Richelle Mead - Succubus Revealed

“Well,” he said at one point, “we could do two more games, but your team seems terribly worn out. Perhaps once they have some time to recover mentally and physically, we can—”

Jerome stopped and cocked his head, like he was hearing music the rest of us couldn’t. A strange look came over his face.

“Shit,” he said.

“What?” asked Nanette. She seemed to realize something other than bowling had caught his attention. Near me, Carter had gone perfectly still.

“I have to go,” said Jerome.

And he went. Just like that, the demon vanished. I glanced around quickly, but no humans seemed to have noticed, thanks largely to our part of the bowling alley being deserted. Still, teleporting out like that in a public place was pretty irregular behavior for a greater immortal. Even irreverent demons generally knew enough to be discreet among humans.

“Well,” said Nanette. “I guess there’s no such thing as good winners. Sportsmanship is a lost art.”

I thought that was a stretch coming from her, particularly after her team’s verbal tirade. In fact, they soon all degenerated into arguing amongst themselves, each one making a plea to Nanette about how the loss had been someone else’s fault.

“Georgina,” said Carter, drawing my attention back. The smile he’d worn at our victory was gone. “I think it’s a good idea if you go home.”

“Why?” I asked. “We should celebrate.” For the first time since the fallout with Seth, I actually felt like having fun with my friends. “We need to call Roman too.”

“Let’s go to my place,” said Peter. “I can make up a meze platter in no time.”

“Fine, fine,” said Carter, casting a glance over at Mei. She was still in her seat, trying to observe all conversations at once. “Let’s just leave now. I’ll teleport you when we’re in the parking lot.”

I tried to protest that, but Carter was too insistent on simply getting us all out of there. Minutes later, my teammates and I were headed out to the parking lot, still crowing over our victory and how Peter was the undisputed hero of the night.

“Georgina?”

I came to a halt. There, standing near my car, was Seth. Even in the harsh light of the parking lamps, everything about him seemed soft and inviting. The messy hair. The way he stood with his hands in his pockets. The Flock of Seagulls shirt that I could just make out underneath his flannel coat.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, taking a few steps forward. My friends had come to an uncertain stop behind me. They all knew about my rocky state of affairs with Seth and watched me nervously.

Seth glanced at my backup and then at me. “I . . . I wanted to talk to you.”

“That’s not what you said the last time we talked,” I said. The harsh words were out before I could stop them. I knew I should jump on the chance to talk, on Seth’s willingness to talk at last . . . but some hurt place in me responded first.

“I know,” said Seth. “I probably don’t deserve it. But . . . I’ve been thinking about a lot of things, and then there’s all this weirdness going on I don’t quite understand . . . like, my mom moving in with you? And do you know why all these toy ponies keep showing up on Terry’s doorstep?”

“Why don’t you come over to our place and have your heart-to-heart there,” said Peter. “It’ll go better with hummus and wine.”

Staring at Seth, I felt my heart ache. This could be it, just like Carter had said at New Year’s, about how Seth and I still managed to come back to each other. I swallowed, both scared and anxious. “Maybe I should meet you guys later,” I said. “Seth and I can go somewhere and talk first.”

“Georgina,” said Carter anxiously, “you really need to—”

The car seemed to come out of nowhere, and, considering the way things worked in my world, it might literally have done so. All I knew is that one moment we were all standing around in the dark parking lot, and the next, a car was speeding toward us. Or rather, toward me. I couldn’t discern any make or model and certainly not the driver. I probably wouldn’t have known him or her anyway. All I saw were rapidly approaching headlights, heading toward where I stood alone, out in the open between my friends and Seth.

When the car hit me, there was an intense moment of pain that radiated through my whole body. Then I felt nothing. My sight shifted, and I had the surreal sense of looking down on my sprawled body while my friends hurried to me and the car sped away. Some were trying to talk to me, some were calling 911. Some were talking to each other.

The scene began to dissolve in my vision, fading to black. And not just the scene. Me. I was dissolving. I was losing all substance. I was becoming nothing.

But as I faded away, as the world faded away, I heard a few last words from my friends before their voices also faded.

“Georgina! Georgina!” That was Seth, saying my name like a prayer.

“She’s not breathing,” said Cody. “And she doesn’t have a pulse. Hugh! Do something. You’re a doctor.”

“I can’t,” Hugh said softly. “This is beyond me. Her soul . . . her soul’s not here.”

“Of course it is!” said Cody. “Souls stay with their immortals.”

“Not in this situation,” said Hugh.

“What are you talking about?” exclaimed Seth, voice cracking. “Carter! You can fix this. You can fix anything. You have to save her.”

“This is beyond me too,” said Carter. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s still one thing you can do,” said Hugh. “One thing you have to do.”

“Yes,” agreed Carter, voice full of sorrow. “I’ll go get Roman. . . .”

And then they were all gone.

I was gone.

The blackness began to lighten into swirls of color, colors that eventually resolved into lines and shapes around me. I gazed around as the world formed and soon felt solidity beneath my feet. My own body was taking on substance again, the light and hollow sensation disappearing. Feeling and movement returned to me, and for half a second, I thought I had imagined everything that happened in the parking lot.

Then I was struck by a sudden and overwhelming sense of wrongness .

First off, as I blinked the world into focus, it became obvious that I was no longer at the bowling alley. I was inside a room with vaulted ceilings and no windows. It appeared to be a courtroom, complete with a jury box and judge’s stand. All the décor was black: red-veined black marble on the walls and floor, black wood trim, black leather chairs. Everything was very sleek and modern, clean and sterile.

The next thing I noticed was that I wasn’t in the body I’d just been in. My perspective on the world was from a greater height. The weight of my limbs and muscles felt different too, and I wore a simple linen dress instead of my Unholy Rollers shirt. Although I couldn’t see myself straight-on, I had a good idea which body I was wearing: the first one. My mortal one. The one I’d been born to.

Yet it was neither the body nor unfamiliar room that felt so wrong. They were surprises, yes, but nothing I couldn’t adapt to. The wrongness came from nothing tangible. It was more a feeling in the air, a sensation that permeated my every pore. Even with the vaulted ceilings, the room felt stuffy and tight, like there was no air circulation whatsoever. And even though there wasn’t any actual odor, I just kept imagining stagnation and decay. My skin crawled. I felt smothered by hot, humid air—yet was also chilled to the bone.

I was in Hell.

I had never been there, but you didn’t really need to have been to know it.

I was sitting at a table on the left side of the room, facing the judge’s bench. Behind me, separated by a railing, was the audience seating. I squirmed around to peer at it. Right before my eyes, people began to materialize in the seats. They were wildly different in appearance: male and female, all races, various states of dress. Some were as prim and neat as the courtroom around us. Some looked like it had been quite an ordeal for them to get out of bed. There was no uniformity to their appearances. There weren’t even immortal auras to tip me off, but I was willing to wager anything that they were all demons.