Succubus Shadows gk-5

by Richelle Mead

  “She is gone, right?” That had been the rumor, and seeing as there’d been no wacky mishaps with two Georginas, I had to believe it was true. I’d never know what her motivation had been.

  “Yup, as far as I know. Anyway. Milton. He sure does look like a vampire. Have you seen him? He’s like a modern-day Nosferatu. I took Gabrielle when I went to spy on him at a dance club, and she got really excited. She thinks I have some special knack for finding vampires—at least wannabe ones.”

  “Huh,” I said. “That’s somehow bizarre, funny, and cute all at the same time. Maybe a little disturbing.” He grinned at that, showing his fangs. “What’s she think of the teeth? You can’t hide those if you’re up close and personal all the time.”

  “Told her I had them cosmetically done.” He looked very pleased. “She thinks it’s hot.”

  His new romance left me in a good mood when I finally took off. I stepped outside into the chilly night, surprised I didn’t mind it so much. Something about the clean, brisk air seemed refreshing to me, and for the first time in a while, I regretted moving out of Queen Anne. It would have been nice to walk home on this early winter evening, instead of climbing into the plastic and metal of my car.

  There was nothing to be done for it, though. I turned the ignition and checked my cell phone before heading out of the parking lot. I often left the ringer off while working, and three calls had come in for me. I had a voice mail for each. The first was from a few hours ago, from Erik. He spoke in his usual genteel tones, but I could hear some urgency underneath. He told me he’d come up with some theories about my contract and wanted to talk to me soon.

  The next message was from Roman, from about an hour ago. He knew my work schedule perfectly and was calling to see what kind of takeout I wanted. If I called as I was leaving, he said, he’d probably have food by the time I walked in. I felt my lips turn into a smile at that—one that promptly dropped when I heard the last message. It had come in five minutes ago and was from Erik again.

  “Georgina—”

  That was it. Just my name, tense and strangled. After that came static, what sounded like the phone dropping, and then the voice mail ended. I stared at my phone as though it were a totally foreign object.

  I had never, ever heard Erik call me by my first name.

  My car was already headed toward his store when I dialed him back. It was too late for the store to be open, but that was the number my cell phone had logged. No answer came. I tried his home number, just to be safe, and received no answer there either. My fear increased, as did my speed. Easy traffic moved me along, but I still felt like his store might as well be hundreds of miles away.

  I made it there in fifteen minutes, which was actually pretty remarkable. The store’s lights were on, though everything else in the strip mall and its lot was dark. I parked right in front, in a handicapped spot, and tore out of my car, nearly coming to a halt at what I found.

  The glass of the door and window were smashed, with glittering shards covering the sidewalk. Even if the door had been locked, I could have reached right in to open it. I pushed through, stepping inside to find more destruction. Fountains still tinkled, music still played, but everything else was in shambles. Bookshelves knocked over. Statuary in pieces. Jewelry cases broken—and empty.

  “Erik?” I called, hurrying through the store. There was no answer. I passed the register, saw the drawer hanging open, and suspected I’d find it as empty as the cases.

  I was heading for the store’s back room when I heard a small noise. Turning, I peered around wildly and caught a glimpse of a hand, behind the checkout counter. There, I found Erik sprawled on the floor, pale despite his dusky skin. A hand lay over his stomach, which was a pool of dark blood. His eyes were glassy, and for a moment, I thought he was dead. Then the lids twitched, and his eyes focused on me.

  “Miss Kincaid…”

  I dialed 911 while simultaneously trying to rip my coat off. I screamed at them to send an ambulance and pressed the light fabric of the trench coat into his stomach. The effort was futile. A red strain promptly began spreading through the cloth.

  “Don’t say anything,” I pleaded when I saw his lips move. They were blue-tinged. “Someone’s coming. You’ll be okay.”

  I wanted to ask a hundred questions: what had happened, who had done this. None mattered. Only saving him did—and besides, the scenario seemed painfully clear. A break-in, one in which he must have interfered. Two bullet holes on the wall revealed what had happened to his stomach. The third shot had hit.

  “Miss Kincaid…” His voice was so small, barely a croak.

  “Shh. We’ll talk later, after the paramedics come. Save your strength.”

  “There won’t be a later,” he gasped. I swear, he tried to smile. “Not…for…me…”

  “They’ll be here in, like, five minutes,” I countered.

  “Doesn’t matter. Too weak. Too much blood.”

  “No,” I said desperately. “No.” Even as I begged, my hysteria growing, I knew he was right. He had lost too much blood. He was only alive now because this was a slow-killing wound. Even if paramedics walked in right now, they wouldn’t get him away in time to save him. With his age and recent illness, he wouldn’t come back from this. Still, I denied it. “You’ll be okay. Listen—”

  “You listen.” There was no real force behind the command, but I shut up. One of his hands clung to me. “It’s not…your contract.”

  I was confused, my mind still on his condition and the store. Then, I caught the context. “Let the contract go. We’ll worry about it later.”

  His grip tightened. “There must be another. Two contracts.”

  “There…what? No. That’s not how it works. I know that for sure. One contract per soul. I signed one. Now, please. Don’t say anything else.”

  “Find it,” he coughed. There was blood on his lips. “Find…it.”

  “I will, I will.” I would have agreed to anything, though what he was saying made no sense. My words must have comforted him because he relaxed ever so slightly. There was still no question that he must be in agonizing pain, though. I glanced up at the front of the store, willing myself to hear sirens. “They’ll be here,” I said.

  “Too…late. You…you can stop the pain.”

  He was so hard to hear now, I had to lean close. Even then, I didn’t fully parse his words until a few moments later. “I’m trying.” I shifted the coat a little, which was proving totally ineffectual.

  “A kiss…one kiss…”

  “I…” My eyes went wide. “No. No. It’ll kill you…” Even as I said the words, I realized how stupid they were. This gunshot was already going to kill him. He was going to die. One kiss. He wanted a kiss to speed his dying, just as I’d given Luc. I’d never performed that deed again, nor had I wanted to. Maybe it had been mercy, but I’d felt like a killer. And yet, just like I had then, I knew it would ease the passing….

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Nyx…showed me. Showed me my death: you.”

  He coughed again and could speak no more. Still, he clung to life, with pain on his face and pleading in his eyes.

  Nyx? Nyx had shown him his death….

  In the far reaches of my mind, I remembered finding him one day, right after Nyx had visited him and shown him a vision. He’d recoiled from me at first and then later shrugged it off, laughing it away as the remnants of a nightmare. But I understood now. He’d seen his death—seen me causing it. He’d been afraid of me in those moments. My man in the dream had been a lie, but all the other visions she’d shown had been true. My role in Erik’s death had been destined…just not in any malicious way. That was how her dreams often worked. Never quite what you expected.

  And so, for the second time, I became an angel of mercy…an angel of death…whatever. I hunched down and kissed him, ignoring the blood on his mouth. Just like with Luc, there was only a breath of life left. Five more minutes, and Erik would have been gone without me.
That tiny bit of life was as pure and good as I’d known it would be. Erik would be rewarded in the afterlife.

  As I lifted my head and watched peace settle over his features, faint feelings flitted through me, as sometimes happened when I took energy. There was affection for me. It wasn’t romantic love. More like fatherly love. Friendship. Fondness. And underneath it was a warning, a warning for me he never got to convey. I was so caught up in those last bursts of life, that I was only distantly aware when the lights and sirens came.

  Someone lifted me away, and I saw people huddling around him—too late. I stared at the commotion that followed—paramedics, police. I saw it without seeing it, answered questions without even knowing what I said. A policeman with kind eyes took it all down and spoke to me gently, often repeating himself. I don’t know how long it all took. Maybe an hour, maybe more. I only remember assuring them over and over that I was okay, that I was going home, and that I would answer any other questions that came up.

  But when I drove away, still in shock, still barely grasping what had happened, I didn’t go to West Seattle. I went to Pioneer Square, parking in a lucky street spot and then winding my way through the partying crowds. A few people gave me curious looks when I walked into the Cellar, looks I gave no heed to as I honed in on Jerome’s table. He drank alone tonight, his dark eyes watching me intently as I approached.

  “Georgie,” he said when I came to a stop in front of him, “what’s the point of shape-shifting if you’re going to walk around with blood on you?”

  I looked down, only then registering the stains on my shirt. I turned back to him, ignoring the shape-shifting suggestion.

  “Erik’s dead,” I told him, my voice flat.

  Jerome’s face displayed no reaction. “How?”

  “A break-in. Somebody shot him.”

  Jerome sipped his bourbon and remained silent.

  “Well? Don’t you have anything to say?”

  He scowled. “What do you expect me to say? Should I cry? Put on sackcloth and ashes? Humans die all the time, Georgie. You’re the one who mourns them—not me. I have no sentiment for any of them. You know that. And certainly not for him.”

  I did know that. When Duane—one of Jerome’s former employees—had been killed, the demon’s only reaction had been annoyance.

  “What’s weird…” I paused, putting to words what had been coalescing in the back of my mind this whole time. “What’s weird is that someone would break into a New Age store at all. It’s not a good place for a robbery.”

  “If it has money, it’s a good place for a robbery. If it’s in a deserted strip mall, with only an old man there, it’s even a better place for a robbery. Were the valuables gone?”

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “Then why are you here wasting my time?”

  “The glass.”

  “The glass?”

  “The glass was broken from the inside,” I said. “The pieces were scattered on the sidewalk. Whoever did it didn’t break the glass to get in. It just looked that way.”

  Jerome sighed irritably. “After everything you’ve seen, can you honestly question the behaviors of humans?”

  “It just seems strange that someone like Erik—someone who deals in the supernatural and who had—” I hesitated, about to say that he’d been pondering my contract. Instead, I said, “Who had just been involved with a big immortal blowout would be the victim of this by coincidence.”

  “Coincidences happen.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences anymore.”

  “Then replay your own words. Your ‘big immortal blowout’ is the answer. They might not live in our world, but do you think dream creatures don’t have connections here?”

  I frowned. “What are you saying?”

  “That I thought it was too convenient for the Oneroi’s overlord to walk away. He knew he couldn’t touch me or any other immortal. But a human? One who had been actively involved with thwarting him?” Jerome shrugged. “It’s revenge. He could arrange for that. We can’t prove it—and we can’t do anything. Make sure you understand that. I’m not going to avenge your friend, if that’s what you’re asking for.”

  I hadn’t expected him to. In fact, I really wasn’t sure what I’d expected of him at all. Why had I come here? Because I was in shock. Because what had happened to Erik didn’t make sense. Because Jerome often had answers for me.

  This time, he did too…but I wasn’t sure that I believed them. The old adage came back: How do you know if a demon is lying? His lips are moving.

  “Okay,” I said with a small nod. His eyes narrowed a little. I think he was surprised I’d given in so quickly. Glancing down, I shape-shifted the blood away. “I’m going to go home and…I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  My confusion wasn’t faked, and I hoped it would be enough to clear any suspicion. And really, what did he have to be suspicious of? I didn’t even know. Two contracts.

  Jerome didn’t try to stop me. I drove home with almost no realization of what I was doing until I pulled into the parking lot under my building. As soon as I opened my condo’s door, I caught the faint smell of Chinese food. It smelled delicious, yet at the same time, it had that slight twinge of food that had been sitting around for a while. Roman sprawled on the couch, staring at nothing as far as I could tell. The TV was off. The cats remained unpetted.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I said. “You won’t believe what—”

  “I’ve got something for you,” he said. “Two somethings, actually.”

  The odd tone of his voice was about the only thing that could have stopped me from gushing about what had gone down at Erik’s tonight. Even now, the events in the store were so surreal that it hardly seemed like something that had happened to me. Surely it was something I’d seen in a movie. I sat down in the armchair near Roman, the queasy feeling in my stomach growing as I wondered what else could possibly happen tonight.

  “What is it?”

  He handed me a piece of paper. “This was under the door when I got back with the food. I didn’t mean to read it, but…well, it wasn’t in an envelope or anything.”

  I took it wordlessly, immediately recognizing the scrawled writing. Seth’s. To a lot of people it would be undecipherable, but I’d had a lot of practice in decoding his sloppy penmanship.

  Georgina,

  When I woke up without you in Mazatlán, I was so angry. I felt betrayed and abandoned and wondered if you’d been playing me the entire time. Then, the more I thought about your words, the more my life began to come into focus. I still don’t want to deal with the mess here in Seattle. I don’t want to face Maddie. I don’t want to face myself. But, I realized, I do want you to be proud of me.

  Maybe “proud” isn’t the right word. Respect? Like? Love? I’m not sure, but the events at Erik’s have still left an impression. Really, lying in your arms has left an impression. I meant what I said: I’d rather be alone than not be with you. Even apart, though, I can’t stand the thought of you being disappointed in me. To regain your good opinion, I would risk almost anything. I’d even come back here to face my demons.

  And I have come back here, despite how much I wish I could run away. Disappearing won’t erase the bad things around me, however. Maybe you’re a messenger of some sort, some agent of destiny. If not for you, I almost certainly wouldn’t have returned, but it turns out I needed to. Terry and Andrea received their results yesterday. She only has months to live, something that I’d almost swear was the doctor’s joke. Only a few weeks ago, she seemed perfectly fine. I don’t want to face that, any more than I want to face everything else. But they need me more than ever now, and I love them. I love them so much that I realize my own life and wants don’t matter. As soon as I finish this book, I’m putting everything else—even the new series—on hold. None of it matters. Only they do. They’ll need me in the next few months. They’ll need me more in the months after that.

  I don’t know wh
en we’ll see each other again—though you’ll notice I say “when” and not “if.” Like I mentioned in Mexico, I know better than to think the universe will keep us apart. Regardless, I want you to be happy wherever your life takes you—and I hope someday I can be worthy of your respect again.

  I also want you to know that in returning, I don’t expect anything from you. I just wanted to make sure you understood what I did…and how you’ve affected me.

  —Seth

  I looked up at Roman, who had been studying me while I read. I didn’t know what astonished me more: Seth returning—because of me—or the god-awful news about Andrea. Both were monumental in their own ways. One was a tragedy of epic proportions.

  I swallowed, afraid if I fully processed it all, I’d start crying. “I’m not sure how much more I can handle tonight,” I said in a small voice.

  Roman’s face was a mixture of sympathy and cynicism. “Well, you’ve got one more thing.”

  He handed me a magazine. It was a trashy celebrity gossip one that was a popular source of mockery over at the bookstore. I couldn’t imagine why he was giving something so trivial to me, in light of everything else that had gone on. One page was marked with a Post-it, and I flipped to it.

  It was a spread of assorted celebrity shots, the kind of candids that paparazzi delighted in: actors out with their children, pop stars spotted in Las Vegas nightclubs. I skimmed over the two pages, feeling a frown grow on my face as I tried to figure out why on earth I’d care about this right now.

  Then, I found it. It was a small picture, shoved off to the side between much more interesting and larger ones of badly dressed actors. The caption read: Best-selling author Seth Mortensen enjoys some natural beauty in Mazatlán.

  And it showed Seth and me kissing on the beach.

  Chapter 24

  “This…isn’t possible,” I said.