Succubus Blues

CHAPTER 8

Paige was all smiles when I went in for the early shift the next day.

"Nice work with Seth Mortensen," she told me, glancing up from the neatly stacked paperwork on her desk. The desk Doug and I shared in the store's back offices tended to look like an apocalyptic war zone.

"How so?"

"In convincing him to write here."

I blinked. With our assorted U District and Krystal Starz adventures, I'd never said a word about him becoming our resident writer. "Oh?"

"I saw him upstairs in the cafe just now. He said he had a great time yesterday."

I left her office, baffled, wondering if I'd missed something from yesterday. It hadn't seemed like that stellar of an outing, but I supposed he felt pleased and grateful over the discounted books. Had anything else notable happened?

Unbidden, the memory of touching Seth's hand suddenly rushed back to me, the odd shockwave of familiarity it had sent through me. No, I decided, that had been nothing. I had imagined the moment.

I went up to the cafe for a mocha, still puzzled. Sure enough, Seth sat in a corner, laptop spread out on the table in front of him. He looked much the same as yesterday, save that his shirt today sported Beeker from the Muppets. His fingers moved furiously along the keys, his eyes locked on the screen.

"Hey," I told him.

"Hey."

He offered no more. He didn't even look up.

"Are you working?"

"Yes."

I waited for elaboration, but it never came. So I kept going.

"So, um, Paige told me you're moving here."

He didn't answer. I didn't even know if he'd heard me. Suddenly, he looked up, his eyes sharpening. "Ever been to Texas?"

That took me by surprise. "Sure. Which part?"

"Austin. I need to know what the weather's like there."

"When? This time of year?"

"No... more like spring or early summer."

I racked my brain. "Hot. Rain and storms. Some humidity. The edge of tornado alley, you know?"

"Ah." Seth turned thoughtful, then nodded smartly and returned his attention back down. " Cady'll love that. Thanks."

It took me a moment to realize he meant one of his characters. Nina Cady's dislike of inclement weather was notorious. My stomach suddenly dropped out of me and hit the floor. It was a wonder he didn't hear the thud.

"Are you... are you... writing something with Cady and O'Neill? Right now?"

"Yeah." He spoke very casually, like we were still discussing weather. "Next book. Well, next-next book. The next one's already queued up for publishing. I'm about a quarter through this one."

I stared in awe at the laptop, like it was a divine golden idol from days of old, capable of performing miracles. Providing rain. Feeding the masses. Now I felt speechless. That the next masterpiece was being created right in front of me, that I might say something that could influence it was too much to bear. I swallowed heavily and dragged my eyes away from it, forcing calm. After all, I could hardly be excited about another installment when I had yet to read the current one.

"A Cady and O'Neill book. Wow. That's really—"

"Um, so, I'm kind of busy here. I've got to run with this right now. Sorry."

The words stopped me cold. "What?" Was I being dismissed?

"Can we talk later?"

I was being dismissed. I was being dismissed without even being looked at. Heat flushed my cheeks.

"What about my book?" I blurted out ungracefully.

"Huh?"

"The Glasgow Pact. Did you sign it?"

"Oh. That."

"What's that mean?"

"I'll send you e-mail."

"You'll send me—so you don't have my book?"

Seth shook his head and kept working.

"Oh. Okay." I didn't understand the e-mail bit but wasn't going to waste my time begging for his attention. "Well. I'll see you later then. Let us know if you need anything." My voice was stiff and cold, but I doubted he even noticed.

I tried not to storm downstairs. Where did he get off acting like that? Especially after I'd shown him around yesterday. Famous author or no, he didn't have the right to be a jerk to me. I felt humiliated.

Humiliated over what, being ignored? chided a reasonable voice inside me. It's not like he made a scene. He was just busy. After all, you were the one complaining he didn't write fast enough.

I ignored the voice and went back to work, still feeling put-out. Business didn't allow me to nurture my wounded ego for long, however, as the afternoon and lack of staff ensured I stayed busy on the floor. The next time I managed to return to my office, it was only to grab my purse at the end of my shift.

As I was about to walk out, I saw a message from Seth in my e-mail's inbox. I moved to the computer and read.

Georgina,

Have you ever paid much attention to real estate agents—the way they dress, the kinds of cars they drive? Truth is stranger than fiction, as they say. Last night, I expressed interest in living in the University District to my brother, and he called up this real estate agent friend of his. She arrived in something like two minutes flat, no small feat I guess, since her office is in West Seattle. She pulled up in a Jaguar, whose shiny whiteness was rivaled only by the day-glow white of her Miss America smile. While gushing nonstop about how exciting it was to have me here, she hacked away at a computer, searching for appropriate residences, typing with nails long enough to impale small children on. (See? I remembered how much you liked the word "impale.")

Each time she found a place that might work, she'd get really excited: "Yes—yes. Oh yes! This is it! This is it! Yes! Yes!" I confess, by the time it was through, I felt kind of sleazy and exhausted, like maybe I should have tossed some cash on the pillow or something. Her theatrics aside, we did end up finding a nice condo not too far from campus, brand new. It was as pricey as you insinuated, but I think it's exactly what I want. Mistee — yes, that's her name—and I are going to look at it later tonight. I'm kind of afraid to see her reaction if I bid on the place. No doubt the thought of the commission will lead straight to multiple orgasms. (And to think, I always thought missionary position was what inhibited women from true fulfillment.)

Anyway, I just wanted to give you the update since you were the one who first showed me the U District. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk earlier; I would have liked to pick your brain about restaurants over there. I still don't know the area that well, and my brother and sister-in-law are too busy with their suburban life to recommend any restaurants that don't serve children's meals.

Well, I guess I should get back to writing, so I can afford said new lodging. Cady and O'Neill are impatient mistresses— er, that is, an impatient mistress and master—as you observed earlier. Speaking of which, I haven't forgotten about your copy of The Glasgow Pact. I intended to write something semi-original in it last night, after our nice day together, but the real estate vortex caught me up. My apologies. I'll bring it to you soon. Later, Seth

I reread the letter twice. I felt pretty confident that in the short span I'd known Seth, I'd never heard him utter aloud as many words as he'd just written. Not only that, they were funny words. Entertaining words. Like a mini Cady and O'Neill novel, addressed just to me. A far cry from his halting attitude this morning. If he'd said anything remotely comparable in person, I probably would have passed out.

"Incredible," I muttered to my screen.

Part of me felt mollified by the letter, though another part felt he still could have been a bit more tactful in his earlier treatment, busy or no. The rest of me pointed out that all of these "parts of me" probably should be in therapy, and besides, I really needed to leave and go see Erik about the vampire hunter thing. I quickly sent back a response:

Thanks for the letter. I suppose I'll make it another day without the book. Good luck with the real estate agent, and be sure to wear a condom when you make an offer. Other good places to eat in that area are Han & Sons, the Plum Tomato Cafe, and Lotus Chinese. —Georgina

I left the store, promptly forgetting about Seth, happy there'd be no traffic this early in the day. Driving up to Lake City, I easily found the intersection the girl at Krystal Starz had indicated. Locating the store itself proved more of a challenge. Strip malls and assorted businesses packed the area, and I read through myriad billboards and storefronts in the hopes of finding something promising. Finally, I spotted a small, dark sign tucked away in the corner of a less-frequented cluster of stores, arcana, ltd. That had to be it.

I parked in front, hoping it was actually open. No one had posted hours or anything on the door, but it gave way without resistance when I pushed on it. Sandalwood incense burned in the air around me as I entered, and faint harp music played from a small CD player set up on the counter. I couldn't see anyone else in the room, and so I wandered around, admiring the sights. Real books on mythology and religion—not the flashy fluff Krystal Starz sold—lined the walls, and carefully arranged display cases held handcrafted jewelry I recognized from a few different local artists. Assorted ritual items—candles, incense, and statuary—filled in the nooks and crannies, giving the whole place a sort of jumbled, pleasantly lived-in feel.

"Miss Kincaid. It is an honor to see you again."

I spun around from where I had been admiring a White Tara statue. Erik walked into the room, and I reined in my surprise at his appearance. When had he grown so old? He had been old the last time I saw him—dark skin wrinkled, hair gone gray—but I did not remember the slight stoop in his walk, or the hollowed look around his eyes. I tried to remember the last time we'd talked; I hadn't thought it'd been that long. Five years? Ten? With mortals, it was easy to lose track.

"It's good to see you too. You aren't easy to find anymore. I had to go poking around Krystal Starz to figure out what happened to you."

"Ah. I hope the experience wasn't too... awkward."

"Nothing I couldn't handle. Besides, I'm glad you got out of there." I looked around at the cluttered, dimly lit shop. "I like this new place."

"It's not much—doesn't bring in much either—but it's mine. It's what I've been saving for, where I'll spend my last years."

I grimaced. "Don't turn melodramatic on me now. You aren't that old."

His smile broadened, his expression turning slightly wry. "Neither are you, Miss Kincaid. Indeed, you are as beautiful as the first time I saw you." He gave me a slight bow, bending lower than someone with his back probably should have. "How may I be of service?"

"I need information."

"Of course." He gestured to a small table near the main counter, currently covered with books and an elaborate candle holder. "Sit and have tea with me, and we'll talk. Unless you are in a hurry?"

"No, I have time."

While Erik fetched the tea, I cleared off the table, setting books in neat stacks on the floor. When he returned with the teapot, we made small talk and sipped our drinks for a bit, but my mind really wasn't into it. My restlessness must have come through loud and clear as my fingers danced along the cup's edge and my toe tapped impatiently.

Finally, I broached my topic. "I need to know about vampire hunters."

For most other people, this would have been a weird request, but Erik only nodded expectantly. "What in particular would you like to know?"

"Anything. Their habits, how to recognize them. Whatever you've got."

He leaned back in his chair, holding the cup delicately. "My understanding is that vampire hunters are born, not made. They are 'gifted,' so to speak, with the ability to kill vampires." He proceeded to relate several other details, most of which matched up with what I'd learned from Peter.

Pondering what Cody had said, about the sense of being followed by someone he could not see, I asked, "Do they have any other special abilities that you know of? Can they go invisible?"

"Not that I know of. Some immortal beings can, of course, but not vampire hunters. They're still just mortals, after all, despite their odd talents."

I nodded, being one such creature who could turn invisible, though I rarely used the power. I toyed with the thought that Cody's phantom might have been an invisible immortal, trying to play a trick, but he still should have sensed the telltale signature we all carried. Indeed, he should have sensed a mortal vampire hunter as well. The fact that he had neither seen nor felt anything lent credence to Peter's theory that the stalker had all been in Cody's head.

"Can vampire hunters harm anyone else? Demons... or other immortal creatures?"

"It's very hard to do anything tangible to an immortal," he mused. "Certain denizens of good—powerful priests, for example—can drive off demons, but they can't harm them permanently. Likewise, I've heard of mortals capturing supernatural creatures, but doing much more than that... I'm not saying it's impossible, just that I've never heard of it. To my offhand knowledge, vampire hunters can only harm vampires. Nothing else."

"I value your offhand knowledge more than most confirmed facts."

He eyed me curiously. "But this isn't the answer you were expecting."

"I don't know. It's pretty much what I've already been told. I was just thinking there might be more."

It was entirely possible that Jerome had been telling the truth, that this was merely a case of a rampant vampire hunter and that his warnings to Hugh and me had been simple courtesies to protect us from discomfort. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that Jerome had held back information, nor did I really believe Cody to be the kind of person who imagined things.

I must have looked perplexed because Erik offered, somewhat hesitantly it seemed, "I could look into this more for you, if you'd like. Just because I've never heard of something capable of harming other immortals doesn't mean it's out of the realm of existence."

I nodded. "I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

"It's a privilege to be of assistance to someone like you. And if you like, I could also make other inquiries into vampire hunters in general." He paused again, choosing his words carefully. "Were such a person to be at large, certain signs would show up in the local occult community. Supplies would be bought, questions asked. Such beings do not go unnoticed."

Now I hesitated. Jerome had told us to be careful. I had the feeling he wouldn't appreciate any vigilante work, though speaking with Erik now probably counted as exactly that. Surely it wouldn't matter if I sent out my own feelers. Gathering information was not the same as me personally going out to find this person.

"I'd appreciate that as well. Anything you could find out would be useful." I finished the last of my tea and set the empty cup down. "I should probably leave now."

He rose with me. "Thank you for having tea with me.. Being with a woman like you is generally the sort of thing that only happens in a man's dreams."

I laughed gently at the veiled joke, referencing the old story of succubi visiting men in their sleep. "Your dreams are safe, Erik."

He returned my smile. "Come back in a few days, and I'll tell you what I've learned. We'll have tea again."

Glancing around at the empty store, thinking how no customers had shown up during our visit, I suddenly felt the need to give him some business. "Let me buy some of that tea before I go."

He gave me an indulgent look, his dark brown eyes amused like he knew the game I played.

"I always took you for more of a black tea advocate—or at least an admirer of caffeine."

"Hey, even I like to shake things up once in a while. Besides, it was good... in an herbal, decaffeinated sort of way."

"I'll pass your compliments on to my friend. She makes the blends, and I sell them for her."

"A lady friend, huh?"

"Just a friend, Miss Kincaid."

He walked over to a shelf behind the register where several varieties of tea lay. Approaching the counter to pay, I admired some of the jewelry under its glass. One piece in particular caught my eye, a three-stranded choker of peach-colored, freshwater pearls, occasionally intermixed with copper beads or pieces of sea green glass. An ankh made of copper hung as its centerpiece.

"Is this from another of your local artisans?"

"An old friend in Tacoma made it." Erik reached into the case and took the choker out for me, laying it on the counter. I ran my hands over the fine, smooth pearls, each one slightly irregular in shape. "He mixed some Egyptian influence in with it, I think, but he wanted to sort of invoke the spirit of Aphrodite and the sea, create something the ancient priestesses might have worn."

"They wore nothing so fine," I murmured, turning over the necklace, noting the high price on its tag. I found myself speaking without conscious thought. "And many of the ancient Greek cities did have Egyptian influence. Ankhs appeared on Cyprian coins, as did Aphrodite."

Touching the copper of the ankh reminded me of another necklace, a necklace long since lost under the dust of time. That necklace had been simpler: only a string of beads etched with tiny ankhs. But my husband had brought it to me the morning of our wedding, sneaking up to our house just after dawn in a gesture uncharacteristically bold for him.

I had chastised him for the indiscretion. "What are you doing? You're going to see me this afternoon... and then every day after that!"

"I had to give you these before the wedding." He held up the string of beads. "They were my mother's. I want you to have them, to wear them today."

He leaned forward, placing the beads around my neck. As his fingers brushed my skin, I felt something warm and tingly run through my body. At the tender age of fifteen, I hadn't exactly understood such sensations, though I was eager to explore them. My wiser self today recognized them as the early stirrings of lust, and... well, there had been something else there too. Something else that I still didn't quite comprehend. An electric connection, a feeling that we were bound into something bigger than ourselves. That our being together was inevitable.

"There," he'd said, once the beads were secure and my hair brushed back into place. "Perfect."

He said nothing else after that. He didn't need to. His eyes told me all I needed to know, and I shivered. Until Kyriakos, no man had ever given me a second glance. I was Marthanes ' too-tall daughter after all, the one with the sharp tongue who didn't think before speaking. (Shape-shifting would eventually take care of one of those problems but not the other.) But Kyriakos had always listened to me and watched me like I was someone more, someone tempting and desirable, like the beautiful priestesses of Aphrodite who still carried on their rituals away from the Christian priests.

I wanted him to touch me then, not realizing just how much until I caught his hand suddenly and unexpectedly. Taking it, I placed it around my waist and pulled him to me. His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't pull back. We were almost the same height, making it easy for his mouth to seek mine out in a crushing kiss. I leaned against the warm stone wall behind me so that I was pressed between it and him. I could feel every part of his body against mine, but we still weren't close enough. Not nearly enough.

Our kissing grew more ardent, as though our lips alone might close whatever aching distance lay between us. I moved his hand again, this time to push up my skirt along the side of one leg. His hand stroked the smooth flesh there and, without further urging, slid over to my inner thigh. I arched my lower body toward his, nearly writhing against him now, needing him to touch me everywhere.

"Letha? Where are you at?"

My sister's voice carried over the wind; she wasn't nearby but was close enough to be here soon. Kyriakos and I broke apart, both gasping, pulses racing. He was looking at me like he'd never seen me before. Heat burned in his gaze.

"Have you ever been with anyone before?" he asked won- deringly.

I shook my head.

"How did you... I never imagined you doing that..."

"I learn fast."

He grinned and pressed my hand to his lips. "Tonight," he breathed. "Tonight we..."

"Tonight," I agreed.

He backed away then, eyes still smoldering. "I love you. You are my life."

"I love you too." I smiled and watched him ago. A minute later, I heard my sister again.

"Letha?"

"Miss Kincaid?"

Erik's voice snapped me out of the memory, and suddenly I was back in his store, away from my family's long-since crumbled home. I met his questioning eyes and held up the necklace.

"I'll take this too."

"Miss Kincaid," he said uncertainly, fingering the price tag. "The help I give you... there's no need... no cost..."

"I know," I assured him. "I know. Just add this to my bill. And ask your friend if he can make matching earrings."

I left the store wearing the choker, still thinking about that morning, what it had been like to be touched for the first time, touched only by someone I loved. I exhaled carefully and put it from my mind. Just like I had countless other times.