time. She was just too busy, especially on Sunday mornings, and we were thrilled on the very few occasions She could snatch a few minutes and grace us with Her company.

  “Well, you could take me out to dinner tonight. I will accept that as a deposit on what you owe me for my assistance.”

  “I did not request your help,” I said, pronouncing each word carefully. “I do not owe you. You have never shown any interest in being a social friend.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she hissed.

  “Unless you can tell me who in Hell is gunning for Mephistopheles,” I amended, knowing full well that she couldn’t find any information on Hellspawn. The Akashic Record is the Book of Life. Immortals leave no traces in the Book, no resonance in the threads of Fate for a Librarian to trace. Only the living, the mortal, are recorded in the Book of Life.

  And everything about them is recorded. What they think, what they consider, what they discard, as well as what they actually do. Which is why Librarians were so highly skilled. They didn’t simply look up information—though I’d seen Azoked use Google.

  “If I find this, you will include me in your brunches forever,” she pronounced.

  “Forget it,” I told her. “It’s a Hell matter anyway. No mortals involved anymore. Sorry.”

  She hissed again.

  I shrugged.

  “You will regret this,” she shot at me before dematerializing in a haze of blue smoke, faintly scented with crumbling parchment and stale chalk.

  Awful, awful, doubly awful. I wanted my friends. I definitely did not want to go to a party where Nathan would be present. How did Nathan get invited to Hatuman’s anyway? I thought it was Hellspawn-only, no humans need apply. Even then, I was only going because Marduk would be there and I needed to talk to him for Meph.

  Life felt pretty sucky just then, so I did what any reasonably smart, hip New York woman would do. I called my best friends.

  chapter

  FOUR

  If I’d looked at my e-mail, I wouldn’t have been so shocked. I could have prepared, could have decided on my story or whether or not I would pick up my phone. But I didn’t look at the e-mail, figuring that there would be time while I puttered around my apartment and got dressed to meet Desi. So when the phone rang I thought it was Des running late, or at worst a telemarketer.

  I didn’t expect Nathan, not in a thousand years.

  “Lily, I’m really sorry to disturb you,” he started off.

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore,” I blurted out.

  Silence hissed on the line.

  “No, Lily. I think about you all the time. I wish we were still together. I keep trying to wrap my head around . . . what you showed me. I keep wondering if I could ignore it somehow, or maybe I’d get used to it. Or maybe it’s not so bad. But that’s not why I called.”

  “So you can’t get around it,” my voice must have sounded bleak. Maybe as bleak as his.

  “I’m trying. But I called you about our old friend Craig Branford. Who has resurfaced as Richard Bowen, in Huntington, Long Island. Which is where he was from, if you’ll remember,” he started out.

  “I don’t know why you couldn’t just send me this in e-mail,” I said softly. Just hearing his voice, so very close on the phone, brought back the stabbing misery I thought had abated.

  “I did,” he said, and his voice was tight. “But I think he’s planning to move against you again, possibly very soon. Maybe as early as sometime this week, though I’m not sure.”

  “That’s not much information,” I told him. “How do you know? I thought that case was closed anyway. You weren’t getting any money for it.”

  There was a moment where I could almost hear him deciding how much to tell me. There was something going on here, I was sure. Invisible threads woven around me, Nathan and Meph and this weirdo fanatic. I just couldn’t figure it out.

  “We’ve got another contract to trace his movements and contact the client if he does or says anything that would make us suspect that he is planning to move again. The client in this instance suggested that I call and warn you. I don’t think he wants you involved.”

  “Who is this client?” It no longer sounded like a jealous wife.

  Nathan shook his head. “I’m not at liberty to say. Just let me reiterate that this client does not want you involved.”

  “And you?” I asked, the words out of my mouth before I realized that I’d spoken.

  “I . . . Lily, I’ve been trying to just get on with my life. I can’t. I think about you all the time, and then I think about, well, you know, and I’m sliced up all over again. I didn’t know whether I was thrilled to have a reason to call you again or whether I am just being stupid. I want to talk to you every day, and then that image comes back and . . . I’m confused.”

  “Thank you for warning me,” I said coldly. “Do you have any more specific information as to what he might try this time? Or should I just be paranoid? And do you know anything about him or any of his minions traveling to Venice?”

  Okay, I admit, I was being mean. But I was hurting too much to be more careful.

  “Venice?” he asked. “I can look into it, but the records I have now don’t show any European connections.”

  I heard him swallow on the line. “Look, I think he may be trying to find you. Especially watch out at Public, okay? He knows that place, knows that you and your friends have brunch there on Sundays. He might be planning something there. I don’t know precisely what he’s up to but he’s getting information from some very good source, because he was talking about you dating some Dutch guy, and he’s interested in the guy, too. Saw him in Aruba or something.”

  So now all was clear. Nathan knew that I’d had a fling in Aruba. Well, he’d dumped me. I was a free agent and if I wanted to date anyone, he had nothing to say about that.

  “And how is this relevant?” I demanded.

  Nathan sighed. “I think that Branford might be trying to get both of you. I know he wanted you and then appeared to lose int
erest. Now he’s back trying to harm you again, and he’s somehow focused on this guy in Aruba, too. You didn’t tell me about the guy in Aruba.”

  Oh, so that was what it was about now. Nathan was jealous, looking for some reason to justify himself. And I thought about Danielle’s good advice and decided that he didn’t need to know anything about what I’d done in Aruba. We weren’t dating and it was none of his business. “Yes, I talked with a few guys in Aruba. I had drinks with one. I danced at the resort club. I told you all of that,” I reminded him. “And yes, I’m ready to date again. Which is no crime. I’m not your girlfriend. Your choice.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and he did sound truly contrite. “I didn’t mean to snap. Just that I’m following Branford and I’ve managed to listen to a lot of his cell phone calls and he’s a nasty character. And he’s mentioned you several times and said that you’d gotten out of his grip by luck, but he knows better now.”

  I digested this information. “Do you know where he’s getting his information?” I asked. This was exactly what Meph needed to know. Branford was clearly being primed and aimed by whoever was gunning for us. “And his money? For someone with no income who just went all over the Caribbean, he pops up in the weirdest places.”

  “I’m working on that,” Nathan snapped. “Why are you interested? But I think it’s clear he’s got some backing with some deep pockets. He’s rented another office, by the way, in Park Slope.”

  “Not cheap,” I said. Which was an understatement. Park Slope was a chic and expensive neighborhood in Brooklyn.

  “I’ve been following that but so far I don’t have enough hard evidence. I don’t know who’s backing him or who’s giving him his information. For all I know, it’s one of you. I’m working on the account traces now.”

  “Could—would you tell me when you find out?” I asked contritely.

  “I’m sorry, that’s for our employer in the case. He’s paying for the information.”

  “But I could get hurt again,” I protested. I understood perfectly well that his client had first call, and I wondered again who his client was. I almost asked, but I thought that would be pushing too far. I wondered if it could be Meph, but dismissed the notion. Just wandering in to some random detective agency and asking them to follow the small fry? That was not his style.

  “Lily? Okay, Lily, if I have any idea it could involve you, I’ll tell you. Why do you think I called tonight? I just heard that he would be looking out for you, maybe tonight or tomorrow. Where were you planning to go tonight?”

  Suddenly I got paranoid. Suspicious. If I told Nathan and this Branford guy showed up, would that mean that he’d known before or that Nathan had told him? “A sushi bar,” I said carefully.

  “Good. Because from his conversation he’s planning to find you at Public. So you should be safe enough somewhere else. But don’t tell anyone else.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. And then he hung up.

  So I was fifteen minutes late to the sushi bar where Desi and I were meeting. She had already ordered sake when I walked in. One look at my face and she got up and hugged me before we sat back down and I ordered for us.

  We were on our third order of sake before I told her about Nathan’s call, and about being followed in Venice. And about Azoked showing up in my apartment and telling me that Nathan was going to be at Hatuman’s.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Wear the tan de la Renta dress. You’ll be the most smashing demon in the place. And we’ll have fun at the party, really. Besides, I don’t think Nathan is really going to be there. I think Azoked is a nasty little pussy.”

  We were both drunk enough to find that funny. Spending time with Desi was just what I needed.

  chapter

  FIVE

  The cleaners screwed up. My dress wasn’t ready even though they’d had plenty of time. Time to change cleaners, but that wouldn’t help me for the party.

  Hatuman’s parties were always spectacular. He might be a demon stuck somewhere in the Stone Age, but it had been a Stone Age where throwing a good party was admired. Which was why all the important members of the Hierarchy would show. He wasn’t trendy, didn’t have a clue about the newest elegant boutique hotels or the hottest chefs in New York. So he booked the Waldorf-Astoria and put on a six-course dinner with a string quartet playing waltzes in the ballroom and a gambling setup worthy of Harrah’s.

  After much angst and six costume changes, I had finally settled on a short green Dior dress with bronze Christian Louboutin’s. Because I was vulnerable and an aggrieved party, my friends showed up at my place to coordinate before we arrived en masse. Eros added a few strokes of eye shadow in glitter moss and insisted that I use her dark vixen lipstick. Sybil fluffed my hair, which I had left loose in my natural long, heavy, dark auburn waves. Even Vincent made admiring noises and insisted that I turn and model at least twice.

  And then no one could find any more excuses to wait, so we went down and took two cabs over to the Waldorf.

  Most demons look reasonably mortal, and even those who don’t can fake it for an evening. Tonight’s crowd glittered with more genuine bling than any six guys with blankets down on St. Mark’s. But while they wore a fortune in jewels and the clothes were made of beautiful fabrics, the whole appeared oddly mismatched. Demons who had little reason to deal with modern Earth wore whatever their last idea of party clothes had been, and the result approached a Renaissance fair on crack. Demons wore frock coats with kilts, sixteenth-century kimonos, and ball gowns that would have been appropriate in Versailles.

  No one, I was certain, would look at me once, let alone twice, wearing a perfectly modern dress that had been featured in at least two photo spreads. Hard to feel uninteresting in Dior, but then I wouldn’t have been caught dead in the Worth number from 1902 that drifted by. As I recall, I rather disliked that dress in 1902 and it hadn’t improved with age. Neither had the demon in it.

  “Tahidra,” I greeted her, smiling stiffly. Really, with that grayish complexion she should not wear plum and silvery green. But then Tahidra had never had much of an eye for what looked good on her.

  She paused, studied me for a moment, clearly confused. “Lily,” I reminded her. “Last time you saw me was at Ludivico’s Saturnalia, I think.”

  “Oh, yes, excuse me. Always a pleasure,” she murmured before moving on. Okay, so she didn’t remember me. At first I felt hurt and then I remembered that she had been down in the bowels of Hell doing paperwork while I’d been working as Satan’s Chosen. I could afford a moment of pity.

  We swept through the party and even though we looked great (as opposed to outlandish) we didn’t see any sign of Nathan. Or Azoked either, come to think of it.

  The Akashic Record is never wrong and it never lies. But that doesn’t mean that the reporting Librarian might not take a few liberties, I thought. I fumed at Azoked. I’d been nervous about this party every time I thought about it. I’d gotten the icy cramps in my stomach and the vague nausea that came from a combination of fury and nasty anticipation.

  “He’s definitely not here,” Vincent said, his eyes roving the room like a Secret Service agent. “I’ve done two sweeps and have put a quiet word out with some friends. He’s not on the guest list, in fact, and it seems that we’re the only ones who know him at all. Do you feel better?”

  “Yeah,” I said, although that was only half the truth. Yes, I felt half relieved to know that I wouldn’t have to see him, think about him, be hurt by him. And I felt half miserable because I had wanted to see him. If he had come to a demon party that would have meant he was learning to cope.

  “But Lily, it’s good he’s not here, right? He was awful to you,” Sybil reminded me.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, lying. He hadn’t been awful to me. He’d been wonderful, genuine, interesting, smart, romantic. He just had a problem with me being an immortal demon succubus, and I could see how that would bother a normal guy.

  “You don’t sound convinc
ed,” Sybil said.

  I bolted for the ladies’ room before I embarrassed myself.

  The ladies’ room at the Waldorf is the nice kind, with a sofa and a basket of real cloth hand towels and lots of tiny toiletries in case a guest needed some hand cream or a toothbrush or a tampon.

  I sat on the cushy upholstered sofa and tried to breathe deeply and relax. Gentle arms held me and patted me. I hadn’t heard Desi and Sybil follow me in. “Oh, Lily,” Desi said, and I looked up and found myself between two of my best friends.

  “I got your dress wet,” I said, looking at a dark splotch on Desi’s shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” she assured me. Then a knock came at the door. Sybil left and returned with a huge mojito.

  “I thought you could use this,” Sybil said. “Vincent got it for you.”

  I took the glass gratefully and drank it down, the cool sweet liquid calming my throat if not my heart.

  “Where’s Eros?” I asked.

  “I think she’s trying to get hold of Satan,” Desi said. “She was worried about you. I think she wants Satan to damn Nathan or something revengeful like that. Or Eros would do it herself. She’s furious at him.”

  And Eros is a demigoddess. She had never been human, and she was far more powerful than the rest of us put together. When she chose to be, which wasn’t often. Eros may be the most strikingly radical-looking of the four of us, and the coldest emotionally to nondemonkind, but she’s also a loyal friend. And very traditional. Which means that she is perfectly capable of hunting down Nathan and torturing him to death and then damning him forever for hurting me.

  I have the best friends.

  “I don’t want Satan to find me here in the ladies’,” I gasped. “Do I look like a raccoon?”

  Vincent knocked again. Another mojito appeared and the empty glass was whisked away.

  I drank. I didn’t know what special magic Vincent had used, but the drinks were extra strong. I got a bit giggly. Nathan seemed somewhat less important.

  This was a party, a party for demons and I was beautiful and single and I could turn the head of every male in the place. Why should I be sitting in the ladies’ with mascara running down my face?