Succubs on Top

"Hey," Seth greeted me, eyes and fingers busy.

"Hey," I returned. "Everyone's acting really weird today."

He glanced up. "Are they?" I immediately recognized the thrall he fell into when his writing seized him. He became even more distracted and scattered than usual under such conditions. A succubus should be so lucky to have that kind of effect on a man.

"Yeah. Have you noticed anything? I feel like people are staring at me."

He shook his head, stifling a yawn before returning to typing. "Things seem the same to me. I like your sweater. Maybe it's that."

"Maybe," I conceded, slightly mollified by the compliment, even if I didn't believe it. Not wanting to distract him further, I stood up and stretched. "I should get back to work." Glancing over at the espresso bar, I noticed Andy, one of the cashiers, buying coffee. "There!" I hissed to Seth. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"Andy just smirked."

"No he didn't."

"He did. I swear it."

When I went downstairs, back to the main part of the store, I passed Warren. Mid-fifties and strikingly handsome, the store's morally questionable owner had once been a regular for me before I'd promised Jerome I'd go back to seducing good men. Warren and I had not had sex in some time. Considering my current regiment of decent souls, I kind of missed having an occasional guilt-free one.

"Hello, Georgina." I was relieved to see he at least didn't give me any of those gaping looks. "Been up talking to Mortensen, I presume?"

"Yes," I agreed, wondering if I was going to be chastised for not getting to work right away.

"Pity you had to take the stairs. We do have an elevator, you know. "

Now I stared open-mouthed. Of course we had an elevator. It was key operated, there for handicapped customers and shipment transport, and was almost never used otherwise. "Yes. I know that."

Warren winked at me and continued on his way upstairs. "Just making sure."

Shaking my head, I went back to the main floor and took over a register, giving Andy his lunch break. Janice and Casey remained stiff with me at first, eventually warming somewhat as time progressed. Other staff, moving in and out around me, continued to give me wondering looks, occasionally whispering to each other when they thought I wouldn't notice.

When Seth passed by at one point to tell me he had to run errands but would see me later, I thought Beth—dropping off a book—might pass out.

"All right," I exclaimed once Seth was gone, "what's going on here?"

Casey, Beth, and Janice all turned sheepish.

"Nothing, Georgina, honest." Beth gave me what was apparently supposed to be a wi

I didn't believe any of it, of course. Something weird was going on. Weirder than usual. I needed answers, and there was only one person in the store candid enough to give them to me. Shutting down my register, I stormed back to my office where Doug sat occupied by the computer.

Bursting in, I opened my mouth, ready to rant and rave. He jumped about two feet in the air at my sudden arrival, reflexes kicking in with astonishing speed so as not to slosh coffee from the cup he had just raised to his lips. There was a fu

But it wasn't that that delayed my tirade. A strange feeling was creeping along my flesh—a feeling that brushed my immortal senses, rather than the usual five that accompanied a human body. It felt weird, almost uncomfortable. Like nails raking down a chalkboard. Nothing I could identify or had even ever felt before. I looked around the room, half-expecting to find another immortal lurking, even though that strange sensation didn't quite touch me like the signature I'd usually feel off of an individual.

Doug drank from the cup and then set it down, watching me with bemused calmness. "Something I can help you with, Kincaid?"

Blinking, I gave the office another once-over and then shook my head. The feeling disappeared. What the hell? I could have blamed it on stress-induced imagination, but after over a mille

Remembering my righteous fury, I pushed aside that momentary weirdness and ratcheted my anger back up to the other weirdness in my life.

"What the fuck is going on?" I exclaimed, slamming the door.

"My sweet Tetriss kills?"

"No! With everyone! Why is everyone treating me so strangely today? They keep staring at me like I'm a freak or something."

Doug's expression stayed baffled, and then I saw understanding flood his face. "Ah. That. You really don't know?"

I could have grabbed his neck and shook him. "Of course I don't know! What's going on?"

Casually, he moved some papers around on the desk and lifted up a copy of American Mystery. "You read Seth's story yet?"

"I haven't had time."

He tossed me the magazine. "Do it. Go take your di

Looking at the time, I realized his shift was nearly over. "But what's that got to do with—"

He held up a hand to silence me. "Just read it. Now."

Scowling, I took the magazine and left the store, settling myself at one of my favoritecafesdown the street. With clam chowder secured, I turned to the first page, wondering what in the world Doug expected me to find.

As Seth had explained a few weeks ago, the story was more of a self-contained mystery, dealing little with the overarching psychology and development of his characters. Cady and O'Neill worked for a fictitious institute based out of Washington, D.C., one that researched and secured archaeological and artistic relics. Thus, the two often found themselves liberating art from international thieves or uncovering mysterious code on a piece of pottery. In traditionally gendered styles, Bryant O'Neill worked as a sort of field agent, doing most of the physical work, getting into a lot of fist-fights and whatnot. Demure Nina Cady focused on the research, often staying up late to unravel some key piece of evidence in an ancient text.

This particular story contained a lot of those same elements, but like always, Seth's beautiful writing and quick, witty dialogue kept the material captivating. In another trend consistent with his characters' behavior, O'Neill almost always got involved with some beautiful woman, though Seth's last book had turned this pattern on its head, letting Cady finally see some action. The story I read today fell into old ways, and O'Neill, in his ever suave ma

Genevieve sauntered through the halls, a queen among subjects, surveying people and displays with both calculation and command. With those green-flecked hazel eyes, she put him in mind of a cat sizing up its next meal. He felt exactly like prey as she paused in front of him, favoring him with a languid look that oozed over his body, her tongue lightly moistening bee-stung lips.

Oh God, to be a mouse, he thought.

"Mr. O'Neill," she purred, brushing a lock of that shining hair away from her face. Faint streaks of honey laced those pale brown strands, like gold veins in ore. He wanted to bury his face in it. He wanted to taste it. "You're late."

Despite nearly a foot separating their heights, he felt like the underling here, like he should do penance for his tardiness and kneel in her presence. Not that he would mind that so much, he decided, trying not to stare at the way her dress's thin material molded itself to her hips and full breasts. Those breasts, he decided, were perfect. Definitely impressive in size, but not grotesquely out of control. And their shape…ah, even a master sculptor could never have duplicated those exquisite curves…