Succubs on Top Page 0,96

a book once where a guy accidentally killed a girl while driving drunk. His powerful family had managed to keep him out of jail, and he'd hated it. He'd wanted the cleansing catharsis of real punishment, of paying for his crimes. Right now, I needed the same thing.

"I deserve it," I told Seth.

His voice was cold. "Well, I'm not going to give it to you right now. You can't dictate what I feel. Sorry."

My mouth started to drop open, unsure what to do with this turn of events. The ringing of my cell phone interrupted my rumination. I glanced at my purse, then let the phone go to voice mail. A moment later, it rang again.

"You should answer it," Seth told me.

I didn't want to talk to anyone. I wanted to crawl into a hole. But I got the phone and read the display. No one I recognized. Sometimes that was Jerome. If I didn't answer, the demon was likely to teleport on over, and that was quite possibly the only thing that could make this scenario worse.

"I'm sorry," I said softly to Seth, just before I answered. I didn't know if I was apologizing for the interruption or what I'd done with Bastien. "Hello?"

"Hey, Georgina. This is Wyatt."

It took me a moment. From Doug's band. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Bad. I didn't know who else to call. I'm at the hospital with Doug. "

My heart stopped. "Oh my God. What happened?"

"He, uh, took some pills."

"What kind of pills?"

"Not sure. But he took a whole bottle of them."

Wyatt's news spurred Seth and me to action. It was funny how tragedy could override anger. Whatever unresolved issues ensnared us, we put them on hold as I drove us downtown.

Wyatt had briefly told the rest of the story as I'd left my apartment at a run. Alec hadn't come through with his latest shipment. Doug had crashed again, plunging into that frightening darkness I'd observed before. Wyatt didn't entirely know what had triggered the overdose. He blamed everything from a suicidal urge to a desperate attempt at recapturing the high through other means. The emergency room had pumped his stomach, and the doctor said he was okay for now, but he hadn't yet regained consciousness. Wyatt had called me because Doug had no family here, and no one knew how to contact the ones who lived out of town.

Corey and Min were there when we arrived. They elaborated a bit more for us and said there was no change in Doug's condition. Seth stayed silent, but I could tell he was as concerned as I was.

I asked if I could see Doug, and a nurse told me I could. I entered the room alone and found him asleep, hooked up to tubes and a bleeping machine. I had watched medical technology change over the years, from leeches to defibrillators, but that didn't mean I felt comfortable with any of it. Machines that kept people alive rubbed me the wrong way. They weren't natural, even if they did good.

"Oh, Doug," I murmured, sitting at his bedside. His skin was pale, his hand cold and clammy. The bleeping machine registered a steady heartbeat, so that was something. None of the other readouts meant anything to me.

I watched him, feeling helpless. Mortals, I thought, were fragile things, and there was nothing I could do about that.

Many, many years ago, Bastien and I had worked at a dance hall in Paris. Dancers in those days were almost always prostitutes too, but I hadn't minded. The opportunity had provided me with both succubus energy and monetary income. Bastien had been a bouncer and ostensibly my lover. This allowed him to sing my praises, bolstering my reputation and sending me a large clientele.

"There's a young man who shows up every night," the incubus told me one day. "He has 'virgin' stamped all over him, but he's rich too. I've talked to him a few times. He doesn't like the idea of paying for sex, but he's completely obsessed with you."

The news pleased me, and when Bastien pointed out the gentleman, I made a lot of eye contact with him throughout the performance. Sure enough, a manservant of his discretely solicited me on behalf of his employer afterward, and I hurried to prepare myself backstage.

"Josephine," called a voice beside me. I turned and saw another dancer, an especial friend of mine named Dominique.

"Hey," I told her, grinning. "I have a nice prospect I've got to get to." Her grim face