Drained: The Lucid (13 page)

The cardboard cup dropped out of the beverage dispensary. Riley pressed the button for a coffee, black, but nothing happened. There was a mechanical buzzing noise, but no liquid was produced. Riley hit the side of the machine, and the hot liquid finally poured out.

“No beverages by the books, okay?” Liliah had returned with another archival box. As soon as Riley finished skimming through one archival box, Liliah unearthed another for her. It was like an unending conveyor belt of useless information.

Riley smiled sheepishly at the archivist. “Sorry. I’ll dump it out.”

Liliah set down the box on the long research table. “It’s not that good of coffee anyway.”

“I’m sure I’ve had worse,” Riley said with a laugh.

“I’m sure you have. How’s it going?”

“It’s going.”

Liliah produced a sympathetic smile. “You know you don’t have to get through all these files today. It’s an archive. We’re not going anywhere. And it’s not like you’re getting any older, either.”

“I know,” Riley nodded, looking blearily at the new stack of boxes Liliah had brought down. “But I want to try to get through as much material today since I’m already here.”

“Are you sure there isn’t something specific I can help you find?” Liliah offered. “It would probably be a lot more efficient that way. I know these files pretty well.”

It was tempting to ask the archivist what she knew about lucid dreamers. But just as she hadn’t turned in the paperwork that would have blacklisted Morgan and shut off Riley’s access, she kept this to herself.

“Nothing specific.” Riley puffed out a sigh. “Guess I’d better get back to it.”

Liliah nodded. “I’m here if you need me.”

Riley tossed back the coffee and made a face. The liquid was so thick it was practically chewable. Ready to renew her search, she settled back down at the research table. The folder in front of her was dated from the 1930s. It contained mostly newsletters from the precorporate cubare support group. If Riley hadn’t been so concerned about her latest mark, she might have actually enjoyed the glimpse into the past. There were entire columns about fiscally surviving the Great Depression and rally cries to step up efforts in giving the human race an escape from their own dire realities. She hadn’t been particularly fond of history when she’d been a human, but having befriended cubare who’d experienced the actual events firsthand made the subject come alive like no high school textbook could.

She continued to scan the newsletters, still not finding anything of particular import to her research goals. She sat up straighter in her chair and rubbed at her lower back. She was stiffening up from sitting still for so long. If she was lucky, maybe one of her marks would dream up a spa retreat for them that night.

She sighed heavily and returned the 1930s folder to the box. Routinely she grabbed for the next folder which corresponded with the next decade. She was getting closer to World War II, when James had been turned. The years that produced her closest friends were of personal interest, but she doubted if there was anything in these boxes that would answer her questions. Once she got into a rhythm recognizing patterns of columns and sticking to headlines and subheadings, she moved quickly through the material. The 1940s folders revealed nothing helpful, although she had discovered some touching letters from the cubare about loved ones lost to the war. As mentioned in Liliah’s history lesson, the World Wars had devastated both humans and cubare. She slipped the last folder for the 1940s back into its original box.

Her watch indicated it was close to the end of Liliah’s work day. She could stop for the day, empty-handed, or hope that the 1950s would shed some light on her mystery mark.

“Might as well,” she grumbled to herself.

The newsletters from the 1950s were printed in color. The format was visibly different from previous decades, and the paper had a glossy feel. Also new was a monthly column that resembled a “Dear Abby” format. Both succubi and incubi wrote in with questions as varied as how to slow down time in the dream realm to making the perfect meatloaf. One headline from the Question and Answer column screamed out at Riley: “Lucid Dreamers. They Exist. Don’t Freak Out!”

Riley suddenly became alert; her previous despondent fog scattered. She bent her head close to the paper and eagerly devoured the first glimmer of helpful text.

Dear Dream Whisperer,

Last night I encountered a mark who seemed to know exactly who I was—or should I say—was aware of my presence. While she didn’t come right out and name me as an incubus, she knew that she was dreaming. The energy was great, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to avoid her in the future. Did I do something wrong? Should I be worried if this happens again?

Looking forward to your answer,

Concerned ‘Cubi

Riley’s hands practically shook with excitement and she continued to read. It sounded exactly like Morgan, although they’d never had sex, so she didn’t know the quality of that particular mark’s energy. The response was printed below.

What you encountered is what we refer to as a Lucid—someone who is aware of his or her dream and tends to have control of the environment as such. Lucid dreamers are rare (yours personally has never encountered one), but if you find yourself in this situation again, do not fret. Your natural charms will take over. Lucids are not immune to our kind. Did you notice that as the dream progressed, the mark settled into her role? Lucids will fall into their dreams and fantasy like the rest of the dreamers. Take charge, Concerned ‘Cubi.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Liliah’s voice rang out.

Riley looked up sharply from the newsletter, eyes wide. The archivist had reappeared. She now wore a jacket and had a purse slung over her shoulder.

“The archives are now closed for the day. We’ll open up again at 9 a.m. tomorrow.”

Riley snapped the folder shut and stood up. “Do you need to reshelve these or can I keep them here on the table for when I come back?” She was partially afraid that if she left the folder in the archives, it might not be there when she returned. It was a ludicrous fear, she knew. There was no conspiracy; Trusics had no reason to suspect anything was off with its star employee.   

Liliah frowned. “I have to return them to the stacks. They’re stored in an environmentally-controlled room so the newsletters don’t fall apart. Unlike us, these materials tend to fade with age.”

Riley nodded her understanding. “But I can come back, right, and pick up where I left off?”

“Of course,” Liliah confirmed. She set her bag on the table so she could begin the task of reshelving the archival boxes. “When can I expect you?”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

September

“Oh, God. I’m
so
hungry.” Riley slumped down in an empty chair at their usual table. She slid her sunglasses up to her forehead and rubbed at her eyes. The dark circles beneath her normally vibrant irises were enough to make themselves present.  

“Was that Henry who dropped you off?” James questioned, craning his neck to look at the city streetscape. “I hope our favorite cabbie is doing well. Last time I spoke to him his daughter was heading to college.”

“Where the hell is your car?” Heather added. “What’s wrong with it now?”

“It wouldn’t start.” Riley shrugged. “I didn’t have time to look it over this morning, but I’ll fix it soon.”

“Use your money, and buy a new car before I buy you one,” Heather threatened.

“Don’t you dare.” Riley frowned. “It’s not that I can’t buy something new, but I like my car and I can damn well fix it.”

“Stubborn mule,” Heather said under her breath loudly enough for Riley to hear. She waved at their usual waitress. “Let’s get some food in you. You’re looking a little … famished.” The cringe on her face was apparent. “We weren’t sure if you were going to make it today, otherwise James would have ordered for you.”  

“Thanks, H,” Riley grumbled. “Is ‘famished’ your new way of telling me I look like crap?”

“Maybe.” Heather spoke into her coffee cup. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

Riley hesitated. “What makes you say that?”

Heather stirred more sugar into her black coffee. “I can see the gears in your head turning.” She offered her drink to Riley, who simply waved it off. “More often than usual.”

If there was one person Riley could trust enough to confide in, it would be Heather. “There’s a girl,” she admitted.

“Sounds juicy.” Heather scooted her chair closer. “Work or real life?”

“Work. And she’s driving me crazy. I’m not getting anything from her.”  

Heather’s refined features furrowed. “I’m not following.”

“I’ve visited her a
few
times, and we still haven’t had sex.”

“What?” The attention of the table turned to the both of them.

Riley scolded her friend. “Keep it down. It’s … complicated.”

“Sweetie, what we do is anything but complicated.” Holding up her hand, she began counting off on her fingers. “We show up, we sex it up, and we get out of there.”

Riley pushed the salt and pepper shakers around on the tabletop. “She’s different.”

“What’s going on with you, Riles?” Heather relaxed into her chair but the tension radiated off her posture. “You’re starting to worry me.”

“I’m fine,” Riley insisted with a shake of her head. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Are you not meeting your quota because of this girl?” Heather asked, worried.

“No, I am. I’m meeting it just fine.”

“Then why the dark circles under your eyes?” Heather prodded. “Or is this some new vampire-chic look I’m not hip to?”

“I’ve just been staying a little too long with her.”

“Stop doing that.” Heather’s tone was severe.

“But—”

“I mean it, Ri,” Heather cut her off. “If you’re not getting energy from her, then what’s the draw?”

Riley ignored Heather’s question and picked up the laminated menu. “I need some food.”

“You need something alright,” Heather muttered under her breath, “but I don’t think it’s on the menu.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a waitress with a near-empty coffee pot in one hand.  

“I stand corrected,” Heather heaved a sigh.

“Hey, stranger.” Amber grinned brilliantly. “What can I get you this morning?”

“How about a kiss and some coffee?” Riley suggested, looking up from her menu.

Amber scanned the patio before bending and pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Riley’s mouth, leaving the succubus wanting more. “This coffee’s pretty rancid. Let me get you something fresh,” she said with a wink.

Riley folded her laminated menu and set it on the table. “Okay.” Her hands visibly shook. “Sounds good.”

Heather couldn’t help but notice Riley’s predatory stare as she watched her girlfriend make her rounds. “Are you going to …” she trailed off. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Here? At the
restaurant
?”

“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t?”

Heather held up her hands in retreat. “Not judging. But don’t ruin her, okay? I really like this place, and it’s so hard to find a decent brunch spot in this neighborhood. Remember what happened when Seven went after our waitress at Geppetto’s?”

Riley nodded. A small smile crept onto her lips when she remembered the fallout from Seven’s botched relationship with the attractive barmaid at their favorite Italian bistro.

“I like her a lot, H. I’m not going to ruin her.”

Riley’s gaze trailed after her waitress girlfriend as she moved among the tables, refilling coffee cups and smiling pleasantly.
Girlfriend.
Riley laughed softly to herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d used that label—very few times since she’d become a succubus, at least. She could engage in all the amorous activities she ever desired in her line of work, but lately she’d begun to miss the intimacy that came with companionship. Her friends would probably tease her even worse than they typically did, but sometimes she simply wanted to hold someone’s hand, wanted to wake up and be greeted with a sweet, sleepy smile.
A succubus who just wants to cuddle
, she mused to herself.

Riley stood up from the table, the legs of her chair scraping against the patio floor.

Heather shook her head. “And so it begins.”

Ignoring her friend, Riley left the table and strode in the direction of the bathrooms near the back of the restaurant. There were three doors in the narrow hallway: the men’s restroom, the women’s, and a door marked “Employees Only.” She frowned and looked back and forth between two of the doors—the women’s bathroom and the employee area. She didn’t have to deliberate for too long before Amber popped out from behind the employee door and pulled Riley in.

“What took you so long?” Amber demanded. She began unbuttoning Riley’s shirt and dropping kisses down her neck.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know there was a rush.” Riley’s breath hitched when Amber scraped her teeth across her jugular. Her nostrils flared, and she reigned in her basest emotions. Her vision clouded over momentarily as if a grey veil had covered her eyes. She blinked rapidly until the colors came back. Cuddling would have been great, but sex most definitely wouldn’t hurt.

“My boss comes back from an errand in about twenty minutes.”

Amber pushed Riley against the door and pulled up the front of her shirt to kiss down her stomach. Riley bit back a moan when Amber licked hard against her hipbone.  

A roguish look crossed Amber’s features as she deftly popped the top button of Riley’s jeans and the zipper soon followed. Riley reached for something—anything—when denim material was pushed down her hips just far enough to give Amber access. She finally settled for grasping the door with one hand and a handful of Amber’s dark red hair in the other.

She slammed her palm against the back of the door. “Fuck.” She could feel the beginning signs of primitive cubare instincts slipping through. It was like having a filter over her eyes—a lens that could see the energy that came off of the individuals around her. She struggled to keep her eyes their normal light grey-green.