Succubus Shadows gk-5

by Richelle Mead

  But if they were there, they weren’t listening. I had no eyes to close. I couldn’t look away. There was no way to unsee what I was seeing. I’d experienced a lot of heart-wrenching things in my relationship with Seth, things that had hurt me so badly that I swore I wanted to die. But nothing, nothing could have prepared me for seeing him have sex with another woman. And it wasn’t just watching the act itself, the way their naked bodies intertwined with one another and the cries of pleasure elicited in the height of orgasm.

  It was the look on his face as he did it. There it was. The love I’d been searching for earlier. I’d thought before he only regarded her with a strong affection, similar to the fond love he had for his nieces. No. This was passion I saw on his face, the kind of love that burned so deeply, it connected two people’s souls.

  He was looking at her the way he’d once looked at me.

  I had never thought it was possible. Somewhere, somehow, I’d been convinced that he loved her in a different way from me. Maybe their love was strong, but I’d felt certain it could never match what he felt for me. Ours was different. Yet, seeing them now, I saw that wasn’t true. And when, at the end, he told her she was his world—just as he’d once told me—I knew that I really was nothing special. The love he had for me was gone.

  And in the terrible, excruciating pain of that moment, I no longer wanted to die. There was no point because I was certain just then that I had died—because surely, surely, Hell couldn’t be worse than this.

  Chapter 14

  I was never entirely sure how much of that dream was true and how much was a lie. That it was a mix, I felt certain. I couldn’t think of any reason the Oneroi would show me Kayla noticing my absence when no one else did. That had to be true. Yet, I also couldn’t imagine Seth and Maddie slandering me so much. I especially couldn’t imagine him breaking a confidence. Surely that was a lie…right? And as for the rest of the dream…well, it didn’t matter.

  The Oneroi offered no answers. And as more and more dreams came to me, the fate they’d foretold began to come true: I could no longer tell what was real and what wasn’t. Often, I tried to tell myself that it was all a lie. That was easier than living with the doubt. No matter how hard I tried, though, I couldn’t shake the feel of truth that some had. So, I was always questioning everything, and it grew maddening after a while. It was made worse by the fact that the Oneroi were always feeding off of those dreams, which consequently sucked up my energy. A succubus needed that energy to function. It gave me the ability to move in the world, to think clearly, to shape-shift. Draining me of it wouldn’t kill me—I was still immortal, after all—but it made me useless. Not that it mattered in my prison. I still had the sensation of being crammed inside a box in the dark, and what little awareness of my body I had left was simply showing me pain and weakness. Had I been released, I would have had trouble walking. I would also likely be in my true shape.

  Since I was mostly suspended consciousness now, the physical aspects became irrelevant. My mind became the true liability, as both the lack of energy and torture from the dreams began to rip me apart. I was more coherent and analytical during the dreams themselves, but when they ended and the emotions hit me, my rational thought began fracturing. My banter with the Oneroi became primal insults and screams. Most of the time I couldn’t think at all. I was just pain and despair. And rage. It seemed impossible, yet underneath the agony that smothered me, a small spark of anger just barely managed to stay alive, fueled every time I saw the Oneroi. I think holding on to that fury was the only thing that kept my shattered mind from completely giving in to insanity.

  I lost all sense of time, but that had more to do with the strange nature of dreams and not so much my brain. I actually think little time passed in the real world because every time the Oneroi showed me a glimpse of it, no progress seemed to have been made in finding me—something I believed the Oneroi hoped would break me further.

  “Why do you keep asking us?”

  The question came from Cody. I was now watching him, Peter, and Hugh being interrogated by Jerome. Carter sat in a far corner, smoking in spite of Peter’s no-cigarettes-in-the-apartment rule. Roman was there too, invisible in body and aura. That meant I shouldn’t have been able to see him, yet something—maybe because he was my target in this dream—allowed me to know he was there, despite what my senses told me. My friends knew about him. He had no need to hide his physical appearance, unless Jerome feared there might be demonic eyes watching Seattle—which wasn’t that unreasonable. My disappearance had probably made him extra suspicious.

  Cody’s question had been directed toward Jerome, and I had never in my life seen such fury on the young vampire’s face. He was the mildest of us all, newest to Seattle’s immortal circle. He still jumped when Jerome said jump and spent more time watching and learning than taking an active role. Seeing him like this was a shock.

  “We don’t know anything!” Cody continued. “Our powers are limited. You’re the one who’s supposed to be almighty and powerful. Doesn’t Hell control half the universe?”

  “‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’” quoted Carter solemnly.

  “Shut up, both of you,” snapped Jerome. He glared at the angel. “I’ve already heard you use that one before.”

  Carter shrugged. “You’ve heard me use all of them before. Many, many times.”

  Jerome turned back to my three friends. “Nothing. You’re absolutely certain you noticed nothing about her before this happened?”

  “She was down,” said Peter.

  “She’s always down,” said Hugh.

  “She didn’t tell any of us about this thing she kept feeling,” growled Cody. “She only told Roman. Why aren’t you questioning him?”

  “I have,” said Jerome. He took a step near the young vampire and leaned his face in close. “And watch your tone. You’re lucky I’m feeling kindly right now.”

  “What’s Mei doing?” asked Peter. His tone was proper and polite as he cast an uneasy glance at Cody. Half of Peter’s question was probably a ploy to save his protégé from being smote then and there.

  Jerome sighed and stepped back. “Questioning others. Finding any trace—any at all—of another of our immortals who might have felt something.”

  Hugh, who was sitting on the couch and keeping his distance from our angry boss, cleared his throat nervously. “I don’t want to bring this up…but, you’re already kind of on probation after the, um, summoning.”

  Jerome’s smoldering gaze fell on the imp, who flinched. “Don’t you think I know that? Why is everyone here giving me useless information?”

  “All I’m saying,” said Hugh, “is that if someone wanted to take advantage of the situation, making you lose one of your immortals would be a good way. Someone who, say, maybe wanted a job promotion.”

  “Mei couldn’t do this,” said Jerome, catching on. He’d already had one lieutenant demoness turn, so Hugh’s hypothesis wasn’t that bad. “She couldn’t hide Georgina like this…even if she was working with someone who could, she’d find a better way to get to me.” There was almost a proud note in his voice.

  “What about Simone?” demanded Cody. “She’s out there impersonating Georgina, you know.”

  Both Peter and Hugh stared in astonishment. “She’s what?” exclaimed the imp.

  The attention from his friends seemed to fluster Cody more than Jerome’s wrath. “Yeah, I was, um, visiting Gabrielle at the bookstore, and I saw Simone. She had Georgina’s shape, but I could feel it was her.”

  “You saw Gabrielle?” asked Carter with interest, like my disappearance from the universe had now lessened in comparison to Cody’s romance.

  Cody flushed. “We…had a date. But I canceled it when I heard about Georgina. It’s no big deal.”

  No big deal? My kidnapping was now ruining Cody’s chances with the woman of his dreams.

  “This is more useless information,” growled
Jerome. “And, yes, I know about Simone.”

  “Maybe you should be talking to her,” said Cody.

  “She didn’t do it,” said Jerome. The way he spoke implied that it was a closed case.

  Peter was still treading cautiously around Jerome. “If you say she didn’t…then she didn’t. But why is she impersonating Georgina if she’s innocent in all this?”

  “She has her reasons,” said Jerome vaguely.

  Cody was outraged. “And you’re just going to let her do it! How can you?”

  “Because I don’t care!” roared Jerome. A wave of power flared out from him like a shock wave. Everyone except Carter was blown back by it. The china in Peter’s cabinet rattled. “I don’t care what that other succubus does. I don’t care about Georgina’s human friends or what they think. If anything, you should be grateful. Simone’s act is keeping the others from noticing what happened.”

  None of my friends had anything to say to that. With an exasperated snarl, Jerome turned toward the door. “I’ve had enough of this. I need real answers.”

  He stormed out into the hall, leaving the door open. Presumably, he did it as an act of angry defiance, but I knew it was so Roman could follow him. Normally, the demon would have simply teleported out, but for whatever reason, father and son were investigating together today. Once alone on the stairwell, Jerome muttered, “Hold on.”

  Roman must have because Jerome disappeared. He reappeared—and me along with him—in a new setting: Erik’s store. It was evening, and Erik had shut down for the night. The fountains were off. The music had stopped playing. Yet, near the back of the store, a few notes of humming could be heard. They cut off almost immediately, and footsteps sounded as someone approached.

  Jerome stayed where he was, not deigning to move. He knew his presence would have been promptly felt. He knew Erik would come to him.

  And sure enough, gait still unsteady from being sick recently, Erik made his way to the store’s front. He radiated wariness as he moved. For me, he always had a kindly smile and cup of tea. Even Carter, the most powerful immortal in Seattle, would earn a respectful smile. But Erik was on his guard now—which really wasn’t that weird, considering who stood in his store.

  Erik came to a stop a few feet from Jerome and straightened himself up as well as he could to his full height. He gave Jerome the smallest nod of greeting.

  “Mr. Hanan’el,” said Erik. “An unexpected visit.”

  Jerome had just taken a cigarette out of his coat, and it fell from his fingers. The look he gave Erik was a hundred times more terrifying than anything I’d ever seen. I expected another flare-up of power, one that would blow the entire building apart.

  “Do not,” said Jerome, “ever let that name cross your lips again, or I will rip them off.” His voice was low and even, simmering with the rage and power he was holding back.

  Had I been there, I would have gasped. Jerome’s true name. Erik knew Jerome’s true name. I used fake names to blend in and forget my identity. But for angels and demons, names were power. In the right hands, a name could be used to summon or control a greater immortal. In fact, for Dante to have summoned Jerome in the spring, Grace must have revealed that name.

  Erik didn’t flinch at Jerome being in smite mode. “I assume,” said Erik, “you are seeking something.”

  “Yes,” said Jerome, slightly mimicking Erik’s tone. “I am ‘seeking’ my succubus.”

  Erik’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Miss Kincaid?”

  “Of course! Who else?” Jerome did technically have another succubus, Tawny. But maybe he wouldn’t have gone hunting for her if she disappeared. He took out another cigarette and lit it without a lighter. “Do you know where she is? And don’t lie to me. If you’re keeping her from me, I will rip you apart, leaving your tongue for last.”

  “Ripping body parts appears to be a theme tonight,” replied Erik, clasping his hands behind his back. “But no, I don’t know where Miss Kincaid is. I didn’t know she was missing.”

  Jerome took a step forward, eyes narrowed. “I told you, do not lie to me.”

  “I have no reason to lie. I like Miss Kincaid. I would never wish her harm. If I can help her, I will.” Erik’s wording was careful. It was me he was offering to help—not Jerome.

  “She spoke to you about some force—some ‘siren song’ that kept coming to her,” said Jerome. He gave a curt report of what Roman had observed when I disappeared. “What do you know about this thing? What kind of creature was it? It was feeding off her depression.”

  From the moment this dream had started, Jerome had displayed nothing but rage and terror. Yet…as he shot off questions, it was almost like he was rambling. There was desperation under all that anger. Desperation and frustration because he was in a situation with no answers and felt powerless. Demons, as a general rule, do not like feeling powerless. Resorting to human help—a human who knew his name, no less—must have been excruciatingly painful for my boss.

  Erik, classy as always, remained calm and formal. “There are creatures who do that, yes, but I don’t believe it was one of those. I believe it chose those times because she was weakest. It was simply a lure—probably not the creature or culprit itself.”

  “Then what creature is it?”

  Erik spread his hands wide. “It could be any number of things.”

  “God-fucking-damn-it,” said Jerome, dropping his cigarette onto Erik’s floor and stomping on it hard.

  “You’re no longer connected to her?”

  “Correct.”

  “You have no awareness of her—one of your kind isn’t masking her?”

  “Correct.”

  “And you know she’s not dead?”

  “Correct.”

  Erik’s brown eyes were thoughtful. “Then the creature is likely one outside of your scope.”

  “Why,” asked Jerome wearily, “does everyone keep telling me things I already know?” The question could have been directed to Erik, Roman, or the air. The demon took out another cigarette.

  “You need to figure out who would take her and why. She has enemies. Nyx was not pleased with the resolution of her last visit.”

  “Nyx is locked up.” Jerome spoke as though he had stated that a hundred times. I was pretty sure he’d been asked all those questions about me a hundred times too.

  “Your summoner, Mr. Moriarty, was not overly pleased with her either.” Although Erik remained professional, his lips twisted ever so slightly, like he’d tasted something bitter. Regardless of his feelings for the demon, both Erik and Jerome shared a mutual hatred of Dante.

  This gave Jerome pause. “I doubt this was human magic, though I suppose he could have had help—he’s sought allies before. I’ll look into it.” He dropped this new cigarette and stepped on it too. “Regardless, I still can’t believe I’d have no sense of her in the world.”

  “Maybe she’s not in this world.”

  Erik’s words hung between them for several seconds.

  “No,” said Jerome at last. “Many have interest in her—but none who would do that.”

  I saw in Erik’s face that the words “Many have interest in her” had caught his notice. He stayed silent, however, and waited for Jerome’s next profound statement. Which wasn’t that profound.

  “Time to go,” said the demon, probably so Roman could grab hold again.

  Jerome teleported, off to wherever it was he had to go.

  And me? I returned to my prison.

  Chapter 15

  It was 1942, and I was in France.

  I didn’t want to be in France. I hadn’t wanted to be there for the last fifty years, yet somehow, Bastien kept talking me into staying. There was also the small fact that our supervising archdemon didn’t want us to go. He liked the way we worked together. Incubus-succubus teams were hit or miss sometimes, but we were exceptional, and our superiors had taken note. It was good for our hellish careers but not for my morale.

  Bastien didn’t see what my prob
lem was. “Hell doesn’t even need us here,” he told me one day, after I’d complained for like the thousandth time. “Think of it as a vacation. Hordes of souls are being damned here every day.”

  I walked over to the window of our shop and peered out onto the busy road, pressing my hands against the glass. Bicyclists and pedestrians moved past, everyone needing to get somewhere and get there fast. It could have been any ordinary weekday in Paris, but this was no ordinary day. Nothing had been ordinary since the Germans had occupied France, and the scattered soldiers in the street stood out to me like candles in the night.

  Bad simile, I thought. Candles implied some kind of hope or light. And while Paris had fared better than most people realized under Nazi rule, something in the city had changed. The energy, the spirit…whatever you wanted to call it, it had a taint to me. Bastien said I was crazy. Most people were still living their daily lives. The food shortages weren’t as bad here as in other places. And after shape-shifting into Aryan nation poster children with blond hair and blue eyes, we were more or less left alone.

  Bastien was still going on about my glum mood while he moved about and straightened hat displays in my periphery. He’d chosen millinery as his profession for this identity, one that worked well for meeting well-to-do Parisian women. I played the role of his sister—as I so often did in other scenarios—helping with the store and keeping house for him. It was better than dance halls or brothels, which had been our previous occupations in France.

  “What about your friend?” Bastien asked me slyly. “Young Monsieur Luc?”

  At the mention of Luc, I paused in my dejected assessment of the world outside the hat shop. If I was going to talk about candles in the night, then Luc was mine. A real one. He was a human I’d met recently, working with his father—a violin maker. Their trade had suffered even more than ours, as the market for luxury items shriveled in these lean times.