Succubus Shadows. Richelle Mead

I was specifically being targeted. Or cursed. Or simply imbued with bad luck. Yes, my life was a never-ending spiral, doomed to repeat the same patterns of annoying immortal threats—and miserable romantic situations.

      “Hello?”

      “Erik? This is Georgina.”

      “Miss Kincaid,” he said in his usual genteel voice. “A pleasure to hear from you.”

      “I need your help with something. Again. Are you around? I wanted to swing by before work.”

      There was a pause, and then I heard regret in his voice. “Unfortunately, I have to run errands and close the store today. I’ll be back this evening. When do you finish work?”

      “I’ll probably be free at ten.” Another evening shift.

      “I can meet you then.”

      I felt bad. His store usually closed around five. “No, no…that’s too late. We could try tomorrow….”

      “Miss Kincaid,” he said gently, “I’m always happy to see you. It’s no difficulty at all.”

      I still felt guilty when we disconnected. Erik was getting old. Shouldn’t he be in bed by ten? Nine? There was nothing to be done for it now, though. He said he’d do it, and I’d seen him when he was obstinate. I had nothing to do but wait now and hope Roman would surface before I had to work. When he didn’t, I simply left him a note saying I needed to talk to him immediately. It was the best I could do.

      At work, no one was out or—best of all—hungover. I was caught up on my paperwork, which gave me a lot of free time. Whether that was good or bad, I couldn’t say. It kept me from messing up my job but merely left me in a cycle of rumination.

      It was nearly closing time when I noticed Seth at his usual station in the café. Maddie had worked the day shift, which meant I didn’t have to face their cute couple antics. He caught my eye as I walked through, and against my better judgment, I sat down across from him.

      “How goes it?” I asked. My usual romantic fixation with him was put on pause when I saw that he looked agitated.

      He tapped the screen in annoyance. “Bad. I’ve been staring at this screen for two hours and haven’t gotten anything done.” He paused. “No, that’s not quite true. I ordered a Wonder Twins T-shirt and watched some videos on YouTube.”

      I smiled and propped my chin up in my hand. “Doesn’t sound like a bad day’s work.”

      “It is when it’s been going on all week. My muse is an ungrateful harlot who’s abandoned me to actually come up with my own plots.”

      “That’s a record for you,” I observed. I’d seen him have fits of writer’s block when we dated, but it never lasted more than a few days. “When’s your deadline?”

      “Not for a while, but still…” He sighed. “I don’t like to be stalled out. I’m not really sure what to do with my days if I’m not writing.”

      I started to say that he must have wedding stuff to do but then thought better of it. I kept to lighter topics. “Maybe it’s time to pick up a hobby. Fencing? Origami?”

      That slightly bemused smile that was so characteristic for him crossed his lips. “I tried latch hook once.”

      “You did not.”

      “I did. Do you know how hard that is to do?”

      “It’s actually pretty easy,” I said, trying to hide my laughter. “Kids do it, you know. Your nieces could probably do it.”

      “They can. And you’re not making me feel better.” But those beautiful brown eyes were amused. I studied them for a moment, loving the way they would sometimes turn amber. A moment later, I snapped myself out of my lovesick spell.

      “There’s always dancing,” I said mischievously.

      This made him laugh too. “I think we’ve proven how futile that is.” I’d tried twice to teach him how to do it—swing and salsa—all with disastrous results. Seth’s talents lay in his mind, not his body. Well, upon further consideration, I realized that wasn’t entirely true.

      “You haven’t found the right kind,” I said. I’d given up on hiding my grin.

      “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