Richelle Mead: Succubus Shadows

I racked my brain. “I saw her reading The Seattle Sinner the other day on her break.”

“What’s that?” Cody asked.

“It’s our local industrial-Goth-fetish-horror-S&M-angst underground newspaper,” said Peter.

We all turned and stared at him.

“So I’ve heard,” he added hastily.

I glanced back at Cody with a shrug. “It’s a start. We’ve got it in the store.”

“Are you guys done with the boring love stuff?” a voice suddenly asked. “It’s time to get onto the real action.”

The new voice made me jump, and then I felt the familiar crystalline aura signaling an angel’s presence. Carter materialized in the one empty chair at the table—Peter had set for six, hoping Jerome would show. Seattle’s worst dressed angel sat back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest and expression typically sardonic. His jeans and flannel shirt looked like they’d gone through a wood chipper, but the cashmere knit hat resting on his shoulder-length blond hair was pristine. It had been a gift from me, and I couldn’t help a smile. Carter’s gray eyes glinted with amusement when he noticed me.

Hanging out with an angel might be weird in some hellish circles, but it had become pretty standard in our group. We were used to Carter’s comings and goings, as well as his cryptic—and often infuriating—remarks. He was the closest Jerome had to a best friend and always had a particular interest in me and my love life. He’d let up a little since the recent debacle with Seth.

Carter might be commonplace to us—but not to Simone. Her blue eyes went wide when he appeared, her face completely transforming. She leaned over the table, and unless I was mistaken, her neckline had gotten a little lower since my arrival. She shook Carter’s hand.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” she said. “I’m Simone.”

“Carter,” he replied, eyes still amused.

“Simone’s visiting from Charleston,” I said. “It was founded in 1670.”

Carter’s smile twitched a little. “So I’ve heard.”

“You should visit,” she said. “I’d love to show you around. It’s very nice.”

I exchanged astonished looks with Peter, Cody, and Hugh. Simone’s bland demeanor hadn’t lit up exactly, but she’d suddenly become 2 percent more interesting. She wasn’t infatuated with Carter the way Cody was with Gabrielle. She was just trying to bag an angel. Good luck with that, I thought. That was ballsy for any succubus. Certainly angels fell because of love and sex—Jerome was living proof—and I’d even witnessed it once. But Carter? If ever there was a staunchly resistant being, it was him. Except when it came to chain-smoking and hard liquor, of course. Yes, things with Simone had definitely gotten more interesting.

“Sure,” said Carter. “I bet you could show me all sorts of places off the beaten path.”

“Absolutely,” she replied. “You know, there’s an inn there that George Washington had dinner at once.”

I rolled my eyes. I doubted there was any part of Charleston she could show Carter that he didn’t know about. Carter had been around to watch cities like Babylon and Troy rise and fall. For all I knew, he’d personally helped take down Sodom and Gomorrah.

“So what kind of action did you have in mind?” I asked Carter. As entertaining as Simone’s pathetic flirtation might be, I wasn’t sure I was up to American History 101 tonight. “I am not playing ‘Have You Ever’ again.”

“Better,” he said. Out of nowhere, Carter produced Pictionary. And when I say out of nowhere, I meant it.

“No,” said Hugh. “I spent years perfecting my illegible doctor’s signature. I’ve totally lost any artistic aptitude whatsoever.”

“I love Pictionary,” said Simone.

“I think I have some things to do,” I added. I felt a shove on my shoulder and glanced around in surprise, seeing nothing. Then, I knew. Roman apparently still wanted me to entertain him. I sighed. “But I can stay for a little while.”

“Great. That settles it,” said Carter. He turned to Peter. “You got an easel?”

Of course Peter did. Why, I had no clue, but after he’d bought a Roomba and a Betamax player, I’d learned not to ask questions. We split into teams: me, Cody, and Hugh against the others.

I went first. The card I drew was “Watergate.” “Oh, come on, ” I said. “This is ridiculous.”

“Don’t whine,” said Carter, his grin annoyingly smug. “We all take a random chance here.”

They started the timer. I drew some remedial waves that immediately got a “Water!” from Cody. That was promising. Then, I drew what I hoped looked like a wall with a door in it. Apparently, I did too good a job.

“Wall,” said Hugh.

“Door,” said Cody.

I added some vertical lines to the door to emphasize the gate aspect. After a moment’s thought, I drew a plus sign between the water and wall to show their connection.

“Aqueduct,” said Cody.

“A bridge over troubled water,” guessed Hugh.

“Oh my God, ” I groaned.

Unsurprisingly, my time ran out before my teammates could figure it out, though not before they guessed “Hoover Dam” and “Hans Brinker.” With a groan, I flounced onto the couch. The other team then got a shot at it.

“Watergate,” said Carter right away.

Hugh turned on me, face incredulous. “Why didn’t you just draw a gate?”

Simone went after me, and I hoped she’d get “Cuban Missile Crisis” or “Bohr’s Law.” The timer started, and she drew a circle with lines radiating out from it.

“Sun,” said Peter immediately.

“Right!” she said.

I glared at Carter. “You. Are. Cheating.”

“And you’re a bad loser,” he replied.

We played for another hour, but after my team got “Oncology,” “The Devil and Daniel Webster,” and “War of 1812,” and theirs got “Heart,” “Flower,” and “Smile,” I decided to go home. At the door, I heard a wistful sigh in my ear.

“You’re on your own,” I growled to Roman in an undertone.

I left amid protests about being a bad sport and considered myself lucky when Carter said they were going to play Jenga next.

The drive back to West Seattle was quiet this time of night, and after parking underneath my building, I was happy to see that today’s unseasonable heat still hung in the air. Being so close to the water had cooled it slightly, bringing it to a perfect nighttime temperature. On impulse, I walked across the street to the beach, which was actually more like a park: grassy with only a few feet of sand. In Seattle, there were few places that offered much more.

Still, I loved the water and the soft sounds of waves against the shore. A light breeze stirred my hair, and those costly glittering lights shone in the distance. I’d moved here partially to get away from Queen Anne and its regular proximity to Seth, but also because the ocean always brought back memories of my mortal youth. Puget Sound was a far cry from the warm Mediterranean waters I’d grown up near, but it soothed something within me nonetheless. That comfort was bittersweet, of course, but it was an unfortunate tendency of mortals and immortals alike to gravitate toward things we knew would cause us pain.

The water was enchanting, glittering in both moonlight and street light. I stared off at a lit ferry moving toward Bain-bridge Island, then returned my gaze to the lapping waves before me. They seemed to be choreographed into a dance, an alluring pattern that urged me to join in. I might not be able to draw, but dancing was an art I’d carried from my mortal days. The water beckoned, and I could almost hear the music it danced to. It was intoxicating, filled with warmth and love that promised to ease that constant dull ache in my chest, the ache I’d carried since losing Seth….