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“Great,” I groaned, breaking eye contact with the succubus. “More things that can kill us dead.”
Bastion shrugged, making me newly aware of how he was still in my space, like a leech. “Pretty much.”
I wriggled out of his grasp. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Agreed,” Prudence said, nodding.
She led us to the bar, striding confidently and, I thought, maybe a little threateningly. The succubus – Layla, that was her name – watched us from behind a wisp of her hair, her hand in her chin, her lips curved in a languorous smile. Something rippled in the air around us as we approached, the effect of her being allowed into the bubble of silence that Bastion had crafted. Layla’s smile grew at that, as if she sensed the veil of magic around her. Her gaze flitted from me, to Prudence, then came to rest on Bastion’s face.
“You never called me,” she cooed.
Her voice was like a breeze blowing across a still desert: tranquil, soothing, yet deep, and somehow vast. I couldn’t place her accent, and I couldn’t tell if that was because it shifted in places, or because it seemed to be a blend of sounds and slurs from across continents. Where was she from?
But truthfully what really poked at me was how old she was. Were succubi like vampires? She might have been in the hundreds, as if I had any way of telling. On some level I suspected that seniority worked the same way for entities as they did with mages and their ages: the older they were, the more powerful. But I didn’t dare ask. I had a feeling she wouldn’t at all appreciate me prying.
Bastion leaned on the bar with one elbow, his smile brighter than all the lights in the vicinity. I could tell that he was arranging his posture, his face, even the timbre of his voice to be as appealing as humanly possible, clearly intent on charming the succubus. I’m not gonna lie, I was secretly taking notes in my head. I never pass up an opportunity to learn something new.
“Layla, you’re a beautiful, soul-sucking nether demon. I’m a beautiful, soul-sucking loser. We’re too similar. It’d never work out.”
Prudence’s spine seemed to stiffen at that. Mine too, frankly. It was some pretty daring shit to say to what could very well have been a centuries-old demon. But Layla only threw her head back and laughed, the sound of it like little brass bells.
“You are too right, Sebastion. So I hope you have brought me something entertaining in your stead.” She took the barest fraction of a second to cast her eyes up and down Prudence’s body, just long enough to show her disinterest. “This one, I already know. She is no fun.”
Prudence grunted. “It’s nice to see you too, Layla.”
The demon shifted in her seat, leaning her chin into her hand again, this coquettish pose that made me believe she was just some young girl looking to have fun in a club, and not an ancient fiend from somewhere sandy and blasted with heat.
I wondered how many men and women she had seduced from her throne at Temple’s bar, and as she smiled to show two rows of perfect teeth it dawned on me that she wasn’t hanging out for free drinks. Layla was here for a different kind of sustenance. I swallowed, hard, and took the greatest care not to show that anything was amiss.
“Now this one,” she said. “This one intrigues me.” Maybe one of the strobes hit her just then, or maybe it was the ambient glow of the bar’s many neon lights, but her eyes brightened as they locked with mine, and my heart stuttered for just the briefest moment. Get it together, I told myself. This is what she’s made for, to break you apart, then crack you open so she can feed. As if sensing my thoughts, her lips parted wider and she laughed.
“Why are you so nervous? I’m not going to eat you.” Which would have been a far more innocuous statement if her tongue hadn’t picked that exact moment to run across the edge of her teeth. It only made me jumpier. “Come closer,” she said.
Bastion slid away from her slowly, making space for me at the counter. The hardness in his eyes and the tightness in his lips said it all: this is the job, and you’re here to do it. You’d have to rip off my fingernails to get me to admit it, but in that moment Bastion gave me just the encouragement I needed to get things done. I straightened my back, and maybe broadened my shoulders a bit. I knew I could do it.
“I’m not nervous,” I said, easing my forearm onto the counter, wearing an easy smile. “Just entranced, maybe. You’re the prettiest thing around here, after all.”
From behind me, I heard Bastion’s intake of breath. Maybe he was laughing, or maybe it was actually a snort of approval. Didn’t matter. From a little further off I heard Prudence snort, too. That I interpreted with zero trouble.
“Goodness,” Layla said, her hand hovering over her mouth. “If this one isn’t forward! I quite like you, new boy.”
“First month on the job, ma’am,” I said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Dustin Graves, at your service.”
Layla placed a hand on the counter, fingers drumming lazily at the plexiglass. Her nails were painted a deep red to match her lips, like drops of blood at the end of each finger.
“Dustin,” she said, leaning forward, the unsubtle cut of her dress threatening to give me a closer view of her admittedly generous bosoms. Focus, I told myself. “You’re charming, I confess, but I bet you say that to all the demons.”
“That’s quite impossible, Layla.” I grinned again. “You’re my first, after all.”
The demon flushed, then squealed in delight, hiding her lips behind one delicate hand. This was starting to remind me of my time with Arachne. Gotta stay vigilant, I told myself. I looked over my shoulder to see if Bastion had anything to say about how I was doing, but he was gazing out into the crowd of dancers, his attention already wandering.
Prudence was doing the same – rather, alternating between examining her nails and swiping at her phone – but I got the sense that both were putting on airs and were still listening intently to everything that was going on with Layla.
“Buy you a drink?” I said. That much I remembered from Thea, that these encounters with the entities were all transactions, and something needed to be traded, especially for something as valuable as information. I could only hope that a cocktail would be all I needed.
“Brandy Alexander,” Layla said, never taking her eyes off me. I peeled a couple of bills out of my wallet, catching the attention of one of the bartenders.
“Keep the change,” I said, winking at Layla and thickening my voice with braggadocio. She squirmed in her seat. The bartender glanced between us. He shook his head, then took off to fill the order.
