"Sometimes I do. Sometimes I look at him…and I remember how it was when I kissed him and felt that love. It makes me want that back. I want to feel it again. I want to return it. Other times, though…other times, I'm so scared. I listen to these guys…and to Jerome…and then the doubts gnaw at me. I can't get them out of my head. We've been sleeping together, you know. Literally. It hasn't been a problem so far, but sometimes I lie awake watching him, thinking this can't last. The longer it does…I feel like…like I'm standing on a high wire, with Seth at one end and me at the other. We're trying to reach each other, but one misstep, one breeze, one side-glance, and I'll fall over the edge. And keep falling and falling."
I took in a shaking breath when I finished.
Carter leaned toward me and brushed the hair away from the side of my face. "Don't look down then," he whispered.
Bastien had returned, catching the end of my soliloquy.
"Who's Seth?" he wanted to know later, once we were back at my apartment.
"Long story." Yet I found myself spilling it anyway.
Of course, telling Bastien about Seth meant telling him about a lot of other things too. Like a recent encounter with Jerome's half-human, half-angel son—a stunningly beautiful man with a twisted sense of social justice who had been on a semipsychotic mission to make other immortals pay for the shoddy treatment of him and his kind. The fact that he had been a good dancer and a phenomenal lover had not really been enough to make up for his wanton killing of lesser immortals and subsequent attempt on Carter.
That, of course, led me to next explain how Seth had witnessed the inevitable showdown and had been injured when I kissed him to get an emergency fix of energy. Jerome had wanted to erase Seth's memory of the whole event, as well as the writer's love for me. I had begged the demon not to, finally getting him to agree when I offered to devote all of my efforts back to seducing and corrupting decent men like a good little succubus should. Horatio's visit had been the ultimate testimony to my "new and improved" self.
Bastien, sprawling on my sofa, listened thoughtfully and frowned when I finished. "What do you mean? Why weren't you going after decent ones already?"
"I got tired of it. Didn't like hurting them."
"So what? You were going after bad ones?"
I nodded.
He shook his head, knowing as well as I did how little life energy an ignoble mortal yielded compared to a good one. "Poor Fleur . What a miserable existence that must have been."
I gave him a bittersweet smile. "I think you're the first person that's ever sounded more sympathetic than incredulous. Most people think I'm idiotic for getting by like that."
"It's a pain, yes," Bastien agreed, "and requires more frequent fixes, but hardly idiotic. You don't think I have days when I feel the same way? When I just want to throw my hands up and leave decent women alone?"
"Why don't you?"
"Not our lot. You and I are glorified prostitutes—courtesans, if you want to be more genteel, but it's all the same thing. Switching to bad ones won't change our fates. Won't even do anything in the long run, really, except relieve our guilt a bit, and even that relief doesn't last forever. "
"Christ. You aren't really making me feel better."
"Sorry."
"No, no, it's okay. Whatever. I mean, it's nice to have someone to talk to about this. No one else—none of the other immortals—really get it. "
He snorted. "Of course they don't. How could they?" My silence agreed for me, and Bastien gave me a kindly look. "Not that your friends weren't nice. Are there other immortals in the city you can talk to? Any succubi or incubi?"
"A few more vampires and minor demons, but that's it. They're less social than the ones I run with. I have some good mortal friends too. Still. They're not the same either." I smiled gently. "They're not you. I've missed you."
Bastien tousled my hair, earning a critical glance from my cat Aubrey. "I've missed you too."
"So will you tell me what's going on now?"
His serious mien turned jovial. "Not sure what you're going to think about it, now that I've heard all of this."
"Try me."
Sliding off the couch, Bastien settled next to me so we could speak face-to-face. "You ever heard of Dana Dailey?"
"I live on this planet, don't I? She's always my first choice when I'm driving in my car and feel like listening to some highly commercial, conservative rhetoric." I didn't make any attempt to hide my disdain. In addition to touting worn-out family values, radio host Dana Dailey also enjoyed working thinly veiled racist, homophobic, and even sexist insinuations into her talk show. I couldn't stand her.
"I imagine that mood strikes you quite a bit. Did you know she's Seattle based?"
"Of course. It's a wonder she hasn't dragged down the property value. "
"Funny you should mention that. A house in her neighborhood just came up for sale."
"So?"
"So, our employers have purchased it."
"What?"
Grinning, knowing he had me hooked, Bastien leaned in eagerly. "Pay attention, Fleur , because here's the good part. We got wind of some rumors concerning Mrs. Dailey's ex-pool boy in San Diego. He claims to have been 'romantically involved' with her."
I racked my brain, recalling a promotional picture I'd seen of her and her politician husband on a billboard. "Have you seen Mr. Dailey? I'd opt for a pool boy too. What became of the rumors?"
"Oh, you know. The same thing that always happens to rumors with no proof. They faded away; nothing happened."
I waited expectantly. "Okay, and the house fits in how?"
"Well, like you said, her husband's no prize. Of course, she isn't going to get divorced or anything, not when it could potentially tarnish his political future and her whole prissy, on-air family-values campaign. But…the naughty streak is still there. If she's strayed once, I bet she could be lured into doing it again."
I groaned as the pieces fell together. "Like with a handsome, debonair neighbor?"
"Debonair? Really, you're too kind."
"So what happens after that?"
"Then we just let the evidence do its work."
"Evidence?"
"Well, yeah. We're not going to go the way of the pool boy. When I manage to lure the illustrious Mrs. Dailey into physical pleasures surpassing her wildest dreams, there'll be a camera rolling. We're going to record this for posterity, then go to the press. Full exposure, full takedown. No more radio empire preaching to the masses to return to pure, decent ways. Even her husband's political campaign will be marred, thus opening the door for some liberal upstart to take his place and help get this area back into the corrupt rut it so desperately longs for. "
"Gee, it's all so neat."
He eyed me. "You doubt the plan's brilliance?"
"I don't know. I appreciate the ballsy factor here, but I think this is kind of out-there, even for you. I can't imagine Dana Dailey’ll go down so easily."
"Leave the going down to me."
"Your ego's out of control."
He laughed and pulled me to him. His arms felt good around me. Familiar. Reassuring. "Admit it. That's why you love me. "
"Yeah, you're like the brother I never had. One that doesn't set my hair on fire. "
His eyes sparkled wickedly. "And once again, you've jumped ahead of me. I want you to see me in action on this— not to mention keep me company while I'm in town. You've got to come visit—as Mitch's sister."
"Who?"
Bastien suddenly stood up and shape-shifted. The familiar features morphed, leaving no trace of the rakish incubus I knew. Six-two and broad-shouldered, he now had dark blond hair and sky blue eyes, his face only just losing its pretty boy aspect and giving way to the sizzling promise of an experienced, confident man in his early thirties. When he smiled, those perfect teeth lit up a room.