Succubus Revealed (15 page)

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Authors: Richelle Mead

Tags: #Romance, #Fantasy, #General, #Fiction

BOOK: Succubus Revealed
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She nodded solemnly, just as Morgan finished and Carter beckoned toward us. I walked Kayla over. I helped her onto his lap, and he glanced up at me with twinkling gray eyes. Those, if nothing else, were definitely Carter’s. I stepped back and let them talk. Kayla continued staring adoringly at him, but no one except me knew what truly captivated her. She looked like any other child starstruck by Santa as she related her list, making no mention of his beauty or supernatural creatures prowling through her home at night.
Leaving them to it, I quietly went upstairs and peered in Andrea’s room. She was awake, reading a book. Dark circles hung under her eyes, and her face looked gaunter than last time. She nonetheless gave me a cheery smile.
“Georgina,” she said. “I should’ve known you were the source of all that commotion.”
I laughed. “Not all of that. A friend of mine is here, playing Santa for the girls. He’s taking their Christmas orders right now.”
Her expression softened, resembling the near tears I’d seen on the others’ faces. “That’s very sweet of him. And of you.”
“Would you like to meet him before he leaves?” I asked.
Andrea grimaced and absentmindedly patted her hair. “Yes, in theory . . . but Lord. I look terrible.”
“Believe me,” I said. “He doesn’t care.”
When I went back downstairs, Kayla had finished, and Carter was trying to get a list out of Brandy who told him point-blank there was no way she was getting on his lap.
“I think you have plenty to work on with their orders,” she told him good-naturedly.
“And there’s nothing you want?” he asked in his best echoing Santa voice.
“Nothing you can give, I’m afraid,” she said. Her smile faltered. “But thanks.”
Carter peered at her with that piercing look he sometimes used on me, the one that seemed to look right inside me. “No,” he agreed. “You’re right. But I can give you all my prayers. And my hopes for the best.”
Brandy stared at him, caught up in that gaze, and simply nodded. I don’t think she knew what a powerful thing it was, for an angel to offer all of his prayers, but she most certainly sensed the sincerity and intention in his words. “Thanks,” she repeated.
I caught hold of Carter’s arm. “Their mom wants to meet you, Santa.”
He stood up and followed me to the stairs. We passed Ian along the way, who watched us condescendingly. “Aren’t you going to ask what
I
want?”
Carter paused and looked him over from head to toe. “Sorry. My workshop doesn’t do shabby chic.” Carter continued following me, despite Ian’s protest that his style was “vintage” and that “shabby chic is for wannabes.”
If Andrea felt insecure at the thought of meeting a stranger, she did a good job of hiding it. Indeed, when Carter walked into her bedroom, a little awe passed over her face, reminding me of Kayla. Andrea couldn’t see what her daughter had, but I think she sensed some of Carter’s grace. He came to a halt at the foot of her bed and took of his red hat in a genteel style, revealing rows of white curls.
“This is my friend Carter,” I said, after first making sure no one small had followed us.
“Mrs. Mortensen,” he said, dropping the showmanship. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
She smiled, and the joy in it made her beautiful, despite her weary state. “Nice to meet you too. Thank you for coming over and seeing the girls.”
Their exchange was brief. He said something nice or funny about each girl, making Andrea’s smile grow and grow. She in turn couldn’t stop thanking him. When the pleasantries were finally done, I bid her farewell and stepped outside the room with Carter. I closed the door and was about to head downstairs when he caught my hand.
“Did you see what you needed to?” I asked quietly.
He nodded, face grave, looking more like Carter than ever. “You were right. Her condition was made worse—by a demon.”
“Can you tell which demon?” I asked. I knew Jerome didn’t have my best interests at heart, but it was a hard thing to think of him purposely harming those I cared about.
“No,” said Carter. “But it probably wasn’t Jerome. It’s the kind of dirty work a minor demon would do. I can also tell you that her illness, originally, was natural. Nothing gave this to her.”
“They just made her relapse when she was starting to get better.”
To get to me. To keep Seth busy.
Carter nodded.
“Okay. Thank you for coming here tonight. I appreciate it.” I started to turn, and he again stopped me.
“Georgina . . .” There was an odd, troubled note in his voice, one I didn’t usually associate with confident, laconic Carter. “Georgina, I’ve told you over and over that there are rules about what I can and can’t do, how much I can be involved. As a general rule, I’m really not supposed to do too much active interference in mortal lives.”
“I understand,” I said.
“But what happened to her . . .” He frowned slightly. “That was another breaking of the rules, something that shouldn’t have happened. And in this situation, two wrongs can make a right.”
I stared up at him in amazement. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I can heal her. I can’t completely eradicate the cancer, but I can take it back to the level it was at before she was harmed this week. I can undo what
they
did to her and clean the slate.”
My jaw wanted to drop. “That . . . that would be amazing !” Carter still looked sad, and I couldn’t figure out why. Did he feel like he was violating a rule, even if he was righting a wrong? “What’s the matter?”
He sighed. “What you and Roman said earlier . . . about Hell wanting to keep you and Seth apart? About how her condition keeps him here? Well . . . it’s possible, this is exactly what they want. She got better, then they made her worse again. Then, if she gets better on her own—or because of me—then everyone gets hopeful again, until they come back and make her worse. I’m not saying they will come back. But that they could. A limbo state like this ensures Seth stays around. If I heal her now—and I will if you want—I might be perpetuating that.”
There were two key things I pulled out of that. One was a very, very subtle acknowledgment that Roman and I were right. Oh, Carter wasn’t saying for sure that Hell was after Seth and me, but he certainly wasn’t denying it either. It was all part of that careful angel way of his. The other thing—the most startling one—was the implication that thwarting Hell meant keeping Andrea out of the limbo they wanted her in. Seth would always be tied to his family if she moved in and out of health. If she completely recovered, he would be free. And if she died . . .
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. Heal her. I don’t care if he stays here forever, so long as it keeps her alive.”
Carter nodded, and something shone in his eyes, something a little like pride . . . and sadness. “I thought you’d say that.”
He knocked gently on Andrea’s door before stepping back inside. “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “But I forgot to ask what
you
wanted for Christmas.”
Andrea laughed, eventually degenerating into coughing. Reaching for a glass of water beside her bed, she finally recovered herself. “That’s nice of you, but I’m too old.”
“Never,” said Carter. “There must be something.”
Andrea was still smiling, but it grew a little wistful. “There is something,” she said. I wondered if she’d ask to be cured, which was obviously what Brandy had wanted as well. “I want . . . I want my girls to be happy. No matter what happens to me, I want them looked after and cared for.”
Carter-as-Santa studied her with that soul-searching gaze, and it was as though something passed between them, something I wasn’t part of. At long last, he said, “I swear, it will be so.”
He walked over to her bedside and extended his hand to her. A chill ran down my spine as he did.
I swear
. Those weren’t words an angel could say lightly. I’d thought what he’d said earlier to Brandy was powerful, but it was nothing compared to this. Tentatively, Andrea took Carter’s hand. I saw nothing blatant, no blinding flash of light or anything like that. I didn’t even feel anything with my immortal senses. But Andrea’s face transformed, growing radiant and dreamy, as though she were seeing and hearing the most beautiful things in the world. When Carter released her hand, she smiled at him and closed her eyes, drifting into sleep.
“You healed her?” I asked, deciding not to mention the promise.
“Yes,” he said. “She won’t remember much of my visit.”
“Probably just as—”
My cell phone rang, and I hurried out of the room to answer it before Andrea woke up. It was Roman.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, are you still with the Mortensens?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because I think I’ve figured out how to prove my theory,” he said, voice stern and strained.
“I still don’t even know what your theory is,” I said.
“You will soon enough. Ask Seth how he feels about hypnosis.”
Chapter 13
 
R
oman was impossible to live with after that. He refused to tell me any more details, only that Seth needed to undergo hypnosis and that more would be revealed once that happened.
“But don’t you think I should know now?” I demanded, for what felt like the hundredth time the following day.
“I don’t want to influence either of you,” came the response. “Just in case I’m wrong.”
“I thought you said you’d figured it out! You’re saying now that there’s a chance you might be wrong?”
“There’s always a chance,” he said pragmatically. “But I don’t think I’m wrong.”
And with that infuriating response, there was nothing I could do except wait and speculate. I couldn’t figure out what exactly Roman planned on doing with hypnosis, but at least it seemed relatively safe. I wouldn’t have put it past Roman to say, “Let’s stage a trap for some demons and use Seth as bait.” There were worse things than being hypnotized into clucking like a chicken, I supposed.
It took a number of days to get an answer. The delay came from finding a time when both Seth and Hugh were available. Despite his many formidable skills, hypnosis apparently wasn’t in Roman’s repertoire. It was, however, in Hugh’s, which I found kind of surprising. When I asked him about it, he explained that he’d once been at a medical conference, during which participants were required to take a certain number of seminars. He’d chosen hypnosis because he thought it would be a blow-off class.
“It was actually harder than it seemed,” he remarked. “I did some more follow-up on it after the conference. Dabbled here and there. Haven’t put it to much use since then, aside from an ill-fated date last year.”
“Are you going to be able to do what Roman needs you to today?”
I nodded toward my living room, where Roman was pacing like a caged animal. We were all waiting on Seth to show up, and Roman kept obsessing over small details necessary to create “the perfect hypnotic environment.” He was constantly adjusting the lighting and moving the recliner. Sometimes he’d put it in the center of the room. Other times, he’d drag it to the side, where there were more shadows. We’d given up on trying to advise him. He was too irritable and wound up.
Hugh frowned, watching Roman. “I don’t know. What he asked me to do . . . well, it’s pretty basic, as far as technique goes. It’s what he wants me to do with it that’s kind of wacky. I’ve read up on it a little this week, and honestly . . . I don’t know if it’s going to work.”
I still didn’t know what “it” was and had resigned myself to patience. Seth arrived shortly thereafter, mood bright and optimistic. Andrea’s improvement after Carter’s visit had been remarkable, and it was affecting everyone in the household. I crossed my fingers every day that Hell wouldn’t send someone back to undo what Carter had done. Seth gave me a half hug and kissed me on the lips, a further sign of his good mood since he was usually so reserved in front of others.
“You missed a good time,” he told me. He was wearing a
Princess Bride
shirt today. “I took Kendall and the twins Christmas shopping. They got Ian some used copies of
The Metamorphosis
and
Candide
.”
“He’s into those?” I asked. “I mean, they’re great books, but I just never thought of them as his thing.”
“Well, they aren’t mainstream best sellers—like
some people’s
sellout books—so he’s into the elitist appeal. He likes to go to coffee shops—obscure ones that you’ve never been to, naturally—and pretend to read counterculture literature. He’ll be glad to have the new material.”
Seth’s amusement faded as he took in the living room, with all its drawn shades and Roman carefully arranging the recliner (again). Noticing our attention, Roman paused and glanced between the three of us. “I wasn’t sure what background noise would work best, so I loaded a few different things onto my iPod. I’ve got ocean waves, wind chimes, and white noise.”
Hugh shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. I’m not the one being hypnotized.”
“I’m still not sure I
can
be hypnotized,” said Seth. “But if it doesn’t matter . . . hmm, are there seagulls with the ocean waves?”
“Yes,” said Roman.
“Then let’s go white noise.”
Roman obligingly started it up, filling the room with what sounded more like faulty radio reception than soothing neutral sounds. “Maybe you should keep it at a low volume,” I suggested delicately. “You know, you don’t want it to be so soothing that Seth falls asleep.”
Roman looked dubious, but at a nod from Seth, the volume decreased. I might not understand how hypnotizing Seth was going to play into Hell’s greater plans, but so long as Roman believed it was necessary, Seth got to call the shots. Seth gave me a quick hand squeeze and a smile that was meant to be reassuring. He didn’t like immortal affairs but had accepted this crazy venture for me. Following Roman’s direction, Seth settled himself into the recliner and eased it back. Hugh pulled up a stool near Seth, but Roman and I sat on the periphery of the living room. Hypnosis required a minimum of distractions, which we clearly were. I’d even had to lock the cats up in my bedroom earlier, to make sure Aubrey and Godiva didn’t decide to jump on Seth’s lap mid-session.
“Okay,” said Hugh, after clearing his throat. “Are you ready?” He took out a small notepad, filled with his illegible writing. It was the most low-tech thing I’d seen him use in a while.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” said Seth.
Hugh glanced at Roman and me briefly, perhaps in case we had a last-minute change of heart, and then returned to the notepad. “Okay, close your eyes and take a deep breath. . . .”
I was familiar with some of the basics of hypnosis, and the exercises that Hugh began with were pretty standard. Although Seth had been joking, I too honestly wondered if he could be hypnotized. Part of his nature as a writer was to focus on all the details of the world, making it difficult to hone in on one thing sometimes. Of course, he could also show single-mindedness for his work, and that was the attribute that soon came out. After a few minutes of guided breathing, it became clear that Seth was definitely growing more and more relaxed. I almost thought he’d actually fallen asleep, until Hugh began asking him questions. Seth responded, eyes closed, voice perfectly steady.
“I want you to go back,” said Hugh. “Back in your memories. Go past your thirties, into your twenties. From there, think about your college years. Then high school.” He allowed a pause. “Are you thinking about high school?”
“Yes,” said Seth.
“Okay. Go further back in time, back to middle school. Then elementary school. Can you remember a time before then? Before you started school?”
There was a slight delay before Seth spoke. Then: “Yes.”
“What is your earliest memory?”
“In a boat, with my father and Terry. We’re on a lake.”
“What are they doing?”
“Fishing.”
“What are you doing?”
“Watching. Sometimes I get to help hold a pole. But mostly I just watch.”
I felt a knot form in my stomach. I didn’t fully understand Roman’s strategy here, but there was something terribly personal and vulnerable about what we were doing, listening to these memories. Seth rarely spoke of his father, who had passed away when Seth was in his early teens, and it seemed wrong to “make” him do it in this state.
“Go back even further. Can you remember anything before that? Any earlier memories?” asked Hugh. He seemed uneasy, a sharp contrast to Seth’s utter calmness.
“ No. ”
“Try,” said Hugh. “Try to go back further.”
“I . . . I’m in a kitchen. The kitchen at our first house, in a high chair. My mom’s feeding me, and Terry’s walking through the door. He runs to her and hugs her. He’s been gone all day, and I don’t understand where he’s been.”
School, if I had to guess. I tried to put an age on this memory, using what I knew of the age difference between the brothers. How long did kids stay in high chairs? And how young would he have to be to not understand the concept of school? Three? Two?
“That’s great,” said Hugh. “That’s really great. Now keep going even more. Go back to something even earlier.”
I frowned, thinking they were kind of pushing it now. I was no expert in human memory, but I thought I’d once read about how two was the age when memories really began forming. Seth seemed to struggle with this as well, frowning despite his otherwise calm exterior.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ve got one.”
“Where are you?” said Hugh.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you see?”
“My mother’s face.”
“Anything else?”
“No. That’s all I remember of that.”
“That’s okay,” said Hugh. “Now find something else before that. Any memory. Any image or sensation.”
“There’s nothing,” said Seth.
“Try,” said Hugh, not looking nearly as confident as he sounded. “It doesn’t matter how vague it is. Anything you can remember. Anything at all.”
“I . . . there’s nothing,” said Seth, the frown deepening. “I can’t remember anything before that.”
“Try,” repeated Hugh. “Go further back.”
This was getting ridiculous. I opened my mouth to protest, but Roman caught hold of my arm, silencing me. I glared at him, hoping I could convey all my frustrations at what they were doing to Seth in one look. Roman simply shook his head and mouthed
Wait
.
“I remember . . . I remember faces. Faces looking at me. Everyone’s so much bigger than me. But they’re mostly shadows and light. I can’t see . . . can’t comprehend much detail.” Seth paused. “That’s it. That’s all there is.”
“You’re doing good,” said Hugh. “You’re doing great. Just listen to the sound of my voice, and keep breathing. We need to go back even earlier. What do you remember before that? Before the faces?”
“Nothing,” said Seth. “There’s nothing there. Just blackness.”
Roman shifted in his chair, going rigid. He leaned forward, eyes bright and excited. Hugh glanced over questioningly, and Roman gave an eager nod. Swallowing, Hugh turned back to Seth.
“I need you . . . to go past the blackness. Go to the other side of it.”
“I can’t,” said Seth. “It’s a wall. I can’t cross it.”
“You can,” said Hugh. “Listen to my voice. I’m telling you, you can. Push back in your memories, past the memories of this life, to the other side of the blackness. You can do it.”
“I . . . I can’t—” Seth cut himself off. For a moment, there was no other sound save the white noise on Roman’s iPod, though it was a wonder I couldn’t hear the pounding of my own heart. The frown that had been intensifying on Seth’s face abruptly smoothed out. “I’m there.”
Hugh shifted awkwardly, disbelief registering on his face. “You are? What are you doing? Where are you?”
“I . . .” The frown returned, but it was different in nature. It was distress from the memory itself, not the effort. “I’m bleeding. In an alley.”
“Are you . . . are you Seth Mortensen?” Hugh’s voice was a whisper.
“ No. ”
“What’s your name?”
“Luc.” The frown smoothed again. “And now I’m dead.”
“Go back to the alley,” said Hugh, regaining his courage. “Before you . . . before, um, Luc died. How did it happen? Why were you bleeding?”
“I was stabbed,” said Seth. “I was trying to defend a woman. A woman I loved. She said we couldn’t be together, but I know she didn’t mean it. Even if she didn’t, I still would’ve died for her. I had to protect her.”
It was about that point that I stopped breathing.
“Where are you?” Hugh reconsidered his question. “Do you know the year?”
“It’s 1942. I live in Paris.”
Roman reached across me to a stray catalog on a chair. Producing a pen, he scrawled something on the catalog’s cover and then handed it to Hugh. Hugh read it and then gently placed it on the floor.
“Tell me about the woman,” he said to Seth. “What’s her name?”
“Her name is Suzette.”
Someone let out a strangled gasp. Me. I stood up then, and Roman jerked me back down. A million protests sprang to my lips, and he actually had the audacity to clamp a hand over my mouth. He shook his head sharply and hissed in my ear, “Listen.”
Listen?
Listen?
He had no idea what he was asking. He had no idea what he was hearing. For that matter, I wasn’t sure either. All I knew was that there was no way this could be happening. Much like the night I’d gotten into bed with Ian, I had the surreal feeling that the only way any of this could be real was if I’d accidentally stumbled into someone else’s life.
“Tell me about Suzette,” said Hugh.
“She has blond hair and blue eyes,” said Seth levelly. “She moves like music, but none of the music I make can compare to her. She’s so beautiful . . . but so cruel. Not that I think she means to be. I think she believes she’s helping.”

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