Page 22 of Succubus

I’m already unforgivable. But I have to be able to live with myself.

I turn and flee, leaving Joel at the table, strangers glancing up as I rush past.

I think I can feel his surprised gaze on my back. I must look ridiculous. Overwrought and childish. Cowardly. What kind of grown woman runs away from a kiss like it’s poison?

The kind of woman whose kisses are poison.

The kind of woman who will die without knowing what it feels like to kiss the man she loves, to feel his hands on her skin.

The kind of woman who is trying with all her fucking strength to do the right thing.

* * *

I’m still half awake, agonizing in the dark, at 1:14 AM, when Grub video calls me.

“I think I found him,” he says.

“The demon hunter?” I ask blurrily, wondering if I’m going to have to talk him out of doxxing some innocent Brooklynite who posts obscure fantasy novel references and once went to a party with one of Grub’s “victims.” I can’t deal with this right now.

“Dick Face.”

“What?” I am awake like in a cartoon where a bucket of water is splashed in someone’s face.

“I mean, I’m not positive. And I actually can’t even take credit, which sucks. My new stuff didn’t work. It was just one of the alerts. The timing is kind of hilarious. Like, is it fate?”

“What?” I say again, waiting for him to get to the point.

“So this one dude on a chat was out of his mind drunk, saying stuff about how he’s the king of the Dow or something. He was really pissed about Fabian Gila, that MMA fighter. Said he was murdered and he has to be avenged.”

“Whoa, whoa.” I’m sitting up on the side of the bed, kicking my feet into slippers as though I’m about to go somewhere. I take my feet back out, switch on my lamp. “But what makes you think it’s my father?”

“Someone started a fight with him, said he was full of shit, he flipped out and said he was actually a rock star, was the lead guy of— ”

“Deep Face,” we finish together.

The name of his band. The band that people (most likely not the highest-quality people) were obsessed with back in the day.

“No one believed him,” Grub adds.

“Except you.”

“I try to keep an open mind.” He’s picking a pimple, clearly looking at himself on his phone. He’s in the basement, as always, flopped on a black beanbag chair that has mostly deflated.

“Do you have any ideas about where he is?”

“I think I can figure it out. He’s been posting a lot recently. I’m gonna stalk him hard.”

“This is so nice of you, Grub, but let me help. Tell me where to look.”

“Okay, I’ll send you the stuff. But you know I’d do anything for you, Lorelei.” He says it in a cool voice, but I know how much he means it. “Oh, and also I started chatting with someone Dpow in my actual area. Literally tonight. Progress on all fronts.”

“Whoa, that’s— ”

But he’s too excited to pause. “What if it’s him, Lorelei? What are you gonna do?”

I shake my head, the hand holding up the phone wavering. “Wow. I don’t . . . I don’t actually know.” I think about it. “I have to go meet him. And, you know, pray he knows something.”

“We need to plan it out.” He swings himself upright, gangly elbows popping briefly into view. “You might only have one chance to get the truth. This could be the key. Maybe to everything.”