"A few more vampires and minor demons, but that's it. They're less social than the ones I run with. I have some good mortal friends too. Still. They're not the same either." I smiled gently. "They're not you. I've missed you."
Bastien tousled my hair, earning a critical glance from my cat Aubrey. "I've missed you too."
"So will you tell me what's going on now?"
His serious mien turned jovial. "Not sure what you're going to think about it, now that I've heard all of this."
"Try me."
Sliding off the couch, Bastien settled next to me so we could speak face-to-face. "You ever heard of Dana Dailey?"
"I live on this planet, don't I? She's always my first choice when I'm driving in my car and feel like listening to some highly commercial, conservative rhetoric." I didn't make any attempt to hide my disdain. In addition to touting worn-out family values, radio host Dana Dailey also enjoyed working thinly veiled racist, homophobic, and even sexist insinuations into her talk show. I couldn't stand her.
"I imagine that mood strikes you quite a bit. Did you know she's Seattle based?"
"Of course. It's a wonder she hasn't dragged down the property value. "
"Funny you should mention that. A house in her neighborhood just came up for sale."
"So?"
"So, our employers have purchased it."
"What?"
Grinning, knowing he had me hooked, Bastien leaned in eagerly. "Pay attention, Fleur , because here's the good part. We got wind of some rumors concerning Mrs. Dailey's ex-pool boy in San Diego. He claims to have been 'romantically involved' with her."
I racked my brain, recalling a promotional picture I'd seen of her and her politician husband on a billboard. "Have you seen Mr. Dailey? I'd opt for a pool boy too. What became of the rumors?"
"Oh, you know. The same thing that always happens to rumors with no proof. They faded away; nothing happened."
I waited expectantly. "Okay, and the house fits in how?"
"Well, like you said, her husband's no prize. Of course, she isn't going to get divorced or anything, not when it could potentially tarnish his political future and her whole prissy, on-air family-values campaign. But…the naughty streak is still there. If she's strayed once, I bet she could be lured into doing it again."
I groaned as the pieces fell together. "Like with a handsome, debonair neighbor?"
"Debonair? Really, you're too kind."
"So what happens after that?"
"Then we just let the evidence do its work."
"Evidence?"
"Well, yeah. We're not going to go the way of the pool boy. When I manage to lure the illustrious Mrs. Dailey into physical pleasures surpassing her wildest dreams, there'll be a camera rolling. We're going to record this for posterity, then go to the press. Full exposure, full takedown. No more radio empire preaching to the masses to return to pure, decent ways. Even her husband's political campaign will be marred, thus opening the door for some liberal upstart to take his place and help get this area back into the corrupt rut it so desperately longs for. "
"Gee, it's all so neat."
He eyed me. "You doubt the plan's brilliance?"
"I don't know. I appreciate the ballsy factor here, but I think this is kind of out-there, even for you. I can't imagine Dana Dailey’ll go down so easily."
"Leave the going down to me."
"Your ego's out of control."
He laughed and pulled me to him. His arms felt good around me. Familiar. Reassuring. "Admit it. That's why you love me. "
"Yeah, you're like the brother I never had. One that doesn't set my hair on fire. "
His eyes sparkled wickedly. "And once again, you've jumped ahead of me. I want you to see me in action on this— not to mention keep me company while I'm in town. You've got to come visit—as Mitch's sister."
"Who?"
Bastien suddenly stood up and shape-shifted. The familiar features morphed, leaving no trace of the rakish incubus I knew. Six-two and broad-shouldered, he now had dark blond hair and sky blue eyes, his face only just losing its pretty boy aspect and giving way to the sizzling promise of an experienced, confident man in his early thirties. When he smiled, those perfect teeth lit up a room.
He winked at me. "Mitch Hunter," he explained in a suave, movie-star voice. No accent now.
"You got an equally cheesy title to go with that? 'Mitch Hunter, MD' or 'Mitch Hunter, Private Investigator?' Seems appropriate."
"Nah. I'm a consultant, of course. Everyone's favorite nondescript yet well-paid white-collar job."
"You look like you need a golf club in one hand and a burger flipper in the other."
"Tease all you want, but Dana won't be able to resist this. Now"—he gestured for me to stand up—"let's see what you can do."
"Are you joking?"
"Do I look like I'm joking? If you're going to come visit me, you've got to put on some family resemblance."
I rolled my eyes and stood up. After a moment's study of his features, I shape-shifted my petite body into a taller, more athletic one with long blond hair.
He scrutinized me, then shook his head. "Too pretty."
"What? This is perfect."
"That body's unreal. No one looks that good. My God woman, that ass."
"Oh, come on. You don't think Special Agent Mitch Hunter's sister isn't the type to spend two hours a day on a stair-climber?"
Bastien grunted. "You've got a point there. At least lose some of the hair. These suburban types go for boring and practical."
"Yeah, but I'm not suburban. I'm your hipper, more stylish—"
Someone knocked at my door. He glanced at me questioningly.
"Oh! It's Seth."
I changed back to my normal body, and Bastien did the same. I opened the door.
Seth Mortensen, best-selling author and professional introvert, stood outside my apartment. Clad in a Frogger T-shirt and corduroy jacket, he seemed to have forgotten to brush his hair again. It was messy and brown with a faint coppery cast, mirrored in the perpetual five o'clock shadow across his lower face. His lips turned up in a smile upon seeing me, and I couldn't help but briefly ponder how soft and kissable they looked.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey."
Despite whatever attraction burned between us, the engine of our conversation always took a little while to turn over. I led him inside, and his expression faltered a bit when he saw Bastien.
"Oh. Hi."
"Hello," boomed Bastien, extending his hand. "Bastien Moreau."
"Seth Mortensen."
"A pleasure. I've heard all about you. Your books are fabulous. I mean, I've never read any of them—just don't have the time for that anymore—but I'm sure they're magnifique."
"Um, thanks."
"Bastien is an old friend," I explained. "He's going to be in town for a while on…business."
Seth nodded, and silence dropped in between all of us like a fourth companion. Finally, Bastien cleared his throat. I could see from his face that he was already losing interest, dismissing Seth as too quiet and unexciting. The incubus craved action.
"Well, I should take off. I don't want to interrupt your plans."
"What are you going to do?" I asked. "You can't have any plans of your own yet. "
He winked. "I'll improvise."
I gave him a knowing look.
Ruffling my hair again, he embraced me and kissed each of my cheeks. "I'll be in touch, Fleur . Make sure you keep an eye on the news."
"I'll never leave my television."
Bastien gave Seth a friendly nod. "Nice meeting you."
When the incubus was gone, Seth asked, "When you say 'old friend,' are we talking, like…since the Ice Age?"
"No. Of course not."
"Oh."
"It's only been about four hundred years."
"Ah. Yes. Only four hundred." A wry expression spread over his face. "Being with you is a continual experiment in perspective. Among other things." He consi
dered. "So what is he? Werewolf? Demigod?"
"Nothing so exciting. He's an incubus. You must have heard of those."
Seth nodded, frowning. "Sure. Like a succubus only…he has to go after women to survive?"
I nodded.
"Wow. For all eternity. Wow." His eyebrows shot up as true wonder played over his face. "That's got to be…wow. That's really rough."
My eyes narrowed. "Don't even start down that road."
Bastien had said he didn't want to interrupt our plans, but we didn't really have any, short of spending the evening together. I suppose most couples, running out of options, could have resorted to sex or at least making out, but the nature of our relationship required a full itinerary. We mustered some ideas.
"You want to rent a movie?" I offered. "I've got some coupons."
We ended up renting Gladiator, at which time I discovered Horatio's free rental coupons had expired long ago.
"That son of a bitch!"
"Who?" asked Seth.
But of course I couldn't explain. Fucking demons.
Back home, Seth and I snuggled on my couch as we watched, warm and close yet still safe from any detrimental succubus effects. He listened with bemusement as I pointed out historical inaccuracies, most of which involved how much dirtier and smellier the Roman Empire had been.
When it finished, we turned off the television and sat together in the dark. Seth stroked the side of my face, sifting through the strands of my hair and occasionally brushing my cheek with his fingers. A small gesture, yet when that was all you could do with another person, it became startlingly erotic.
I looked up at him. I knew what I saw when I studied him. He was everything I could want and everything I couldn't have. The steady, loving companion I'd pined for all these years. I wondered what he saw with me. The expression he wore now seemed fond. Admiring. And a little sad.
"But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. "
"Sonnet Eighteen," I murmured, thinking he recited beautifully. Hell, forget his recitation skills. How many guys in this age of instant messaging even knew Shakespeare anymore? His amused little half-smile played over his face.
"Clever and beautiful. How could any man settle for a mortal woman?"
"Easily," I returned. My friends' misgivings suddenly loomed up in me. "You could, you know."
He blinked, and his rapt look faded, giving way to exasperation. "Oh. Not this discussion again."
"I'm serious—"
"And so am I. I don't want to be with anyone else right now. I've told you that a hundred times. Why do we keep talking about this?"
"Because you know we can't—"
"Nobuts.Give me some credit for being able to control myself. Besides, I'm not with you for sex. You know that. I'm with you to be with you."
"How can that be enough?" It never had been for any other man I'd known.
"Because…because…" He tipped my chin up with his hand, the emotion in those eyes making my insides melt. "Because being with you feels so right…like it's always been meant to be. You make me believe in a higher power for once in my life."
I closed my eyes and put my head on his chest. I could hear his heart beating. He wrapped me to him, his embrace warm and solid, and I felt like I couldn't get close enough to him. Probably I should have let the discussion go then, but one more thing was still on my mind tonight. After all, I had a gold-embossed certificate sitting on my counter.
"Even if you can control yourself…even if you can stay celibate, you know I won't be."
The words hurt coming out, but my mouth's control switch didn't always function so well. Besides, I didn't want anything standing between us.
"I don't care." But I felt his hold on me stiffen a little.
"Seth, you will—"
"Thetis, I don't care. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except what happens between you and me."
The fierceness in his voice—a contrast to his normal placidity—thrilled me, but it was not that that made me give up the argument. It was the word "Thetis." Thetis. Thetis the shape-shifting goddess. The shape-shifter wooed and won by a steadfast mortal. Seth had coined the name for me when he learned I was a succubus, when he'd first insinuated that my infernal standing was not a deterrent.
I pulled him closer. Don't look down.
We went to bed shortly thereafter, Aubrey snuggling up at our feet. The feel of Seth's body curled by mine under the covers was tantalizing, a cruel whisper of the restrictions around us.
I sighed and tried to think of something other than how nice he felt or how great it would be if he slid his hand up my shirt. I grinned as a most unsexual sentiment came to mind.
"I want pancakes."
"What? Right now?"
"No. For breakfast."
"Oh." He yawned. "You'd better get up early then."
"Me? I'm not going to make them."
"Yeah?" His sleepy voice carried mock sympathy. "Who's going to make them for you then?"
"You are."
It was a well-known fact—at least to Seth and me—that he made the best pancakes known to mankind. They always came out perfect, light and fluffy. Through some kitchen magic, he even managed to put smiley faces on them when he made them for me. Once he'd even puta Gon one. I'd assumed it was for my name, but later, he'd sworn it stood for "goddess."
"Am I?" His lips brushed my earlobe; his breath was warm against my skin. "You think I'm going to make you pancakes? Is that how you think it's going to be?"
"You're so good at," I whined. "Besides, if you do, I'll sit on the counter in a short robe while you cook." Oops. Maybe pancakes could become sexual after all.
His soft laughter segued into another yawn. "Oh. Well then." He kissed my ear again. "Maybe I'll make you pancakes. "
His breathing grew slow and regular, the tension in his body easing. Soon he slept, not troubled or tempted in the least by having me in his arms.
I sighed again. He was right; he did have self-control. If he could do this, surely I could too. I closed my eyes and waited for exhaustion to take over. Fortunately, it didn't waste any time; staying up late will do that to you. Maybe that was the real key to sleeping chastely.
I woke up in his arms hours later, hearing the ever-so-faint sounds of bad seventies music drifting through the wall. One of my neighbors felt the need to do aerobics to the Bee Gees every day around lunchtime. Certifiable insanity.
Wait. Lunchtime?
I sat bolt upright, panic jolting me into full consciousness as I assessed the situation. My bed. Seth sprawled beside me. The full roar of traffic outside. Clear, winter sunlight pouring through the window—a lot of sunlight.
Fearing the worst, I looked at the nearest clock. It was 12:03.
Groaning silently, I groped on the floor for my cell phone, wondering why no one had yet called me in to work. Looking at the phone's display, I realized I'd turned the ringer off during the movie. Seven new voice mail messages, the phone read. So much for pancakes. Tossing the phone back down, I looked over at Seth, the cuteness of him in a T-shirt and flannel boxers momentarily allaying my frustration.
I shook him, wishing I could just crawl back under the covers with him. "Wake up. I've got to go."
He blinked up at me drowsily, further increasing his appeal. Aubrey wore a similar look. "Huh? Too…early."
"Not that early. I'm late for work."
He stared at me blankly for a few seconds and then sat up nearly as rapidly as I had. "Oh. Oh man."
"It's all right. Let's go."
He disappeared into the bathroom, and I shape-shifted my appearance once more, turning the pajamas into a red sweater and black skirt, my loose hair into a neat bun. I hated doing this
so often, much preferring to rifle through my own closet. Shape-shifting also burned through my energy stash that much more quickly, requiring more frequent victims. Unfortunately, time-crunches call for certain sacrifices.
When Seth returned, he did a double take at my appearance and shook his head. "Still can't get used to that."
I expected him to go home and sleep, but he went with me to the bookstore. Its coffee shop was his favorite place to write. As we walked into Emerald City Books andCafe,I breathed a sigh of relief that neither my manager Paige nor Warren, the store owner, appeared to be around. Still, business had already opened for the day without me, and my chipper, morning-people coworkers made it impossible to sneak in without notice.
"Hey, Georgina! Hi Seth!"
"Georgina and Seth are here!"
"Good morning, Georgina! Good morning, Seth!"
Seth left to take up his writing station upstairs, and I made my way to the back offices. All of them were dark, which I found odd. No managers at all. Someone should have opened before me. I flipped on the light in my own office.
I was so fixated on figuring out what was going on that the demon took me completely by surprise.
Red-skinned and multihorned, he leapt out at me, waving his arms and making unintelligible grunting sounds. I yelped and dropped the things I'd been carrying, recoiling.
A moment later, my senses returned, and I walked over and smacked him on the side of the head as hard as I could.
CHAPTER 3
"You're such a dork, Doug!"
"Fuck, that hurt!"
Doug Sato, the other dysfunctional assistant manager here and one of the most entertaining mortals I knew, pulled off the rubber mask he'd been wearing, revealing the beautiful features he'd inherited from his Japanese ancestors. He rubbed his forehead, giving me a wounded scowl. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the mask was not that of a demon but rather Darth Maul from The Phantom Menace. I should have known. No self-respecting demon would have had that many horns.
"What are you doing?" I leaned down to pick up my scattered belongings. "Halloween was, like, a week ago."
"Yeah, I know. Everything's on sale. I got this for three dollars."
"You got ripped off."
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