Page 110 of Succubus

“Yes!” I agree hastily.

Yes. I have agreed to convert to Judaism during my first visit to a synagogue for a man who has very clearly and explicitly tried to kill me. I am doing great.

“I have to go,” I tell Fran. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“Already? You didn’t even eat a cookie!”

“I’m gluten-free,” I say, forgetting that I’m not anymore. I am still being awkward, apparently. I flee.

I make it out the glass double doors into the edge of the night before Joel catches up to me. He stops me with a hand to my shoulder. I turn and am predictably affected by his nearness. It’s excessive, this thing. “Why did you come?” His hand stays on me.

“Because of Adam.”

He studies me. “You dressed up,” he says, something halting in it.

I nod, hugging my coat tighter in the prying wind. It’s starting to seem too thin. “I was trying to be respectful.” Also true. In addition to the rest of the truth.

I feel him become aware that he is still touching me. His hand drops away, and my maudlin shoulder is instantly lonely.

I say, “And you saved Ella.”

“It was my fault, what happened to her.” He owns it without hesitation.

“It was my fault, too.” The strange thing is, I haven’t really blamed him.

He’s looking at me steadily; I can’t tell if the curse is holding him there or if it’s his own will. His eyes seem clear, though, in the dark. We are standing close together, and his fingers lift unconsciously toward me again.

And then I am simply honest, even though I’ve been trying not to be since I met him, and certainly since I learned the truth about him. I keep slipping up, it keeps slipping in anyway. And right now, I can’t even remember how to stop it.

“I came here because I care,” I confess under only the mildest duress. “I want you to know that.” My voice quavers, threads embarrassingly to tufts. “I really care.”

CHAPTER 36

I hear his quick intake of breath. He looks momentarily confounded.

I am failing. My failure is overt, yelling into the microphone. This, whatever this is, is the opposite of killing him. I have full access to his body; I have full access to his mind. And the only thing that’s breaking is my own resolve. I’m willing to compromise everything precious and right just to stand here beside a parking lot with the man who killed Grub. In a light drizzle.

But he saved Ella.

He was willing to fight one of his own kind to stop her from killing me. Even though he had summoned her to kill me.

“I want to hate you,” I hear myself say in a rush. “I’m trying to just . . . to just have sex with you!”

Oh God, someone is walking by—an elderly man in an overcoat and fedora who glances sharply over.

I lower my voice. “To kill you.” (Because that’s so much better.) “And the truth is, I haven’t gotten to have any sex for so long. While you were with your beautiful fiancée”—I’m absolutely certain she was beautiful—“I was alone. I’m always alone. I thought I’d always be alone. I know this isn’t . . . it isn’t right. But— ”

Oh sweet Jesus, T.

I look at the synagogue.

Oh Jewish God. Whichever God is listening. Make me stop talking.

But what kind of God listens to the prayers of a succubus? I’m still talking: “It’s your magic angel dust. Who knows if you’re even a little bit appealing without that!”

Joel laughs in surprise, a somewhat negative laugh.

“You’re probably not!” I declare. “You’re probably . . . probably . . .” My brain fails to produce a critical word for him. “Boring,” I conclude limply.