Succubus Blues Read Free Page A

immediately gave way to desperation. “Everyone called in sick today, and now we’re strapped. You have to do it.”
    â€œWell, I’m sick too. Believe me, you don’t want me there.”
    Okay, I wasn’t exactly sick, but I was still sporting a residual afterglow from being with Martin. Mortals would not “see” it as Duane had per se, but they would sense it and be drawn to it—men and women alike—without even knowing why. My confinement today would prevent any foolish, love-sick behavior. It was very kind of me, really.
    â€œLiar. You’re never sick.”
    â€œDoug, I was already planning on coming back tonight for the signing. If I work a shift today too, I’ll be there all day. That’s sick and twisted.”
    â€œWelcome to my world, babe. We have no alternative, not if you really care about the fate of the store, not if you truly care about our customers and their happiness…”
    â€œYou’re losing me, cowboy.”
    â€œSo,” he continued, “the question is, are you going to come here willingly, or do I have to walk over there and drag you out of bed myself? Frankly, I wouldn’t mind the latter.”
    I did a mental eye roll, chiding myself for the billionth time about living two blocks from work. His rambling about the bookstore’s suffering had been effective, as he’d known it would. I operated under the mistaken belief that the place couldn’t survive without me.
    â€œWell, rather than risk any more of your attempts at witty, sexual banter, I suppose I’ll have to come over there. But Doug…” My voice turned hard.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œDon’t put me on the registers or anything.”
    I heard hesitation on his end.
    â€œDoug? I’m serious. Not the main registers. I don’t want to be around a lot of customers.”
    â€œAll right,” he said at last. “Not the main registers.”
    â€œPromise?”
    â€œI promise.”
    A half hour later, I stepped outside my door to walk the two blocks to the bookstore. Long clouds hung low, darkening the sky, and a faint chill touched the air, forcing some of my fellow pedestrians to don a coat. I had opted for none, finding my khaki slacks and brown chenille sweater more than sufficient. The clothing, just like the lip gloss and eye-liner I’d carefully applied this morning, were real; I had not shape-shifted into them. I enjoyed the routine nature of applying cosmetics and matching articles of clothing, though Hugh would have claimed I was just being weird again.
    Emerald City Books & Café was a sprawling establishment, occupying almost a full block in Seattle’s Queen Anne neighborhood. It sat two stories high, with the café portion dominating a second-floor corner viewing the Space Needle. A cheerful green awning hung over the main door, protecting those customers waiting for the store to open. I walked around them and entered through a side door, using my staff key.
    Doug assaulted me before I’d taken two steps inside. “It’s about time. We…” He paused and did a double-take, reexamining me. “Wow. You look…really nice today. Did you do something different?”
    Only a thirty-four-year-old virgin, I thought.
    â€œYou’re just imagining things because you’re so happy I’m here to fix your staffing problem. What am I doing? Stock?”
    â€œI, er, no.” Doug struggled to snap out of his haze, still looking me up and down in a way I found disconcerting. His interest in dating me was no secret, nor was my continual rejection. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
    â€œI told you—”
    â€œIt’s not the main registers,” he promised me.
    What “it” turned out to be was the espresso counter in our upstairs café. Bookstore staff hardly ever subbed up here, but it wasn’t unheard of.
    Bruce, the café manager, popped up from