Drained: The Lucid

by E. L. Blaisdell

  Riley pulled back her hand and balled it into a fist before returning it to her lap.

  The woman waited for her drink before leaving the bar area for a more secluded table.

  Riley stared straight ahead, embarrassed and annoyed. She was a succubus. She was supposed to be good at picking up women at bars. She downed her beer in a hurry and ordered a second one to dull the sting of rejection.

  Another woman sat down on the vacant stool beside Riley. She hefted an oversized bag with distinct designer markings onto the bar top. Her blonde, curly hair was piled on top of her head, and when she tilted her head forward to retrieve her wallet from her purse, Riley thought she might tip over entirely.

  “Martini. Dirty,” she ordered.

  Riley worried her bottom lip. One more try, she told herself. If she couldn’t make amiable conversation with the second stranger, she’d promptly leave.

  “I’m Riley.” Her voice sounded too loud in her head, and she mentally cursed her awkwardness.

  The woman twisted in her chair just enough to regard the succubus. “Sorry, honey. I don’t do names.”

  Riley pulled her hand back. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Relax, Sugar. You can’t be too careful,” the woman drawled.

  “No, I get it.” Riley bit the tip of her tongue. She was furious with herself. Why hadn’t she thought to give the woman a fake name? At least she’d had the foresight to leave her watch at home. She didn’t want to stick out anymore than she already did.

  The woman delicately pushed a defiant curl out of her face. “So what brings you here tonight?”

  Riley pushed her pint of beer around on the bar top, watching the trail of wet condensation it left behind. “Just felt like a drink and the company of my own kind.”

  The woman hummed and took an experimental taste of her martini.

  “And yourself?” Riley inquired.

  The woman fished out an evasive olive from her funnel-shaped glass with the help of a toothpick. She removed the small tangy fruit from the wooden spear and popped it into her mouth. “Much the same. I’m new in town, trying to get my bearings and deciding if I want to settle down here for a while.” Her southern accent was comforting and it reminded Riley of her time as a human.

  Riley nodded and took a quick sip from her beer to give her something to do.

  The woman stood with a struggle and grabbed her purse off the bar top. “Excuse me, Sugar,” she said, blinking under sooty lashes. “I need to go powder my nose.”

  Riley remained at the bar, once again seated alone. She made a face when she realized that her first beer had gone right through her. She needed to use the bathroom as well.

  Riley pushed through the doors of the women’s bathroom and found it empty. She recognized the designer purse perched on the bathroom sink. The owner, however, was nowhere in sight. The bag was wide open, and its contents were messily spilled across the countertop. A heavy set of keys sat beside a long wallet. Riley shook her head. This woman was asking to be robbed.

  The toe of Riley’s boot knocked against other items that had fallen from the woman’s purse. A tube of lipstick rolled across the bathroom floor. Riley squatted to retrieve the rest of the spilled makeup: a bottle of liquid foundation, a cracked eye-shadow compact, and a glass container of something Riley could not readily identify. The small cylinder reminded her of one of those delicate clear bottles in which a penny, too large for the opening, would be found inside. She hefted the barely-there weight of the vial, tossing it lightly up and down in her palm.

  “Break that and you’ll be in a world of hurt.”

  A bathroom stall door swung open, and a woman with glossy black hair, dark as a raven’s feathers, stepped out.

  Riley’s fingers reflexively curled around the glass vial.

  The woman stalked close and plucked the container from Riley’s hand. “That’s not yours.”

  “I—I’m sorry,” Riley stammered. “The stuff in your bag fell out. I was trying to help.” She righted herself and brushed her palms against the front of her jeans. A schmear of purple eyeshadow painted her thigh.

  The woman held the vial up to the overhead bathroom light. Riley could see its contents, a black vapor, angrily swirling around inside its prison like a tiger pacing, just waiting to escape. “No need to apologize, Sugar.” The words and the voice were familiar, but the face and body weren’t.

  Riley blinked as the realization hit her like a semi-truck. “You changed forms.”

  A slow smile crept from the corners of the woman’s mouth. “Like I said before, you can never be too careful.”

  “Is that what I think it is?” Riley asked, gesturing at the glass vial the woman held between her thumb and forefinger.

  She twisted the glass bottle between her fingers. “It’s a little pick-me-up for when you find yourself a little short.”

  “Energy.” Riley gaped as a surge of excitement rushed through her. “Extracted energy.”

  The woman batted heavily mascaraed eyes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  Riley couldn’t tear her eyes away from the swirling vapor; her devoted attention did not go unnoticed.

  “What did you say your name was again, Sugar?”

  “Riley,” she blurted out in a voice too desperate for her own liking. She sucked in her cheeks and waited for the woman to say something.

  The woman thrust the glass vial in Riley’s face. “Take it here, so I know you’re not a narc.”

  “No.” Riley held up her hands. She took a defensive step backwards until her backside hit against the sink vanity. “I couldn’t.”

  “Take it,” the woman growled, her eyes blackening. “It’s the only way I can be sure you won’t rat me out to Trusics.”

  “Trusics?” Riley echoed, eyes wide in shock. “How did you …”

  The woman smirked, lips twisting cruelly. “It was smart to leave your watch at home, but you should have at least worn a bracelet to cover that tan line, dear.”

  Riley looked down to her wrist where her watch religiously resided. She hadn’t noticed the stark white swatch of skin before, but the lighting in the bathroom had made it obvious.

  Riley knew she was being reckless, and the realization gave her pause. She now found herself at the precipice of a slippery slope. One misstep and life could unravel for her. But she’d made a promise to Morgan, that their time wouldn’t be cut short by her watch. Honoring that promise wasn’t optional, and she couldn’t fulfill it without the substance the stranger offered.

  If she continued on her current path, without any intake, Morgan would be flagged as an inefficient mark sooner or later. And with the dip in her productivity level, specifically during that appointment, she was sure she’d be called to Hyrum’s office when he noticed the pattern.

  Her hands shook as she took the bottle. “How do I …?”

  The woman snatched the container back and loosened the small cork from its opening. “Were you sired yesterday?” she huffed impatiently. “You’d think your maker would have taught you about this stuff.”

  She grabbed Riley by the elbows and positioned her close to the vapor. “Now open your mouth,” she instructed, her voice near Riley’s ear, “and suck.” The cork lifted from the opening and black wisps of energy crawled out of the container. Chaotic gas hovered in the air and threatened to disperse.

  Everything about the situation felt wrong. She couldn’t count how many rules she was breaking. Ignoring her instincts, Riley opened her mouth. The dark smoke curled and twisted in front of her face. After another moment of hesitation, she drew the cool vapor in.

  The room seemed to shift beneath her feet, and she grabbed at the bathroom sink to keep from falling over. She took in her reflection; her eyes were a solid black. Lifeless, dark eyes blinked back at her. It was energy, but the substance was more vile than euphoric for her palate. She could feel the life source course through her body as her senses flared from stimulation.

  A small
noise from the corner of the room caught Riley’s attention, as her new acquaintance tossed the empty vial into an open wastebasket. Generally, she could contain her primordial side after absorption, but whatever she had taken held its presence firmly. She turned back to the mirror and peeled her fingers from the sink when the lightheadedness passed. A quick flip of a handle and Riley washed her hands as though the cleansing act would absolve her of everything that had transpired. She pressed her damp palms to her face.

  The woman turned the crank of the paper towel dispenser and handed her the material. After tossing away the used paper towel, Riley watched as the stranger took her time stuffing her belongings back into her oversized purse.

  She retrieved a slim, rectangular silver case. Opening the narrow box, she produced an embossed business card and set it purposefully on the bathroom counter next to Riley. “In case you need another pick-me-up.”

  Riley found herself unable to respond. Her tongue felt too large for her mouth.

  “Have a good night, Riley,” the woman purred, leaving the scene of the crime.

  Riley continued to regard her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Pull yourself together,” she commanded. She focused on her eyes, vacant black pools that were a reminder of what she was. When they refused to turn back to their original color, Riley momentarily panicked. How could she have been so stupid and so desperate? Who knew what she had just willingly ingested, however reluctant she’d been. What if her eyes never changed back? How would she even begin to explain herself?

  She tugged her sunglasses free from the confines of her jacket pocket and slid them onto her nose.

  Subtle, Riley.

  She snatched the shades from her face and held them in her hand. The bar was dark enough that her eyes could go unnoticed.

  She pushed the women’s restroom doors and nearly crashed into someone standing on the other side.

  “Oh! Excuse me.”

  “Riley?”

  Riley grimaced recognizing Darren Clay. As if this night could get any worse. She reflexively reached for her wrist where her watch should have been. In any other uncomfortable situation, she could have ducked back into the bathroom and used her watch to spell her into the dream realm for an escape. It was drastic but sometimes necessary.

  “What are you doing here?” His eyes narrowed in confusion. “I didn’t know you came to these places.”

  Riley snapped her gaze away from his. “There’s a beer on tap here I haven’t been able to find anywhere else.” She knew it was a weak excuse. “What are you doing here?” she deflected.

  Darren flexed his hands and slid them into his pockets. “Liam’s still missing. I thought maybe an independent might have heard or seen something. You haven’t heard anything, have you?”

  “No. I’m sorry.” Riley shook her head. “I wish I could be more helpful.”

  “I just don’t know why he would be so reckless,” Darren openly lamented. “Why would he go off the grid like that? He knows how dangerous that is.” He paced the small area in which they stood. “I mean, what if a rogue venator found him …” His flustered movement halted. “Sorry. I … I didn’t mean to spring all this on you.”

  “It’s okay. He’s like family. I get it. I’d be a wreck, too.”

  “Can I buy you a drink?” Darren offered. “Maybe one of those magical beers you told me about?”

  “I …” She flicked her eyes around the bar, refusing to settle directly on Darren’s face. She’d collected herself in the bathroom, but she was paranoid that Darren would be able to read her, to instinctively know what she had been up to that night. He hadn’t commented on her lack of eye contact, but she knew her simple presence at the indie bar was suspicious enough on its own. Maybe he could even smell the dirty energy on her breath. Riley rubbed her hands against her pants. The stranger from the bathroom’s business card felt like it was burning a hole in her back pocket. “I should really get going,” she excused herself. “Have work to do tonight.”

  “Maybe another time then.”

  Riley nodded curtly. “Another time.”

  “Can I give you a ride home?” Darren offered. “I’m parked down the street,” he said with a jerk of his thumb.

  Riley slipped her arms into her jacket. “No, I’m fine. My car’s not parked too far away. Thanks for the offer though.” Since the adrenaline had ebbed, Riley chanced her luck and looked up at Darren. Even if her eyes had not changed back, it was still a dark hallway.

  He gave her a boyishly lopsided grin. “Anytime. We’ve got to look out for each other, you know?”

  Riley’s returned smile was tight on her lips.

  She escaped into the narrow alley that waited beyond the bar and pushed a ragged breath out of her lungs. Although the air was damp and heavy, she felt like she could truly catch her breath for the first time since entering the blue metal door. It felt good to be outside. The fresh air seemed to help clear her mind. There would be no work for the night. What she needed was to go home and to sleep off the last couple of hours.

  To her relief, there were only a few staggered strangers in the alley. She made a plan to keep to the back streets and hail a cab. Her own car could wait until morning. It would probably be vandalized, but she was done taking chances for one night. The effects of the bottled vapor were under control for the time being, but she couldn’t risk a sudden onset of side effects.

  Riley stalked deeper down the pathway in the direction of the main street where she hoped to find a cab. Wooden crates and large metal dumpsters lined the brick walls. Despite wanting to go undetected, she couldn’t help kicking at an empty beer bottle. The night was a disaster, and her irritation was building up more quickly than the mystery energy had coursed her body.

  The bottle smacked against brick and shattered, spraying shards of glass on the pavement. Good fucking job, Riles. Why not add “juvenile delinquent” to your list? She scanned the surrounding area and nudged the broken pieces off to the side with her boot. Cans. Kick cans.

  Riley shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. She’d been reckless, stupid, and desperate all because of a promise to some girl in the realm. “Why am I doing all this?” she muttered quietly to herself.

  Morgan was complicated. Heather had been right—what they did for a living was straightforward. Get in, perform, get out. There wasn’t supposed to be emotional baggage or lingering feelings.

  Unlike the bottled adrenaline, the frustration hadn’t lessened and Riley swung her foot back to kick at a beer can. The aluminum container skidded across the black pavement and stopped with a muffled noise when it connected with a shadowed figure.

  Riley squinted her eyes in the darkness. With her blown pupils, she was actually better acclimated to the dim lighting. “What the …”

  A low, pained moan alerted her senses.

  “Oh shit.” Riley jogged up to the fallen figure. “Hey, are you okay?”

  When there was no response, she bent and touched her fingers to a wrist to feel for a pulse. It was there, but it was a murmur. She pulled her fingers away; they felt wet. She rubbed her thumb over the liquid. It felt thicker than water, and she blanched, realizing it was probably blood.

  The figure groaned again, and Riley gingerly rolled the person onto his back. She gasped when she realized she knew who it was.

  His eyes were swollen, and a layer of sweat and crusted blood was spattered across his face. “Fu-Fucking,” he gasped, struggling to find a voice. “Trusics bitches.”

  Well, that’s uncalled for. Riley frowned in annoyance of the insult.

  His body shook in a violent cough that made his muscles clench. As the sequence of gut-wrenching hacks subsided, he slipped out of consciousness.

  “Darren!” Riley yelled, hoping the rival incubus was still within earshot. “Darren! Over here! Hurry!” She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the familiar, yet bloodied face. The sound of feet pounding on blacktop came closer.

  “Riley?” Darren’s alarme
d voice rang out. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He found the succubus bent over the unmoving form of the bloodied and badly beaten figure. “Riley?”

  Riley looked up. Her blackened eyes were filled with remorse. “I found Liam.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Spoons clinked against the inside of coffee cups, and forks pushed food across ceramic plates. It was clear that the café waitstaff could sense something was off this morning. Cups of chilled coffee remained full, rather than being constantly refilled, and finished plates of half-eaten eggs and French toast remained unbussed, shoved to the center of the table.

  Few events could prevent the group from gathering for breakfast and companionship. And when an attack on one of their own occurred, even if Liam wasn’t a Trusics employee, it still hit close to home. It took no longer than the following morning for the news of Liam Dunbar’s condition to spread across the cubare community, but how the word got out was a mystery to Riley. No one in the group had expected to hear that the local playboy had been attacked. There were talks of occasional fights, but in general the community was more than happy to live independent, conflict-free lives.

  Riley tilted her coffee cup on its edge and stared into its brown, murky depths. She took a small sip of the nearly inconsumable liquid and made a face at the coffee grounds that remained on her tongue. When the texts, calls, and alerts had begun early that morning, first breaking the news of Liam’s attack and then subsequent updates about his health status, she’d waited with clammy palms for the notification that named her as the succubus who’d discovered Liam’s body. But they never came.

  It was Madison, never comfortable with silence, who first broke the unsettling quiet that had engulfed the group. “Do they know who might have done it?”

  There were no leads. Liam was still unconscious. He’d been placed in a coma to prevent the swelling in his brain from doing any permanent damage. Even Trusics had been conspicuously silent in the wake of the attack. Riley had expected at least a mass e-mail with reminders about safety, but that message also never came.