Succubus Blues gk-1

by Richelle Mead

  I spun around from where I had been admiring a White Tara statue. Erik walked into the room, and I reined in my surprise at his appearance. When had he grown so old? He had been old the last time I saw him—dark skin wrinkled, hair gone gray—but I did not remember the slight stoop in his walk, or the hollowed look around his eyes. I tried to remember the last time we'd talked; I hadn't thought it'd been that long. Five years? Ten? With mortals, it was easy to lose track.

  "It's good to see you too. You aren't easy to find anymore. I had to go poking around Krystal Starz to figure out what happened to you."

  "Ah. I hope the experience wasn't too... awkward."

  "Nothing I couldn't handle. Besides, I'm glad you got out of there." I looked around at the cluttered, dimly lit shop. "I like this new place."

  "It's not much—doesn't bring in much either—but it's mine. It's what I've been saving for, where I'll spend my last years."

  I grimaced. "Don't turn melodramatic on me now. You aren't that old."

  His smile broadened, his expression turning slightly wry. "Neither are you, Miss Kincaid. Indeed, you are as beautiful as the first time I saw you." He gave me a slight bow, bending lower than someone with his back probably should have. "How may I be of service?"

  "I need information."

  "Of course." He gestured to a small table near the main counter, currently covered with books and an elaborate candle holder. "Sit and have tea with me, and we'll talk. Unless you are in a hurry?"

  "No, I have time."

  While Erik fetched the tea, I cleared off the table, setting books in neat stacks on the floor. When he returned with the teapot, we made small talk and sipped our drinks for a bit, but my mind really wasn't into it. My restlessness must have come through loud and clear as my fingers danced along the cup's edge and my toe tapped impatiently.

  Finally, I broached my topic. "I need to know about vampire hunters."

  For most other people, this would have been a weird request, but Erik only nodded expectantly. "What in particular would you like to know?"

  "Anything. Their habits, how to recognize them. Whatever you've got."

  He leaned back in his chair, holding the cup delicately. "My understanding is that vampire hunters are born, not made. They are 'gifted,' so to speak, with the ability to kill vampires." He proceeded to relate several other details, most of which matched up with what I'd learned from Peter.

  Pondering what Cody had said, about the sense of being followed by someone he could not see, I asked, "Do they have any other special abilities that you know of? Can they go invisible?"

  "Not that I know of. Some immortal beings can, of course, but not vampire hunters. They're still just mortals, after all, despite their odd talents."

  I nodded, being one such creature who could turn invisible, though I rarely used the power. I toyed with the thought that Cody's phantom might have been an invisible immortal, trying to play a trick, but he still should have sensed the telltale signature we all carried. Indeed, he should have sensed a mortal vampire hunter as well. The fact that he had neither seen nor felt anything lent credence to Peter's theory that the stalker had all been in Cody's head.

  "Can vampire hunters harm anyone else? Demons... or other immortal creatures?"

  "It's very hard to do anything tangible to an immortal," he mused. "Certain denizens of good—powerful priests, for example—can drive off demons, but they can't harm them permanently. Likewise, I've heard of mortals capturing supernatural creatures, but doing much more than that... I'm not saying it's impossible, just that I've never heard of it. To my offhand knowledge, vampire hunters can only harm vampires. Nothing else."

  "I value your offhand knowledge more than most confirmed facts."

  He eyed me curiously. "But this isn't the answer you were expecting."

  "I don't know. It's pretty much what I've already been told. I was just thinking there might be more."

  It was entirely possible that Jerome had been telling the truth, that this was merely a case of a rampant vampire hunter and that his warnings to Hugh and me had been simple courtesies to protect us from discomfort. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that Jerome had held back information, nor did I really believe Cody to be the kind of person who imagined things.

  I must have looked perplexed because Erik offered, somewhat hesitantly it seemed, "I could look into this more for you, if you'd like. Just because I've never heard of something capable of harming other immortals doesn't mean it's out of the realm of existence."

  I nodded. "I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

  "It's a privilege to be of assistance to someone like you. And if you like, I could also make other inquiries into vampire hunters in general." He paused again, choosing his words carefully. "Were such a person to be at large, certain signs would show up in the local occult community. Supplies would be bought, questions asked. Such beings do not go unnoticed."

  Now I hesitated. Jerome had told us to be careful. I had the feeling he wouldn't appreciate any vigilante work, though speaking with Erik now probably counted as exactly that. Surely it wouldn't matter if I sent out my own feelers. Gathering information was not the same as me personally going out to find this person.

  "I'd appreciate that as well. Anything you could find out would be useful." I finished the last of my tea and set the empty cup down. "I should probably leave now."

  He rose with me. "Thank you for having tea with me.. Being with a woman like you is generally the sort of thing that only happens in a man's dreams."

  I laughed gently at the veiled joke, referencing the old story of succubi visiting men in their sleep. "Your dreams are safe, Erik."

  He returned my smile. "Come back in a few days, and I'll tell you what I've learned. We'll have tea again."

  Glancing around at the empty store, thinking how no customers had shown up during our visit, I suddenly felt the need to give him some business. "Let me buy some of that tea before I go."

  He gave me an indulgent look, his dark brown eyes amused like he knew the game I played.

  "I always took you for more of a black tea advocate—or at least an admirer of caffeine."

  "Hey, even I like to shake things up once in a while. Besides, it was good... in an herbal, decaffeinated sort of way."

  "I'll pass your compliments on to my friend. She makes the blends, and I sell them for her."

  "A lady friend, huh?"

  "Just a friend, Miss Kincaid."

  He walked over to a shelf behind the register where several varieties of tea lay. Approaching the counter to pay, I admired some of the jewelry under its glass. One piece in particular caught my eye, a three-stranded choker of peach-colored, freshwater pearls, occasionally intermixed with copper beads or pieces of sea green glass. An ankh made of copper hung as its centerpiece.

  "Is this from another of your local artisans?"

  "An old friend in Tacoma made it." Erik reached into the case and took the choker out for me, laying it on the counter. I ran my hands over the fine, smooth pearls, each one slightly irregular in shape. "He mixed some Egyptian influence in with it, I think, but he wanted to sort of invoke the spirit of Aphrodite and the sea, create something the ancient priestesses might have worn."

  "They wore nothing so fine," I murmured, turning over the necklace, noting the high price on its tag. I found myself speaking without conscious thought. "And many of the ancient Greek cities did have Egyptian influence. Ankhs appeared on Cyprian coins, as did Aphrodite."

  Touching the copper of the ankh reminded me of another necklace, a necklace long since lost under the dust of time. That necklace had been simpler: only a string of beads etched with tiny ankhs. But my husband had brought it to me the morning of our wedding, sneaking up to our house just after dawn in a gesture uncharacteristically bold for him.

  I had chastised him for the indiscretion. "What are you doing? You're going to see me this afternoon... and then every day after that!"

  "I had to give you these before t
he wedding." He held up the string of beads. "They were my mother's. I want you to have them, to wear them today."

  He leaned forward, placing the beads around my neck. As his fingers brushed my skin, I felt something warm and tingly run through my body. At the tender age of fifteen, I hadn't exactly understood such sensations, though I was eager to explore them. My wiser self today recognized them as the early stirrings of lust, and... well, there had been something else there too. Something else that I still didn't quite comprehend. An electric connection, a feeling that we were bound into something bigger than ourselves. That our being together was inevitable.

  "There," he'd said, once the beads were secure and my hair brushed back into place. "Perfect."

  He said nothing else after that. He didn't need to. His eyes told me all I needed to know, and I shivered. Until Kyriakos, no man had ever given me a second glance. I was Marthanes ' too-tall daughter after all, the one with the sharp tongue who didn't think before speaking. (Shape-shifting would eventually take care of one of those problems but not the other.) But Kyriakos had always listened to me and watched me like I was someone more, someone tempting and desirable, like the beautiful priestesses of Aphrodite who still carried on their rituals away from the Christian priests.

  I wanted him to touch me then, not realizing just how much until I caught his hand suddenly and unexpectedly. Taking it, I placed it around my waist and pulled him to me. His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't pull back. We were almost the same height, making it easy for his mouth to seek mine out in a crushing kiss. I leaned against the warm stone wall behind me so that I was pressed between it and him. I could feel every part of his body against mine, but we still weren't close enough. Not nearly enough.

  Our kissing grew more ardent, as though our lips alone might close whatever aching distance lay between us. I moved his hand again, this time to push up my skirt along the side of one leg. His hand stroked the smooth flesh there and, without further urging, slid over to my inner thigh. I arched my lower body toward his, nearly writhing against him now, needing him to touch me everywhere.

  "Letha? Where are you at?"

  My sister's voice carried over the wind; she wasn't nearby but was close enough to be here soon. Kyriakos and I broke apart, both gasping, pulses racing. He was looking at me like he'd never seen me before. Heat burned in his gaze.

  "Have you ever been with anyone before?" he asked won- deringly.

  I shook my head.

  "How did you... I never imagined you doing that..."

  "I learn fast."

  He grinned and pressed my hand to his lips. "Tonight," he breathed. "Tonight we..."

  "Tonight," I agreed.

  He backed away then, eyes still smoldering. "I love you. You are my life."

  "I love you too." I smiled and watched him ago. A minute later, I heard my sister again.

  "Letha?"

  "Miss Kincaid?"

  Erik's voice snapped me out of the memory, and suddenly I was back in his store, away from my family's long-since crumbled home. I met his questioning eyes and held up the necklace.

  "I'll take this too."

  "Miss Kincaid," he said uncertainly, fingering the price tag. "The help I give you... there's no need... no cost..."

  "I know," I assured him. "I know. Just add this to my bill. And ask your friend if he can make matching earrings."

  I left the store wearing the choker, still thinking about that morning, what it had been like to be touched for the first time, touched only by someone I loved. I exhaled carefully and put it from my mind. Just like I had countless other times.

  CHAPTER 9

  Returning to Queen Anne, I discovered I still had a lot of evening left. Unfortunately, I had nothing to do. A succubus without a social life. Very sad. It was made sadder still by the fact that I could have had any number of things to do but had dropped the ball on them. Certainly Doug had asked me out often enough; no doubt he was now enjoying his day off with a more appreciative woman. Roman I had also turned down, beautiful eyes and all. I smiled wistfully, remembering his easy banter and quick, bright charm. He could have been O'Neill, made flesh from Seth's novels.

  Thinking of Seth reminded me he still had my book and that I was going on Day 3 without it. I sighed, wanting to know what would happen next, to be lost in the pages of Cady and O'Neill. Now that would have been a way to spend the evening. The bastard. He'd never bring it back. I'd never find out what—

  With a groan, I suddenly wanted to smack my forehead for my own stupidity. Did I or did I not work for a large bookstore? After parking my car, I walked over to Emerald City and found the massive display of The Glasgow Pact that was still up from the signing. I grabbed a copy and carried it to the front counter. Beth, one of the cashiers, was momentarily free.

  "Will you demagnetize this for me?" I asked her, sliding the book over the counter.

  "Sure," she said, running it across the pad. "Are you using your discount on it?"

  I shook my head. "I'm not buying it. I'm just borrowing it."

  "Can you do that?" She passed the book back to me.

  "Sure," I lied. "Managers can."

  Minutes later, I showed my prize to an unimpressed Aubrey and turned on the water in my bathtub. While it filled, I checked my messages—none—and sorted through the mail I'd picked up on the way in. Nothing interesting there either. Satisfied nothing else required my attention, I stepped out of my clothes and sank into the watery depths of the tub, careful not to get the book wet. Aubrey, crouching on a nearby counter, watched me with squinty eyes, apparently pondering why anyone would willingly immerse themselves in water ever, let alone for extended periods of time.

  I figured I could read more than five pages tonight since I'd been deprived for the last couple of days. When I finished the fifteenth, I discovered I was three pages from the next chapter. Might as well end with a clean break. After I was done, I sighed and leaned back, feeling decadent and spent. Pure bliss. Books were a lot less messy than orgasms.

  The next morning, I went to work, happy and refreshed. Paige found me around lunchtime as I sat on the edge of my desk and watched Doug play Mine Sweeper. Seeing her, I leapt from my position while he hastily closed down the game.

  Paige ignored him, fixing her eyes on me. "I want you to do something with Seth Mortensen."

  Uneasily, I remembered the love slave comment. "Like what?"

  "I don't know." She gave a small, unconcerned shrug of the head. "Anything. He's new to town. He doesn't know anyone yet, so his social life is probably dismal."

  Recalling his cold reception yesterday and conversational difficulties, I wasn't exactly surprised by this news. "I took him on a tour."

  "It's not the same."

  "What about his brother?"

  "What about him?"

  "I'm sure they're doing social things all the time."

  "Why are you fighting this? I thought you were a fan."

  I was a fan—a major one—but reading his work and interacting with him were proving to be two very different things. The Glasgow Pact was amazing, as was the e-mail he'd sent. Spoken conversation was a bit... lacking. I couldn't tell Paige this, of course, so she and I went back and forth a bit on the issue while Doug looked on with interest. Finally, I agreed against my better judgment, dreading the prospect of even proposing the venture to Seth, let alone embarking upon it.

  When I finally made myself approach him later in the day, I was fully braced for another brush-off. Instead, he turned from his work and smiled at me.

  "Hey," he said. His mood seemed so improved that I decided yesterday must have been a fluke.

  "Hey. How's it going?"

  "Not so well." He tapped the laptop's screen lightly with his fingernail, eyes frowning as he focused on it. "They're being a bit difficult. I just can't quite get the grip I need on this one scene."

  Interest swept me. Bad days with Cady and O'Neill. I had always imagined interacting with such characters must be a non
stop thrill. The ultimate job.

  "Sounds like you need a break then. Paige is worried about your social life."

  His brown eyes glanced back to me. "Oh? How so?"

  "She thinks you aren't getting out enough. That you don't know anyone in town yet."

  "I know my brother and his family. And Mistee." He paused. "And I know you."

  "Good thing, because I'm about to become your cruise director. “

  Seth's lips quirked slightly, then he shook his head and looked back at the screen. "That's really nice—of you and Paige both—but not necessary."

  He wasn't dismissing me as he had yesterday, but I still felt miffed that my generous deal was not being embraced, especially since I was offering it under duress.

  "Come on," I said. "What else are you going to do?"

  "Write."

  I couldn't argue with that. Writing those novels was God's Own Work. Who was I to interfere with their creator? And yet... Paige had given a directive. That was nearly a divine commandment in itself. A compromise popped into my head.

  "You could do something, I don't know, research-related. For the book. Two birds with one stone."

  "I've already got all the research I need for this one."

  "What about, uh, ongoing character development? Like... going to the planetarium." Cady had a fascination with astronomy. She would often point out constellations and link them to some symbolic story analogous to the novel's plot. "Or... or... a hockey game? You need fresh ideas for O'Neill's games. You'll run out."

  He shook his head. "No I won't. I've never even been to a hockey game to begin with."

  "I—what? That's... no. Really?"

  He shrugged.

  "Where... do you get the game info from then? The plays?"

  "I know the basic rules. I pick up pieces on the Internet, patch it together."

  I stared, feeling betrayed. O'Neill was absolutely obsessed with the Detroit Red Wings. That passion shaped his personality and was reflected in his actions: fast, skilled, and at times brutal. Believing Seth to be meticulous about every detail, I had naturally assumed he must know everything about hockey to have written such a defining trait into his protagonist.