Succubus Blues (21 page)

Nephilim? A superscript number appeared by the word, and I followed it to the appropriate footnote.

Frustrated, I looked up the Harrington reference in the book's bibliography, finding it linked to
Biblical Arcana and Myth
by Robert Harrington. I memorized the title and author, slipping the Bible back into its place just as Seth turned to go.

We drove in silence, the sky graying early as Seattle's winter loomed nearer. I might normally have interpreted the quiet in the car as awkward or weird, but I found it comfortable as my mind pondered the nephilim reference. I needed to get a hold of the Harrington book, I decided.

“They didn't have ice cream,” Seth suddenly noted, interrupting my thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Terry and Andrea. They had cake with no ice cream. You want to get some ice cream?”

“Not enough sugar for you already?”

“They just go together, that's all.”

“It's only about fifty out,” I warned as he pulled up next to an ice cream parlor. Ice cream in inclement weather seemed odd to me. “And it's windy.”

“Are you kidding? In Chicago, a place like this wouldn't even be open this time of year. This is balmy.”

We went inside. Seth ordered a double cone of mint chocolate chip. I ordered a more adventurous double of blueberry cheesecake and mocha almond swirl. Sitting at a table by the windows, we ate our sugary confections in more silence.

Finally, he said, “You're quiet today.”

I turned on him in wonder, pausing in my mental dissection of nephilim. “That's a switch.”

“What is?”

“Usually I think you're too quiet. I have to talk and talk to keep things going.”

“I've noticed. Er, I didn't mean that like it came out. That sounded bad. You talking is a good thing. You always know what to say. Exactly the right thing at exactly the right time.”

“Not last night. I said horrible things last night. To Doug and Roman both. They'll never forgive me,” I lamented.

“Sure they will. Doug's a good guy. I don't really know Roman, but…”

“But what?”

Seth suddenly looked embarrassed. “I imagine you're easy to forgive.”

We looked at each other for a moment, and warmth flushed my cheeks. Not blood boiling, get naked and jump someone warm, but just cozily warm. Like being wrapped in a blanket.

“That looks terrible, you know.”

“What does?”

He pointed at my cone. “That combination.”

“Hey, don't knock it until you try it. They actually go pretty well together.”

He looked doubtful.

I slid my chair over by him and offered him a bite. “Make sure you get both flavors.”

He leaned in for the bite and managed both the blueberry cheesecake and mocha almond swirl. Unfortunately, a piece of the blueberry cheesecake scoop fell off onto his chin in the process. I instinctively reached out to stop it, sliding it back to his mouth. He just as automatically nabbed the wayward piece with his tongue, licking it off my fingers.

A blast of eroticism coursed through me, and looking into his eyes, I knew he'd shared it too. “Here,” I said hastily, reaching for a napkin, ignoring the desire to return my fingers to his mouth.

Seth wiped his chin with it, but for once, he didn't let his self-consciousness get the better of him. He stayed where he was, leaning close to me.

“You smell amazing. Like…gardenias.”

“Tuberose,” I corrected automatically, dazed by how close he was to me.

“Tuberose,” he repeated. “And incense, I think. I've never smelled anything like it.” He leaned a hair closer.

“It's Michael by Michael Kors. You can get it at any high-end department store.” I nearly groaned as the words left my flustered lips. What an idiotic thing to say. My nervousness made me flippant. “Maybe Cady could start wearing it.”

Seth was all seriousness. “No. This is you. Only you. It would never smell exactly the same on anyone else.”

I shivered. I wore this perfume because it was reminiscent of what other immortals sensed in my unique signature, my aura.
This is you.
With just a few casual words, I felt as though Seth had uncovered some secret part of me, looked into my soul.

We sat there then, chemistry burning between us like crazy, neither of us acting. I knew he would not try to kiss me as Roman had. Seth was content simply to look at me, to make love to me with his eyes.

Suddenly the wind caught the door to the tiny restaurant, forcing it open as a huge gust swept in. Wisps of hair blew into my face, and I slammed my hands down on the napkins that flew up from our table. Other items in the parlor had less success as more napkins and scraps of paper drifted around, and a cup of plastic spoons fell off the counter, spilling its contents on the floor. The clerk behind the counter ran to the door, fighting against the wind to make the latch catch. When he'd finally done so, he glared at the door resentfully.

With the moment—whatever it was—shattered, Seth and I picked up our things and left shortly thereafter. I asked him to drop me off at the bookstore. I hoped Doug would be there to apologize to, plus I wanted to get ahold of that Harrington book.

“You want to come in and hang out? Say hi to anybody?” I somehow felt reluctant to leave Seth now, in spite of all the things I needed to do.

He shook his head. “Sorry. I've got to go. I'm meeting someone.”

“Oh.” I felt kind of foolish. He could have a date now for all I knew. And why shouldn't he? It wasn't like I was his only social connection, especially after my no-dating spiel. I was foolish to be reading so much into the ice cream encounter, especially since I was supposedly crazy about Roman. “Well. Thanks again for everything. I'll make it up to you.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “It wasn't anything. Besides, you paid me back by going to the party.”

Now I shook my head. “I didn't really do anything there.”

Seth only smiled. “See you around.”

I stepped out of the car and suddenly stuck my head back in. “Hey, I should have asked you this earlier. Do you have my book signed yet?
The Glasgow Pact
?”

“Oh…man. No. I can't believe I forgot about that. It's still at my place. I'll sign it and bring it soon. I'm sorry.” He looked sincerely contrite.

“Okay. It's no problem.” I should have ransacked his condo for it.

We said goodbye again, and I turned into the bookstore. If I remembered my schedule right, Paige should have opened and Doug should be here now as the late manager. Sure enough, he stood at the information desk, looking on while Tammi helped a customer.

“Hey,” I said, walking up to him, uneasiness filling me as I recalled my harsh words. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“No.”

Whoa. I'd expected him to be upset…but this?

“You need to call your friend first.”

“I—what?”

“That one guy,” Doug explained. “That plastic surgeon that hangs out with you and Cody.”

“Hugh?”

“Yeah, that's the one. He's called, like, a hundred times, leaving messages. He's been worried about you.” His expression turned both soft and wry as he took in my dress and flannel ensemble. “So have I.”

I frowned, wondering at Hugh's urgency. “Okay. I'll call him now. Come talk to me later?”

Doug nodded, and I started to pull out my cell phone until I remembered I'd broken it last night. Retreating to the back office instead, I sat on the desk's edge and called Hugh.

“Hello?”

“Hugh?”

“Jesus Christ, Georgina. Where the hell have you been?”

“I, er, nowhere…”

“We've been trying to get ahold of you all last night and today.”

“I wasn't at home,” I explained. “And my cell phone broke. Why? What's going on? Tell me there hasn't been another one.”

“Afraid so. Another murder this time, no more friendly beatings. When we couldn't reach you, the vampires and I thought he'd got you too, even though Jerome said he could feel that you were fine.”

I swallowed. “Who…who was it?”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Sort of.”

I braced myself, ready for anything. Demon. Imp. Vampire. Succubus.

“Lucinda.”

I blinked. “What?” All my theories of an avenger of evil shattered. “But that's impossible. She's—she's—”

“—an angel,” Hugh finished for me.

“G
eorgina?”

“I'm still here.”

“Pretty fucked up, huh? I guess this kills your angel theory.”

“I'm not so sure.”

My initial feeling of dismay was being replaced by a new idea, one that had been percolating in the back of my mind ever since I read the biblical passage at Terry and Andrea's. I wondered now…wondered exactly what we were dealing with, if it was an angel after all. The words in Genesis came back to me:
There were giants in the earth in those days…the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown…

“What's Jerome saying about all of this?”

“Nothing. What'd you expect?”

“Everyone else is okay, though?”

“Fine, last I knew. What are you going to do? Nothing stupid, I hope.”

“I have to go check on something.”

“Georgina…” Hugh warned.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful. Jerome's in a terrible mood over all of this.”

I laughed harshly. “I can imagine.”

An awkward silence hung on the line.

“What else aren't you telling me?”

He hesitated a moment longer. “This…this is a surprise to you, right? This Lucinda thing?”

“Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?”

Another pause. “It's just…well, you've got to admit it's kind of weird, first Duane…”

“Hugh!”

“And then, I mean, when no one could contact you…”

“I told you, my cell phone broke. You can't be serious about this.”

“No, no. It's just…I don't know. I'll talk to you later.”

I disconnected.

Lucinda dead? Lucinda, with her plaid skirt and bob? It was impossible. I felt terrible; I'd just seen her the other day. Sure, I'd called her a sanctimonious bitch, but I hadn't wanted this. Any more than I'd wanted Duane dead.

Yet, the connections Hugh had drawn were weird, weirder than I liked to admit. I'd argued with both Duane and Lucinda, and they'd died shortly thereafter. But Hugh…how did he fit in?
Some friend. From what I heard, he received a great deal of amusement telling anyone that would listen about your little whip and wings getup.
I remembered Lucinda's jibe. I had indeed had a small flare-up with the imp just before his attack. A small flare-up and a small attack, considering he had lived.

I shivered, unsure as to what this meant. Doug walked in.

“You get everything straightened out?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” We stood there uncomfortably for a moment until I finally unlocked the floodgates of my guilt. “Doug, I—”

“Forget it, Kincaid. It's nothing.”

“What I said, I shouldn't have. I was—”

“Wasted. Trashed. Flat on your ass drunk. It happens.”

“Still, I had no right. You were trying to be nice, and I turned complete psycho bitch on you.”

“You weren't that psycho.”

“But definitely a bitch?”

“Well…” He hid a smile, not meeting my eyes.

“I'm sorry, Doug. I'm really sorry.”

“Quit it. I can't take much more of this sentimentality.”

I leaned over and squeezed his arm, resting my head slightly on his shoulder. “You're a good guy, Doug. A really good guy. And a good friend. And I'm sorry…sorry for a lot of things that have—or haven't—happened between us.”

“Hey, forget about it. It's nothing between friends, Kincaid.” A pregnant pause hung between us; he was still clearly uncomfortable with this exchange. “Did…did everything turn out all right? I lost track of you after the show. That outfit you have on doesn't reassure me any.”

“You'll never believe whose shirt this is,” I teased, subsequently telling him the whole tale of getting sick with Seth and the follow-up birthday party.

Doug was pushing hysterics by the time I finished, albeit in a relieved sort of way. “Mortensen's a good guy,” he finally said, still laughing.

“He says the same thing about you.”

Doug grinned. “You know he's—oh, man. I forgot, what with all those phone calls.” Turning to the desk, he sifted through papers and books, finally producing a small white envelope. “You got a note. Paige said she found it last night. I hope it's good news.”

“Yeah, me too.”

But I had my doubts when I saw it. I took it gingerly, like something that might burn me. The paper and calligraphy were identical to the last one's. Opening up the envelope, I read:

I looked up, meeting Doug's curious eyes. “No worries,” I told him lightly, folding the note up and placing it in my purse. “This is old news.”

Hugh's report implied Lucinda had been killed last night, and this note had been slipped to me beforehand, according to Doug. The warning had gone unheeded. This person apparently didn't have a good grasp of my schedule, or they hadn't wanted me to actually act beforehand. It was more like a scare tactic.

Whatever their point in giving me a heads-up on Lucinda, it was nothing compared to the other reference in the note. The thought that someone had watched me have sex with Warren made my skin crawl.

“Where are you off to now?” Doug asked.

“Believe it or not, I need to find a book.”

“You're in the right place.”

We went back out to the information desk, where Tammi stood. It pleased me to see Doug training her in this post; we'd need people available for all jobs when the holidays came.

“Practice time,” I told her. “Tell me where we keep this book.”

I gave her the name, and she looked it up in the computer, frowning at the results. “We don't. We can order it for you.”

I scowled, suddenly understanding why people seemed so pissed off when I told them that. “Great,” I muttered. “Where am I going to get it tonight?” Erik probably stocked it, but he'd be closed by now.

“I hate to recommend this,” joked Doug, “but a library might have it.”

“Maybe…” I eyed a clock, unsure how late the local branches stayed open.

“Um, Georgina?” began Tammi carefully. “I know a place that has it. And that's still open.”

I turned to her in surprise. “Really? Where—no. No. Not there.”

“I'm sorry.” Her blue eyes pleaded with me to forgive her for such tidings. “But there were three copies in stock the last time I was there. They couldn't have sold out.”

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “I can't go in there. Doug, you want to run an errand for me?”

“I've got to close,” he admonished. “What place are you avoiding?”

“Krystal Starz, home of ‘freaky witch woman.'”

“You couldn't pay me to go there.”

“You could pay me,” noted Tammi, “but I'm closing too. If it makes it any easier, she's not there all the time.”

“Yeah,” added Doug helpfully. “No manager is always on-duty. She must have other staff to cover her.”

“Unless they're short-staffed,” I muttered. The irony.

I left the store and got into my car for the journey to Krystal Starz. As I drove, I reflected on the two pieces of information I'd gleaned today.

First, the nephilim reference. The King James translation had mentioned angelic offspring, even mentioned them as being abnormal, but I had never considered the possibilities half-angel children might present. The annotation in Terry and Andrea's translation had elaborated only slightly more on such creatures, but it had been enough to spring a lock in my head. Who better, I thought, to take on both angels and demons than some sort of bastard demigod?

Of course, the whole discovery of the nephilim had come about as a spin-off to the verse Erik had given me about fallen angels. I could be running away with a blind lead here when really the culprit was just a regular immortal, albeit an unstable one, slaying members of both sides. After all, I still hadn't ruled Carter out of the realm of suspects, nor had I figured out why said killer would finish the job with Duane and Lucinda but let Hugh live.

My other piece of data today, the new note, offered little I hadn't already known. I'd simply found it too late for it to be of preemptive use. And if some voyeur was following me around, there was nothing I could do about that either.

Yet, it led to the obvious question: Why was this person following me around? Evidence suggested I was the only one receiving such attention, the only one receiving notes. And again, there was the niggling truth: Everyone I'd fought with had later become a victim…

When I had almost reached Krystal Starz, I pulled off onto a deserted street. Unbeknownst to Tammi and Doug, I already had a simple solution for facing Helena. Stripping out of the dress and Seth's shirt, lest they be consumed, I shape-shifted, taking on the guise of a tall, willowy Thai woman in a linen dress. I sometimes used this body to hunt in.

The New Age bookstore was quiet when I entered, with only a couple of browsing customers. I saw the same boyish acolyte from before manning the register, and blessing upon blessing, I couldn't see Helena anywhere. Even disguised, I still had no desire to run into that nutcase.

Smiling at the young man behind the counter, I approached and asked where I could find the book. Grinning back like an idiot—this was a very attractive form, after all—he led me to a certain section in their cryptic cataloging system, immediately finding the book. As Tammi had said, the store stocked three copies.

We returned to the register to cash out, and I sighed in relief, thinking I was going to make it out of here unscathed. No such luck. The back door leading to the conference room opened, and Helena glided out as though conjured, clad in a flowing fuchsia gown, laden with her usual ten pounds of necklaces. Damn it. It was like the woman really did have a sixth sense or something.

“Things are well, Roger?” she asked the clerk, using her raspy show voice.

“Yes, yes.” He bobbed his head eagerly, apparently thrilled that she'd call him by first name.

Turning to me, she gave me one of her diva smiles. “Hello, my dear. How are you this evening?”

Remembering that this persona had no grudge with her, I forced a smile and answered politely, “Good, thank you.”

“I imagine so,” she told me gravely as I handed cash to the boy, “because I sense excellent things about your aura.”

I widened my eyes in what I hoped was a laywoman's awe. “Really?”

She nodded, pleased at an appreciative audience. “Very bright. Very strong. Lots of color. You have good things in store for you.” This message was a far cry from the one she'd given me at Emerald City, I thought. Seeing my book, she eyed me sharply, probably because it was dense and filled with research, as opposed to most of the fluff she sold. “I'm surprised. I would have expected you to be reading up on how to focus your gifts more. Maximize your full potential. I have several titles I can recommend if you're interested.”

Didn't this woman ever stop with the sales pitching? “Oh, I'd love to,” I oozed back, “but I only brought enough cash for this.” I gestured to the bag now in hand.

“I understand,” she told me gravely. “Let me show you anyway. So you'll know what to come back for next time.”

Torn, I contemplated which would cause me the most discomfort: going along with her or starting a feud in yet another body. Noticing a clock, I saw that the store closed in fifteen minutes. She couldn't waste that much of my time.

“Okay. I'd love to.”

Beaming, Helena led me across the store, another victim in her thrall. As promised, we looked at books on utilizing the strongest parts of the aura, a few books on crystal channeling, and even one on how visualization could help bring about the things we most wanted. This last one was so painful, I wanted to beat myself in the head with it to end my suffering.

“Don't underestimate the power of visualization,” she whispered. “You can control your own destiny, set your own paths, rules, and stakes. I can sense great potential in you, but following these principles can help you unlock more—all the things you'd want for a happy and fulfilling life. Career, home, husband, children.”

An image of Seth's niece curled in my lap suddenly came unbidden to me, and I hastily turned away from Helena. Succubi bore no children. No such future waited for me, book or no.

“I need to go. Thanks for your help.”

“Of course,” she responded demurely, handing me a list she'd conveniently written the titles—and prices—upon. “And let me give you some brochures for our upcoming programs and events.”

It didn't end. She finally released me once I was sufficiently laden with paper, all of which I dumped into the trash bin in the parking lot. Lord, I hated that woman. I supposed Helena the schmoozing con artist was better than Helena the raving lunatic who had been at Emerald City, but really, it was a tough call. At least I'd obtained the book, which was all that mattered.

I pulled off at one of my favorite Chinese places on the way home, back in my normal shape. Carrying Harrington's book in, I ate General Tso's chicken while reading the entry on nephilim: