"Bastien," I breathed, still disbelieving. "Bastien!"
I threw my arms around him, and he lifted me up like I weighed nothing, twirling me around. When he gently set me back on my feet, he looked down at me fondly, his handsome face cracking into a grin. Until I saw it, I hadn't realized how much I'd missed that smile.
"You look exactly the same," I noted, taking in the curling black hair that touched his shoulders, the eyes so dark a chocolate brown they almost looked black as well. Unlike me, he liked to wear the shape he'd been born with, the body from his mortal days. His skin was the color of the mochas I consumed regularly, smooth and lovely. His nose had been broken when he was human, but he never bothered to shape-shift the signs away. It didn't detract from his looks any; in fact, it sort of gave him a dashing scoundrel persona.
"And you, as usual, look completely different. What are you calling yourself these days?" His voice carried a faint British accent leftover from many years spent in London after leaving the slave plantations of Haiti. He kept that accent and the French expressions of his childhood only for effect; when he chose to, he could speak American English as flawlessly as I could.
"Georgina."
"Georgina? Not Josephine or Hiroko?"
"Georgina," I reiterated.
"Very well then, Georgina. Let me see you. Turn around."
I spun around, like a model, letting him get the full effect of this body. When I faced him again, he nodded with approval.
"Exquisite - not that I'd expect any less from you. Short, just like every other one, but the curves are in all the right spots, and the coloring is very nice." He leaned closer to me, studying my face with a professional eye. "The eyes I especially like. Catlike. How long have you been wearing this one?"
"Fifteen years."
"Barely broken in."
"Well," observed Hugh dryly, "it sort of depends on how you define 'broken in.'"
Bastien and I both turned, remembering we had an audience. The other immortals watched with bemusement, the poker game momentarily forgotten. Bastien turned on a high-beam smile and crossed the room in a few quick strides.
"Bastien Moreau." He extended a polite hand to Hugh, every inch of him polished and deferential. Incubi, after all, have just as good a sense of customer service and public relations as succubi. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
He made equally polite introductions with the rest of the group, pausing momentarily when he reached Carter. A brief flicker of surprise in Bastien's dark eyes was the only other indication that he found an angel in our midst odd. Otherwise, his surface charm remained perfect as he smiled and shook Carter's hand.
Although clearly surprised at Bastien's presence, Peter stood up dutifully. "Have a seat. You want a drink?"
"Thank you. You're too kind. Bourbon on ice, please. And thank you for allowing me to show up so unexpectedly. You have a stunning home."
The vampire nodded, mollified at someone finally appreciating his hospitality.
I, however, had other concerns and wondered what had caused the incubus to "show up so unexpectedly." I suddenly remembered Jerome's taunting surprise. "Jerome knows you're here, doesn't he?"
"Of course. Long since arranged." Our kind could not cross into another's territory without making arrangements with the local supervisor. For a group that had allegedly rebelled against the system, we had a staggering amount of rules, regulations, and paperwork. We made the 1RS look juvenile. "He told me where to find you tonight."
"And you're here because...?"
He flung a playful arm around me. "You're pushy. No "Hello, how are you"? Can't I just stop by to see an old friend?"
"Not in this business."
"How long have you known Georgina?" asked Hugh, shifting his solidly built body into a more comfortable sitting position.
Bastien turned thoughtful. "I don't know. How long has it been? Ages?"
"You have to be a little more specific than that," I reminded him, my mind slipping back to a London of long ago, recalling rough-hewn streets redolent with the scent of horses and unwashed humans. "Early seventeenth century?" He nodded, and I let my tone turn teasing. "Mostly I just remember how green you were."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Whatever. I taught you everything you know. "
"Ah, older women." Bastien glanced around at the others, shrugging his shoulders with feigned haplessness. "Always so sure of themselves."
"So, explain how this works," Cody urged eagerly, young eyes on Bastien. "You're like the male equivalent of Georgina, right? You shape-shift and everything?" Having been an immortal for less than ten years, Cody was always learning something new about us. I realized he'd probably never even met an incubus before.
"Well, there's really no equivalent for Fleur , but yes, something like that." I think he preferred calling me Fleur because it was easier than trying to remember the names I kept acquiring over the years.
"So you seduce women?" pushed Cody.
"Exactly."
"Wow. That must actually be hard."
"It's not so - wait a minute," I said. "What are you implying over there? What's this "actually" business?"
"Well, he's got a point," insisted Peter, handing Bastien the drink. "It's not like your job's all that difficult, Georgina. By comparison, I mean."
"My job's very difficult!"
"What, getting men to have sex with a beautiful woman?" Hugh shook his head. "That's not hard. That's not even remedial."
I looked at them incredulously. "It's not like I can just jump into bed with anyone. I have to get quality guys."
"Yeah, as of a month ago maybe."
Bastien shot me a sharp look at that remark, but I was too annoyed to acknowledge it. "Hey, I just won an award, you know. Got the certificate and everything. And anyway, contrary to your pathetic love lives, not all guys will immediately give in to sex. It takes work."
"What, like horns and a whip?" suggested Peter slyly, referring to a particularly embarrassing incident from my past.
"That's different. He wanted it."
"They all want it. That's the point." Hugh turned to Bastien reverentially. "How do you do it? Got any pointers you can share with the rest of us?"
"Several lifetimes' worth," chuckled Bastien, still watching me. "Those are trade secrets, I'm afraid. Although, really, in Fleur 's defense, the techniques are the same for both of us. You should have been paying more attention to her. "
"Low-cut necklines aren't exactly a trade secret."
"Much more to it than that, my friend. Especially with Georgina. She's one of the best."
Hugh and the vampires looked at me as though they'd never noticed me before, apparently attempting to figure out if what Bastien said was true.
"No need to start that up," I pointed out hastily.
"Come on, weren't you just bragging about how you taught me everything I know? You and I used to run some good rackets back in the day."
"What kind of rackets?" asked Peter.
When I wouldn't answer, Bastien merely shrugged. "Oh, you know. The kind that require a partner. "
Cody's eyes widened. "Like...group sex?"
"No!" I protested, unable to stay silent at that. Not that it wasn't in my curriculum vitae. "Partnerships to suck somebody in. Play husband and wife. Or brother and sister. Or...or...whatever it takes to nail your mark."
Bastien nodded along with me. "Men really like the thrill of winning over someone's beautiful young wife. Women too, for that matter. The forbidden always has a certain allure to it."
"Wow." Cody and the others pondered this new development and tried probing us a bit more for details. Bastien, sensing my reluctance to elaborate about the past, gave vague answers, and conversation soon drifted to other topics - as well as to Peter's amazing dinner. It wasn't Met good, but maybe the company had biased me.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" I murmured to the incubus later, as our group finally rose from the table and began making motions to leave. I was dying to know what could have drawn him here and earned Jerome's approval. Hell's denizens could take vacations, but this smacked of business.
Bastien patted me on the back, giving me his trademark grin. "In good time, my sweet. Is there somewhere we can talk?"
"Sure. I'll take you back to my place. You can meet my cat."
When Bastien left me to once again thank Peter for dinner, Carter strolled over.
"Are you seeing Seth soon?"
"Later tonight." Seeing his amused expression, I scowled. "Just get it over with, okay?"
"Get what over with?"
"The part where you tell me how stupid it is to try to have a serious relationship with a mortal."
The mirth faded from his face. "I don't think it's stupid."
I studied him, waiting for the punch line. "Everyone else does."
"Does Seth? Do you?"
I looked away, thinking about Seth. That funny, distracted look on his face when inspiration seized him. His goofy T-shirt collection. The exquisite way he could capture the world on paper. How warm his hand was when it slid into mine. The way I just couldn't stay away from him, despite the million reasons that said I should. Suddenly, caught in Carter's penetrating eyes, something inside of me let loose. I hated how the angel could do this to me.
"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."