Succubus Shadows (13 page)

“I’ve gathered these from some of my friends,” he explained. “They’re worried Savonarola’s thugs will seize them.”

I frowned at this reference to the city’s most powerful priest. “Savonarola?”

“He’s gathering up ‘objects of sin’ in order to destroy them. Will you hide these here? No one would force them away from someone like you.”

The books practically shone to me, far more valuable than the jewelry I’d amassed. I wanted to drop everything and start reading. “Of course.” I flipped through the pages of the Boccaccio. “I can’t believe anyone would want to destroy these.”

“These are dark days,” he said, face hard. “If we aren’t careful, all knowledge will be lost. The ignorant will crush the learned.”

I knew he spoke the truth. I’d seen it, over and over. Knowledge destroyed, trampled by those too stupid to know what they did. Sometimes it happened through forceful, bloody invasions; sometimes it happened through less violent but equally insidious means, like those of Fra Savonarola. I’d grown so accustomed to it that I barely noticed anymore. For some reason, it hit me harder this time. Maybe it was because I was seeing it through his urgent eyes and not just observing it from a distance.

“Bianca?” Niccolò chuckled softly. “Are you even listening to me? I’d hoped to spend the night with you, but maybe you’d rather be with Boccaccio….”

I dragged my eyes from the pages, feeling my lips quirk up into a half-smile. “Can’t I have you both?”

Over the next few days, Niccolò continued to smuggle more and more goods to me. And not just books. Paintings accumulated in my home. Small sculptures. Even more superficial things like extravagant cloth and jewels, all deemed sinful.

I felt as though I’d been allowed to cross through the gates of heaven. Hours would pass as I studied paintings and sculptures, marveling at the ingenuity of humans, jealous of a creativity I had never possessed, either as a mortal or immortal. That art filled me up with an indescribable joy, exquisite and sweet, almost reminding me of when my soul had been my own.

And the books…oh, the books. My clerks and associates soon found their hands full of extra work as I neglected them. Who cared about accounts and shipments with so much knowledge at my fingertips? I drank it up, savoring the words—words the Church condemned as heresy. A secret smugness filled me over the role I played, protecting these treasures. I would pass on humanity’s knowledge and thwart Heaven’s agenda. The light of genius and creativity would not fade from this world, and best of all, I would get to enjoy it along the way.

Things changed when Tavia showed up one day to check in. The demoness was pleased at the report of my conquests but puzzled when she noticed a small sculpture of Bacchus on a table. I hadn’t yet had a chance to hide the statue with my horde.

Tavia demanded an explanation, and I told her about my role in protecting the contraband. As always, her response took a long time in coming, and when it did, my heart nearly stopped.

“You need to cease this immediately.”

“I—what?”

“And you need to turn these items over to Father Betto.”

I studied her incredulously, waiting for the joke to reveal itself. Father Betto was my local priest. “You can’t…you can’t mean that. This stuff can’t be destroyed. We’d be supporting the Church. We’re supposed to go against them.”

Tavia raised a dark, pointed eyebrow. “We’re supposed to further evil in the world, my darling, which may or may not go along with the Church’s plans. In this case, it does.”

“How?” I cried.

“Because there is no greater evil than ignorance and the destruction of genius. Ignorance has been responsible for more death, more bigotry, and more sin than any other force. It is the destroyer of mankind.”

“But Eve sinned when she sought knowledge…”

The demoness smirked. “Are you sure? Do you truly know what is good and what is evil?”

“I…I don’t know,” I whispered. “They seem kind of indistinguishable from one another.” It was the first time since becoming a succubus that the lines had really and truly grown so blurred for me. After the loss of my mortal life had darkened me, I’d thrown myself into being a succubus, never questioning Hell’s role or the corrupting of men like Niccolò.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Sometimes they are.” Her smile vanished. “This isn’t up for debate. You will yield your stash immediately. And maybe try to seduce Father Betto while you’re at it. That’d be a nice perk.”

“But I—” The word “can’t” was on my lips, and I bit it off. Under the scrutiny of her stare and power, I felt very small and very weak. You don’t cross demons. I swallowed. “Yes, Tavia.”

The next time Niccolò and I made love, he managed a tired but happy attempt at conversation in his post-sex exhaustion. “Lenzo’s going to bring me one of his paintings tomorrow. Wait until you see it. It shows Venus and Adonis—”

“No.”

He lifted his head up. “Hmm?”

“No. Don’t bring me any more.” It was hard, oh God, it was so hard speaking to him in such a cold tone. I kept reminding myself of what I was and what I had to do.

A frown crossed his handsome face. “What are you talking about? You’ve already collected so much—”

“I don’t have them anymore. I gave them up to Savonarola.”

“You…you’re joking.”

I shook my head. “No. I contacted his Bands of Hope this morning. They came and took it all.”

Niccolò struggled to sit up. “Stop it. This isn’t funny.”

“It’s not a joke. They’re all gone. They’re going to the fire. They’re objects of sin. They need to be destroyed.”

“You’re lying. Stop this, Bianca. You don’t mean—”

My voice sharpened. “They’re wrong and heretical. They’re
gone.
”

Our eyes locked, and as he studied my face, I could see that he was starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, I spoke the truth. And I did. Sort of. I was very good at making people—especially men—believe what I wanted them to.

We dressed, and I took him to the storage room I’d previously hidden the objects in. He stared at the empty space, face pale and disbelieving. I stood nearby, arms crossed, maintaining a stiff and disapproving stance.

Eyes wide, he turned to me. “How could you? How could you do this to me?”

“I told you—”

“I trusted you! You said you’d keep them safe!”

“I was wrong. Satan clouded my judgment.”

He gripped my arm painfully and leaned close to me. “What have they done to you? Did they threaten you? You wouldn’t do this. What are they holding against you? Is it that priest you’re always visiting?”

“No one made me do this,” I replied bleakly. “It’s the right thing to do.”

He pulled back, like he couldn’t stand my touch, and my heart lurched painfully at the look in his eyes. “Do you know what you’ve done? Some of those can never be replaced.”

“I know. But it’s better this way.”

Niccolò stared at me for several more seconds and then stumbled for the door, uncaring of the curfew or his weakened state. I watched him go, feeling dead inside.
He’s just another man,
I thought.
Let him go.
I’d had so many in my life; I’d have so many more. What did he matter?

Swallowing tears, I crept downstairs to the lower level, careful not to wake the sleeping household. I’d made the same journey last night, painstakingly carrying part of the horde down here—a part that I didn’t give to the Church’s minions.

Splitting the art and books had been like choosing which of my children had to live or die. The silks and velvets had been mindless; all of them went to Fra Savonarola. But the rest…that had been difficult. I’d let most of Ovid go. His works were so widespread, I had to believe copies of them would survive—if not in Florence, then perhaps some other place untouched by this bigotry. Other authors, those whom I feared had a limited run, stayed with me.

The paintings and sculptures proved hardest of all. They were one of a kind. I couldn’t hope that other copies might exist. But I’d known I couldn’t keep them all either, not with Tavia checking in. And so, I’d chosen those which I thought most worth saving, protecting them from the Church. Niccolò couldn’t know that, though.

I didn’t see him for almost three weeks, until we ran into each other at Savonarola’s great burning. History would later know it as the Bonfire of the Vanities. It was a great pyramid stuffed with fuel and sin. The zealous threw more and more items in as it blazed, seeming to have a never ending supply. I watched as Botticelli himself tossed one of his paintings in.

Niccolò’s greeting was curt. “Bianca.”

“Hello, Niccolò.” I kept my voice cold and crisp. Uncaring.

He stood in front of me, gray eyes black in the flickering light. His face seemed to have aged since our last meeting. We both turned and silently observed the blaze again, watching as more and more of man’s finest things were sacrificed.

“You have killed progress,” Niccolò said at last. “You betrayed me.”

“I’ve delayed progress. And I had no obligations to you. Except for this.” Reaching into the folds of my dress, I handed over a purse heavy with florins. It was the last part in my plan. He took it, blinking at its weight.

“This is more than you owe me. And I won’t finish the fresco.”

“I know. It’s all right. Take it. Go somewhere else, somewhere away from this. Paint. Write. Create something beautiful. Whatever it takes to make you happy. I don’t really care.”

He stared, and I feared he’d give the money back. “I still don’t understand. How can you not care about any of this? How can you be so cruel? Why did you do it?”

I studied the fire again. Humans, I realized idly, liked to burn things. Objects. Each other. “Because men cannot surpass the gods. Not yet anyway.”

“Prometheus never intended his gift to be used like this.”

I smiled without humor, remembering an old debate of ours about classical mythology, back during our sweeter days. “No. I suppose not.”

We said nothing else. A moment later, he walked away, disappearing into the darkness. For a heartbeat, I considered telling him the truth, that much of his treasure was still safe. I’d paid well for it to be smuggled out of Florence, away from this mad destruction.

In fact, I’d actually sent the goods to an angel. I didn’t like angels as a general rule, but this one was a scholar, one I’d met in England and tolerated. Heretical or no, the books and art would appeal to him as much as to me. He would keep them safe. How ironic, I thought, that I would turn to the enemy for help. Tavia had been right. Sometimes good and evil were impossible to distinguish from one another. And if she’d known what I had done, my existence would probably be over.

So I couldn’t tell anyone. The secret had to stay with me and the angel, no matter how much I wished I could share it with Niccolò and comfort him. I had to live with the knowledge that I had taken his life, soul, and hope. He would hate me forever, and it was a sting I would likewise carry with me forever—one that would slowly make my existence more and more miserable.

My world dissolved into darkness. I was back in my box, still cramped and uncomfortable. As usual, I couldn’t see anything, but my cheeks were wet with tears yet again. I felt exhausted, even a little disoriented, and my heart ached with a pain that I could never put into words. I didn’t see the Oneroi, but something told me they were probably around.

“That was truth,” I whispered. “That really happened.”

As suspected, a voice answered me in the darkness, and I suddenly knew the real reason they kept showing me true dreams.

“Your truths are worse than your lies.”

I
woke up next to Seth, and for the space of heartbeat, I thought I truly was
waking
—waking up from an awful, awful dream about the Oneroi and everything else that had happened since Seth and I had broken up. He lay asleep in bed with the sheets tangled around him, his light brown hair glinting reddish in the morning sun. He slept only in boxers, and his chest looked warm and smooth and perfect for cuddling against.

His breathing was even, his posture still and relaxed. I drank it all in, all the little Seth details I’d been missing for months. I swore that I could even smell him. Did dreams have smells? This one did, I was certain. That soft woodsy-apple scent wrapped around me like an embrace.

After a few moments, he began to stir and sleepily open his eyes. He squinted at the light and rolled onto his back, stifling a yawn. I wanted to roll right over to him and snuggle against his warmth, telling him all about the nightmares I’d been having.

Then, I realized there was no way I could go to him. I couldn’t move. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. There was more to it than that. I just didn’t have a body. I was an observer only, like the invisible camera I’d been with Roman and Jerome. This apparently was not a dream I was active in, and the realization of that drove home the terrible truth: this
was
still an Oneroi dream. I hadn’t imagined them. I hadn’t imagined Seth and me breaking up.

He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. It was such a familiar, nostalgic sight. Getting up was always hard for him, largely because of the bizarre writing hours he kept. He glanced over at the clock, which was near the direction from which I was “watching.” His eyes passed right over where I would have been. Yes. I was just a ghost in this. But what was “this” exactly? Truth or lie?

The time on the clock—nine in the morning—must have been motivation enough for him to drag himself out of bed. Still in boxers, he stumbled into the bathroom, miraculously not walking into anything in his sleepy state. While brushing his teeth, he noticed a note on the counter. I immediately recognized the writing because I saw it all the time at the bookstore.

Seeing Maddie’s name jolted me out of the Seth Fantasyland I’d been living in as he went through his morning routine. Expanding my vision now, I saw changes to his bathroom—things that hadn’t been there when we’d dated. Another toothbrush, for one thing. Makeup in the corner. A pink robe on the bathroom hook. On the books, Maddie was still sharing a place with Doug, but we all knew what the reality was. That pain that hadn’t really left since my last dream grew tighter within my chest. She was all over this place. She had left her mark everywhere, everywhere in this space he and I had once shared together. I had been replaced.

Seth went through the rest of his routine, including a remarkably fast shower. He was notorious for staying in there forever while plotting some story line. I tried hard not to focus on the sight of him naked and wet and instead pondered where he might be going today. If it was just to write at the bookstore, he wouldn’t have been moving so briskly.

He easily found clean boxers and jeans, but the hardest part of his day came next: what T-shirt to wear? When we’d been together, I’d loved watching this. I’d lie in bed—after all, I had no urgency to ever get ready—laughing while he deliberated and deliberated over his massive T-shirt collection. Each had its own hanger, displaying some bit of retro or pop culture novelty. Vanilla Ice.
ALF
. Mr. T cereal. He flipped through them all, studying each one carefully as his hand touched each sleeve.

Then, his fingers suddenly brushed against a sleeve longer than the others. His closet wasn’t all T-shirts. There were a few sweaters and pullovers crammed into the sides. There was also a flannel shirt; it was what he’d stopped and noticed. Pushing the other shirts aside, he took the flannel off of its hanger and held it up, his motions almost reverent.

Even without physical form, I had the sensation of my heart going still. I knew this shirt. It was one he’d given me to wear a long time ago, the night I’d passed out at his place from too much alcohol. I’d met his family the next day, looking ridiculous with the flannel over my strappy party dress. Even while dating, I’d totally forgotten all about that shirt.

He held it there between his hands, and the look on his face…there was so much there, I didn’t even know where to start. Seth was so good at keeping his expression neutral and could be extremely short-spoken when he chose. But here, alone, he was unguarded. There was sorrow on his face. Sorrow and regret. And when he held the shirt up and rested his head on it, I saw longing as well. The whole mood was rounded out with a sort of helpless resignation. He inhaled deeply and then hung the shirt back up. As he did, I caught the faintest whiff of tuberose blossoms—the leftover scent of my Michael Kors perfume. Seth had never worn or washed it again, I realized with a start. He’d just kept it like some sort of treasured artifact.

After that, he simply grabbed the first T-shirt his hand came across, without even looking. It was an old favorite of his, showing the Tasmanian Devil from
Looney Tunes.
Seth’s mood had shifted considerably, down to something a little more solemn and thoughtful than when he’d gotten out of the shower. My observations didn’t go into his head, though. I could only judge by outside signs.

His reason for getting up turned out to be a trip to his brother’s house. Like always, the elder Mortensen’s home was chaotic, with small adorable blond girls running around, many of them shrieking when they saw their favorite uncle. He’d barely stepped inside when Andrea, his sister-in-law, came out to greet him. She wore a corduroy jacket with her jeans and T-shirt, her blond hair slicked back into a neat ponytail. She gave Seth a startled look.

“You didn’t bring your laptop?” Andrea was as cheerful as always but appeared tired.

He gestured over to where his twin nieces, McKenna and Morgan, were playing tug of war with a string of Christmas lights. It was odd because Christmas was over a month away and also because the lights were plugged in, which seemed like some sort of electrical risk to me. Apparently Seth felt the same way because he hastily intercepted them and removed the string of lights altogether, amid much protest.

“I don’t think I’ll get much work done with these guys,” he said dryly.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I can see that.” She glanced at her watch. “Okay, gotta go. I don’t know how long this’ll take.”

“No problem,” he said. “Do what you need to.”

She scurried out the door. I wanted to ask where she was off to but had no means. Again, I was reminded how out of the loop I was from the Mortensen world now. Once I would have known every detail.

Kendall, a precocious nine-year-old, solemnly walked up to Seth. “Uncle Seth,” she said, “will you play Loan with me?”

Seth arched an eyebrow. “Loan? What’s that?”

“It’s where I’m the mortgage broker, and you come to get a loan for a house but don’t have the money for a down payment.” She paused. “We’ll have to make a pretend income fax for you.”

“Tax,” he corrected. “And how about we go to the bookstore instead?”

She frowned. “I want to play Loan.”

“They have real estate books there,” he said. “I don’t think we can play Loan without sufficient background.”

“Okay,” she conceded. “We can go.”

Brandy strolled into the living room just then with her four-year-old sister in her arms. Kayla looked like she’d woken up from a nap and sleepily had her head against Brandy’s shoulder. I loved all the girls, but something about Kayla always affected me more strongly.

“Go where?” asked Brandy, shifting Kayla’s weight. Although she held her sister tenderly, Brandy had a dark cloud around her.

“To Emerald City.”

Brandy sighed. “Don’t you spend enough time there?”

“Maddie got a few pairs of shoes for the dress and needs you to try them on.”

Brandy gave him a look that exquisitely expressed all of her feelings on that topic.

“Don’t start,” he warned, in as chastising a tone as I’d ever heard him use. Welcome to adolescence, Seth.

“Is Georgina working?” she asked.

Kendall looked up from where she’d been starting to color. In orange crayon, a blank piece of paper read “IRS.”

“Yeah, can we see Georgina?” Kendall piped in.

Seth looked pained. “I don’t know if she’s there or not.”

I didn’t know either. I didn’t know if this was a true or false dream. It felt true so far, but I didn’t trust the Oneroi. Being an observer, I had to think I wouldn’t be there. Certainly I wouldn’t if this were true. I wondered what would happen at the store when I suddenly stopped showing up.

“I can just stay here while you’re gone,” Brandy said. “Mom doesn’t mind if I’m alone.”

“Then you can’t try on the shoes. Which defeats the whole purpose.”

After a carefully worded “discussion,” in which Brandy suggested he just bring the shoes to her, she finally conceded. With the whole gang along, they had to take the Mortensen van, which Seth didn’t seem overly thrilled about. But there was no other way to transport five girls, one of whom needed a car seat.

The troop arrived at Emerald City. Seth left the four younger ones in the kids’ section, which was a wonderland of picture books, puzzles, and stuffed animals. Janice was working that area today and told him she’d keep an eye on the girls. Seth also put Kendall in charge of her sisters, with the bribe that he’d buy her some finance books.

That left him and Brandy to find Maddie, who was holed up in an office. Her face lit up when she saw them, and she practically flew from her seat to give him a quick kiss. Brandy scowled, and a troubled feeling burned within me. The love on Maddie’s face was so obvious, so strong…anyone could see it. She made no attempts to hide it, even at work. I hated their relationship, but how could I resent her feelings? How could I resent her loving the man who meant the world to me?

“How’s work?” he asked her, smiling fondly. Was that his way of showing love too? How had he looked around me? For some reason, I was certain he’d been different…hadn’t he? I couldn’t remember.

Maddie gestured to the desk she shared with Doug. “A little crazy. Yet strangely boring. I’m stuck on paperwork all day. Performance reviews.”

“Hey, I’m stuck on paperwork every day.”

She rolled her eyes. “Bad joke. And not the same at all.”

“Try putting some sex and violence into the reviews, and they might go faster.”

I was too disturbed by their banter to pay much attention to the fact that Maddie was doing my job. Brandy looked equally pained by the conversation. As Maddie and Seth spoke, I studied him further, trying to read his feelings. Yes, there was affection…yet, it reminded me a little of the warm indulgence he showed his nieces.

At last, Maddie produced a shopping bag full of shoes. Brandy’s dress was hanging in the office, and Maddie ordered Seth to leave while his niece changed.

Just before he was shooed out, Maddie remarked to Brandy, “I’m glad this color looks good on you. I decided to do everything purple because of how great it looked on Georgina. I found some awesome flowers that go with it all too.”

Oh, fucking fantastic. I had influenced the color scheme for their wedding.

Seth left, and I went with him. He wandered through the store, browsing through books—an activity he never tired of. Several employees said hello to him as they passed by.

Including me.

Seeing as the Oneroi had put me in dreams a couple times now, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Except, whenever I was a character in the theatre of these dreams, I’d always had awareness of it. I’d watched me and
felt
me. Now, I saw myself approach Seth exactly the same way I’d seen Maddie and Brandy approach him. I was still objective. No inner connection. Again, just like watching a movie. I didn’t entirely understand it, but nothing the Oneroi did should really shock me anymore.

“Hey,” I (she?) said, shelving a couple books. They were copies of
The Scarlet Letter,
and I’d set them in new releases.

“Hey,” said Seth, a weird mix of shyness and familiarity in his manner. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad,” I said. “Quiet day. Mostly just putting away books.”

“You’ve got Maddie doing reviews.”

“Yeah, well, I thought she could handle it. Besides, this dress is new. It’d be a shame to keep it hidden.”

My watching self had already noticed the dress because that was second nature to me. It was a great dress but not necessarily one to wear to work. It was a silk sheath that stopped high on the thigh, with straps tying around the neck and a scoop neckline that showed a considerable amount of cleavage. There was no bra anywhere. I looked like I should have been clubbing, not shelving. Seeing as this whole vision was no memory of mine, the dress only furthered the fact that this was one of the lies. I wasn’t afraid to tart it up, but even I had boundaries at work.

Seth seemed surprised at the dress but not unappreciative. “You should be hand-selling,” he said. “Go outside with a book, and I bet you could push it on anyone.”

“This dress might not work on
everyone,
” I pointed out.

He gave me one of those little smiles of his, and I wondered if the other Georgina melted like I did. “The dress is only half of it. You’re charming enough to talk anyone into anything.”

I gave him a smile in return, one that was both cheery and sly. “Anything?”

The innuendo didn’t progress because Kayla suddenly pranced over and wrapped her arms around Seth’s legs. He scooped her up and glanced around. “What happened to Kendall? No finance books for bad babysitters.”

My alter ego peered over toward the magazines. “Is that her?” I sounded uncertain, which was odd because when Seth turned to see, it was perfectly obvious it was Kendall. She was reading
Forbes.