I was a bit surprised to be having this conversation. 'I am too.'
'No. Succubi are flame-eyed and bat-winged. Everyone knows that. They don't wear jeans and sweaters. At the very least, you should have a bigger chest. What are you, 34B or something?'
'C,' I said indignantly.
'If you say so.'
'Look, I am a succubus. I can prove it.' I let my form change, shifting through several different female variations before returning to my usual one. 'See?'
'Well, I'll be damned.'
I had a feeling he was playing with me. 'Are you Dante?'
'For now.' He approached and shook my hand, holding on to it. He flipped it over. 'You here for a palm reading? I'll show you how to shape-shift your hand to get a good future.'
I took my hand back. 'No, thanks. I'm here because I have some questions…questions that Erik Lancaster thought you might be able to answer.'
Dante's smile dropped. He rolled his eyes and walked over to the counter. 'Oh. Him.'
'What's that supposed to mean? Erik's my friend.'
Dante leaned his back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. 'Of course he's your friend. He's everyone's friend. Fucking boy scout. If he could have shaken his holier-than-thou attitude and worked with me, we could have made a fortune by now.'
I remembered what Erik had said about Dante being a con artist and a Hell-bound person. I didn't pick up any evil vibes off him, but there was a definite abrasiveness to his attitude that made Erik's assessment more plausible.
'Erik has standards,' I declared.
Dante laughed. 'Oh, great. A holier-than-thou succubus. This is going to be fun.'
'Look, can you just answer my questions? It won't take long.'
'Sure,' he said. 'I've got time—at least until the next rush of customers.' The bitter tone in his voice as he gestured to the empty room indicated that there hadn't been a rush in a very long time.
'I had a dream the other night,' I explained. 'And when I woke up, all my energy was gone.'
'You're a succubus. Supposedly. That kind of thing happens.'
'I wish everyone would stop saying that! This wasn't normal. And I'd been with a man the night before. I was charged up, so to speak.'
'You do anything afterward that would have depleted the energy?'
Everyone kept asking that too. 'No. I just went to bed. But the dream…it was really strange. I don't know how to explain it. Really, really vivid. I've never felt anything like it.'
'What was it about?'
'A, um, dishwasher.'
Dante sighed. 'Did someone pay you to come here and mess with me?'
Through gritted teeth, I related the dream.
'That's it?' he asked when I finished.
'Yup.'
'Lame dream.'
'Do you know what it means?'
'Probably that you need to fix your dishwasher.'
'It isn't broken!'
He straightened up. 'Sorry. Can't help you then.'
'Erik said this was your specialty.'
'It is, I suppose. But, sometimes a dream is just a dream. You sure you don't want me to read your palm? It's all bullshit, but I can at least make something up so you feel like the trip wasn't wasted.'
'No, I want to know about my fucking dream. How can it be just a dream if I woke up with no energy?'
Dante walked back over to me and flicked a piece of escaped hair out of his face. 'I don't know. You aren't giving me enough to go on. How many times has it happened?'
'Just the one time.'
'Then it may be just a fluke, kiddo.'
I turned toward the door. 'Well, thanks for the ‘help.''
Hurrying over to my side, Dante caught my arm. 'Hey, wait. You want to go get a drink now?'
'I—what?'
'I'll risk upsetting the masses and close up shop for the day. There's a great bar around the corner. Draft Budweiser—only a dollar a glass during happy hour. My treat.'
I scoffed. I didn't know what was more absurd. That Dante thought I'd go out with him or that he thought I'd drink Budweiser. His attractiveness wasn't enough to make up for his weird personality.
'Sorry. I have a boyfriend.'
'I'm not looking to be your boyfriend. Cheap sex is fine with me.'
I met his eyes. They were gray, similar to Carter's but without the silvery hue. I expected a joke here, but despite the perpetual smirk, Dante appeared to be perfectly serious.
'Why on earth do you think I'd have cheap sex with you? Do I look that easy?'
'You say you're a succubus. You're easy by definition. And even without the bat-wings and flame-eyes, you're pretty cute.'
'Aren't you worried about your soul?' Even if he was as corrupt as Erik had insinuated—and I still wasn't really seeing that—Dante would take some kind of hit from sleeping with me. All mortals did. Of course, I'd met plenty of men—good and evil alike—who'd been willing to risk their souls for sex.
'Nope. My soul's pretty far gone. This would just be for fun. Look, if you want to skip the beer, we can just get right to it. I've always wanted to do it on the table over there.'
'Un-fucking-believable.' I pushed open the door.
'Oh, come on,' he pleaded. 'I'm pretty good. And hey, maybe your boyfriend's poor sexual performance is what's stressing you out and taking away your energy.'
'Not likely,' I told him. 'We don't have sex.'
There was a moment's silence, then Dante threw back his head and laughed. 'Did it occur to you that maybe that's stressing you out? Clearly the dishwasher is a metaphor for your broken sex life, which then forces you to wash dishes ‘by hand.''
I left, heading back to the bookstore where I could get a little respect. Some dream expert Dante had turned out to be. I could see now why Erik didn't really like him. I was also starting to wonder if maybe everyone was right. Maybe I had mentally burned myself out. Maybe the dream was really just a dream.
I was almost at the bookstore when I got a phone call.
'Miss Kincaid?' asked a pleasant female voice. 'This is Karen from the Seattle Children's Alliance, calling to confirm your participation in our auction this week.'
'Your what?'
There was a pause. 'Our charity date auction, to raise money for the Alliance.'
I was still baffled. 'Um, sounds like a great cause, but I have no idea what you're talking about.'
I heard papers being ruffled. 'We have you listed as a volunteer.'
'For what, to be auctioned off for a date?'
'Yes. It looks like…here we are. Your name was submitted by Dr. Mitchell.'
I sighed. 'Let me call you back.' I hung up and dialed Hugh. 'Hey, Dr. Mitchell. You volunteered me to be auctioned off?'
'It's not that different from what you usually do,' he argued. 'And it's for charity.'
'I buy the peace-on-Earth-and-good-will-toward-men thing from Peter and Cody—but not from you. You don't care about those kids.'
'I care about the group's director,' Hugh said. 'She's a fucking fox. I get some high quality candidates to raise money, and I can probably get her in bed.'
'You're using a children's charity to further your sex life. That's horrible. And why didn't you ask Tawny? If anyone needs a date, she does.'
