Gentlemen Prefer Succubi

She paused for a long moment, the only sound the squealing of the tires and other cars as they honked at us. “Speaking of which, if your vamp master is an unscrupulous type-and most are-then it’s a safe bet that he’s going to try to use you for his own devices. I made a deal with my master, and you can do the same with yours, but they’re generally not good deals to make. I had to give up two hundred years of my free will to get him off my back for the next two hundred. And when those finish, I have to answer to him again.”

I thought of the Dumpster and what the homeless man had said: Black-haired. Real tall. He kissed your cheek and then dumped you in there.

“I think they know that I’m still alive,” I admitted.

“I thought that might be the case,” said Remy. “They seem to have their fingers in everything, and they’re going to try to get to you before the dealers do.”

“What are dealers?”

“Most of ’em are angels, but not the kind like Noah. These are the ones with access to Heaven. Most Sucks I know call them dealers because that’s what they do. They offer you a deal, which turns out to be more like a hit of drugs for us undead types, and you end up addicted. You need to avoid dealers most of all, because they tend to offer things that you feel you can’t pass up. It’s best to never get involved.”

Silence hovered between us.

“What are you thinking?” Remy’s voice floated through the silent car.

“I’m thinking that the clothes, the new body, and the food can’t hide the fact that this is a major shit deal,” I said, unable to keep the fear and anger out of my voice. I clung to the chicken bar in the car, keeping my eyes squeezed shut. “If I’m stuck between angels and vampires that want me to do their dirty work, and I have to have sex every seven days-”

“Two,” Remy corrected.

My eyes flew open just in time to see her screech through a four-way stop, slamming on her horn as she cut off a Buick. “What did you say?”

“I lied to you earlier. It’s actually sex every two days. I just didn’t want you to get alarmed.”

Alarmed?

Alarmed?

I wasn’t alarmed, I was furious. “You’re kidding me, right?”

She shook her head, put on her turn signal, and raced up a long driveway. “Nope. Two days.”

“Before meeting Noah, I hadn’t had sex in a year and a half. Or even dated in a year and a half.”

Remy giggled girlishly. “Really? How funny.”

“I’m not laughing,” I snapped. “I don’t go around getting into bed with every guy that I date, either. I only have sex in relationships.”

She winked at me and reached for her cheeseburger off the dashboard. “That’s not what I heard outside the confessional.”

I gasped. “I think I hate you.”

Remy laughed at my outrage. “No, you don’t. Try to think of me as your new best friend. Trust me when I say you’ll want to stick with me for the next few weeks. It’s much safer that way.”

Our frightening roller coaster of a ride had taken us to a sprawling mansion that should have been in Beverly Hills. Trimmed hedges adorned a perfectly sculpted lawn, the driveway was longer than the street I’d grown up on, and twinkling lanterns lined the path to the door. The very big, stained-glass door with a beautiful rose window above it could have been copied from the cathedral at Notre Dame. “Uh, is this your place?” I asked as Remy parked.

She nodded, grabbing her bags out of the back of the car. “Fully warded against all angels, vampires, and demons. Magical protection to keep them out. You can stay with me, until we establish your boundaries with all of the gang. Come on, I’ll show you your room.”

I wobbled after her on the cobblestones. “Did you just say demons?”

CHAPTER NINE

The room Remy graciously gave me for my personal use was bigger than my apartment on the far side of town. The angry part of me was disgusted, but the girly part of me wanted to frolic in the massive closet, the canopy bed, and the sunken bathtub with power jets. I let the frolic side win.

After I hung up all my new clothes, tested all the expensive shampoos and lotions on the vanity, and took an hour-long bubble bath, I poked through my new clothes. My mouth watered as the faint scent of breakfast hit my nostrils, and I decided to follow the scent of bacon downstairs. I dressed in my new silk pajamas-the most decent item of clothing I now owned-and searched through the mansion until I found Remy, my cell phone in hand.

My new roommate was in the kitchen, sitting at the marble breakfast bar with a cup of coffee. Her silky black hair hung in an elegant, smooth ponytail, and she was dressed in a beautiful lounge set of sky blue. She looked like an ad for Elegant Living magazine. “Back so soon?”

I thrust the phone at her. “First things first. If I call in sick to work again, I’ll get fired for sure.”

She gave me a curious look. “And? You don’t need that job. You’re with me now, and what I can’t provide, Noah will.”

“As swell as that sounds, I’d rather not be a kept woman, or kept succubus, or whatever I am now. Besides, I like my job.” It wasn’t much of a lie; I did like it most of the time. There were just aspects of it I hated-like my boss. “Just because I’m undead doesn’t mean I have to totally change my life.”

At least I hoped it didn’t mean that.

Remy smiled and put down her coffee cup. “We’re not undead. We’re immortal.”

“I’m immortal?”

“Essentially. There are only two ways for our kind to die.”

“And how is that?”

“Usually by proxy. If both of your masters die, you die.”

That sounded like a crappy catch. “And what happens then?”

She lifted her shoulders in a dainty shrug and avoided eye contact. “You cease to exist on this plane.”

Gee. “Do I still exist in another plane?”

Another vague shrug. “I suppose. It’s not something our kind likes to talk about.”

I ignored the feeling of dread in my stomach. I wouldn’t think about that now; I’d think about that later.

I shoved the phone under her nose again. “Regardless, I need you to call in to work for me.” I wasn’t budging on this. “Do you know how hard a good museum job is to come by in this city? And my boss will smell a scam a mile away, so you need to, like, be my doctor or something. Tell her I have something harmless, okay?” I took the phone from her fingers and dialed the number before she could protest.

Remy grinned at me and held the phone up to her ear, waiting. I assume someone picked up on the other end, for Remy cleared her throat and began in a businesslike tone, “Yes, I should like to speak to …” She paused to look at me.

“Ms. Cliver, museum director.”

“A Ms. Cliver, if you please. She would be the supervisor of a Ms. Jacqueline Brighton.” Gone was the playful, teasing Remy voice. In its place was a clipped British accent. She flashed me a wink while we waited. “Yes, Ms. Cliver? This is Dr. Summore. Jacqueline Brighton is a patient of mine, and she wanted me to let you know that she is having an adverse reaction to the anesthesia she received. I’m afraid we cannot release her from the hospital for several more days. She will remain under my care until then.”

There was a pause in the conversation and Remy nodded, making a few “mm-hmm” noises of agreement. “It was a surgical procedure of a personal nature.” Another pause. “Breast augmentation.”

I gasped and tried to snatch the phone away from her. Remy sidestepped me easily and continued to talk into the phone. “I understand, Ms. Cliver,” she responded, looking me straight in the eye and trying not to laugh. “Yes, I will tell her when she recovers consciousness. Yes, yes, of course. Good day to you.” She snapped the phone