Succubus Revealed

“I moved from there a few years ago. I was there about . . . oh, I don’t know.” He took a sip of gin, perhaps to help his math skills. “Not that long. Twenty years. I did some good soul brokering, but really, my talents were better appreciated here, you know?”

“When you were there, did you know a vampire named Milton?” I asked. Remembering my conversation with Hugh while I was in the middle of a cheap Vegas bar was weird—but no weirder than hearing Raleigh mentioned twice this week.

“Milton?” Jamie’s eyebrows rose, and some of his good humor dimmed. “Yeah, I know him. Scary son of a bitch. Looks like—”

“Nosferatu?” I suggested.

Jamie nodded solemnly. “How anyone as blatantly vampire as him got by as a covert operative is beyond me.”

Phoebe frowned. “Did you say ‘covert operative’?”

The waiter appeared then with Luis’s drink. Luis motioned for him to stay and glanced around at the rest of us. “Refills? Another gimlet or cosmo? Jamie? You’re drinking Tanqueray, right?”

Jamie looked offended. “Beefeater.”

Luis rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous and disgusting. Bring him some Tanqueray.”

“No!” exclaimed Jamie. “Beefeater. I’m a purist.”

“You have no discrimination,” countered Luis. He looked back at the confused waiter. “Bring one of each. We’ll have a taste test.” The waiter looked relieved and hurried off before someone else contradicted the orders.

“It’s a waste of time,” said Jamie. “No offense, boss man. You’ll see.”

Luis was unmoved. “Beefeater’s for peasants.”

“Jamie,” I tried, “about Milton—”

“Peasants!” I don’t think Luis could’ve insulted Jamie more if he’d called his mother names. “Beefeater is a refined drink, for a refined palate. You know I have infinite respect for you, but clearly, despite your years of worldly experience . . . well . . .” Jamie drunkenly groped for an eloquent way to finish his speech. “You’re wrong.”

Luis laughed, something I couldn’t help but think Jerome most definitely wouldn’t have done if one of his subordinates said he was wrong. “We’ll see, my friend. It’s a complex matter really, coming down to an analysis of both base ingredients and the distillation process.”

“Jamie—” I attempted again.

“That,” declared Jamie, “we can both agree on. And Beefeater is vastly superior in both.”

“Give it up, Fleur,” Bastien told me in a low voice, eyes twinkling. “You can’t compete with gin. Better luck tomorrow.”

I started to protest, but further listening to Luis and Jamie’s debate told me Bastien was right. Jamie was so fixated on defending his gin’s honor that I doubt he would’ve even remembered me asking about Milton.

“Will he be sober tomorrow?” I asked skeptically.

“No,” said Phoebe. “But he’s usually a little less drunk during the first half of the day.”

The gin arrived, and Luis and Jamie became totally consumed with conducting “scientific” examinations on it, involving scent and surface tension. I didn’t really see how the latter made that much of a difference in a taste test, but they seemed to think it was a pretty serious matter.

“Dear God,” I murmured, amazed.

Bastien finished off his cocktail. “When things turn serious, it’s time for me to leave. What do you say, ladies? Would you like to go search out the clubs for some companionship ?”

“I’ve got an early day tomorrow,” Phoebe said with regret. “I should probably just go home now. But you’ll be at practice tomorrow, right?”

“I guess so,” I said. “I told Matthias I would.”

Despite ostensibly being involved in liquor analysis, Luis glanced over at the sound of the company manager’s name. “Oh? Did you arrange the introduction?”

I nodded. “Phoebe got me signed on.”

Luis looked pleased. “Excellent. Are you happy with it?”

The question surprised me, but then I remembered his earlier comment upon my arrival, about how he wanted happy employees. “I think so. I think it’ll be a lot of fun.”

“Good. And what did you think of Matthias?”

That one was really a surprise. “I thought he was nice. Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation,” said Luis. I was about to use the interruption to ask Jamie about Milton again, but before I could, Luis effortlessly slipped back to gin science, effectively blocking me from the imp’s attention. Tomorrow, I decided.

“You know,” said Phoebe slyly. “I could help you find Matthias if you wanted to see him tonight.”

Even afloat on vodka gimlets, I still knew the right and wrong surrounding any sort of casual romance with Matthias. If I was going to hook up with anyone while I was here, it wasn’t going to be anybody I would ever consider seriously.

I flashed her and Bastien my best saucy succubus smile. “Nah, too tame. I’m not here to settle down yet. Let’s find something wilder and do this Vegas weekend right.”

Bastien whooped with joy and caught hold of my hand. As he led me away, telling me about “this perfect dance club,” I caught sight of Luis’s face. He was nodding at Jamie, still seemingly interested in their debate . . . but there was something about the satisfied, knowing smile on Luis’s lips that made me think it wasn’t just the gin he was so happy about.

Chapter 9

It wasn’t until I landed in Seattle on Sunday evening that the full surreal nature of my weekend in Las Vegas hit me. Being there had felt so . . . natural. I suppose part of that was just having old friends like Bastien and Luis around. Yet I’d been pleasantly surprised at how easily I got along with my newer acquaintances, like Phoebe and Matthias. I’d even grown to like Jamie, though I never did see him after that night. Despite my efforts to find him and ask him about Milton, the imp had remained elusive for the rest of my trip.

And the show . . . how had that happened? I couldn’t even get a solid job here in my current hometown, yet hours after walking off the plane in a strange city, I’d landed what was, in many ways, my dream job. By the time we’d finished our second practice, Matthias was already talking about a special part he planned on creating for me, and several of the other dancers were so disappointed at me leaving for a month, you’d think we’d known each other for years.

It had, in spite of my misgivings, been a fantastic weekend.

Reality set in when I walked into my condo. Roman was out, with only a note reading Bowling practice tomorrow night to mark his passage. Naturally, the cats were as happy to see me as always. Scratching their heads in turn, I began to think about the logistics of moving both of them with me across state lines. I’d be taking them away from Roman, whom they loved, but there was nothing to be done for that. He couldn’t come with us. As a nephilim, he was in constant danger of being hunted down by other immortals, and it was only Jerome’s protection that allowed him to have a seminormal life in Seattle. Roman certainly wasn’t going to give that up, and besides, Las Vegas was probably the worst place in the world for him to attempt to hide out.

A vase of pink-tipped white roses sat on the kitchen table, filling the air with sweetness. I opened up the card and read Seth’s scrawled writing:

Welcome home. I’ve been counting the minutes.

—S

I texted him that I was back and received an answer urging me to come over to Terry and Andrea’s for dinner. After leaving a note for Roman assuring him I’d be at practice, I headed out, my mind still spinning with more of the consequences of moving. The condo. I’d have to sell it. Unless I wanted to rent it to Roman? Hell would likely compensate any moving costs, but it’d be up to me to start making the actual arrangements now for things like movers and whatnot.