Succubus Blues (26 page)

“It could use a flannel shirt, though.”

It took me a moment to remember the ensemble I'd worn to his brother's, a moment longer still to recall I'd never given him the shirt back.

“I'm sorry,” I told him after I pointed the same thing out to him. “I'll bring it back soon.”

“Not a problem. I'm still holding your book hostage, after all. Fair is fair. Feel free to wear it some more, so it smells like you and that perfume.”

He abruptly shut up, apparently fearing he'd said too much, which was probably true. I wanted to laugh the comment off, ease his embarrassment a little, but instead all I could imagine was Seth holding the flannel shirt to his face, inhaling deeply, because it smelled like me. The image was so sexy, so utterly provocative, that I turned slightly away from him, looking out the window to hide my feelings and suddenly heavy breathing.

What a shameless strumpet I was, I decided as the rest of the car ride proceeded in dead silence. Crying over Roman one minute, suddenly wanting to jump into bed with Seth the next. I was fickle. I gave out mixed signals to men, flitting from one to another, beckoning with one hand and pushing away with the other. Admittedly, the Martin energy ride was fast coming to an end, so most males were starting to look pretty good again, but still…I had no shame. I didn't even know who or what I wanted anymore.

When Seth parked but refused to come in with me to Emerald City, I felt guilty, knowing he thought that I thought he must be a pervert or something for the perfume comment. I couldn't let that go, couldn't stand the thought of him feeling bad over me. Especially when the perfume remark had been kind of a turn-on. I had to fix things.

I leaned toward him, hoping the corset top would do half my work for me in smoothing the matter over. “Do you remember that one scene in
The Glass House
? The one where O'Neill walks that waitress home?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Um, I wrote that scene.”

“If I recall, doesn't he say something about what a shame it is to abandon a woman in a low-cut dress?”

Seth stared at me, expression unreadable. Finally, a not-so-dazed smile flickered onto his face. “He says, ‘A man who leaves a woman alone in a dress like that is no man at all. A woman in a dress like that doesn't want to be alone.'”

I looked back at him meaningfully. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Don't make me spell it out. I'm in this dress, and I don't want to be alone. Come inside with me. You owe me a dance, you know.”

“And you know I don't dance.”

“You think that'd stop O'Neill?”

“I think O'Neill kind of goes off the deep end sometimes. He doesn't know his limits.”

I shook my head in exasperation and turned away.

“Wait,” Seth called. “I'm coming.”

“Cutting it close, aren't you?” Cody asked me later when we arrived in the café of the now closed bookstore, practically running.

I gave him a quick hug, and he and Seth nodded cordially at each other before the author blended off into the crowd of staff. “It's a long story.”

“Is it true?” Cody whispered in my ear, leaning toward me. “Is Carter hanging around right now?”

“No, actually. He was, but then he just bailed on me. That's why I'm late. I had to call Seth to pick me up.”

The young vampire's serious mien relaxed. “I'm sure that was a big sacrifice for both of you.”

Ignoring the jibe, I rounded up the troops so the lesson could get under way. As we had observed last time, most were about as ready as they would ever get. We didn't teach anything new, choosing instead to review old techniques, making sure the basics were solid. Seth, as he had stated, did not dance. He had a harder time resisting, however, as most of the staff knew him well by now. Many of the women tried to entreat him. He remained obstinate.

“He'd dance if you asked him,” Cody told me at one point.

“I doubt it. He's been refusing all night.”

“Yeah, but you're persuasive.”

“Carter implied the same thing. I don't know when I got this reputation as Miss Congeniality.”

“Just ask him.”

Rolling my eyes, I walked over to Seth, noticing his gaze was already on me.

“All right, Mortensen, last chance. Are you ready to make the switch from voyeur to exhibitionist?”

He inclined his head toward me curiously. “Are we still talking about dancing?”

“Well, that depends, I suppose. I heard someone once say that men dance the same way they have sex. So, if you want everyone here to think you're the kind of guy who just sits around and—”

He stood up. “Let's dance.”

We stepped out, and despite his bold declaration, his nervousness came through loud and clear. His palm was sweaty as he grasped my hand, his other hand almost too hesitant to fully rest its weight on my hip.

“Your hand swallows mine up,” I teased him gently, easing mine inside his. “Just relax. Listen to the music, and count the beats. Watch my feet.”

As we moved, I had the impression he had done the basic step before. He had no trouble remembering the pattern. His problem was coordinating his feet with the music, a behavior which came instinctually to me. I could tell he literally counted beats in his head, forcefully lining them up with his feet. Consequently, he spent more time looking down than at me.

“Are you going to come with us when we go out?” I asked conversationally.

“Sorry. I can't talk and count at the same time.”

“Oh. Okay.” I did my best to hide a smile.

We continued on this way, in silence, until the lesson ended. It never became a natural process for Seth, but he never missed any steps, paying attention to them with steadfast determination and diligence, sweating profusely the entire time. Standing so close to him, I could again feel something akin to static in the air between us, heady and electric.

I made the rounds with Cody as things closed down, telling everybody goodbye. Seth was one of the last to leave, approaching Cody and me as we walked out the back door.

“Nice job tonight,” Cody told him.

“Thanks. My reputation was on the line.” Seth turned to me. “I hope I redeemed myself with the whole dancing-sex comparison.”

“I suppose there were a couple of notable similarities,” I observed, holding a straight face.

“A couple? What about attention to detail, heavy exertion, lots of sweat, and single-minded determinedness to get the job done and done well?”

“Mostly I was thinking you just don't talk during sex.” Mean perhaps, but I couldn't resist.

“Well, my mouth has better things to do.”

I swallowed, my own mouth dry. “Are we still talking about dancing?”

Seth told us good night and left.

I watched him go wistfully. “Anyone else here feel like swooning?”

“I sure do,” came Carter's jovial voice behind us.

Cody and I both jumped.

“Christ,” I exclaimed. “How long have you been back?”

“No time for small talk. Hang on, kids.”

After giving a quick glance around to ascertain we were alone, the angel suddenly grabbed our wrists. I felt that nauseating, rushing feeling again, and the next thing I knew, we stood in a very elegantly decorated living room. I had never seen this place before, but it was beautiful. Coordinated leather furniture adorned the room, expensive-looking art hung on the walls. Opulence. Style. Magnificence.

The only problem was, the entire place had been trashed. Slashes marred the posh furniture, tables had been knocked over, and the art was either askew or defiled or both. On one wall, a huge symbol I didn't recognize had been spray-painted: a circle with one line crossing it vertically and another cutting through at an angle, left to right. The glamour mixed with such desecration left me utterly dumbfounded.

“Welcome to Château Jerome,” Carter announced.

“M
y apologies for the abrupt transport,” Carter continued. “Jerome started freaking out that I'd left you alone for so long.”

“I've never ‘freaked out' in my life—er, existence, er whatever,” mused Jerome, strolling into the room. Studying him, I could believe his words. Dressed immaculately as ever, he held a martini in one hand and looked utterly at ease amid the disarray.

“Nice place,” I told him, still aghast at the damage done to such beauty. “Fixer-upper?”

The demon's eyes flashed with amusement at my joke. “I do so love having you around, Georgie.” He sipped his drink. “Yes, it is a little rough around the edges right now, but no worries. It'll clean up. Besides, I have other domiciles.”

Jerome had always been very tight-lipped about where he lived, and I suspected it was only Carter's intervention that allowed us to even remain here right now. The demon would have never invited us. Walking over to a large bay window, I beheld a magnificent view of Lake Washington, the Seattle skyline glittering beyond it. Based on the angle of my view, I would have wagered money we were in Medina, one of the more elite Eastside suburbs. Only the best for Jerome.

“So what happened?” I finally asked when it became apparent no one else intended to broach the subject. “Was this a nephilim attack, or did you just throw a party that got out of hand? Because honestly, if it's the last one, I'm going to be really pissed we weren't invited.”

“No such fears,” Carter told me, smiling. “Our friend the nephilim did a little redecorating, kindly flashing us when it was over. That's why I abandoned you at Erik's. I would have given you some warning, but when I felt it over here…” He looked meaningfully at Jerome. The demon scoffed in response.

“You what? Thought I was in danger? You know that's not possible.”

Carter made a nondescript noise of disagreement. “Yeah? What do you call that?” He inclined his head toward the spray-painted symbol.

“Graffiti,” responded Jerome disinterestedly. “It means nothing.”

I walked away from the breathtaking window and its pricey view, looking the symbol up and down. I'd never seen anything like it, and I was familiar with a lot of characters and markings from all types of places and times.

“It must mean something,” I countered. “Seems like a lot of trouble for nothing. Otherwise, he could have just written ‘you suck' or something like that.”

“Maybe that's in one of the other rooms,” suggested Cody.

“A punch line worthy of Georgie. You're learning more than dancing.”

Ignoring the demon's attempt to change the subject, I turned to Carter for answers. “What is it? You must know what it means.”

The angel studied me speculatively a moment, and I realized I'd never appealed to him before for serious help. Until our recent roommate stint, most of our interactions had been downright antagonistic.

“It's a warning,” he said slowly, not looking at his demonic counterpart. “A warning of impending disaster. The real phase of a battle about to begin.”

Jerome's finely suppressed control snapped. He slammed the glass down on an off-kilter table, face flushing. “Christ, Carter! Are you insane?”

“It doesn't matter, and you know it. Everything's going to come out anyway.”

“No,” hissed the demon icily, “not everything.”

“Then you tell them.” Carter made a grandiose gesture toward the symbol. “You explain and make sure I don't say too much.”

Jerome glared at him, and they locked eyes in their usual way. I'd seen it happen countless times, but upon reflection, I felt pretty sure I'd never actually seen them at such odds with each other before.

“It might have meant those things at one time,” Jerome admitted at last, exhaling in an effort to calm himself. “But not anymore. As I said, it's meaningless now. An archaic scrawl. A charm which, without anyone to believe in it anymore, holds no power.”

“Then why use it at all?” I wondered aloud. “More of the nephilim's bizarre sense of humor?”

“Something like that. It's to remind me who we're dealing with—as if there was any possible way I could forget.” Picking up his sloshed martini, Jerome finished it in one gulp. Sighing, suddenly looking tired, he glanced at Carter. “You can tell them about the other ones if you want.”

The angel's face registered mild surprise at the concession. He looked back up at the marred wall. “This symbol is the second in a set of three. The first is the declaration of battle—a way to sort of psyche out your enemy with what's to come. It looks just like this but with no diagonal. The last symbol marks victory. It has two diagonals and is displayed after the enemy is defeated.”

I followed his gaze. “So, wait…if this is the second, does that mean you've seen the first already?”

Jerome walked out of the room and returned a moment later, handing me a piece of paper. “You're not the only one who gets love notes, Georgie.”

I opened it up. The paper was the same kind used for my notes. Displayed on it, in heavy black ink, was a copy of the symbol on Jerome's wall without the diagonal. The first symbol, the declaration, according to Carter.

“When did you get this?”

“Just before Duane died.”

I thought back through the weeks. “That's why you didn't push me too hard when he died. You already had a good idea who was responsible.”

The demon shrugged by way of answer.

“Wait a minute then,” exclaimed Cody, coming to look over my shoulder at the note. “If this is the first warning…are you saying that everything that's happened—Duane, Hugh, Lucinda, Georgina—has been part of the ‘psyching out'?” The vampire grew incredulous when neither of the higher immortals responded. “What more can there be? What is this ‘real phase'? I mean, he's already attacked or killed, what, four immortals?”

“Four
lesser
immortals,” I supplied, suddenly catching on. I looked back and forth between Jerome and Carter. “Right?”

The angel gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Right. You guys have been the practice round before the big hit.” He gave Jerome another pointed look.

“Stop it,” the demon snapped back. “I'm not a target here.”

“Aren't you? No one spray-painted this on my wall.”

“No one knows where you live.”

“You're not exactly in the yellow pages yourself. You're the mark here.”

“It's a moot point. It can't touch me.”

“You don't know that—”

“I do know that, and you know it too. There is absolutely
no
way it can be stronger than me.”

“We need backup after all. Call Nanette—”

“Oh yes,” laughed Jerome harshly. “No one would notice if I pulled her from Portland. Do you have any idea what a red flag that would throw up? People would start noticing, start asking questions—”

“So what if they do? It's no big deal—”

“Easy for
you
to say. What would you know about—”

“Please. I know enough to know that you're being overly paranoid about…”

The two went back and forth at each other, Jerome adamantly denying there was any problem, Carter maintaining that they needed to take appropriate precautions. As noted earlier, I had never seen the two of them in such open disagreement. I didn't like it, especially as their voices began to rise in volume. I didn't want to be around if they came to blows or displays of power, having already seen too much of their strength in the last few weeks. Slowly, I backed up out of the living room toward a nearby hallway. Cody, catching my mood, followed.

“I hate it when Mom and Dad fight,” I commented as we retreated away from the divine bickering, seeking a safer locale. Looking in doorways, I saw a bathroom, a bedroom, and a guest room. Somehow I didn't imagine the demon hosted too many overnight guests.

“This looks promising,” observed Cody as we turned in to an entertainment room.

More leather seating surrounded a massive, absurdly thin plasma screen hanging on the wall. Sleek, beautiful speakers stood in strategic spots around us, and a substantial glass case displayed hundreds of DVDs. This room, like the others, had been sacked. Sighing, I threw myself on to one of the ripped chairs while Cody checked out the sound system.

“What do you think of all this?” I asked him. “The new developments, I mean, not the entertainment setup.”

“What's to think? It seems straightforward to me. This nephilim character warms up with lesser immortals and now decides to take on the higher ones. Sick and twisted, but well, that's the way it is. On the bright side, maybe we're out of danger now—no offense to Jerome or Carter.”

“I don't know.” I tipped my head back, thinking. “Something still isn't right to me. There's something we're missing. Listen to them in there. Why is Jerome being such an idiot about all of this? Why won't he listen to Carter?”

The young vampire glanced up from his perusal of the movies and gave me a sly smile. “I never thought I'd see the day when you advocated for Carter. You must have gotten really chummy this last week.”

“Don't get any romantic delusions,” I warned him. “God knows I have enough of that on my plate already. It's just that, I don't know. Carter's not as bad as I used to think.”

“He's an angel. He's not bad at all.”

“You know what I mean, and you've got to admit, he has a point. Jerome should be taking appropriate measures. This thing trashed his place and left warnings—even if they're obsolete charms or whatever. Why is Jerome so convinced he's safe?”

“Because he thinks he's stronger than it is.”

“How would he know though? Neither of them have gotten a good feel for it—even Carter didn't the night he saved me.”

“Jerome doesn't seem like the type to dismiss things without a reason. If he says he's stronger, then I'd—holy shit. Check this out.” His serious spiel melted into laughter.

Getting up, I walked over and knelt beside him. “What?”

He pointed to the bottom row of DVDs. I read the titles.
High Fidelity
.
Better Off Dead
.
Say Anything
.
Grosse Pointe Blank.
All John Cusack movies.

“I knew it,” I breathed, thinking of the demon's coincidental resemblance to the actor. “I knew he was a fan. He's always denied it.”

“Wait'll we tell Peter and Hugh,” crowed Cody. He pulled
Better Off Dead
off the shelf. “This one's his best.”

I pulled out
Being John Malkovich,
my tense mood momentarily relaxed. “No way. This one is.”

“That one's too weird.”

I glanced up at the plasma screen, a huge gash slashing across its surface. “Normally I'd suggest we have a showdown to settle the point, but somehow I don't think there'll be any viewings for a while here.”

Cody followed my gaze and grimaced at the massacre. “What a waste. This nephilim's a real bastard.”

“No doubt,” I agreed, standing up. “It's no wonder—”

I froze. Everything froze.
A real bastard.

“Georgina?” asked Cody curiously. “You all right?”

I closed my eyes, reeling. “Oh my God.”
A real bastard.

I thought then about the entire trail of nephilim events, how from the very beginning Jerome had been warning us away. Ostensibly, his actions had been to keep us safe, but there had been no reason not to explain nephilim to us, no real danger to us in understanding the nature of our adversary. Yet Jerome had stayed tight-lipped about it, growing irrationally angry when any of us got too close. When Cody had first posited the “rogue angel” theory, I had written the secrecy off to embarrassment from the other side. Yet, it wasn't their side that had something to hide. It was ours.

Click, click. Once started, the dominoes in my head tumbled forward in a rush. I thought about Harrington's book:
the corrupted angels taught “charms and enchantments” to their wives while their offspring ran wild…
Charms. Like the obsolete one on Jerome's wall.
It's to remind me who we're dealing with—as if there was any possible way I could forget,
he had explained offhandedly.

Carter had told me demons generally get into hunting down nephilim. Nanette had wanted to come and help with this one, but Jerome wouldn't let her, thus minimizing those involved. Carter he had kept on hand for the kill, however.
Wouldn't Jerome want to do it himself?
I had wondered, but the angel had evaded answering.

Still the dominoes fell.
Nephilim inherit a lot more than half their parent's power, though they can never exceed it.
Jerome's words to us last week, again spoken casually, just after my attack. Only minutes ago, I had wondered at his confidence at being stronger than the nephilim, questioning how he could be so certain. But of course he could be. Divine genetics had already dictated the parameters.

“Georgina? Where are you going?” Cody exclaimed as I strode out of the room, back toward the still-roaring argument down the hallway.

“Look,” Carter was saying, “it won't hurt anything to just—”

“It's yours,” I cried to Jerome, attempting to stare him down—difficult, since he was taller than me. “The nephilim is yours.”

“My problem?”

“No! You know what I mean. Your child. Your son…or daughter…or whatever.”

Silence descended, and Jerome stared at me with those piercing black eyes, boring right into my soul. I expected at any moment to be blasted across the room. Instead, all he asked was, “So?”

Startled at his mild response, I swallowed. “So…so…why didn't you just tell us? From the beginning? Why such secrecy?”