Succubus Blues gk-1

by Richelle Mead

  "What? Dancing? Yeah. No problem."

  I glanced around, ascertaining we were alone. "Any more weird occurrences?"

  Cody shook his head, blond hair framing it like a lion's mane. "No. It's been pretty quiet. Maybe I was overreacting."

  "Better safe than sorry," I advised, feeling like somebody's cliched grandmother. "What are you doing after this?"

  "Meeting Peter at a bar downtown. You want to come with us?"

  "Sure." We'd all be safer as a group.

  The door pushed open, and Seth stuck his head inside. "Hey, I—oh, I'm sorry," he stammered, catching sight of Cody. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

  "No, no," I said, waving him inside. "We were just talking." I gave Seth a curious look. "What are you still doing here? Are you staying for the lesson?"

  "Er, well I, that is, Warren invited me to... but I don't think I'll actually dance. If that's okay."

  "Not dance? What are you going to do then, watch?" I demanded. "Be like a voyeur or something?"

  Seth gave me a sage look, appearing for the first time in a while like the guy who had written the comic observations about real estate agents and old girlfriends. The guy I'd once engaged in a stumbling flirtation with.

  "I'm not that desperate. Not yet, anyway. But it's really safer if I don't dance. For those around me."

  "That's what I used to say until she made me try it," remarked Cody, clapping me on the shoulder. "Just wait until you've been in Georgina's capable hands. You'll never be the same."

  Before any of us could acknowledge that suggestive comment, Doug appeared behind Seth, outfitted as his grunge band self rather than assistant manager self.

  "Hey, are we getting this party started or what? I came back here today just for this lesson, Kincaid. You better make the trip worth my while. Hey, Cody."

  "Hey, Doug."

  "Hey, Seth."

  "Hey, Doug."

  I groaned. "All right. Let's do this."

  We left en masse for the cafe, where tables were being moved to give us space. I introduced Cody and Seth along the way. They shook hands briefly, the young vampire looking at me meaningfully when he realized just which Seth this must be.

  "You sure you aren't going to dance?" I asked the writer, still puzzled by his obstinacy.

  "Nope. Just doesn't feel right."

  "Yeah, well, after the shitty day I've had, running this shindig doesn't feel right to me either, but we all endure. Put on the happy face and go, you know?"

  Seth looked like he didn't know, only giving me a small, bemused smile. A moment later, that smile dimmed slightly. "You said you got the e-mail... did it... do you..."

  "It's fine. Forget about it." His bizarre social habits might not mesh with mine, but I couldn't stand seeing him worry anymore about last night. "Honestly." I patted his arm, gave him my Helen of Troy smile, then turned my attention to the scene upstairs.

  Most of the staff who'd worked today milled around, along with a few others who, like Doug, had come back. Warren and his wife waited with them, and so did Roman.

  He approached with a smile when he saw me, and I felt a faint wave of lust sweep me, independent of any succubus feeding. As good-looking as ever, he wore black slacks and a teal shirt that gleamed like his eyes.

  "Group date, huh?"

  "For my safety. I've always found it best to keep a few dozen chaperones on hand."

  "You'll need a few dozen more in that dress," he warned in a low voice, those eyes molesting me from head to toe.

  I flushed, taking a few steps away from him. "You'll have to wait your turn, like everyone else."

  Turning away from him, I inadvertently made eye contact with Seth. He had obviously overheard the brief exchange. My blush deepening, I fled both of them for the center of the floor, Cody in tow.

  Putting on the so-called "happy face," I pushed my long day out of my mind and grinned at my coworkers' whoops and cheers. "All right, gang, let's get going. Doug's in kind of a hurry and wants to finish this up as quickly as possible. I understand that's pretty standard for him in a lot of matters—especially romantic ones." This elicited both positive and negative catcalls from the crowd, as well as an obscene gesture from Doug.

  I reintroduced Cody, who was less comfortable with the attention than I was, and began sizing up the group. We had more women than men, per usual, and a wide range of skill levels. I split couples up accordingly, putting especially adept women with other women since I felt confident they could dance the male part for this practice and switch effortlessly later. I didn't have such faith in everybody; some of them still struggled to follow a beat.

  Consequently, I started the lesson by reviewing from last time, turning on the music and making everyone practice basic steps. Cody and I monitored, making minor adjustments and suggestions. My tension from the long day eased slightly as I worked the crowd. I loved swing dancing, had loved it when it first emerged in the early twentieth century, and had been thrilled when its revival came around recently. I knew it was going out of style again, which was part of the reason I wanted to pass on the knowledge to others.

  Not knowing Roman's level of expertise, I'd placed him with Paige, a pretty skilled dancer. After watching them a minute or so, I shook my head and approached.

  "You hustler," I chastised. "You acted all nervous about dancing, but in reality, you're a pro."

  "I've done it a few times," he admitted modestly, taking her into a turn I hadn't taught them yet.

  "Stop that. I'm splitting you guys up. Your skills are needed elsewhere."

  "Oh come on," pleaded Paige. "Let me keep him. It's about time we had a man around here who knows what he's doing."

  Roman cut me a glance. "She said it, not me."

  I turned my eyes heavenward and reassigned them to new partners.

  After a bit more supervising, I grew satisfied with the whole group's prowess, convinced I'd see little change. Deciding to move on, Cody and I taught them lindy kicks next. Not surprisingly, chaos soon broke out. The gifted in the group picked the move up right away, those who had struggled previously continued to struggle, and some who had performed fine with the basic steps and turns now fell completely apart.

  Cody and I moved through the dancers, doing damage control, offering our words of wisdom.

  "Keep the tension in your wrist, Beth—not too much, though. Don't hurt yourself."

  "Count, damn it! Count! The beats are still the same as before."

  "Keep facing your partner... don't lose track of her."

  My role as teacher consumed me, and I loved it. Who cared about vampire hunters and the eternal struggles of good and evil?

  I caught sight of Seth sitting off to the side, just as he'd vowed. "Hey, voyeur, still just want to watch?" I chided, breathless and excited from running all over the makeshift dance floor.

  He shook his head, a faint smile playing across his features as he studied me. "Plenty to see from here."

  Standing up from his chair, he leaned forward in a familiar sort of way, startling me when his hand reached out and pushed up a dress strap that had slipped off my shoulder down to my arm "There," he pronounced. "Perfect."

  Goose bumps rose on my flesh at his touch, his fingers warm and gentle. For just a moment, a look I hadn't seen before crossed his face. It made him look less like the distracted writer I'd come to know and more... well, male. Admiring. Considering. Maybe even predatory. The look was gone as quickly as it had come, though I still felt taken aback.

  "Keep an eye on that strap," warned Seth mildly. "You've got to make him work for it." He inclined his head slightly toward some dancers, and I followed the motion to see Roman walking one of the baristas through a complex step.

  I admired Roman's graceful moves a moment before turning back to Seth. "It's not that hard. I can teach you." I held up a hand by way of invitation.

  He looked as though he might agree but shook his head at the last second. "I'd make a fool of myself."

  "Ah yes,
and sitting here alone, while everyone else dances and we're short of men—yes, that doesn't make you look foolish at all."

  He gave a soft laugh. "Maybe."

  When no other explanation came, I shrugged and returned to the dance floor, continuing my instruction. Cody and I added a couple new tricks, assisted in more practice, and finally stood off to the side admiring our pupils. "Think they'll be ready for the Moondance ?" he asked.

  The Moondance Lounge was a ballroom dance club that hosted monthly swing dance nights. We considered this group's appearance there to be the ultimate triumph of graduation.

  "One more lesson, I think. Then we can take them out in public."

  An arm caught me around the waist, pulling me onto the dance floor. I recovered my footing quickly, falling in step with Roman as he spun me into an intricate turn. A few people nearby stopped to watch.

  "It's my turn to be teacher's pet," he admonished. "I've hardly seen you all night; I don't think this counts as a date."

  I let him lead me around flamboyantly, curious as to just how good he really was. "You're always changing what you want," I complained. "First you just want to go out, now you say you actually want to be alone with me. You need to pick a story and stick with it. Be more specific."

  "Ah, I see. No one told me that." He led me into a reverse whip, and I followed through flawlessly, earning a grudging look of approval from him. "I don't suppose there's a Georgina Kincaid Instruction Manual around somewhere to help me avoid these embarrassing blunders in the future."

  "We sell them downstairs."

  "Oh yeah?" He began improvising steps now, and I enjoyed the challenge of second-guessing where he would go. "Is there a page on how to woo the fair Georgina?"

  "Page? Hell, there's a whole chapter."

  "Required reading, I'd imagine."

  "Definitely. Hey, thanks for the paint by number."

  "I expect to see that on your wall the next time I'm over."

  "With that horrible Native American stereotype? The next time you see it will be on the ACLU's hit list."

  He spun me out into a flourish-filled ending, much to the delight of everyone else. They had long since stopped dancing to watch me make a spectacle of myself. I felt slightly self-conscious but shrugged it off, savoring the moment, taking Roman's hand to bow luridly to my coworkers' applause.

  "Get ready," I announced, "because that's going to be next week's exam."

  Cheers and laughter continued, but as they faded and the group dispersed for the night, Roman persisted in holding on to my hand, his fingers laced with mine. I didn't mind. We walked around, making small talk and saying goodbyes.

  "You want to go get a drink?" he asked me, once we were momentarily alone.

  I turned toward him, standing close, studying those gorgeous features. In the now-warmed-up room, I could strongly smell his perspiration mingled with cologne, and it made me want to bury my face in his neck.

  "I want to..." I began slowly, wondering if alcohol and raw animal lust would be a wise combination with someone I wanted to avoid sleeping with.

  Looking beyond him, I caught Cody's eye. He was talking earnestly with Seth, which I found odd. Suddenly, I remembered my earlier promise to go meet the vampires at the bar.

  "Damn," I muttered. "I don't think I can." Still holding Roman's hand, I led him over to Cody and Seth. They stopped talking.

  "I feel left out," joked Cody a moment later. "I saw you do some stuff just now that you never taught me."

  "You were supposed to have been doing it for homework." I cocked my head in consideration. "Have you met Roman, Cody? Or you Seth?" I made quick introductions around, and they all politely shook hands, guy-style.

  Once that was done, Roman settled his hand comfortably on my waist. "I'm trying to get Georgina to have a drink with me. But I think she's playing hard to get."

  Cody smiled. "I don't think she's playing."

  I looked apologetically at Roman. "I told Cody I'd meet him and another friend tonight."

  The young vampire made a wave of dismissal. "Forget about it. Go have fun."

  "Yeah, but—" I cut myself off and made significant eye contact with him а la Jerome and Carter. I didn't want Cody to go off alone, lest he be targeted by the vampire hunter, but I could hardly say that in front of the others. "Take a cab," I said at last. "Don't walk."

  "Okay," he said automatically. Too automatically.

  "I mean it," I warned.

  "Yes, yes," he muttered. "Do you want to call it for me?"

  I rolled my eyes at him, then suddenly remembered Seth's presence. Feeling kind of embarrassed with him standing there while we all made plans, I wondered if I should offer to invite him along or send him with Cody.

  As though reading my mind, Seth bluntly declared, "Well, I'll see you guys later." He turned around and left before any of us could answer.

  "Is he mad or something?" asked Cody after a moment.

  "I think that's just the way he is," I explained, not sure I'd ever understand the writer.

  "Weird." Roman turned back to me. "Ready to step out?"

  Seth quickly left my mind. Roman and I walked over to a small restaurant across the street from Emerald City, sitting together on one side of a booth. I ordered my vodka gimlet, and he got brandy.

  When our drinks arrived, he asked, "Should I be jealous of anyone back there?"

  I chuckled. "You don't know me well enough or have any claims on me to worry about jealousy yet. Don't jump the gun here."

  "I suppose not," he agreed. "Still, famous writers and suave, young dance partners are certainly exalted company."

  "Cody's not that young."

  "Young enough. Is he a close friend?"

  "Close enough. Not romantically close, if that's what you're still driving at." Roman and I had snuggled together in the booth, and I gave him a playful poke in the ribs. "Quit worrying about my acquaintances. Let's talk about something else. Tell me about the world of linguistics."

  I meant it half-jokingly, but he complied, explaining his specialty—classical languages, ironically enough. Roman knew his material well, speaking about it with the same wit and cleverness used in his flirtations. I followed these explanations avidly, enjoying the opportunity to engage in a topic few others knew anything about. Unfortunately, I had to taper my participation, lest I show just how well versed in the subject I truly was. It might look a little weird if a bookstore manager knew more about an area of study than someone who had made a career out of it.

  Throughout this whole gripping discourse, Roman and I stayed in contact—arms, hands, and legs touching. He never tried to kiss me, for which I was grateful, as that would have been walking into dangerous territory. We were really on an ideal date for me: stimulating banter and as much physical contact as a succubus could safely handle. Our flirty conversation flowed effortlessly, like reading from a script.

  Our drink flew by in an eye blink, and before I knew it, we stood back outside, parting ways and making arrangements for another date. I attempted my protests, but both of us could see how weak they were. He kept claiming I owed him a real, unchaperoned outing. Standing there with him, warmed by his presence, I felt surprised at how badly I wanted that date. The thing about sparing nice guys was that I always ended up lonely. Looking up at Roman, I decided then that I wanted to put off being lonely again—just for a little while.

  So I agreed to go out again, ignoring the mental warning bells this decision set off. His face lit up, and I thought he would definitely try a mouth kiss now. My heart thumped loudly at the prospect, scared and eager.

  Apparently my previous neurotic rants about not getting too close hit home, however. He merely held my hand, finally brushing his lips across my cheek in a kiss that was barely a kiss. He wandered off into the streets of Queen Anne, and a moment later, I walked the half-block back to my apartment.

  When I reached my door, I discovered a note taped to it. My name, done in beautiful, heavily inked calligraph
y, lay scrawled across the surface. An apprehensive coldness ran through me. The note read:

  You are a beautiful woman, Georgina. Beautiful enough, I think, to even tempt angels into falling— something that doesn't happen nearly as often as it should anymore. Beauty such as yours is effortless, however, when you can make it anything you like. Your large friend, unfortunately, doesn't have such luxury, which is a damned shame after what happened today. Fortunately, he works in the right business to correct any damage to his appearance.

  I stared at the note like something that might bite me. It bore no name, of course. Ripping it off the door, I hurried into my apartment and picked up the phone. I dialed Hugh's number without hesitation. With the references to "large" and "right business," he was the only one the note could be referring to.

  His phone rang and rang before giving way to an answering machine. Annoyed, I dialed his cell number.

  After three rings, an unknown female voice answered.

  "Is Hugh Mitchell there?"

  There was a long pause. "He... can't talk right now. Who is this, please?"

  "This is Georgina Kincaid. I'm his friend."

  "I've heard him talk about you, Georgina. This is Samantha."

  The name didn't mean anything to me, nor did I have the patience for this runaround. "Well, can I please talk to him then?"

  "No..." Her voice sounded strained, upset. "Georgina, something bad happened today..."

  CHAPTER 11

  Hospitals are creepy places, cold and sterile. A true reminder of the tenuous nature of mortality. The thought of Hugh here made me nauseous, but I squelched the feeling as best I could, sprinting through the halls to the room Samantha had named.

  When I reached it, I found Hugh lying calmly in a bed, his large body clad in a gown, his skin bruised and bandaged. A blond figure sat next to the bed with him, holding his hand. She turned in surprise when I burst into the room.

  "Georgina," Hugh said, giving me a weak smile. "Nice of you to stop by."

  The blond woman, presumably Samantha, studied me uneasily. Slim and doe-eyed, she tightened her grip on Hugh's hand, and I figured this must be the twenty-year old from work. Her unnatural breasts verified as much.