Succubus Revealed

Chapter 9

It wasn’t until I landed in Seattle on Sunday evening that the full surreal nature of my weekend in Las Vegas hit me. Being there had felt so . . . natural. I suppose part of that was just having old friends like Bastien and Luis around. Yet I’d been pleasantly surprised at how easily I got along with my newer acquaintances, like Phoebe and Matthias. I’d even grown to like Jamie, though I never did see him after that night. Despite my efforts to find him and ask him about Milton, the imp had remained elusive for the rest of my trip.

And the show . . . how had that happened? I couldn’t even get a solid job here in my current hometown, yet hours after walking off the plane in a strange city, I’d landed what was, in many ways, my dream job. By the time we’d finished our second practice, Matthias was already talking about a special part he planned on creating for me, and several of the other dancers were so disappointed at me leaving for a month, you’d think we’d known each other for years.

It had, in spite of my misgivings, been a fantastic weekend.

Reality set in when I walked into my condo. Roman was out, with only a note reading Bowling practice tomorrow night to mark his passage. Naturally, the cats were as happy to see me as always. Scratching their heads in turn, I began to think about the logistics of moving both of them with me across state lines. I’d be taking them away from Roman, whom they loved, but there was nothing to be done for that. He couldn’t come with us. As a nephilim, he was in constant danger of being hunted down by other immortals, and it was only Jerome’s protection that allowed him to have a seminormal life in Seattle. Roman certainly wasn’t going to give that up, and besides, Las Vegas was probably the worst place in the world for him to attempt to hide out.

A vase of pink-tipped white roses sat on the kitchen table, filling the air with sweetness. I opened up the card and read Seth’s scrawled writing:

Welcome home. I’ve been counting the minutes.

—S

I texted him that I was back and received an answer urging me to come over to Terry and Andrea’s for dinner. After leaving a note for Roman assuring him I’d be at practice, I headed out, my mind still spinning with more of the consequences of moving. The condo. I’d have to sell it. Unless I wanted to rent it to Roman? Hell would likely compensate any moving costs, but it’d be up to me to start making the actual arrangements now for things like movers and whatnot.

I was good at making plans and organizing things, but all of my skills were useless against the one thing I wanted to bring with me to Las Vegas the most: Seth. I still had no solution for what to do with him.

I was met with the usual outpouring of love from his nieces when I arrived, just in time for a chaotic family dinner. With the additional family members, they’d given up any pretense of eating at the kitchen table and had simply taken their paper plates and homemade pizza off to the living room. The casualties of food and furniture were ones Terry and Andrea were long since used to, but Margaret couldn’t focus on her dinner for fear of constantly watching the girls and what she perceived as imminent tomato-stained disaster.

I was happy to see Andrea out with the family, which wasn’t something that happened very often lately. She looked tired but was in good spirits, and from the way the girls vied for position next to her, it was clear they were delighted to have her up and around too.

“Seth says you were out of town,” she told me. “Anywhere fun?”

“Las Vegas,” I replied. “Visiting friends.”

“Man,” said Ian. “I wish I had friends in Las Vegas.”

“I figured it’d be too commercial for you,” said Seth, deadpan.

Ian swallowed a bite of his pizza—it apparently wasn’t a vegan day—before responding. “Only if you stay on the Strip and their overpriced luxury hotels. If you poke around in some of the out-of-the-way places, you could find some really cool and obscure dives.”

It took nine-year-old Kendall to say what the rest of us were thinking. “I’d rather stay in luxury. Why would you want to stay in a dive, Uncle Ian?”

“Because it’s nonmainstream,” he told her. “Everyone stays at the nice places.”

“But I like nice things,” she argued. “Don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” he said, frowning. “But that’s not the point—”

“Then why would you want to stay at bad places?” she pressed.

“You’re too young to understand,” he said.

Seth chuckled. “Actually, I think she understands perfectly.”

Andrea decided to rest shortly after that, but not before extracting a promise that someone deliver her dessert later on. After doing dishes (which was pretty easy with paper plates), our group dispersed into separate activities. Kendall, Brandy, Margaret, and Terry started up a game of Monopoly while Kayla and the twins settled down to watch The Little Mermaid. Ian joined them, excited for the chance to show how the movie was an example of capitalism destroying America. Seth and I curled up on a nearby loveseat, ostensibly to watch the movie, but instead used the time to catch up.

“How was it, really?” he asked me in a low voice. “I’ve been worried about you. Was it as bad as you thought?”

“No,” I said, leaning my head against his chest. “It was actually . . . pretty good. Would you believe I have a job already ? Like . . . one that’s not on Hell’s payroll.”

“You can’t even get one of those here,” remarked Seth.

“Yeah, the irony’s not lost on me. I’m going to be a Vegas showgirl, complete with sequins.”

Seth trailed his fingers through my hair. “That’s actually kind of awesome. And hot. If you want to practice, I’d be more than happy to give you some constructive criticism.”

I smiled. “We’ll see.”

There was a long pause. “So . . . it’s real. This whole thing.”

“Yeah,” I said in a small voice. “It’s real.” I felt him tense and sensed the worry radiating off of him. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out. It’s still a month away.”

“I know we will,” he said. “You and I have overcome crazier things than this, right?”

“Crazier doesn’t always mean harder,” I pointed out. “I mean, when Peter tried to make a ‘retro candle sconce’ out of a Pringles can last month, that was pretty crazy—but it was also pretty easy to deal with once we found his fire extinguisher.”

“You see?” said Seth. “This is what I love about you. I don’t even consider that crazy. I consider that ordinary life with you, Georgina. You change all the definitions.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. We fell silent and watched the movie, though I suspected Seth was paying as little attention as I was. We were both lost in our own thoughts, and I didn’t really snap out of it until I heard Ian telling Morgan, “I like the original fairy tale better. It’s pretty alternative, so you’ve probably never heard of it.”

I glanced at the clock and sat up. “I’m going to go check on Andrea and see if she wants her dessert.” Both Margaret and Terry were quick to offer to do it instead, but I waved them off, assuring them I was fine and that they should return to their game.

Andrea was awake, propped up on pillows and reading a book when I came in with the pie. “You didn’t have to do that,” she told me. “You should’ve asked Terry.”

“He’s busy buying and selling property,” I told her, helping her settle the plate on her lap. “I couldn’t ask him to interrupt that. Besides, he does plenty.”

“He does,” she agreed, smiling wistfully. “They all do. Even you. It’s so strange, having others take care of me. I’m too used to looking after everyone else.”

I settled down on a chair near her bed, wondering how often it must be filled lately. Andrea always had someone watching over her. “It’s just for a little while longer,” I said.

That got me another smile as she chewed a bite of pie. “You’re very optimistic.”

“Hey, why shouldn’t I be? You look great today.”

“Great ‘ironically,’ as Ian would say.” She ran a hand through her limp blond hair. “But I do feel better than I have for a while. I don’t know. It’s deceptive, Georgina. There are days I feel confident I’ve beat every cancer cell in my body and others when I can’t believe I’m still managing to walk this earth.”

“Andrea—”

“No, no, it’s true.” She paused for more pie, but her eyes took on a vast, knowing look that reminded me eerily of Carter. “I’ve accepted it, come to terms with the fact that there’s still a good chance I’ll die. No one else has. No one else will talk about it. I’m okay with that. If that’s what God wills for me, then so be it.”

I felt a knot clench in my stomach. I couldn’t say much about God, but I’d seen enough of Heaven and Hell to get angry when I heard humans accept their fate as part of some higher purpose. Half the time, it seemed to me the divine powers were making up this game as they went along.

“I’m not worried about me,” Andrea continued. “But I am worried about them.” That serenity faded, replaced by very real human concern, a mother’s fear for her children. “Terry’s strong. So wonderfully strong. But this is hard on him. He can’t do it alone, which is why I’m so glad Seth’s here. I don’t know what we would have done without him. He’s the rock supporting us all right now.”

The anxiety inside me eased for a few moments, replaced by a spreading warmth as I thought about Seth. “He’s wonderful.”

Andrea set down the fork, finished, and extended her hand to me. “So are you. I’m glad you’re part of our family, Georgina. If something happens to me—”

“Stop—”

“No, listen. I mean it. If something happens to me, I’ll rest easy knowing the girls have you in their lives. Seth and Terry are great, but the girls still need a strong woman role model. Someone to help them through growing up.”

“I’m not that good of a role model,” I said, not meeting her eyes. I was a creature of Hell, someone full of weakness and fear. What could I possibly have to offer such bright, promise-filled creatures like the Mortensen girls?

“You are,” said Andrea adamantly, squeezing my hand. “They love you and admire you so much. I know they’re in good hands.”

I swallowed back tears that were threatening to overwhelm me. “Well,” I said. “They’re in even better hands with you, since we all know you’re going to get well soon.”

Andrea nodded, giving me an indulgent smile that I suspected she’d perfected after weeks of listening to others insist she was on the verge of recovery. A yawn soon betrayed her, and I carefully took the plate away and asked if she needed anything else. She assured me she didn’t.

I crept back downstairs and returned the plate to the kitchen, where I found Brandy and Margaret eating pie of their own. I did a double take back toward the living room. “What happened to Monopoly?”

“Kendall bought us out,” said Margaret.

“Man, I hate playing with her,” grumbled Brandy. “No one her age should be that good.”

“Don’t knock it,” said Seth, strolling in. “She’s going to be supporting us all in fifteen years.” He rested a hand on Brandy’s shoulder. “Did you ask Georgina?”

Brandy looked at her feet. “No.”

“Ask me what?”

“It’s nothing,” she said.

“Clearly it’s something,” I replied, exchanging looks with Seth. “What’s up?”

“Is this the Christmas dance you were talking about before ?” asked Margaret.

Brandy flushed. “A holiday dance. It’s nothing.”

“No way,” I said. “I’m a big fan of dances. But isn’t school out?”

“Yeah, but this is at church. It’s a formal they have every year.” She was using a It’s no big deal tone, but her expression betrayed how interested she was.

The church part surprised me, since last I knew, the Mortensens didn’t attend one. But obviously that had changed. Maybe Andrea’s illness had played a role. Whatever it was, I could see faith wasn’t on the line here, so much as a teenage girl’s simple desire to participate in something fun with other people her age. It was a normal rite of passage, one I was guessing she didn’t feel worthy of, in light of everything else going on right now with her family. No wonder she was hesitant to mention it. I wondered if maybe there was a boy involved too but certainly wasn’t going to ask. She looked mortified enough to be having this discussion in front of her uncle and grandmother.

“You need to shop for a dress?” I guessed. People always called me for shopping. I used to be bothered by that but then figured I should accept what I’m good at. Brandy nodded, still looking embarrassed. “When is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“Tuesday . . .” I frowned, thinking of my schedule. Tomorrow, Monday, was taken up with work and bowling practice. That didn’t leave a lot of time. “We might be cutting it close.”

“If you don’t have time, it’s fine,” Brandy assured me. “Really.”

“No way,” I told her. “We can do it Tuesday morning.”

Brandy looked down again. “My dad can pay you back.... I’ll ask him how much we can spend.”

“Forget it,” said Seth, rustling her hair. She squirmed out of his reach. “Send the bill to me. You know where I live.”

Brandy protested this, but Seth was firm in his offer—as well as his urging that Brandy not mention it to her father. But once Brandy and Seth were in the other room, Margaret caught hold of my sleeve and pulled me back into the kitchen before I could follow. Our interactions hadn’t exactly been antagonistic (aside from our initial meeting with the baseball bat), but they hadn’t always been pleasant either. I braced myself for some admonishment about dressing Brandy like a whore.

“Here,” said Margaret, shoving some cash into my hands. I looked down and found two fifty-dollar bills. “Seth’s not the only with income around here. He can’t keep funding the whole family. Is that enough for what she needs?”

“Er, yes,” I said, trying to hand it back. I’d actually planned on cutting Seth out as well and carrying the bill myself. “Definitely. You don’t have to do this.”

Margaret’s response was to give me another bill. “Get her shoes too.” She closed my hand around the cash. “I don’t know what girls her age need when it comes to clothes, but I know you do. The money I can provide. The rest I rely on you for.”

That sentiment—that faith in me—was too much, too fast on the heels of the conversation I’d just had with Andrea. “It’s not enough,” I blurted out. “What I’m doing, compared to everyone else. They’re all giving so much. What’s a shopping trip next to that?”

Margaret fixed me with a piercing gaze that bore no resemblance to the conservative, sweatshirt-wearing matron I’d categorized her as. “For a girl growing up too fast, whose life is crumbling around her? Everything.”

“I hate this,” I said. “I hate that this is happening to them.”

“God only gives us what we have the strength to endure,” she said. I’d always hated that saying, largely because it too seemed to go along with the idea of a universe having a plan for everyone, something I’d seen no evidence of. “They have the strength to get through this. And they have our strength to help them.”

I smiled at that. “You’re a remarkable woman, Margaret. They’re lucky you’re here.” I meant it. She and I might have different philosophies about premarital sex, but her love for them was undiminished. I wasn’t the only role model in the girls’ lives.

She shrugged, looking both flattered and embarrassed by my praise. “Like you, I’m just trying to do enough—without wearing out my welcome at Seth’s.”

“He loves having you,” I said promptly.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid. I want to keep helping, but I know I can’t stay with him forever. He’s a grown man, no matter how much I’d like to pretend otherwise.”

That made me smile even more. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him you said so.”

Nonetheless, I went home with a heavy heart that night. Seth expected to be up late and hadn’t wanted me waiting around for him. We were both conscious of how little time we’d had together recently, though, so he told me he’d join me for tomorrow night’s bowling practice. As a general rule, he tried to avoid immortal goings-on, but I think he had a morbid fascination with the idea of bowling for Hellish honor.

“Thank God,” said Roman, when I walked in the door. “I thought you were going to stay at Seth’s. There’s soup on the stove.”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I already ate.”

“Your loss,” he said. Judging from the way the cats were circling him for handouts as he settled down on the couch with a bowl, I guess they agreed with him. “How was it?”

My mind was still on the Mortensens, and for a moment, I thought that’s what he meant. Then I remembered his single-minded focus and knew he was referring to Las Vegas.

“Surprisingly good,” I told him, sitting down in an armchair.

His eyebrows rose. He hadn’t expected that answer. “Oh? Tell me about it.”

I did, and he listened attentively while eating his soup. When I’d finished the weekend’s recap, he grilled me on nearly everyone I’d met there, immortal and mortal alike. In two days, I didn’t have that much life history to report but gave him what I could.

“Well,” he said, “isn’t that lovely.” He made no effort to hide his sarcasm.

I sighed. “You still think this was part of some greater conspiracy ?”

“I think it’s terribly convenient that this seemingly routine transfer is fulfilling every possible wish you might have.”

I scoffed. “Aside from the fact that I’m being transferred in the first place. That’s hardly something I wanted.”

Roman straightened up, and the cats ran for his abandoned bowl. He ticked off points on his right hand. “Well, let’s do a tally, shall we? When I first met you, I asked what your dream job would be. What did you say? A Vegas dancer. And wow! Look what conveniently falls into your lap. And who put it there? In a city full of conniving, backstabbing succubi, you were fortunate to find one as levelheaded as you, complete with the same sense of humor and interests. Funny thing . . . did you even run into any other succubi that entire weekend? In a city packed with them?”

“Roman—”

“No, no, wait. There’s more. How’d you meet this wonder succubus anyway? Through your closest immortal friend, who just happened to have been coincidentally transferred to Las Vegas, hired on by your favorite boss of all time. Are you following this fantasy so far?”

“But why would—”

“And,” he continued, “lest you grow homesick for the wacky idiosyncrasies of your friends back here, Vegas is ready to supply you with new ones. A zany drunken imp. Seth 2.0. If you’d stayed longer, they probably would have unearthed an angel and a couple of vampires for you. And let’s not discount the fact that you’re going to Las Vegas in the first place! The single easiest place for a succubus to get by.”

“Okay, I get what you’re saying.” I threw up my hands in exasperation. “It is perfect. Maybe too perfect. But you’re missing one fundamental point. Supposing this is true, that someone has set up the most perfect scenario for me ever, a situation designed to keep me happy, why would they do it at all when the thing that would make me the most happy is to stay in Seattle? Why bother with this alternative? Why not leave me as I am?”

Roman’s eyes gleamed. “Because that’s the one thing they don’t want you to have. They want you out of Seattle, Georgina. They want you out, and they don’t want you to complain or look back.”

“But why?” I protested. “That’s what I can’t figure out.”

“Give me something else to work with,” he said. “Hell’s not that good. Even the most picture perfect setup has to have a flaw. Was there anything, anything at all this weekend, that felt disingenuous? That smacked of a lie?”

I gave him a wry look. “I was in Las Vegas, hanging out with servants of Hell. Everything was disingenuous.”

“Georgina, think! Anything that seemed legitimately odd. Any contradiction.”

I started to deny it but then paused. “The timeline.”

He leaned forward even more. “Yes? What about it?”

I thought back to my first hours in Las Vegas. “Luis and Bastien both went out of their way to act as though my transfer and Bastien’s had been in the works for a while—like Jerome said. But once, Bastien slipped. He sounded like he hadn’t been there for very long at all—not nearly as long as they’d said before.”

“Like that maybe he was suddenly pulled in on a moment’s notice—to coincide with your transfer?”

“I don’t know,” I said, not liking the thought of Bastien being part of some potential conspiracy centered around me. “He corrected himself, said he misspoke.”

“I’m sure he would say that.” Roman leaned back now, letting all of this sink in.

“Bastien wouldn’t lie to me,” I snapped. “He’s my friend. I trust him. He cares about me.”

“I believe you,” said Roman. “And I believe that he wouldn’t lie to you about something that he thought might harm you. But if his higher-ups asked him to tell a white lie—fudge a few days here and there—don’t you think he would?”

I nearly denied it—but then had to wonder. Bastien had been in trouble off and on with our superiors, his Seattle venture last year a desperate attempt to restore status. If he were pressured enough—threatened, even—to tell me he’d been transferred longer than he actually had, would he? Especially if he thought it was harmless and knew of no nefarious reason behind it?

“But what nefarious reason would be behind all this?” I muttered, not realizing I’d spoken my thoughts aloud until Roman straightened up again.

“That’s what we have to figure out. We have to figure out what’s happened to you that would’ve gotten someone’s attention—and that happened recently, to spur such a fast response. We know about your slacker record. And we know about Erik looking into your contract.”

I blinked. “Milton.”

I quickly told Roman about Hugh’s information, about Milton’s secret assassin status and trip to Seattle lining up with Erik’s death. I also told him about briefly mentioning Milton to Jamie. Roman leaped to his feet.

“Jesus Christ! Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner? I could’ve investigated Milton while you were gone. Shit. Now I’m trapped here under bowling duty.” Nephilim had the same travel limitations as lesser immortals. They had to physically travel to places. No teleportation like greater immortals.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t connect it. And I didn’t get a chance to ask Jamie more about Milton. He wasn’t around the rest of the time I was in town.”

Roman was nodding along with me as he paced. “Of course he wasn’t. I’m sure they made certain he was unavailable before he could tell you any more. And explain again why your initial conversation with him didn’t go that far?”

I shrugged. “He was drunk. He got distracted by a debate over gin with Luis.”

“One that Luis initiated, no doubt.”

“I—” I thought about it. “Yeah. I guess he did. But you’re not saying . . . I mean, that’s idiotic. Using gin as a distraction to cover up some plot?”

Roman’s sea green eyes were gazing off in the distance, thoughtful. “It’s not the most ridiculous distraction I’ve known a demon to use. He could’ve brought up bowling.”

“Not that again.”

Roman snapped his attention back to me, frustration all over his face. “Georgina, how can you be in denial about this? How can you refuse to believe that Hell is playing some larger game here? After all you’ve seen and been a part of?”

I shot up, angry at the insinuation that had been creeping along here, that I was too oblivious to see what was going on. “I know! I know they’re capable of it. I know they can use means both ingenuous and simple—like gin and bowling—to get what they want. I’m not denying that, Roman. What I just can’t grasp yet is the why. Show me that, and I’ll get on board with any crazy scheme you want. I need to know why.”

Roman came to stand in front of me, resting his hands on my shoulders as he leaned close. “That is exactly what I intend to find out. And when we do, I have a feeling we’ll have blown the lid off of the biggest conspiracy Hell’s had in centuries.”