Richelle Mead: Succubus Blues

I swallowed, hearing the iron in the demon's voice. "But I'm not a vampire."

"I don't care. These hunter types sometimes follow vampires around, hoping to find others. You could be implicated by association. Lay low. Avoid being alone. Stay with others—mortal or immortal, it doesn't matter. Maybe you can follow up on your favor for Hugh and score some more souls for our side while you're at it."

I rolled my eyes at that as the two walked to the door.

"I mean it. Be careful. Keep a low profile. Don't get involved with this."

"And," added Carter with a wink, "say hi to Seth Mortensen for me."

With that, the two left, closing the door gently behind them. A formality really, since either of them could have just teleported out. Or blown my door apart.

I turned to Aubrey. She had watched the proceedings cautiously from the back of my sofa, tail twitching.

"Well," I told her, reeling. "What am I supposed to make of that?"

Duane was actually dead? I mean, yeah, he was a bastard, and I had been pretty pissed when I threatened him last night, but I'd never actually wanted him to be really dead. And what about this vampire hunter business? Why was I supposed to be careful when—

"Shit!"

I had just glanced at my microwave clock. It coolly informed me I needed to return to the bookstore ASAP. Pushing Duane out of my brain, I dashed to my bedroom and stared at myself in the mirror. Aubrey followed more sluggishly.

What to wear? I could just keep my current outfit. The sweater and khakis combination looked both respectable and subdued, though the color scheme blended a bit too well with my light brown hair. It was a librarian sort of outfit. Did I want to look subdued? Maybe. Like I had told Carter, I really didn't want to do anything that might solicit the romantic interest of my favorite author in the whole world.

Still...

Still, I remembered what the angel had said about getting noticed. I didn't want to be just another face in Seth Mortensen's crowd. This was the final stop on his latest tour. No doubt he'd seen thousands of fans in the last month, fans who blurred together into a sea of bland faces, making their inane comments. I had advised the guy at the counter to be innovative with his questions, and I intended to behave the same way with my appearance.

Five minutes later, I stood in front of the mirror once more, this time clad in a silk tank top, deep violet and low-cut, paired with a floral chiffon skirt. The skirt almost covered my thighs and swirled when I spun. It would have made a great dancing outfit. Stepping into strappy brown heels, I glanced over at Aubrey for confirmation.

"What do you think? Too sexy?"

She began cleaning her tail.

"It is sexy," I conceded, "but it's classy sexy. The hair helps, I think."

I had pulled my long hair up into a romantic sort of bun, leaving wavy locks to frame my face and enhance my eyes. Momentary shape-shifting made them turn greener than usual. Changing my mind, I let them go back to their normal gold-and-green-flecked hazel.

When Aubrey still refused to acknowledge how awesome I looked, I grabbed my snakeskin coat and glared at her. "I don't care what you think. This outfit was a good call."

I left the apartment with my copy of The Glasgow Pact and walked back to work, impervious to the drizzle. Another perk of shape-shifting. Fans milled inside the main retail area, eager to see the man whose latest book still dominated the bestseller lists, even after five weeks. I squeezed past the group, making my way toward the stairs that led to the second floor.

"Young adult books are over there by the wall." Doug's friendly voice drifted nearby. "Let me know if you need anything else."

He turned away from the customer he'd been helping, caught sight of me, and promptly dropped the stack of books he'd been holding.

Customers stepped back, politely watching him kneel down to retrieve the books. I recognized the covers immediately. They were paperbacks of Seth Mortensen's older titles.

"Sacrilege," I commented. "Letting those touch the ground. You'll have to burn them now, like a flag."

Ignoring me, Doug gathered up the books and then ushered me off out of earshot. "Nice of you to go home and change into something more comfortable. Christ, can you even bend over in that?"

"What, do you think I'll have to tonight?"

"Well, that depends. I mean, Warren's here after all."

"Harsh, Doug. Very harsh."

"You bring it on yourself, Kincaid." He gave me a reluctant, appreciative glance just before we started climbing the stairs. "You do look pretty good, though."

"Thanks. I wanted Seth Mortensen to notice me."

"Believe me, unless he's gay, he'll notice you. Probably even then too."

"I don't look too slutty, do I?"

"No."

"Or cheap?"

"No."

"I was going for classy sexy. What do you think?"

"I think I'm done feeding your ego. You already know how you look."

We crested the top of the stairs. A mass of chairs had been set up, covering most of the cafe's normal seating area and spreading out into part of the gardening and maps section of books. Paige, the store manager and our superior, busily attempted some sort of wiring acrobatics with the microphone and sound system. I didn't know what this building had been used for before Emerald City Books moved in, but it was not an ideal venue for acoustics and large groups.

"I'm going to help her," Doug told me, kindly chivalrous. Paige was three months pregnant. "I'd advise you do something that doesn't involve leaning more than twenty degrees in any one direction. Oh, and if somebody tries to get you to touch your elbows together behind your back, don't fall for it."

I gave him a sharp jab in the ribs, nearly making him lose the books again.

Bruce, still manning the espresso counter, made me my fourth white chocolate mocha of the day, and I wandered over to the geography books to drink it while I waited for things to pick up. Glancing beside me, I recognized the guy I'd discussed Seth Mortensen with earlier. He still held his copy of The Glasgow Pact.

"Hey," I said.

He jumped at the sound of my voice, having been absorbed in a travel book about Texas.

"Sorry," I told him. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"I—no, you d-didn't," he stammered. His eyes assessed me from head to toe in one quick glance, lingering ever so briefly on my hips and breasts but longest on my face. "You changed clothes." Apparently realizing the myriad implications behind such an admission, he added hastily, "Not that that's bad. I mean that's good. Er, well, that is—"

His embarrassment growing, he turned from me and tried to awkwardly replace the Texas book back on the shelf, upside down. I hid my smile. This guy was too adorable. I didn't run into many shy guys anymore. Modern-day dating seemed to demand men make as great a spectacle of themselves as possible, and unfortunately, women seemed to really go for it. Okay, even I went for it sometimes. But shy guys deserved a break too, and I decided a little harmless flirting with him would be good for his ego while I waited for the signing to start. He probably had terrible luck with women.

"Let me do that," I offered, leaning across him. My hands touched his as I took the book from him, replacing it carefully on the shelf, front cover out. "There."

I stepped back as though to admire my handiwork, making sure I stood very close to him, our shoulders nearly touching. "It's important to keep up appearances with books," I explained. "Image goes a long way in this business."

He dared a look over at me, still nervous but steadily recovering his composure. "I go more for content."

"Really?" I repositioned slightly so that we were touching again, the soft flannel of his shirt brushing my bare skin. "Because I could have sworn a moment ago you were pretty caught up in outside appearance."