Succubus Blues gk-1

by Richelle Mead

  "Desire."

  "Fitting," I observed. Angels and conspiracies aside, I still hungered for Roman. "Did you find out anything?"

  "I'm afraid not. I asked around but learned nothing more about vampire hunters, nor did I get any indication of one in the area."

  "That doesn't surprise me." I sipped the tea. "I think something else is going on."

  He said nothing, prudent as ever.

  "I know you won't tell me why he was here, and I understand that..." I trailed off, determining how best to phrase my words. "But what do you... what do you think of him? Carter, that is. Has he done anything weird or seemed, I don't know, suspicious? Secretive?"

  Erik gave me a droll look. "Begging your pardon, but I have a number of customers—yourself inclusive—who fit that description."

  No doubt that was an understatement. "Well, then, I don't know. Do you trust him?"

  "Mr. Carter?" Surprise registered across his features. "I've known him longer than I have you. If any of those 'suspicious and secretive' customers can be trusted, he is certainly first among them. I'd place my life in his hands."

  No surprise there. If Carter could fool Jerome, he could surely fool a mortal as well.

  Shifting gears, I asked: "Do you know anything about fallen angels?"

  "I would think you are already familiar with that topic, Miss Kincaid."

  I wondered if he referred to the company I kept or the old myth that succubi were demons. For the record, we aren't.

  "Never ask a practitioner if you want to learn about a religion's history. Save those questions for outside scholars."

  "Very true." He smiled, thinking as he brought the cup to his lips. "Well. Surely you know that demons are angels who turned away from the divine will. They rebelled, or as it is commonly referred to, 'fell.' Lucifer is generally accredited as being the first, and others left with him."

  "That was in the beginning, though, right? One mass migration to the other side." I frowned, still wondering about the technicalities of when angels fell. "What about later? Was that the only time it happened? Just that once?"

  Erik shook his head. "My impression is that it can happen still and has happened in the past. There are even documents suggesting—"

  The door opened, and a young couple walked in. Erik rose and smiled at them.

  "Do you have any books on tarot?" the girl asked. "For beginners?"

  Did he ever. Erik had a whole wall of them. The interruption frustrated me, but I didn't want to disrupt a chance for him to do some business. I gestured him toward the couple, drinking the rest of my tea. He led them to the appropriate section, energetically explaining certain titles and questioning their needs in further detail.

  I picked up my coat and purse, along with a box of the Desire tea. Erik watched me set a ten-dollar bill on the counter. "Keep the change," I told him.

  Pausing from his discussion with the couple, he remarked to me, "Check... let's see, I believe it's the beginning of Genesis 6... verse 2 or 4 perhaps? There might be something to help you in there."

  "Genesis? Like in the Bible?" He nodded, and I glanced around the book-lined shelves. "Where is it?"

  "I don't stock it, Miss Kincaid. I suspect your own resources will be more than adequate."

  He returned to his customers, and I left, marveling at a man who could pull up biblical verses by number but not have a copy on hand. Still, he was right about me having ample resources, and my shift started soon anyway.

  I drove back to Queen Anne and found the street parking full. Digging my permit out from the glove box, I hung it on my rearview mirror and pulled into the tiny, private parking lot bordering an alley behind the bookstore. So many employees wanted to use the lot, I generally tried to avoid it when I could.

  As I walked toward the store, I caught sight of two cars pulled hood to hood and a redheaded figure leaning over them. Tammi. I liked the teenager a lot, but she also had a tendency to chat. Not wanting to delay my biblical search, I stepped into some shadows and shape-shifted into a nondescript man she wouldn't know. I then walked on past her, barely getting a second glance as she jumped the car.

  I changed back to my normal body once I was out of sight again. A momentary sense of windedness hit me, gone just as quickly as it had arrived. Cross-gender shape-shifting always took a bite out of me, which was why I had resisted Peter's silly haircut-modeling suggestion. I had probably just lost a few days' worth of my Martin-induced energy surplus. That left me with a couple weeks at least, but I felt the succubus feeding need stir slightly within me anyway, no doubt agitated by my perpetual longing for Roman.

  The bookstore hummed with normal weekday business when I arrived. Immediately, I sought out our religion section. I had directed people to it on a number of occasions; I had even pulled select titles from it. What I had not done was pay close attention to just how many Bibles existed.

  "Jesus," I muttered, staring at the various translations. There were Bibles for women and men respectively, Bibles for teens, illustrated Bibles, large-print Bibles, gold-embossed Bibles. At last I caught sight of the King James Version. I knew little about it, but at least I recognized the title.

  Pulling it off the shelf, I flipped to Genesis 6 and read Erik's passage:

  And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, That the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose.

  And the LORD said, 'My spirit shall not always strive with man, for that he also is flesh: yet his days shall be an hundred and twenty years.’

  There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown.

  Well. That cleared everything up.

  I reread the passage a few more times, hoping to get something more out of it. I finally determined Erik must have given me the wrong chapter number. He'd been distracted, after all. This passage, by my estimation, had nothing to do with angels, falling, or even the cosmic battle of good and evil. What it did seem to be about, however, was human procreation. It didn't take a biblical scholar to figure out what "the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men" meant, especially when children followed in the next phrase. Sex had sold books back in the old days, just as it did now. I wondered if Erik had given me the passage number as a joke.

  "Are you finding religion?"

  I looked up first into a Pac-Man T-shirt, then into Seth's inquisitive face. "Found and lost it a long time ago, I'm afraid." I shut the book as he knelt down beside me. "Just looking up something. How are Cady and O'Neill today?"

  "Making good progress on their latest case." He smiled fondly, and I found myself studying the amber-brown of his eyes. I'd had a few more e-mail exchanges with him in the last few days and enjoyed my mininovels, though our spoken conversation had seen little improvement. "I just finished a chapter and needed to take a break. Walk around, get something to drink."

  "No caffeine, I presume." I had learned Seth didn't drink caffeinated beverages, which I found both frightening and unnatural.

  "No. No caffeine."

  "You shouldn't knock it. It might increase your writing output."

  "Ah yes, that's right. You don't think my books come out fast enough."

  I groaned, remembering the day I'd met him. "I think my own words came out a little too fast that first day."

  "No way. You were brilliant. I'll never forget it."

  His quizzical mask slipped briefly, just as it had at the dance lesson, and I once again saw male interest and appreciation cross his features. Crouching beside him, I again had a momentary sense of naturalness, like I normally had with Doug or one of the immortals. Something friendly and soothing. Like Seth and I had known each other forever. Maybe I had, in a manner of speaking, through his books.

  And yet, at the same time, being this clos
e to him proved disconcerting as well. Distracting. I began noticing things like the lean muscles in his arms and the way his messy brown hair framed his face. Even the gold sheen of light hitting his facial hair and the shape of his lips held my attention. Turning away, I felt the base thirst for life energy twitch in me, and I repressed the urge to reach out and touch his face. The outside shape-shifting had caused more damage than I realized. I still didn't really require a true refill of energy, but the succubus instinct was getting irritable. I needed to squelch it soon, but certainly not with Seth.

  I stood up hastily, still holding the Bible, wanting to get away from him. He rose with me.

  "Well," I began awkwardly when neither of us said anything for a few moments, "I need to get to work here."

  He nodded, the interest in his face turning to apprehension. "I..."

  "Hmm?"

  Swallowing, he looked away briefly then back to me, his eyes now focused with determination. "So, I'm going to this party on Sunday, and I wondered if maybe... maybe if you weren't busy or weren't working, you could maybe, that is, maybe you'd want to come with me."

  I stared, speechless. Had Seth Mortensen just asked me out? And hadn't... hadn't we just had a coherent conversation for once? Combined with me suddenly noticing how attractive he was, the very world seemed to be turning on its side. Worse still, I wanted to accept. Something about Seth suddenly felt natural and right, even if it wasn't like the rollercoaster of excitement I felt with Roman. Somewhere in this bizarre, awkward relationship, I'd grown to genuinely like the writer independent of his novels.

  But I couldn't accept. I knew I couldn't. I cursed myself for my initial flirtation; it had apparently stuck with him, despite my efforts to undo it and stay platonic. Part of me felt dismayed, part of me pleased. All of me knew what I had to do.

  "No," I answered bluntly, still stunned.

  "Oh."

  I had no choice. No way could I have Seth attracted to me. No way could I risk anything but an arm's-length friendship with my favorite books' creator.

  Realizing how rude I had sounded, I attempted a hasty recovery. I should have simply said I had to work, but instead, I found myself babbling on with a variant of what I had used on Doug over the years.

  "You see... I'm not really interested in dating right now or getting involved with anyone. So, it's nothing personal, I mean, the party sounds great and all, but I just can't accept. I don't ever accept things like that, actually. Like I said, it isn't personal. It's just easier not to get involved. To not date. Um, ever."

  Seth studied me for a long time, considering, and I was suddenly reminded of that first night when he looked much the same way while I explained my five-page rule with his books.

  Finally, he said, "Oh. Okay. But... aren't you dating that guy? The really tall one with black hair?"

  "No. We're not dating. Not really. We're just, uh, friends. Sort of."

  "Oh," Seth repeated. "Friends don't go to parties together, then?"

  "No." I hesitated, suddenly wishing I had a different answer. "They can maybe have coffee sometimes. Here in the bookstore."

  "I don't drink coffee."

  There was a sharpness to his voice. I felt like I'd been slapped. We stood there then in what was quite possibly among the top five most uncomfortable moments of my life. The silence stretched out between us. At last, I repeated my lame exit excuse: "I have to get back to work."

  "Okay. See you around."

  Just friends, just friends. How many times had I used that line? How many times had the lie been easier than facing up to the truth? I'd even used it on my husband so long ago, again hiding from the reality of a matter I didn't want to admit to when things had turned sour between us.

  "Just friends?" Kyriakos had repeated, dark eyes staring at me.

  "Of course. He's your friend too, you know. He just keeps me company when you're gone, that's all. It's lonely without you."

  But I never told my husband how often his friend Ariston came to visit or how we always seemed to be finding excuses to touch each other. A casual brush here and there. His hand to help me up. Or the one day that still burned in my memory, when he had reached over me to grab a bottle, and his hand had grazed my breast. I'd given an involuntary gasp, and he'd lingered for a heartbeat before carrying on with his task.

  And I didn't tell Kyriakos that Ariston made me feel like I had in the early days of my marriage, like I was clever, beautiful, and desirable. Ariston lavished me with the attention Kyriakos once had; Ariston loved the sharp wit that had once gotten me into trouble as an unmarried maiden.

  As for Kyriakos... well, I assumed he loved those things too, but he didn't show it so much anymore. His father was making him work longer and longer hours, and when he finally got home, he would collapse into bed or seek the solitude of his flute. I hated that flute... hated it and loved it. I loathed that it seemed to hold his attention more than I did.

  Yet, on some nights, when I sat outside and listened to him play, I felt awed at his skill and that ability to create such sweetness.

  But that didn't change the fact that I slept untouched more often than not. When I told him I'd never get pregnant that way, he'd laugh and tell me we had all the time in the world for children. This troubled me because I honestly—and irrationally—believed that having a baby would somehow fix everything between us. I ached for one, missing the way my little sisters had once felt in my arms. I loved the honesty and the innocence of children and liked to think I might help guide one into becoming a good person. Nothing seemed so sweet to me in those days as cleaning cuts, holding small hands, and telling stories. Furthermore, I had reached a point where I needed to know that I could have a baby. Three years of marriage was a long time to go without a child in those days, and I'd seen the way others were starting to whisper that poor Letha might be barren. I hated their simpering and sickeningly sugared pity.

  I should have told Kyriakos everything that was on my mind, every last detail. But he was so sweet and worked so hard to provide for us, I couldn't bear it. I didn't want to shake the contentment that ostensibly filled our household just for my own self-gratification and need for attention. Besides, it wasn't like he always neglected my body. A bit of coaxing, and I could sometimes get him to answer my desire. We'd come together in the middle of the night then, his body moving in mine with the same passion he used in his music.

  Yet, looking at Ariston some days, I had the feeling he wouldn't need any coaxing at all. And as empty days without Kyriakos passed, that started to mean something.

  Just friends, just friends. Standing there in the bookstore, watching Seth walk away, I half wondered how anyone could still use that line. But I knew why, of course. It was used because people still believed it. Or at least they wanted to.

  When I returned downstairs—feeling sad, angry, and idiotic all at the same time—I stumbled upon a scenario guaranteed to make my day even weirder: Helena from Krystal Starz stood there in front of the registers, gesticulating wildly to the cashiers.

  Helena here. On my turf.

  Swallowing my confusion over Seth, I strode over in my best managerial way, still carrying the Bible. "Is there something I can help you with?"

  Helena spun around, making the crystals around her neck tinkle as they hit each other. "It's her—she's the one. The one who stole my staff."

  I glanced behind the counter. Casey and Beth stood there, looking relieved to see me. Tammi and her friend Janice must have been somewhere else in the store, for which I was grateful. Best to keep them out of this. I kept my voice cool, ever-conscious of the customers observing.

  "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

  "Don't start that with me! You know exactly what I mean. You walked into my store, made a scene, and then lured away my staff. They left without notice!"

  "People have recently applied for jobs here," I responded blandly. "I can't really keep track of where they used to work. As assistant manager, however, I can empathize wi
th the inconvenience of employees who leave without giving notice."

  "Stop that!" Helena exclaimed, hardly resembling the cool, collected diva from last week. "Do you think I can't see through your lies? You walk in darkness, your aura wreathed in fire!"

  "What's on fire?"

  Doug and Warren walked up, obviously attracted by the mounting spectacle.

  "Her," Helena proclaimed, pointing at me, using the New Age raspy voice.

  Warren eyed me curiously, as though actually assessing for flames. "Georgina?"

  "She stole my employees. Just came in and took them like that. I could sue, you know. When I tell my lawyers—"

  "Which employees?"

  " Tammiand Janice."

  I cringed, waiting to see what this new development would unleash. Despite his many shortcomings, Warren did have a smooth sense of customer service and professionalism. I worried what might ensue if my poaching received further investigation.

  He frowned, trying to match faces with names apparently. "Wait... didn't one of them jump my car today?"

  " Tammidid."

  He snorted dismissively. "We're not giving them back."

  Helena turned beet red. "You can't—"

  "Ma'am, I am sorry for your inconvenience, but I can hardly pass back workers who have signed employment papers with us and are unwilling to work for you anymore. There's always turnover in retail. I'm sure you'll find someone soon."

  She turned on me, still pointing. "I won't forget this. Even if I can't get you back for this, the universe will repay your cruel and twisted nature. You will die miserable and alone. Unloved. Friendless. Childless. Your life will have amounted to nothing."

  So much for New Age love and kindness. I hardly feared her comments about dying, but the other adjectives dug in a little. Miserable and alone. Unloved. Friendless. Childless.

  Warren, however, felt no such concerns for me. "Ma'am, Georgina's the last one I'd accuse of having a 'cruel' nature or leading a meaningless life. She holds this place together, and I trust her judgment implicitly—including the hiring of your former employees. Now unless you would like to make a purchase, I must ask you to leave before I'm forced to call the authorities."