Richelle Mead: Succubus Shadows

“What’s left? Riverdance? Square dancing? And do not even suggest jazz. I saw Newsies and was traumatized for, like, five years.”

“Harsh,” I said. “You could still probably wear your T-shirts with jazz dancing. I know you must have a ‘Dancing Queen’ shirt somewhere.” His shirt today sported Chuck Norris. “Unless, of course, you wanted some variety. Square dancers have some pretty sweet costumes.”

He shook his head in exasperation. “I’ll leave the dancing getup to you. And no, no ‘Dancing Queen’ shirt yet—though I do have an Abba one. I think a ‘Dancing Queen’ shirt would be better for you anyway, not me.” His eyes moved from my face to what he could see of my body at the table. “You look like you could go dancing right now.”

I started to feel myself flush at his gaze and immediately utilized shape-shifting to nix it. The unseasonably warm weather lent itself to sundresses, and I had another on today. It was a cream-colored trapeze, sleeveless with a keyhole top that may or may not have been showing managerial-appropriate cleavage. He wasn’t ogling me or anything, but I had learned long ago that Seth was good at keeping his emotions off of his face. I wondered what went through his mind. Simple aesthetic admiration? Lust? Disapproval of non-managerial cleavage?

“This old thing?” I asked breezily, uncomfortable for reasons I couldn’t explain.

“You were wearing that color the first time we met.” He suddenly seemed embarrassed. “Not sure why I remember that.”

“You don’t,” I said. “I was wearing purple.” Now I felt flustered to remember that.

He frowned in a way I found cute. “Were you? Oh, yeah. I guess you were. The violet top and flowered skirt.”

Every detail. If he’d mentioned me wearing a snakeskin jacket, I might have passed out. Yet, I had a feeling he did remember that. Probably my shoes and the way I’d styled my hair too. An awkward silence grew. I might have been keeping the flush off of my face, but there was warmth spreading through me. And only half of it was desire. The rest was something else…something sweeter and deeper.

I cleared my throat. “What’s the book about? Cady and O’Neill, right?”

He nodded, looking grateful for the subject change. “The usual. Mystery and intrigue, sexual tension and life-threatening situations.” He hesitated. “It’s the last one.”

“I—what?” I felt my jaw drop. Whatever romantic feelings that had been stirring in me immediately got pushed to the back burner. “You mean like…the end of the series?” Seth had written a lot of mysteries over his career, but Cady and O’Neill—his intrepid art and archaeology explorer duo—was his flagship series. “Why?”

He shrugged, eyes moving back to the laptop screen. “Because it’s time.”

“How…how will you make your living?”

His smile turned wry as he looked back up at me. “I’ve written other books that aren’t about them, Georgina. Besides, you don’t think my fans’ll have enough faith to follow me to a new series?”

“True,” I said softly. “We’ll follow you anywhere.” I’d meant to say “they’ll,” but it was too late.

“I hope so,” he said, averting his eyes for a moment. When he looked back, I saw a spark of excitement. “But I’m actually into doing something new. I’ve got this idea—and it’s really great. I just want to lose myself in it, you know?” I did know. I’d seen him forget parts of his real life plenty of times while caught up in a book. I wondered if this new project he was so enthusiastic about would intensify that zeal.

“So you’ve got the ending for Cady and O’Neill figured out?” I asked.

“No,” he said with a sigh, glow dimming. “That’s the problem. I don’t know how this is going to end.”

I suddenly wondered if he was still talking about the books. Our gazes met again, and whatever might have come next was interrupted when Beth appeared at my side. “Georgina? A friend of yours is here to see you.”

My heart leapt. Roman. Roman had read my note. His advice on that eerie siren song was about the only thing that could have dragged me away from Seth. I sprang up from my seat, giving Seth an apologetic look. “I’ve got to go.”

He nodded, some troubled emotion in his eyes that I couldn’t identify. That troubled me in return. He might be good at keeping his emotions off of his face, but at one time, I’d been pretty good at figuring them out.

“No problem,” he said. Wistfulness? Was that the mystery emotion?

I couldn’t ponder it any longer. Roman was more important. I took the steps downstairs two at a time, anxious to see him. But when I reached the registers, where Beth had said my friend was waiting, it wasn’t Roman I saw. It was Cody.

Or, well, I think it was.

It took me a moment to figure it out. He was dressed all in black—and not just jeans and a T-shirt. We were talking full regalia: a studded-leather jacket, steel-toed boots, and an—ugh—mesh shirt. His blond hair had black streaks in it, and heavy black eyeliner and lipstick over white foundation completed the look. I didn’t know what to say, so I simply grabbed his arm and dragged him into my office before anyone else could see him.

“What the hell are you doing?” The sun had only just gone down, which meant he must have doubled the speed limit to make it here so quickly.

“I’m here to see Gabrielle,” he explained, casting an anxious glance at my doorway. “Where is she? I wanted to get here before you guys closed.”

“She’s not working tonight.” His face fell, but I couldn’t help but add, “And honestly, I think that’s a good thing.”

“Why? Peter had a copy of The Seattle Sinner, and after going through it, we thought this would be the way to get her attention. He helped dress me.”

“Wait. Peter had a copy of—? Never mind. I don’t want to know. Believe me, you would have gotten her attention. But I’m not sure it’d be the kind you want.”

Cody gestured to his attire. “But she’s into this scene. You said yourself that she dresses all in black.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “But yours seems…I don’t know. Overdone. People like her are always on the lookout for wannabes. You try too hard, and you’ll just put her further off.”

He sighed and slumped into my desk’s chair, dejected. “Then what am I supposed to do? That newspaper was my only lead.”

“Well, for starters, don’t let Peter dress you again. Ever. As for the rest…I don’t know. Let me ask around and see if I can get you more to go on. Just please don’t wear this outfit again.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

Just then, Doug stuck his head in. It wasn’t his night to work, so I was kind of surprised, but not nearly as surprised as he was.

“Hey, Kincaid, I had a question about the schedu—Jesus Fucking Christ! What is that?”

“It’s Cody,” I said.

Doug walked gingerly into the office and peered at Cody’s face. “Well, I’ll be damned. It is. I thought it was the ghost of Gene Simmons.”

“Gene Simmons isn’t dead,” said Cody.

“Cody’s trying to impress Gabrielle,” I explained. Doug opened his mouth, no doubt to comment on the impossibility of that, but I held up a hand to stop him. “Yeah, yeah. I know. What did you need?”

Doug needed to switch some shifts, and without his ladylove around, Cody decided to leave. I let him out the back door, not wanting to cause a panic in the store. Once the schedule was set, Doug and I bantered about the Cody and Gabrielle situation. Before long, I lost track of time, and closing announcements were being made on the intercom. Doug said his farewells—half afraid I’d put him to work if he stayed—and I set off to finish my own tasks. My meeting with Erik was getting closer, and I felt a mix of excitement and apprehension.