Succubus Blues. Richelle Mead

      “So are you ready to tell me who you got to do it, Georgie?”

      “I didn’t get anyone to do it! I can’t even—I don’t even understand what this is about. Duane can’t be dead.”

      “You admitted to me last night you two got in a fight.”

      “Yes…”

      “And you threatened him.”

      “Yeah, but I was joking…”

      “I think he told me you said something about him never coming near you again?”

      “I was angry and upset! He was scaring me. This is crazy. Besides, Duane can’t be dead.”

      That was the only piece of sanity I could cling to in all of this, so I kept repeating it to them and to myself. Immortals were, by definition, immortal. End of story.

      “Don’t you know anything about vampires?” the archdemon asked curiously.

      “Like that they can’t die?”

      Amusement flickered in Carter’s gray eyes; Jerome found me less funny.

      “I’m asking you one last time, Georgina. Did you or did you not have Duane killed? Just answer the question. Yes or no.”

      “No,” I said firmly.

      Jerome glanced at Carter. The angel studied me, his lank blond hair falling forward to partially cover his face. I realized then why Carter was along for the ride tonight. Angels can always discern truth from lies. At last, he nodded sharply to Jerome.

      “Glad I passed the test,” I muttered.

      But they weren’t paying attention to me anymore.

      “Well,” observed Jerome grimly, “I guess we know what this means.”

      “Well, we don’t know for sure…”

      “I do.”

      Carter gave him a meaningful look, and several seconds of silence passed. I’d always suspected the two were communicating mentally in such moments, something we lesser immortals could not do unassisted.

      “So Duane’s really dead?” I asked.

      “Yes,” said Jerome, remembering I was there. “Very much so.”

      “Who killed him then? Now that we’ve determined it wasn’t me?”

      The two glanced at each other and shrugged, neither answering. Negligent parents, both of them. Carter pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up. Lord, I hated it when they got this way.

      Finally Jerome said, “A vampire hunter.”

      I stared. “Really? Like that girl on TV?”

      “Not exactly.”

      “So where are you going tonight?” asked Carter pleasantly.

      “To Seth Mortensen’s signing. And don’t change the subject. I want to know about this vampire hunter.”

      “Are you going to sleep with him?”

      “I—what?” For half a moment, I thought the angel was asking me about the vampire hunter. “You mean Seth Mortensen?”

      Carter exhaled smoke. “Sure. I mean, if I were a succubus obsessed with a mortal author, that’s what I’d do. Besides, doesn’t your side always want more celebrities?”

      “We’ve already got plenty of celebrities,” Jerome said in an undertone.

      Sleep with Seth Mortensen? Good grief. It was the most preposterous thing I’d ever heard. It was appalling. If I absorbed his life force, there was no telling how long it’d be until his next book came out.

      “No! Of course not.”

      “Then what are you going to do to get noticed?”

      “Noticed?”

      “Sure. I mean, the guy probably sees tons of fans on a regular basis. Don’t you want to stand out in some way?”

      Surprise washed over me. I hadn’t even considered that. Should I have? My jaded nature made it difficult to find pleasure in many things nowadays. Seth Mortensen books were one of my few escapes. Should I acknowledge that and attempt to connect with the novels’ creator? Earlier today, I’d mocked run-of-the-mill fans. Was I about to become one of them?

      “Well…I mean, Paige will probably introduce the staff privately to him. I’ll sort of stand out then.”

      “Yes, of course.” Carter put out the cigarette in my kitchen sink. “I’m sure he never gets the opportunity to meet bookstore management.”

      I opened my mouth to protest, but Jerome cut me off. “Enough.” He gave Carter another of those meaningful looks. “We need to go.”

      “I—wait a minute!” Carter had succeeded in derailing me off the topic after all. I couldn’t believe it. “I want to know more about this vampire hunter.”

      “All you need to know is that you should be careful, Georgie. Extremely careful. I am not joking about this.”

      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