Succubus Dreams

"You don't need to know that to know who I am. My human past doesn't enter in to anything," I said stiffly.

"I can't believe that."

Again, I didn't answer.

"I don't know anything about that part of your life," he continued. "I don't know your real name. What you really look like. Where you grew up. I don't even know how old you are."

"Hey, it's not just me. You have plenty of things you don't talk about," I pointed out, trying to deflect the attention.

"What do you want to know?"

"Well…" I groped for something I didn't know much about. "You never talk about your dad. How he died."

Seth answered immediately, without hesitation. "Not much to tell. Cancer. I was thirteen. According to a therapist Mom made us see, I withdrew into a world of fantasy to cope."

I leaned my head against his shoulder, knowing he'd expound on anything I wanted to know—in a subdued, Seth sort of way. It was ironic considering his normal conversational reticence, but that was how he operated. He believed relationships had to have an open exchange of honesty and baring of souls. I supposed he was right, but there were too many dark parts of my soul I didn't want to share. Parts I was afraid would scare him off.

I knew Seth well enough to realize he wouldn't push this issue anymore tonight, but I could also sense his hurt and disappointment. He didn't ask me these questions to upset me; he did it out of sincere affection. That didn't make it easier, unfortunately, and I fought my anxiety and long-buried pain to try to offer him something. Anything. Anything to show I was making an effort in this relationship. My original face and name were dead to me, obsolete reminders of the woman I'd left behind, never mind Niphon's insistence on calling me Letha. Seth would never know those things.

We sat together for a long time while I decided what I could give up. Finally, with the words sticking in my mouth, I said, "I grew up in Cyprus." The air grew tense as we both waited for more. "In the early fifth century. I don't know exactly what year I was born. We didn't really keep track of those things."

He exhaled. I hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath. Slowly, carefully, he put an arm around me and pressed his lips against my hair. "Thank you."

I buried my face against his shoulder, not knowing what I hid from. I'd barely given him anything—just a couple of pieces of trivia. Nonetheless, yielding that tiny bit from a place in me I wanted to hide from was powerful. I felt exposed and vulnerable without fully understanding why. Seth gently stroked my hair.

"Is the ring from around that time?" he asked.

I nodded against him.

"It'd be worth a lot then, I suppose."

"I lost it," I whispered.

He must have picked up on the anguish in my voice. He held me tighter. "I'm sorry."

We stayed together a while longer that night, but I knew he wanted to go home and work at his own place. Unable to deny him, I shooed him away, though I had a feeling that he would have stayed if I'd asked it.

Once he was gone, I went into my bedroom and closed the door. Kneeling in front of my open closet, I pulled out box after box, setting them haphazardly around the room. My organization lacked something—like, say, organization—and it took me a while to sift through the clutter of junk. Finally, I produced a shoebox covered in dust.

Lifting the lid, I felt my breath catch. Old, brown letters lay stacked with a few photographs. A heavy gold cross on a fraying string lay among the papers, along with other small treasures. I carefully hunted around until I found what I wanted: a bronze ring, green with age.

I held it in my hands, still able to discern the engraved couple atop the mounted disc. It was a cruder job but still very similar to Erik's modern renditions. I ran my fingertips along the ring's edges without knowing what I did. I even tried it on, but it didn't fit. It had been made for larger fingers than I had now. I refused to shape-shift to the right size.

I kept the ring out for a few more minutes, thinking of Seth and Cyprus and all sorts of things. Finally, unable to stand the ache within me, I put the ring back into its box and buried it once more in the closet.

CHAPTER 4

The next day, I went to the address on Dante's business card. It was in Rainier Valley, which wasn't exactly rundown but wasn't upwardly mobile either. The directions led to a narrow shop jammed in between a barber and a shady-looking convenience store. PSYCHIC hung in red neon letters in the window. The "I" had burned out. Underneath it, a handwritten sign read: PALM READING & TAROT CARDS.

I stepped through the door, making bells ring. The interior proved to be as barren as the exterior. A narrow counter flanked one wall. The rest of the small, stark space was empty, save for a round table covered in red velvet that had cigarette burns on it. A tacky crystal ball sat on top. This place was a wasteland compared to Erik's warm, inviting shop.

"Just a minute," a voice called from an open doorway in the back. "I've just got to—"

A man entered the room and stopped when he saw me. He was about six-foot, with black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Two days worth of facial hair covered his face, and he wore jeans and a plain black T-shirt. Early forties, maybe, and pretty cute. He looked me over from head to toe and gave me a sly, knowing smile.

"Well, hello. What do we have here?" He tilted his head, still studying me. "Not human, that's for sure. Demon? No, not strong enough. Vampire? No…not this time of day."

"I…" I stopped, surprised that he'd sensed something in me. He had no immortal signature; he was definitely human. He must be like Erik, I realized. A mortal who could sense the immortal world, though he didn't have enough skill to pinpoint what I was exactly. Deciding there was no point in subterfuge, I said, "I'm a succubus."

He shook his head. "No, you aren't."

"Yes, I am."

"You aren't."

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.