Ian’s defense came swift and certain. “She got into bed with me.”
“I thought he was you,” I said.
Seth’s mother made a strange noise in her throat.
“You were supposed to be on the couch,” said Seth accusingly.
Ian shrugged. “It’s uncomfortable. And you weren’t home yet, so I figured there was no harm done. How was I supposed to know some woman was going to come manhandle me in my sleep?”
“I didn’t manhandle you!” I cried.
Seth rubbed his eyes, again reminding me how exhausted he was. “Look, what’s done is done. Why don’t we all just go to bed—where we’re supposed to—and then get to know each other in the morning, okay?”
Margaret eyed me. “She’s going to sleep in here? With you?”
“Yes, Mom,” he said patiently. “With me. Because I’m a grown man. And this is my home. And because in thirty-six years, this isn’t the first woman to stay over with me.”
His mother looked aghast, and I groped for a more comfortable topic. “Your shirt’s great.” Now that she wasn’t threatening to strike me, I could see that the crossword spelled out her five granddaughters’ names. “I love the girls.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Each one of them is a blessing, born within the holy confines of wedlock.”
Before I could even fumble a response to that, Ian groaned. “Lord, Mom. Is that from that Web site I told you not to order from? You know their stuff’s made in China. I know this woman who could have made you one out of sustainable organic fabric.”
“Hemp is a drug, not a fabric,” she told him.
“Good night, you guys,” said Seth, pointing his brother to the door. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Margaret and Ian murmured their good nights, and she paused to kiss Seth on the cheek—which I actually thought was pretty cute. When they were gone and the door was closed, Seth sat on his bed and buried his face in his hands.
“So,” I said, coming to sit beside him. “Exactly how many women have stayed over in thirty-six years?”
He looked up. “None who were caught by my mother in so little clothing.”
I plucked at the skirt of the nightgown. “This? This is tame.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he added, waving vaguely toward the door. “I should’ve called and warned you. They just drove into town tonight—unannounced, of course. Ian can’t be expected to do what people expect. It would ruin his reputation. They showed up at Terry’s, but there’s no room for them there, so I sent them on ahead since they were so tired. I had no idea it would result in you trying to sleep with my brother.”
“Seth!”
“Kidding, kidding.” He picked up my hand and kissed the top of it. “How are you? How was your day?”
“Well, I tried my best to keep Santa from getting drunk and then found out Jerome signed us up for a Hellish bowling league.”
“I see,” said Seth. “So. The usual.”
“Pretty much. What about you?”
The small smile that had been tugging at his lips fell. “Aside from unexpected family? The usual too. Terry was out late with work stuff, so I was there all night with the girls while Andrea rested. Kendall has to build a papier-mâché solar system, so that was fun for everyone.” He held up his hands and wiggled fingers coated in white powder.
“And let me guess. No writing?”
He shrugged. “It’s not important.”
“You should’ve called me. I could’ve watched them while you wrote.”
“You were working and then . . . what, it was fondue night, right?” He stood up and stripped off his shirt and jeans, getting down to green flannel boxers.
“How did you know that?” I asked. “I barely knew that.”
“I was on Peter’s e-mail list.”
“Well, regardless, it doesn’t matter. And that mall job is nothing. I could have been over here in a flash.”
He stepped into his bathroom and returned a few moments later with a toothbrush in his mouth. “That job is nuffing. Haf any of your interfeews panned out?”
“No,” I said, not adding that I hadn’t gone on any other interviews. Everything paled compared to Emerald City.
The conversation was put on pause while he finished brushing his teeth. “You should be doing something better,” he said, once he was done.
“I’m fine where I’m at. I don’t mind it. But you . . . you can’t keep going on like this. You’re not getting enough sleep or working.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. He turned off the light and crawled into bed. In the dimness, I saw him pat the spot beside him. “Come over here. It’s just me, I promise.”
I smiled and curled up beside him. “Ian didn’t smell right, you know. I mean, he smelled good, but not like you.”
“I’m sure he spends gratuitous amounts of money to smell good,” muttered Seth through a yawn.
“What’s he do for a living?”
“Hard to say. He’s always got new jobs. Or no job. Whatever money he’s got goes toward carefully maintaining his hard-fought, effortless lifestyle. Have you seen his coat?”
“No. The only clothing of his I’ve seen is his boxers.”
“Ah. Well, it must be in the living room. It looks like it came from a thrift store but probably cost four figures.” He sighed. “Although, I shouldn’t be too hard on him. I mean, yeah, he’ll probably hit me up for money while he’s here, but I can’t knock him and Mom coming out to help. At the very least, they can help watch the kids now.”
I wrapped my arms around Seth and breathed in his scent. It was the right one, and it was intoxicating. “And you can catch up on some writing.”
“Maybe,” he said. “We’ll see how it goes. I just hope I’m not babysitting Mom and Ian more than the girls.”
“How bad of an impression did I make on her?” I asked.
“Not that bad. I mean, no worse than any woman—scantily clad or otherwise—would’ve made who was spending the night with me.” He kissed my forehead. “She’s not so bad. Don’t be fooled by her conservative Midwest grandma act. I think you guys will get along.”
I wanted to ask if Maddie had met Margaret and, if so, how they’d gotten along. I bit my tongue on the question. It didn’t matter. It was in the past, and Seth and I were the present. Sometimes, especially staying here as much as I did, I felt a little weird remembering that Maddie had lived with him too. There were still little touches here and there that bore the mark of her influence. For example, Margaret was most likely staying in Seth’s office, which had a futon, courtesy of Maddie’s ingenuity. She’d been the one to suggest he get it to help make the office double as a guestroom. Maddie had gone; the futon had stayed.
I tried not to think about those things very often, though. In the big picture, they didn’t matter. Seth and I had come through too much for me to get hung up on something like that. We’d overcome the problems in our relationship. I’d accepted his mortality and his decision to risk his life by being physical with me. True, I still rationed our sex life, but the fact that I allowed it at all was a big concession for me. Meanwhile, he accepted the terrible truth that I was often out sleeping with other men in order to sustain my existence. They were difficult things for us both, but they were worth it for us to be together. Everything we’d gone through was worth it.
“I love you,” I told him.
He placed a soft kiss on my lips and pulled me closer. “I love you too.” Then, in an echo of my thoughts, he added, “You make it all worthwhile. All this stuff I’m dealing with.... I can do it because you’re in my life, Thetis.”
Thetis. That was his longtime nickname for me, coming from the shape-shifting goddess in Greek mythology who’d been won by a steadfast mortal. He called me that all the time—and Letha, only once. I thought again about that night. The troubled feelings it stirred never seemed to go away, but I once again tried to force them aside. It was another of those little things that I was trying not to le
t bug me. It was nothing compared to the greatness of our love, and like my friends had said, Seth had probably overheard the name.
I fell into a contented sleep, only to be awakened abruptly around dawn. My eyes flew open, and I sat upright. Seth shifted and rolled over but wasn’t awakened by my sudden movement. I stared around the room, my heart racing. I’d been jolted out of sleep by an immortal presence, one I didn’t know. It had felt demonic.
There was nothing here now, visible or invisible, but I knew for a fact some servant of Hell had just been in the room. This wasn’t the first time I’d had unwelcome visitors in my sleep, often ones with nefarious intentions. Of course, I’d felt this demon just now, and demons—being higher immortals, not a lesser human-turned-immortal like me—could mask their immortal signature. If he or she had wanted to sneak around or hurt me unannounced, it could have done so. Whoever this was hadn’t cared about discovery.
I slipped out of bed and continued studying the room, looking for some sign or reason for the demon’s passage. I was certain there would be one. There. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of red—in my purse. There was a business envelope sitting on top of it. I hurried over and scooped up the envelope. It was warm to my touch, but as I quietly opened it, I began to feel cold. That feeling intensified as I pulled out a letter printed on official Hell stationery. No good could come of this.
Sunset had filtered more than enough light into the room to read by. The letter was addressed to Letha (alias: Georgina Kincaid), from Hell’s HR:
This is the thirty-day notice for your trans fer. Your new assignment will begin on January 15. Please make travel arrangements to leave Seattle and report to your new location in a timely manner.
Chapter 3
The crisp paper with its laser printing was a lot different from scrawling script on vellum, but I knew an official transfer letter when I saw one. I’d received dozens in the last millennia, in various forms, pointing me on to new assignments and locations. The last one had come to me while I was in London fifteen years ago. From there, I’d moved here to Seattle.
And now this one was telling me it was time to move on yet again.
To leave Seattle.
“No,” I breathed, far too soft for Seth to hear. “No.”
I knew this letter was legitimate. It wasn’t a forgery. It wasn’t a joke sent on Hell’s stationery. What I was praying for was that this official transfer order had just been sent to me in error. The letter had no information about my next assignment because, per protocol, employees were usually briefed by their archdemons before a transfer. The letter then came afterward, to make the termination of the old job and start of the new one official.
I’d seen my archdemon less than twelve hours ago. Surely, surely, if this was real, Jerome could have brought himself to at least mention it. The transfer of a succubus would be a big deal for him. He’d have to juggle both the fallout of losing me and gaining someone else. But, no. Jerome hadn’t behaved as though he had a major personnel change coming. He’d said nothing to even hint about it. One would think this would have trumped his bowling league just a little.
I realized I was holding my breath and forced myself to start breathing again. A mistake. Whoever had sent this had clearly made a mistake. Lifting my eyes from the paper, I focused on Seth’s sleeping form. He was sprawled in his usual way, with his limbs all over the bed. Light and shadow played across his face, and I felt tears spring to my eyes as I studied those beloved features.
Leaving Seattle. Leaving Seth.
No, no, no. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t cry because there was nothing to cry about. This was a mistake. It had to be because there was no way the universe could be this cruel to me. I had already gone through too much. I was happy now. Seth and I had fought our battles to be together. We’d finally achieved our dream. That couldn’t be taken away from me, not now.
Can’t it? A nasty voice in my head pointed out the obvious. You sold your soul. You’re damned. Why should the universe owe you anything? You don’t deserve happiness. You should have this taken away from you.
Jerome. I had to talk to Jerome. He would sort this out.
I folded the letter four times and stuffed it into my purse. Grabbing my cell phone, I headed for the door and shape-shifted on a robe. I managed to slip out of the room without a sound, but my victory was short-lived. I’d hoped to be able to sneak outside, past Ian in the living room, and call Jerome in privacy. Unfortunately, I never made it that far. Both Ian and Margaret were up and awake, forcing me to stop middial.
Margaret stood in the kitchen cooking something on the stove while he sat at the kitchen table. “Mom,” he was saying, “it doesn’t matter what the water-to-coffee ratio is. You can’t make an Americano out of drip. Especially with that Starbucks crap Seth buys.”
“Actually,” I said, slipping the phone regretfully into my robe’s pocket, “I bought that coffee. It’s not that bad. It’s a Seattle institution, you know.”
Ian didn’t look as though he’d hit the shower yet, but at least he was dressed. He regarded me critically. “Starbucks? They might have been okay before they became mainstream, but now they’re just another corporate monstrosity that all the sheep flock to.” He swirled his coffee mug around. “Back in Chicago, I go to this really great hole-in-the-wall café that’s run by this guy who used to be a bass player in an indie rock band you’ve probably never heard off. The espresso he serves is so authentic, it’s mind-blowing. Of course, most people have no clue because it’s not the kind of place mainstream people tend to frequent.”
“So,” I said, suspecting one could make a drinking game out of how many times Ian used “mainstream” in a conversation, “I guess that means there’s plenty of Starbucks here for me.”
Margaret nodded briefly toward Seth’s coffeemaker. “Have a cup with us.”
She turned around and continued cooking. The phone was burning in my pocket. I wanted to sprint toward the door and had to force myself to behave normally in front of Seth’s family. I poured myself a cup of delicious corporate coffee and tried not to act like they were keeping me from a phone call that could change the rest of my life. Soon, I told myself. I’d have answers soon. Jerome probably wasn’t even up. I could delay here briefly for the sake of politeness and then get my answers.
“You’re up early,” I said, taking my coffee over to a corner that gave me a good view of both Mortensens. And the door.
“Hardly,” said Margaret. “It’s nearly eight. Ten, where we come from.”
“I suppose so,” I murmured, sipping from my mug. Since signing up for Team North Pole, I hardly ever saw this side of noon anymore. Children didn’t usually hit Santa up for Christmas requests so early, not even the ones at the mall I worked at.
“Are you a writer too?” asked Margaret, flipping over something with a flourish. “Is that why you pull such crazy hours?”
“Er, no. But I do usually work later in the day. I work, um, retail, so I’m on mall hours.”
“The mall,” scoffed Ian.
Margaret turned from the stove and glared at her son. “Don’t act like you never go there. Half your wardrobe’s from Fox Valley.”
Ian actually turned pink. “That’s not true!”
“Didn’t you get your coat at Abernathy & Finch?” she prodded.
“It’s Abercrombie & Fitch! And, no, of course I didn’t.”
Margaret’s expression spoke legions. She took down two plates from the cupboard and stacked them high with pancakes. She delivered one to Ian and the other to me.
I started to hand it back. “Wait. Is this your breakfast? I can’t eat this.”
She fixed with me with a steely gaze and then looked me up and down. It gave me a good view of the quilted teddy bears on her sweatshirt. “Oh? Are you one of those girls who doesn’t eat real food? Is your usual breakfast coffee and grapefruit?” She gave a calculated pause. “Or do you not trust my cooking?”
“What? No!” I
hastily put my plate on the table and took a chair across from Ian. “This looks great.”
“Usually I’m vegan,” said Ian, pouring syrup on the pancakes. “But I make exceptions for Mom.”
I really, really should have let it go but couldn’t help saying, “I didn’t think ‘usually’ and ‘vegan’ go together. You either are or you aren’t. If you’re making exceptions some of the time, then I don’t think you get the title. I mean, sometimes I put cream in my coffee and sometimes I don’t. I don’t call myself vegan on black days.”
He sighed in disgust. “I’m vegan ironically.”
I returned to my pancakes. Margaret was back to cooking again, presumably her own breakfast now, but still continued the conversation. “How long have you and Seth been seeing each other?”
“Well . . .” I used chewing as an excuse to formulate my thoughts. “That’s kind of hard to answer. We’ve, um, dated off and on for the last year.”
Ian frowned. “Wasn’t Seth engaged for part of the last year?”
I was on the verge of saying, “He was engaged ironically,” when Seth himself emerged from the bedroom. I was grateful for the distraction from explaining our relationship but not pleased to see Seth up.
“Hey!” I said. “Go back to bed. You need more sleep.”
“Good morning to you too,” he said. He brushed a kiss against his mother’s cheek and the joined us at the table.
“I mean it,” I said. “This is your chance to sleep in.”
“I got all the sleep I need,” he countered, stifling a yawn. “Besides, I promised to make cupcakes for the twins. Their class is having a holiday party today.”
“ ‘Holiday,’ ” muttered Margaret. “Whatever happened to Christmas?”
“I can help you,” I told Seth. “Well . . . that is, after I take care of a couple of things.”
“I can make them.” Margaret was already going through the cupboards, seeking ingredients. “I’ve been making cupcakes before any of you were born.”
Seth and I exchanged glances at that.
“Actually,” he said, “I can make them on my own. What would help the most, Mom, is if you could go to Kayla’s school today. She’s got a half day, and Andrea will need babysitting.” He nodded at me. “You work tonight, right? Come help me with the twins. I know they can use more volunteers. Elf costume optional. And you . . .” He turned to Ian and trailed off, at a loss for how Ian could actually be helpful.
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