Succubus Takes Manhattan (17 page)

I went back to my office to try to re-create the work. At least new boxes from the mail room had arrived during the meeting, so I set about labeling them with Magic Markers. Then, my notebook destroyed, I had to go into the sketchy computer files and see if I could reconstruct the various assignments from different departments and what accessories they would need. Paying attention only to the needs of the editors meant that I didn’t have to think about Vincent being missing, or Meph’s rival, and being followed in Venice, and Nathan and Marten. Accessories were a lot easier.

I was in the middle of untangling a necklace from two earrings that were not related when Danielle arrived with two Dove bars and handed one to me.

“Is there anything I can help with?” she offered. And she meant it. Danielle would have happily spent the afternoon trying to piece together scraps of my notebook if it would have really helped me. When I hate all humans and think they should all be delivered, I could think of Danielle. If she weren’t mortal she would be my friend.

That was stupid, I realized. She was my friend. Just like Eros and Desi and Sybil, Danielle listened to me and supported me and was always there when I needed her. There were parts of my life she didn’t understand. I’d never told her about being a succubus, and I didn’t think she’d believe it.

On the other hand, Eros and Desi and Sybil didn’t really understand my work life. Oh, they all worked. Even Eros, the demigoddess, had a day gig as the creative director of an advertising firm. But they didn’t know what the magazine was like, what the demands were. They all thought that what I did was fun all day long, that I got to play with pretty bags and scarves and see the latest fashions before they were ever shown on the runway.

So Danielle was the friend who understood my life at work, about Lawrence and getting a feature article that was going to be a cover story.

I was surprised to realize that Danielle was a real friend. Even more surprised to think that I felt a little queasy at the notion, as if I were betraying my dearest buddies in Hell. I felt vaguely as if I were being disloyal to Satan Herself.

Only I wasn’t, I knew that. Having a mortal friend wasn’t frowned upon. Sybil had certainly had plenty of mortal friends when she lived as a wife.

If Danielle were a true friend, then I could tell her about Marten and Nathan. She might even have some good ideas. They were both mortals, after all, and so was she. She might have insights I’d forgotten.

So, in the middle of refilling my boxes, I turned to her and dropped the Magic Markers on my desk. “Danielle, there’s something I want to ask you about. About men.”

Danielle nodded solemnly and sat on the sofa, in the same spot where Lawrence had exploded. But Danielle’s neat figure perched at the edge of the upholstery was reassuring. “I have a date tonight with this guy I met in Aruba. He came up here for some, well, some business. And I found out that he didn’t tell me the whole truth in Aruba but I’m having a good time with him.”

“And Nathan?” she asked.

It was my turn to shrug, though I couldn’t pack that movement with all the nuances of meaning that Danielle could manage. “He dumped me. I told him some of the truth about my past, it upset him.”

Danielle shook her head. “Lily, why did you do this stupid thing? Even if you love a man, you cannot tell him everything. You must leave some mystery. And they do not want to know so much, really. They say they want to know, but they only want to know their fantasies.” She nibbled gently from her ice cream bar. “American women are sometimes so silly. You want things that do not exist. There is no need for your lover to know everything about you. I thought you were more sophisticated, Lily. You lived in Italy, I thought you knew these things. I thought you said you fell in love with an Italian. Did you tell him everything?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Hmmm,” she said, and pondered. “Italian men are more accepting than Americans. And they take things less seriously. I still would not tell any man, Italian or French or American, anything that I did not think they truly needed to know.”

“I thought he needed to know,” I said, honestly confused.

“But you are still in love with Nathan, yes? He did not do a thing that hurt you, did he? He did not stop loving you, only that he was upset by a thing in your past. Is this the truth?”

I nodded.

“Then this person from Aruba, he is maybe not so serious. He feels serious because you need someone to think about who is not Nathan. But I think that your heart is not so easily engaged.”

I turned her words over in my mind. She was right about parts of it, about Nathan. But that didn’t tell me anything about Marten. Was I really falling for him or was I just using him to get over Nathan? I’d dated so rarely that the idea of dating one man to forget another seemed strange.

“Could I fall in love twice? So quickly?” I asked.

“This is dating, not love,” Danielle said. “This Marten cannot be serious. He is from Aruba, which is far away. He is handsome and treats you well, yes? So he will take your mind from Nathan while you heal, but then he will be gone and your confidence will be restored to you. And you will be able to find someone else suitable.”

“You don’t think Marten is suitable?” I asked. I thought he was terribly suitable. At least he knew I was a succubus and he was fine with it. He saw me as someone to care for, someone vulnerable, even if I am a fiend from Hell.

Danielle shook her head as if I were a slightly slow child. “He lives thousands of miles away. Suitable is someone in New York.”

“He could move,” I offered lamely.

“That is just fantasy,” Danielle corrected me. “And really, Lily, if he were your real boyfriend you probably would not like him so much. Right now you are hurting. Right now you could use an attractive man to court you, to take you to nice places, to pamper you. And this is what you like. You do not have time to know him.”

Then she stood up and smiled at me. “I will be happy to listen to you at any time, but right now I have some work to do. Elizabeth needs more sandals.”

“More swimsuits?” I inquired.

Danielle shook her head. “Vacation wear, not beach. For going to dinner after the beach. It will be a nice article, white dresses, sheer fabrics, lace. But they need shoes.”

Then I remembered that I had had a box for Elizabeth. The necklace I had untangled belonged in it. And a Kate Spade clutch and two rings. I found them all, dumped them into one of the smaller boxes, and wrote Elizabeth’s name on it.

Then the phone rang and Desi asked if I would like to go for a drink. After the past forty-eight hours I think I deserved more than one.

chapter
FOURTEEN

Des met me at the small neighborhood bar around the corner from my office. Not our usual kind of place; it reeked of old boys’ network. At least the drinks, while neither innovative nor trendy, were strong. Desi was already seated in front of a half-empty glass when I arrived. She got up and hugged me before I went up to the bar to order, and then sank into the lush leather club chair next to her.

“I hope you weren’t too busy,” she started, “but no one else is telling me what’s going on. Sybil is sobbing and said something about Vincent being kidnapped and Eros is closeted with Beliel planning revenge and none of it makes any sense. Do you have any idea what’s happening, Lily, or have our friends gone nuts?”

I sipped my vodka and cranberry and sighed. “I can’t believe they didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I didn’t but on top of the Vincent crisis I’m having an incident at work. The short version is that Vincent is missing. He never showed up at Sybil’s and we don’t know what happened. So I’ve hired Nathan to try to find him. We don’t know where he is but we don’t know he’s kidnapped—we haven’t gotten a note or a ransom demand or anything.”

“You don’t think he’s run away or something?” she asked, horrified.

I shook my head. “We can’t go to the police about it, and there is the small matter that he is legally dead. But no, I think something bad happened. I think it has to do with Branford. After I was followed in Venice—how did he know I was there? Who does he know in Venice? And then he showed up at Public. No, I think there’s something going on. Maybe Vincent went off to try to capture Branford. Or something. And got hurt. Because otherwise I can’t think of why they would go after him. It doesn’t make any sense to me. And working with Nathan is hard. I don’t want to think about any of it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Desi said and patted my hand. Then she gestured to the barman for fresh drinks. “Dealing with Nathan at all is way above and beyond. Especially after what he did to you. Poor Lily. Do you want to get back together with him?”

I nodded. “Of course I do. But he won’t, he hates what I am even if he loves me. Dealing with him to try to find Vincent makes it all worse. And that’s not all.” I told her about Lawrence and my office and about seeing Marten. “I have another date tonight.” Looking at my new drink I tapped the table lightly. “And, given that, this should probably be my last drink for the afternoon. I don’t want to be tipsy when I meet Marten. Des, I think I’m falling for him.”

Her soft round eyes got even wider. “Really? As in really falling in love with him? You hardly know him. I think it’s a little . . . sudden.”

“Me too,” I agreed. “But I keep having these feelings about him. Especially when he’s so nice to me and put me in a cab when I was tired and didn’t have sex with me. I always think men only want sex from me, but he really seemed to care more about me. But what about you? You’ve been so quiet since Aruba. What happened to you at Hatuman’s party? Did you meet anyone nice?”

Desi shrugged. “Since Steve, I do my job. Both at work and as a demon. But I’m just going through the motions. My heart isn’t in anything anymore. I feel like I’m sleepwalking through everything. I just left the party. I wasn’t having any fun.”

I hugged her. I was certain being hurt and betrayed had made her emotionally withdrawn. The same had happened to me in the distant past. “It’ll get better,” I told her. Then I hesitated before I asked the next question. “What about Eros and Beliel? Do you think they’re together? Or just friends? She seems to be spending a lot of time with him lately.”

Desi nodded sagely. “Yes, I’d wondered that myself. She was practically his arm candy at Hatuman’s. You were with Marten, Sybil was with Vincent, Eros was with Beliel, and I was all alone.”

I hugged her again. “Given the choice between Beliel and alone, I’d choose alone,” I told her as she whimpered on my shoulder. At least that got a giggle. “Do you have any idea of what Eros sees in him?”

“He’s attractive in a kind of military way,” Desi said. “And he’s important and powerful. You know, people have been speculating about you and Meph recently, too. Just to give you some perspective.”

I was astonished. “But you know I’m not dating Meph,” I protested. “Not even a little bit.”

“Exactly. Eros hasn’t said anything to us, and if she were really dating someone I think she’d tell us. But they do seem to have become more friendly lately.” Then she looked at her phone. “Oh my goodness, it’s almost six,” she exclaimed, jumping up (at least as much as anyone with two very strong drinks in her could manage). “What time is your date? You need to get home and get ready.”

So I was late again getting ready. I stepped into a steaming shower and lathered up with my latest acquisitions from Lush, and thought about what Desi had told me. I wondered what was going on with Eros and Beliel. Because if I were honest, Beliel frightened me. He was always perfectly correct, but there was something about his manner that made me feel as if he disapproved of me. Maybe he disapproved of everyone. Maybe that was what Eros found interesting about him.

By the time I got a cab and fought the traffic downtown, I was twenty minutes late. Fortunately, Marten was reading in the hotel lobby. His eyes widened as he saw me in my jeans, but he didn’t seem terribly disappointed.

“I had this idea,” I said breathily. “Why don’t we go somewhere more . . . traditionally New York, if you know what I mean. We haven’t eaten in Chinatown, or Little Italy or Curry Row. We could even go skating at Rockefeller Center, if you like.”

Marten grinned. “But you said you don’t skate.”

I laughed and some of the tension that had been tight in my chest broke. “You’re right, I don’t skate. I’ve tried twice and couldn’t manage to keep my feet under me. I think I crawled off the ice. But—maybe you could teach me.”

“What makes you think I can skate?” Marten asked, all innocence. “I am from Aruba, remember.”

“Ha! The Dutch are famous skaters. Lots of Olympic medals in speed skating. I watch the Olympics,” I told him.

We went upstairs. He was going to change, but once his clothes were off it seemed so much more reasonable to, well, take advantage of that situation. And then we had to shower, and this time he dressed in tight-fitting jeans that showed off just how athletic he was (which was, very. Yum). And an Armani sweater.

We went to Chinatown, to Wo Hop downstairs where there was always a line and the waiters were always rude and the linoleum had been worn and cracked for as long as I could remember. And the roast duck chow fun was full of crisp bits of duck and big enough for two.

We ate. We giggled at the rude waiters and the streaky glasses of tea, and talked like we were normal nonmagical people. I told him about Lawrence and my horror at work; he told me about how he’d ended up in Aruba and how he had gone to university and worked as an accountant back in Rotterdam.

We finished our dinner, paid the ridiculously low bill, and then walked out into Chinatown, which was loud and bright and busy even on a weeknight. So many people crowded the streets that it was hard to navigate. Windows displayed glazed or raw ducks, fish tanks, vegetables that I didn’t recognize. Some stores had racks of silk kimonos, Chinese shoes, little plastic toys, and paper fans on the sidewalk. People talked loudly in English, Chinese, Spanish, Greek, Italian, and the food smells were just like the languages: demanding, competing, enticing, and confusing.