"Georgina!" she exclaimed, dancing over to my table on gold stilettos. "I'm so happy to see you." She held out her arms, like maybe I was supposed to stand and hug her, but I remained sitting. Taking the hint, she sat down as well. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm going to Vancouver," I said, wrapping my hands around my white chocolate mocha. "Jerome wanted me to stop by and see how things were going."
Her eyes lit up. "Great! I've been spending a lot of time over at Western." She leaned forward and spoke in a sage voice. "You know, if you're ever having trouble getting someone into bed, you should go check out college guys. They're so easy."
"Thanks for the tip," I said dryly. "I'll keep it in mind."
She pursed her lips and eyed me. "Doesn't look like you need it, though," she added wistfully. "I could never get a glow like that."
Too bad she hadn't seen the glow in full effect yesterday. It would have blown her away. "You will," I said. "Someday." Some day far, far away. Tawny had miles to go before gaining the subtleties required to land really moral guys.
"I don't know how you do it. You aren't even blond. I mean, maybe a little, but mostly you're a brunette. I just don't see guys going for that."
My hair was long and light brown, lightly highlighted with gold. My eyes were a hazel-green that I also suspected didn't fit in with her worldview of what was sexy, at least if her baby blues were any indication. "Yeah, well, some people are into kinky stuff, I guess."
The waiter showed up and took our lunch orders. I made myself comfortable and prepared to do some mentoring.
"So," I said. "You got any questions?"
Tawny titled her head, long-lashed blue eyes filled with thought. "Yeah. There's something I've been wondering about."
"Okay, go for it."
"These colleges guys…they're kind of, like, fast."
"Fast?"
"Yeah. You get them into bed, and it's over before it begins."
"They're eighteen or twenty. Still pulsing with adolescent hormones. They don't really know what they're doing yet."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," she said. "Except, when you're going down on them, it takes forever . You know what I mean?"
I forced a straight face. "It's one of the mysteries of the universe, Tawny. You just gotta roll with it."
"But my mouth gets sore," she whined. "Makes my jaw ache the next day! Isn't there any way to speed it up?"
My immortal friends would die if they could hear this conversation. "You can try the 'don't stop' trick. Or maybe tell them you want them to come on your face. That'll get things moving."
"Ew! That's disgusting."
I shrugged. "Don't ask the question if you don't want to hear the answer."
"But how can I even say anything when my mouth is, well, you know…"
Thus went the rest of our lunch conversation, and blow jobs turned out to be the mildest of topics. Fortunately, no one sat within listening distance. I ate my chicken salad as fast as I could, eager to be on my way. As we were paying the bill, a thought came to me.
"Hey, Tawny. You're practically on top of Cedric's turf here. You ever see any signs of him and Jerome fighting?"
She shook her head. "No. I've never even met Cedric. But there's a vampire here in town who's mentioned them fighting before. He seems to think it's a big deal."
"Everyone seems to, and yet…I don't know. I have a weird feeling about all this. Like that someone's trying to cover up something."
Tawny placed some cash on the table, her clawlike nails lacquered and red. For half a moment, she looked remarkably wise. "Back when I was doing cons, the best way to pull one past people was to make a big deal about something else. Misdirection."
It was quite possibly the most intelligent thing I'd ever heard Tawny say. "Yeah, but if so, what are we being misdirected from?"
"Hell if I know. That's for smart people like you to figure out. I'm just trying to get college guys to speed up their blow jobs."
My first minute in Canada, I got pulled over.
Right after you go through customs, there's a short stretch of the freeway with an incredibly low speed limit. Every time I drive through there, I try to drive that speed. And I'm the only one who ever does it. All the locals zip through that area, already driving the speed that the freeway clicks up to about half a mile (or kilometer or whatever) later. Every time, just before I officially hit the higher speed zone, I finally crack and speed up too-and that's always when the cops get me. I've been pulled over three times.
This was my fourth.
I handed over my license and other pertinent paperwork to the cop. "American, eh?" he asked, like it wasn't perfectly obvious.
"Yes, sir," I said.
"You know you were speeding, don't you?" He mostly sounded curious, not harsh.
"Was I?" I asked blankly, looking at him with doe eyes. I saw the succubus glamour seize him. "But the sign said sixty-five."
"Sixty-five kilometers per hour," he corrected gently. "We use the metric system here."
I blinked. "Ohhhh. God, I forgot. I feel so stupid."
"It happens a lot," he said. He handed my stuff back without even running it. "I'll tell you what. I'll let you go this time. Just make sure you get the units right, eh? Your speedometer's got kilometers per hour underneath the miles per hour."
"Oh, that's what the little numbers are for, huh-er, eh?" I gave him a dazzling smile. "Thank you so much."
So help me, he tipped his hat. "Happy to help. Be careful now, and enjoy your stay."
I thanked him again and headed off. It's worth noting here that while I've been pulled over four times in this stretch, I've also gotten off four times.
Canadians. So nice.
I made it into downtown Vancouver without further incident and checked into my hotel. It was a boutique one over on Robson Street, and I decided maybe Jerome didn't hate me after all. Or at least, Hell's travel agency didn't hate me. Robson was a fun neighborhood, full of restaurants and shopping. I threw my stuff into my room and then headed off to meet Cedric. He would have sensed me crossing into his territory, but I wanted it officially noted for the record that I was here so that I didn't get in further trouble with Jerome.
Unlike Jerome, who was impossible to find sometimes, Cedric actually had a suite of offices over in the Financial District. I kind of liked that. The front desk was staffed by an imp named Kristin. She seemed pleasant enough, just incredibly busy. She told me I'd lucked out and that Cedric could fit me in right now. Walking into his office, I found him at his desk, reading something on Wikipedia. He glanced up.
"Oh. Jerome's succubus." He turned from the monitor and gestured to a chair opposite his desk. "Have a seat."
I sat down and immediately began assessing the office. Nothing about it screamed evil. It was neat and sleek, with an expansive window full of office buildings beyond him. Silver perpetual motion balls sat on his desk, and one of those framed motivational posters hung on the wall. It had a picture of a struggling pine sapling in front of a larger tree and read, DETERMINATION .
Cedric himself didn't look too evil either. He had an average build and pretty blue-gray eyes. He kept his hair shaved army-style, and like Kristin, the biggest vibe I got off him was busy. Inasmuch as one could be busy surfing Wikipedia, that is. I glanced at the screen, curious as to what he'd been looking at. Demonic takeovers, perhaps?
"Oh, that," he said, following my gaze. "Just a hobby of mine. It's the entry on marsupials. I just like going in sometimes and putting in incorrect information. It's always fun to see how long it takes them to notice. They're better about it than they used to be, but that just makes it more of a challenge. I just wrote about how marsupials are an integral part of the Lutheran Eucharist." He chuckled at his own ingenuity. "God, I hated the Reformation."
I smiled, not entirely sure what to say.
Cedric clasped his hands in front of him, face turning serious. "So, let's get down to business. You're here to spy on me."
&nbs
p; My mouth opened, but nothing coherent came out right away. "Um…"
He waved his hand. "No, no, it's fine. You don't honestly expect me to believe Jerome would do me a favor without strings attached? Whatever. I don't have anything to hide. He can keep his territory-I'm too busy watching my own. You can tell him whatever you want so long as you do what I need you to."
"Right," I said, finding my voice at last. "Your embarrassing Satanic cult."
He grimaced. "God, those guys are such a pain in the ass. What do you know about them?"
"That they aren't Satanists like the usual groups, not like Anton LaVey's followers or the anti-Christians." I felt like a student reciting in front of a class.
"They think they're anti-Christian, but mostly, they're just ridiculous. Just some flakes in search of identity who got together and thought it'd be cool to be evil. They have meetings in robes and keep making up secret handshakes."
"And that's a problem?"
"Nah, I don't care about any of that. They can play dress-up all they want. What's annoying is that they're doing all the things people think evil people do but don't actually do. They ripped up a bunch of bibles once and left them on this church's lawn. They also appear to have a fondness for spray paint."
"I heard about that."
"They keep writing stupid stuff like 'The Angel of Darkness is Lord' and 'What Would Satan Do?'" Cedric rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that's original."
"I can see why you'd be embarrassed," I admitted.
"No kidding. The worst part is that they're attracting some media attention- especially among local churches. So, now those guys are doing their own sort of backlash and triggering a whole bunch of demonstrations about faith and light and all that stuff. Not what we need. Kind of defeats our purpose, really."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Kristin hangs out with them sometimes. They know her and recognize what side she works for, but frankly, she doesn't have the people skills to manipulate them. She'll take you to them and give them some bullshit about how you're high-ranking in the ways of evil or something equally absurd. Then, I want you to hang out with them and just be part of their group. Stop them from doing more stupid things. Get them to go back to their role-playing in the basement. Hell, if you can convince them to disband, go for it." He eyed me. "You're a succubus. You've been around for a while. You should be able to talk them into anything."
I nodded. "I can."
"Good. I'm tired of them. I'm not allowed to interfere directly, and my own people are too busy." He stood up and walked toward the door. I took the hint and followed. "Do whatever you want the rest of the day. Kristin'll take you over to them tomorrow. Check them out. See what you think. I've got some appointments in the morning, but stop by anyway and give me your impressions of those fools."
"Is there anything in particular you want me to find out for you?"
"Yes," he said. "In addition to keeping them out of trouble, I want you to simply observe them. They're not just attracting media attention-they're attracting attention from my superiors." Ah, yeah. Hell could get pissy about that kind of thing. "If someone's purposely manipulating them, I want to know."
"Okay."
He gave me a narrow-eyed look. "And I hope it's not Jerome."
He still had that mild, businesslike exterior, but I heard the stern note in his voice. I shivered but gave him a smile anyway, trying not to think about misdirection.
"I hope not either."
I was a bit surprised at how short my meeting with Cedric had been. I was more surprised still that after all the grief Jerome had given me about the urgency of this trip, I now had nothing to do. Of course, if he was trying to get rid of me, this was as good a way as any. My bad attitude and I were out of Seattle.
It was dinnertime when I got back to Robson Street, so I found food at an Ethiopian restaurant a few blocks from my hotel and lingered over the remains of my meal with a novel I'd picked up a few days ago. Afterward, I wandered up and down the street, looking at various shops and designers, but eventually had to stop after passing two T-shirt stores. One sold retro stuff and had a dark purple Quiet Riot shirt in their window. Another sold Canadian souvenirs and displayed a shirt showing a map of Canada in red with a map of the U.S. below it in blue. The caption read: "Canada Likes It on Top." If I'd still been dating Seth, I would have bought him both. He would have shaken his head and given me a slight quirk of the lips as he tried to hide his smile.
The thought depressed me, and I found myself growing sadder and sadder as I walked back to my hotel. In that moment, I would have given anything to be with Seth again, to right the wrongs we'd done to each other back around Christmastime. Losing him was losing a part of me that-
Searing, white-hot anger suddenly shot through me. What the fuck was I whining about? Why should I miss him? Why should I pine for someone who'd betrayed me and hurt me with my friend , of all people? Seth didn't deserve my longing or my love, and as I continued walking, that dark despair within me transformed to rage and spite-just as it had done nearly every day for the past four months.
When I got back to the hotel, I was no longer sad. I was pissed. I hated everyone and everything, but especially Seth. I wanted to make him pay. Unfortunately, there was no way to do that, not here in Vancouver. Passing near the hotel's bar on my way through the lobby, I paused and surveyed the patrons. It was a veritable smorgasbord of men, most of them lone travelers making transient friends over their drinks. My succubus lust sprang up in me, and suddenly, all I wanted was to get drunk and go to bed with some guy. I wanted to lose myself in the haze of alcohol and fucking, in the hopes that it might all dull the pain that lay buried under my anger.
And as I scanned the room, one guy in particular caught my attention. The face was all wrong, but he had hair almost the same color as Seth's. It was worn messy too, though it appeared as though he'd achieved that look with gel, rather than the lack of brushing Seth employed. No, this guy wasn't a perfect match by any means, but he was close, and there was an aura of shy vulnerability about him that I liked.
Putting on a smile, I strolled across the room to introduce myself. I might not be able to actually punish Seth, but at least for tonight, I could pretend that I could.
CHAPTER 4
"Can I call you?"
The Sorta-Seth-Lookalike lay naked in bed, still worn out even though he'd come hours ago. I stood near the door, fully dressed, slipping on my shoes. It turned out he was actually here on business from Seattle, and he'd been ecstatic to learn we lived in the same city.
"Mmm." I pursed my lips as though I were giving this a lot of thought. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
"Really?" His brief, happy look faded. He'd turned out to be as vulnerable and shy as I thought. I was only the second woman he'd ever slept with. "But I felt like…well, I felt like we really connected."
I fixed him with a cold look. That smothering rage from last night no longer consumed me, but I was still angry at the world and needed to lash out at anyone I could. "Our bodies connected. That's about it. The truth is, I already have a boyfriend."
His eyes widened. I realized then I should have mentioned having a boyfriend before we had sex. It would have doubled his guilt and given me a stronger fix. Still, the agony he now felt over sleeping with someone else's girlfriend was undoubtedly blackening his soul even as we spoke.
"R-really?"
"Yup. Sorry. This was just a way to pass the time. And honestly, baby? You want some feedback? You've still got a lot to learn. It really wasn't that great."
I left before I could see the full effect of my words. It would hurt, I had no doubt about that. Devastating him didn't really make me feel better, but it had frozen me up enough so that I didn't have to process any real emotions. I was numb, which was about the best I could hope for.
Kristin was waiting for me at a coffee shop down the street so that she could drive me over to the cult leader's house. Her mousy brown hair was pulled
up into a neat French twist, and her crisp suit reminded me of something Grace or Mei might wear, save that this was navy as opposed to their usual black or-on daring days-red. She drank what looked like a cappuccino and picked over the remains of a bagel, her eyes lost in thought as she no doubt pondered the coming day's wheeling and dealing.
I bought a white chocolate mocha and slid into the chair opposite her. "Good morning," I said.
She looked me over, noting the glamour. "And a good night?"
I shrugged. "Okay night."
"You ready to meet the Army of Darkness?"
"Sure. I-wait. What did you say?"
"The Army of Darkness. That's what the cult calls itself."
"They know that's a movie, right?"
She shook her head. "Honestly, it's hard to say. They may have named themselves after the movie, for all I know."
"This is so absurd as to be unreal," I told her. "It all sounds like a joke."
"If only," she muttered. "Believe me, I'll be glad when you get rid of them. Aside from the fact that Cedric makes me talk to them, I have to file a ream of paperwork each time they do something stupid. It's really stressing him out. I keep trying to get him to do relaxation exercises, but he won't."
Her tone sounded genuinely concerned, almost as though she worked for Cedric out of true loyalty, rather than the forced servitude the rest of us bowed to.
"Well, I'll see what I can do. Don't you guys have a succubus up here? Why isn't she working this group over?"
"She's busy seducing the premier. Cedric didn't want her distracted."
"Whoa," I said. It had been centuries since I'd had the initiative to go after a major politician. "I feel like a slacker."
Kristin cut me a look. "Mostly I hear that you're a troublemaker."
"I like to think I'm just misunderstood."
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