Succubs on Top Page 0,26

would have been their cover model. He wore beautifully tailored black slacks paired with a long, black coat, the tails of which almost touched the backs of his knees. Underneath the coat was a gorgeous, billowing white shirt that might have been silk. Whatever it was, it made me want to touch it and see how soft it was. Unlike Horatio, whose demonic wear had simply been out-of-date, this guy had taken the past and made it his own. His own hot historic couture. The kind the modern day "goth" movement so longed to achieve. He'd opened the first few buttons to reveal smooth, tanned skin. That skin tone paired with the glossy black hair that flowed halfway down his back made me think he must be of Middle Eastern or Indian descent.

When he reached the door leading out, he paused and turned toward the stage, watching the band for a few moments. A small, pleased smile played along his lips, and then he was gone.

Weird, I thought. I wondered who he was. Prospective agent maybe? Or perhaps just someone who didn't get down to this type of music. He had looked like the kind of guy who owned Chopin's complete works, after all.

I considered the man for a few more moments, then turned back toward the stage. The group was taking a momentary reprieve from their new stash and doing a cover of one of my favorite Nine Inch Nails songs. Nothing like hearing Trent Reznor's lyrics paired with a saxophone.

"I can't believe this," I told Seth later, moving to the back of our group so I could stand near him. Our friends were so hypnotized by what was onstage that Seth and I could actually talk without drawing attention. "It's...unbelievable."

"That it is," he agreed. "I take it this isn't the norm then?"

"No. Absolutely not. But I hope it becomes the norm. Jesus."

We fell silent then, our eyes and ears drawn back to the band. As we watched, however, Seth rested his hand on my back in a friendly, innocent gesture that made me promptly lose interest in the music. And that was saying something. The shirt I wore was hardly a shirt at all. It was a glittering tunic type thing that covered the front of me only, then tied behind my neck and once below my shoulder blades, thus letting his fingers stroke bare, exposed skin.

Less than a week ago, I'd been in a hotel room with a guy who'd massaged scented oil all over my body and then gone down on me in a way that left me gasping. And yet, I swear that didn't do as much for me as Seth's fingers on my bare skin did now. The rest of my body jolted to life, suddenly ravenous for more of him. When he trailed his fingertips down to my lower back, I could perfectly discern every place he had touched me and every place he hadn't, as though his fingers left scorch marks in my flesh. Magic fingers. Seductive fingers. My nerves pulsed hungrily, demanding I take action and give them more.

When his hand finally came to rest by my tailbone, right at the edge of my jeans, I murmured, "You can go lower if you want. "

"No," he returned. His voice seemed huskier than usual, holding an unfamiliar intensity. But it was laced with wistfulness too. "I really can't."

The audience whooped and demanded an encore when the show ended, which the band was only too happy to give - multiple times. Talk about stamina.

As I watched them wrap up the song and make their bows, an idea suddenly struck me. Excusing myself for the bathroom, I headed back in the direction of the dressing room. Once out of any passerby's eyesight, I turned invisible and slipped back into that room, still perplexed about that burning, crawling sensation.

It was gone. Everything felt perfectly normal in the room. Jackets and instrument cases lay in unceremonious heaps on the floor, and empty red plastic cups vied with overflowing ashtrays to cover up other flat surfaces. I paced around slowly, peering in corners, looking for something - anything - that would explain what I had felt. And again, I came up empty-handed. All was quiet and still. No person or creature waited to leap out, though I was pretty sure what I'd felt hadn't come from anything living. Yet, it also hadn't resembled any charm or enchanted object I knew of either. If anything, that tingle