Succubus Blues (27 page)

“As you can perhaps imagine, this is not a topic I enjoy bringing up. And contrary to popular belief, I do feel entitled to some privacy.”

“Yes, but…” Now that it was out, I didn't know what to say or think or do. “What will happen? What are you going to do?”

“The same thing I've been planning on doing. We will find this creature and destroy it.”

“But it…he or she…is yours…”

I, who had so jealously and longingly watched Paige's growing pregnancy and Seth's bevy of nieces, could not even begin to fathom calmly announcing the murder of one's offspring.

“It doesn't matter,” the demon said simply. “It's a liability, a danger to the rest of us. My connection to it is irrelevant.”

“You…you keep saying ‘it.' Are you so detached that you can't even…you know, call it by name or gender? What is it anyway? A son or a daughter?”

He hesitated a moment, and I detected a faint trace of un-ease in that cool mask. “I don't know.”

I stared. “What?”

“I wasn't there when it was born. When I found out she…my wife…was pregnant, I left. I knew what would happen. I was neither the first—nor the last—to take a mortal wife. Plenty of nephilim had been born and destroyed by that point. We all knew what they were capable of. The right thing to do when it was born would have been to destroy it right then.” He paused, once more perfectly expressionless. “I couldn't do it. I left, so I wouldn't have to deal with it, so I wouldn't have to make that choice. It was a coward's way out.”

“Did you…ever see her again? Your wife?”

“No.”

Speechless, I wondered what she must have been like. I barely understood Jerome now as a demon, let alone before he fell. He hardly ever showed any sort of emotion or affection for anyone; I couldn't imagine what kind of a woman would have so overcome him that he would turn his back on all he held sacred. And yet, despite that love, he had still left, never to see her again. She would have been dead for millennia by now. He had left to save their child, only to once again be faced with holding its life in his hands. The whole thing was heartbreaking, and I wanted to do something—hug the demon, maybe—but I knew he wouldn't thank me for my sympathy. He was already too embarrassed at us finding out about all of this.

“So you've never seen it? How do you know for sure this one is yours?”

“The signature. When I feel it, I feel half of my own aura and half of…hers. No other creature could have that combination.”

“And you've felt that every time?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Yet you know nothing else about it.”

“Correct. As I said, I was gone long before it was born.”

“Then…then it would make sense that you really are a target,” I told him, gesturing to the wall. “Even independent of all this. The nephilim has especial reason to be pissed off at you.”

“Thanks for the unconditional support.”

“I didn't mean it like that. I just meant…the nephilim already have good cause to be angry. Everybody hates them and tries to kill them. And this one…well, people spend thousands of dollars on therapy to get over bad experiences with their fathers. Imagine what kind of neuroses would develop after several thousand years.”

“Are you suggesting a family counseling session, Georgie?”

“No…no, of course not. Although…I don't know. Have you tried talking to it? Reasoning with it?” I remembered Erik's comment about nephilim just wanting to be left alone. “Maybe you could work something out.”

“All right, this conversation is growing more absurd, if that's possible.” Jerome turned to Carter. “You want to take them home now?”

“I'm staying with you,” the angel stated flatly.

“Oh, for Christ's sake, I thought we settled this—”

“He's right,” I piped up. “The warning phase is over. I'm safe now.”

“We don't know—”

“And besides, this wasn't so much about my safety anyway as having Carter keep me from finding out the truth about your family problems. It's too late now, and I'm tired of having a shadow. You keep him, and we'll all sleep easy, even if it is overkill.”

“Eloquently put,” chuckled Carter.

Jerome still protested, and we bickered a bit more about it, but in the end, the decision rested in Carter's hands. Jerome had no power to order him around; indeed, if Carter wanted to follow the demon indefinitely, there was nothing Jerome could do, not really. They weren't going to wage any epic battles with each other, no matter how annoyed they currently seemed.

Carter did agree to teleport us back, though I suspected it was more of a kind gesture to make sure Cody and I could never find Jerome's place again. After he'd taken the vampire home, Carter transported me to my living room, hesitating before he disappeared again.

“It is better this way, I think,” he told me. “Me staying with Jerome. I know the nephilim can't be stronger than him…but there's still something weird going on. I'm not convinced you're out of danger either, but whatever's going on with you is something entirely different.” He shrugged. “I don't know. There are a lot of hard calls here; I wish Jerome would let us get a little outside help. Not too much, of course. Just something. Anything.”

“Don't worry,” I assured him. “I'll manage. You can't be everywhere at once.”

“Isn't that the truth. I'll have to ask this nephilim how it does it when this is over.”

“You can't question the dead.”

“No,” he agreed grimly. “You can't.” He turned as if to depart.

“It's weird…” I began slowly. “The whole idea of Jerome loving someone. And falling because of it.”

He gave me one of those canny, creepy smiles. “Love doesn't make angels fall, Georgina. If anything, love can have quite the opposite effect.”

“So, what? If Jerome fell in love again, he could turn back into an angel?”

“No, no. It's not quite that simple.” Seeing my baffled look, he chuckled and gave my shoulder a quick squeeze. “Watch out for yourself, Daughter of Lilith. Call if you need help.”

“I will,” I assured him as he blinked out, not that ever actually getting a hold of higher immortals was easy. Jerome could sense if I was hurt, but he was a lot harder to call for a casual chat.

I went to bed shortly thereafter, fatigued by everything that had happened, too tired to worry about nephilim attacking me in my sleep. I worked the closing shift tomorrow, and it was my last day before another two days off. I needed the break.

I woke up later the next morning, still alive. While walking into the bookstore, I ran into Seth, armed with his laptop, ready for another day of writing. Recalling the dance lesson with him put my nephilim concerns temporarily at bay.

“Got my book?” I asked as he held the door open for me.

“Nope. Got my shirt?”

“Nope. I like the one you're wearing, though.” His themed T-shirt today displayed the logo for the musical
Les Miserables
. “My all-time favorite song comes from that.”

“Really?” he asked. “Which one?”

“‘I Dreamed a Dream.'”

“That's a really depressing song. No wonder you don't want to date.”

“So what's your favorite then?” I had asked Roman my stock question, but not Seth.

“‘Ultraviolet' by U2. You know it?”

We approached the espresso counter. Bruce was there, and he started making my mocha before I even ordered. “I know some of their other stuff, but not that one. What's it about?”

“Love, of course. Like all good songs. The pain of love juxtaposed with its redemptive power. A bit more optimistic than yours.”

I remembered Carter's comment from last night.
Love doesn't make angels fall.

Seth and I sat down to talk, conversation now flowing smoothly between us. Hard to believe there had ever been any awkwardness, I thought. He was so comfortable.

Finally, knowing I had to work sometime, I dragged myself away to check on the rest of the staff and then retreat to my office. I only intended to check my e-mail, however; I felt sociable today and wanted to work the floor. Tossing my purse on the desk, I started to sit in my chair when I saw a too-familiar white envelope with my name on it.

My breath caught. So much for being off the nephilim's radar. Trembling, I lifted the envelope up, opening it with clumsy fingers.

I dropped the note, hands cold. What kind of fucked-up game was this? It made no sense. The nephilim told me in one breath to keep someone safe, yet implied in the next that it didn't matter, that there was no safety. It was stupid, another stirring of the waters, shaking up the status quo just to watch what I'd do. Looking around uneasily, I wondered: Was the nephilim here now? Was Jerome's disgruntled offspring lurking invisibly beside me, smirking at my distress? What should I do?

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, just who the hell was my boyfriend anyway?

I
had no boyfriend. Despite all the uncertainties in my world, that at least was one thing I could feel confident about. Unfortunately, this nephilim apparently had a more optimistic view of my love life.

“I don't know who you're talking about,” I shouted to my empty office. “Do you hear me, you son of a bitch? I don't know who you're fucking talking about!”

No one responded.

Paige, passing by a moment later, stuck her head inside. “Did you call me?”

“No,” I grumbled. She wore a dress that clung distinctly to her swelling belly. It didn't help my mood any. “Just talking to myself.” I closed the door after she left.

My immediate impulse was to run for help. Carter. Jerome. Somebody. Anybody. I couldn't deal with this alone.

Fail—or involve any of your immortal contacts—and no amount of “safekeeping” will do him any good.

Damn it. I didn't even know who “he” was. Frantically, I tried to figure out who among my mortal acquaintances could have been mistaken by the nephilim as something more. As if it wasn't hard enough being my friend already.

Surprisingly—or perhaps not—my thoughts promptly strayed to Seth. I thought about our recent rapport. Censored and proper certainly, but still warm. Still right and natural. Still occasionally making me catch my breath when we touched.

No, that was stupid. My fascination with him was shallow. His books made me suffer from hero worship, and our friendship had become a sort of rebound from Roman. Whatever crush or minor attraction he'd had for me had to be fading fast. He'd shown no other indications of more-than-friends feelings, and my distancing had to be having an effect. Besides, he still kept disappearing for mysterious meetings, probably for some girl he was too shy to tell me about. It was presumptuous of me to even consider him in a boyfriend category.

Yet…would the nephilim know any of that? Who knew what the bastard was thinking? If it had observed Seth and me having our coffee chats, it might assume anything. Fear clenched me, making me want to immediately run upstairs and check on Seth. But no. That would be a waste, for now at least. He was writing, in public, surrounded by people. The nephilim would not attack him in such a setting.

Who else then? Warren perhaps? That voyeur nephilim had watched us have sex. If that didn't count as some sort of relationship, I didn't know what did. Of course, the nephilim would have also observed that Warren and I almost never interacted in any other intimate way. Poor Warren. Sex with me had already wiped him out; it would be beyond cruel if he became a target for the nephilim's bizarrely misplaced humor. Fortunately, I had already seen Warren come in today. He was busy in his office, but perhaps that still counted as safe. Alone he might be, but any screams from a nephilim attack would immediately draw attention.

Doug? He and I had always had a perky flirtation. Certainly one might consider his sporadic pursuit of me indicative of something more than friendship. Yet, in the last few weeks, he and I hadn't talked very much. I'd been too distracted by the nephilim attacks. Those, and Roman.

Ah, Roman. There it was, the possibility that had been hovering in the back of my mind. The reality I'd been avoiding because it meant contacting him, breaking the silence I'd tried so hard to maintain. I didn't know what was between us, other than a scorching attraction and the occasional tug of solidarity. I didn't know if it was love or the start of love or whatever. But I knew I cared about him. A lot. I missed him. Cutting myself off completely had been the safest way to recover, to get over my longing and move on. I feared what reinitiating contact could do.

And yet…because I cared about him, I could not let this nephilim prey upon him. I could not risk Roman's life in this because, really, he probably was the most likely candidate. Half the bookstore staff still considered us an item; why not the nephilim? Especially in light of how touchy-feely we'd been on a number of outings. Any stalking nephilim would be well justified in reading that as romantic attachment

I picked up my cell phone and called him with bated breath. No answer.

“Shit,” I swore, listening to his voice mail. “Hi Roman, it's me. I know I wasn't, uh, going to call you anymore, but something's come up…and I really need to talk to you. As soon as possible. It's really weird, but it's really important too. Please call me.” I left him both my cell and the bookstore numbers.

I disconnected, then sat and pondered. Now what did I do? On impulse, I glanced at the staff directory and dialed Doug's home number. He had the day off.

No answer, just like Roman. Where was everybody?

Shifting my attention back to Roman, I tried to figure out where he would be. Work, most likely. Unfortunately, I didn't know where that was. What a negligent pseudo-girlfriend I was. He'd said he taught at a community college. He referred to it all the time, but it was always “at school” or “at the college.” He'd never mentioned the name.

I turned to my computer and did a search for local community colleges. When the search returned several hits for Seattle alone, I swore again. More existed outside of the city too, in the suburbs and neighboring sister cities. Any of them could be possibilities. I printed out a list of all of them, with phone numbers, and stuffed the paper in my purse. I needed to get out of here, needed to take this search to the field.

I opened my office door to leave and flinched. Another identically written note hung on my door. I peered around in the offices' hallway, half hoping to see something. Nothing. I pulled the note down and opened it.

You're losing time and men. You've already lost the writer. You'd best get a move-on with this scavenger hunt.

“Scavenger hunt indeed,” I muttered, crumpling the note. “You're such an asshole.”

But…what did he mean about losing the writer? Seth? My pulse quickened, and I raced up to the café, earning a few startled looks along the way.

No Seth. His corner was empty.

“Where's Seth?” I demanded of Bruce. “He was just here.”

“He was,” concurred the barista. “Then he suddenly packed up and left.”

“Thanks.”

I definitely needed to get out of here. I found Paige in New Books.

“I think I need to go home,” I told her. “I'm getting a migraine.”

She looked startled. I had the best track record for attendance of any employee. I never called in sick. Yet, for that very reason, she could hardly refuse me. I was not a worker who abused the system.

After she'd assured me I should go, I added, “Maybe you can get Doug to come in.” That would kill two birds with one stone.

“Maybe,” she said. “I'm sure we'll manage, though. Warren and I are here all day.”

“He's here all day?”

When she reiterated that he would indeed be there, I felt somewhat relieved. Okay. He was off the list.

As I walked home to my apartment, I called Seth's cell phone.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Home. I forgot some notes I needed.”

Home? Alone?

“Do you want to get breakfast with me?” I asked suddenly, needing to get him out.

“It's almost one.”

“Brunch? Lunch?”

“Aren't you at work?”

“I went home sick.”

“Are you sick?”

“No. Just meet me.” I gave him an address and hung up.

As I drove to the rendezvous, I tried Roman's cell again. Voice mail. I pulled out the community college phone numbers and started with the first one on the list.

What a pain. First, I had to start with campus information and try to get to the right department. Most community colleges didn't even have linguistics departments, though almost all had at least one introductory class taught through some other related area—like anthropology or humanities.

I made it through three colleges by the time I reached Capitol Hill. I breathed a sigh of relief, seeing Seth waiting outside the place I'd indicated. After I parked and paid the meter, I walked up to him, trying to smile in some semblance of normality.

It apparently didn't work.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” I proclaimed cheerfully. Too cheerfully.

His look implied disbelief, but he let the matter drop. “Are we eating here?”

“Yup. But first we have to go see Doug.”

“Doug?” Seth's confusion deepened.

I led him to an apartment building next door and climbed to Doug's floor. Music blared from inside his apartment, which I took as a good sign. I had to beat on the door three times before anyone answered.

It wasn't Doug. It was his roommate. He looked stoned.

“Is Doug here?”

He blinked at me and scratched his long, unkempt hair.

“Doug?” he asked.

“Yeah, Doug Sato.”

“Oh, Doug. Yeah.”

“Yeah, he's here?”

“No, man. He's…” The guy squinted. Lord, who got high this early in the day? I hadn't even done that back in the 1960s. “He's practicing.”

“Where? Where do they practice?”

The guy stared at me.

“Where do they practice?” I repeated.

“Dude, did you know you have, like, the most perfect tits I've ever seen? They're like…poetry. Are they real?”

I clenched my teeth. “Where. Does. Doug. Practice?”

He dragged his eyes from my chest.

“West Seattle. Over by Alki.”

“Do you have an address?”

“It's by…California and Alaska.” He blinked again. “Whoa. California and Alaska. Get it?”

“An address?”

“It's green. You can't miss it.”

When no other information came, Seth and I left. We went to the restaurant I had indicated. “Poetry,” he reflected along the way, amused. “Like an ee cummings poem, I'd say.”

I was too preoccupied to process what he was saying, my mind racing. Even waffles with strawberries couldn't keep me from worrying about this idiotic scavenger hunt. Seth attempted conversation, but my answers were vague and distracted, my mind clearly not with him through the meal. When we finished, I unsuccessfully tried Roman again, then turned to Seth.

“Are you going back to the bookstore?”

He shook his head. “No. I'm going home. I realized I need too much of my research to write this scene. Easier to stay in my own office.”

Panic blazed through me. “Home? But…” What could I say? Tell him that if he stayed at home, he might be in danger of attack by a sociopathic, supernatural creature?

“Stay with me,” I blurted out. “Run errands with me.”

His polite complacency finally broke. “Georgina, what in the world is going on? You go home sick when you're not. You're clearly agitated about something, desperately so. Tell me what this is about. Is something wrong with Doug?”

I closed my eyes for a second, wishing this was all over. Wishing I was somewhere else. Or someone else. Seth must think I was out of my mind.

“I can't tell you what's wrong, only that something is. You have to leave it at that.” Then, hesitantly, I reached out and squeezed his hand, turning my eyes pleadingly toward his. “Please. Stay with me.”

He tightened his grip on my hand and took a step forward, face concerned and compassionate. For a moment, I forgot about the nephilim. What did other men matter when Seth looked at me like that? I had the urge to embrace him and feel his arms enclose me.

I almost laughed. Who was I kidding? I didn't need to worry about leading him on. I was the one getting hooked here. I was the one in danger of escalating this relationship. I needed to stop procrastinating on my “clean break” with him.

I hastily broke apart and lowered my eyes. “Thank you.”

He offered to drive to West Seattle, freeing me up to keep calling colleges. I had nearly finished by the time we reached the intersection of Alaska and California. He slowed slightly, and we both peered around, searching for a green house.

You can't miss it.
It was a stupid piece of advice. What constituted green anyway? I saw a sage house, a forest green house, and a color that could have been green or blue. Some houses had green trim, green doors, or—

“Whoa,” said Seth.

A small, run-down house painted a glaring shade of mintish lime stood there, nearly obscured by two much nicer houses.

“You can't miss it,” I muttered.

We parked and walked toward it. As we did, the sounds of Doug's band clearly emanated from the garage. When we reached the open door, I saw Nocturnal Admission in full glory, Doug belting out lyrics in that amazing voice of his. He cut off abruptly when he saw me.

“Kincaid?”

His fellow band members looked on quizzically as he jumped down and sprinted over to me. Seth discretely took a few steps away, studying some nearby hydrangea bushes.

“What are you doing here?” asked Doug, not offended so much as astounded.

“I called in sick,” I said stupidly. What did I do now?

“Are you sick?”

“No. I—I had something to do. Still do. But I'm…I'm worried about leaving the store. How long will you be here? Can you fill in for me after this?”

“You came here to ask me to cover for you? Why'd you call in sick? Are you finally running away with Mortensen?”

“I—no. I can't explain it. Just promise me, after this, you'll swing by the store and see if they need help.”

He was staring at me with a look Seth had been shooting me all afternoon. One that sort of implied I needed a tranquilizer.

“Kincaid…you're freaking me out here…”

I looked up at him with the same baleful expression I'd used on Seth. Succubus charisma in action. “Please? You still owe me, remember?”

His dark eyes frowned in understandable consternation. At last he said, “Okay. But it'll be a few hours before I can go.”