It felt weird going out on the town, especially so early in the day. I’d become too subdued in my Seattle life, I realized. I’d done such a good job at playing human that I’d forgotten what it was like to think like a succubus. Why not live it up in daylight? This was technically a business trip, but the point was to scope out the place of my future employment. I’d been here lots of times before, but this was the first time I really and truly studied the city through the eyes of an “on the clock” succubus. Again, I was struck by that earlier, heady sense: easy, so amazingly easy.
We caught a cab, and Bastien gave instructions for us to go to Sparkles. I ran through my mental list of Las Vegas attractions and came up empty.
“I’ve never heard of that,” I said. “It sounds like a strip club.”
“Nah, it’s a brand-new hotel and casino,” Bastien told me. “So shiny and new, in fact, that it just opened a couple of weeks ago, and already it’s a hit.”
“Why’s it called Sparkles?” I asked.
He grinned. “You’ll see.”
The answer was obvious once we got there. Everything was, well, sparkly. The exterior sign was a riot of glittering, chasing lights that should’ve had a seizure warning affixed to it. Everyone who worked in the hotel and casino wore elaborately sequined outfits, and all the décor was done in brightly colored metallic and glittering surfaces. Paired with the flood of flashing lights already found in a casino, the entire spectacle was hard on my eyes at first. Yet, despite what could’ve easily degenerated into tackiness, there was still something in the feel of the place that radiated luxury. Sparkles was over the top, yes, but in a good way.
“Here,” said Bastien, leading me through the maze of the casino. “There’s a little less sensory overload where we’re going.”
Opposite the side we’d entered in was a doorway dominated by a sign reading DIAMOND LOUNGE. With a name like that, I expected strippers and more glitz but instead found myself in a quiet and much more tastefully subdued establishment. Crystal chandeliers and wineglasses provide the only sparkle here. Everything else in the restaurant was warm, honey-colored wood and red velvet. When we were seated at our table, Bastien said to the waitress, “Can you tell Phoebe that Bastien is here?”
I gave him a wry look once we were alone. “I see how it is. Here I thought you were going out of your way to take me somewhere nice. You’re just here to visit your crush.”
“That’s merely a perk,” he told me easily. “The food here really is excellent. And Luis wants you to meet Phoebe too, remember? Don’t worry, you’ll like her.”
I made no effort to hide my skepticism. “I don’t know, Bastien. I can count on one hand how many succubi I’ve actually liked over the years. At best, they’re tolerable and semiamusing, like Tawny.” At worst—and more often than not—succubi were raving bitches. Me excluded, of course.
“Just wait and see,” he said.
We didn’t have to wait long because a couple minutes later, I felt the wash of a succubus aura come over me, one reminiscent of orange blossoms and honey. A tall, willowy woman in a black and white uniform appeared, carrying a tray with our cocktails on it. The employees here didn’t have to match the glitzy attire of their hotel brethren. She set the cocktails before each of us with a grace and fluidity that was almost too much for this establishment. It reminded me of something more suited to the serving halls of kings from long ago—which, I suspected, she had probably known very well.
“Ah, Phoebe,” Bastien sighed dreamily. “You are a vision, as always. Come meet our newest colleague.”
She gave him the look one has when indulging a ridiculous child and sat down in one of our table’s empty chairs. Her dark blond hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, revealing high cheekbones and long-lashed green eyes. “Oh, Bastien, don’t start in on the vision stuff. It’s far too early in the day.” She extended a polite hand to me. “Hello, I’m Phoebe.”
“Georgina,” I said, shaking the offered hand.
“Whatever Bastien’s told you, only believe half of it.” She reconsidered, eyeing him carefully. “Make that a third.”
“Hey,” exclaimed Bastien, with mock incredulity. “I resent that. As if I would ever lie to two such treasures as yourselves !”
“Bastien,” said Phoebe dryly. “You’ll lie to anything female if you think it’ll get you in their pants faster.”
I laughed in spite of myself, earning me another wounded look from Bastien. “Fleur, you know that’s not true. You’ve known me longer than anyone.”
“Which is exactly why I know it is true,” I replied solemnly.
Bastien muttered something uncomplimentary in French and was saved further indignation when Phoebe’s colleague returned to take our order. Phoebe, with our permission, ordered for us, requesting some “specials” that weren’t on the menu.
“Are you a cook here?” I asked her.
“Bartender,” she replied, clasping her hands and resting her chin on them. “Gives me something to do until the show starts.”
“Show?”
Bastien’s earlier dismay was gone, replaced with an expression of supreme smugness. “You see, Fleur? I told you I had a good reason for coming here. My lady Phoebe here is a . . .” He paused delicately. “Is it still polite to say ‘showgirl’? I can never keep track of what’s PC anymore. It took me ages to figure out why I kept getting in trouble for calling career women ‘working girls.’ ”
Phoebe laughed. “Yes, ‘showgirl’ is fine.”
I felt myself sitting up straighter. “You’re a dancer? Where do you perform?”
“Here,” she said. “Or, well, I will in a couple months. It hasn’t opened yet.”
“What kind is it?” I asked. “I mean, is there a theme?”
“It’s a full-fledged Vegas music-dance extravaganza. Exactly what you’d expect from a place called Sparkles. Rhinestones everywhere. Scanty, but not topless.” She tilted her head, regarding me with interest. “Are you a dancer?”
“I dance,” I said modestly. “I haven’t done full stage performances in a very long time, though. I’m out of practice.”
Bastien scoffed. “That’s nonsense. Fleur can pick up any routine. She used to bring the dance halls of Paris to their knees.”
“Yeah,” I said. “A long time ago.”
“Are you interested in being in it?” asked Phoebe, face serious. “They’re still scouting. I can get you an audition. Although . . . you might want to make yourself taller.”
“I . . . I don’t know,” I said, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “I mean, my transfer doesn’t take place until next month. . . .”
Phoebe was unconcerned. “I don’t think Matthias would mind. He’s the company manager. In fact . . .” She glanced at her watch. “He’ll be around in another hour or so. I can take you to meet him.”
“She’d be happy to,” said Bastien.
“I’m sure she can answer for herself, monsieur,” replied Phoebe tartly.
I chuckled at seeing Bastien dressed down again. “I’d love it. That’d be great.”
Phoebe left us as our food began arriving, promising to return at the end of our meal. Everything she’d ordered for us was amazing, and I fretted over eating so much since I wasn’t entirely sure if this meeting with the company manager would turn into a full-fledged audition.
“Lovely, isn’t she?” asked Bastien.
“She is,” I agreed. “You were right.” What I found more astonishing than having the chance to dance in a Las Vegas show was that Phoebe was responsible for orchestrating it—and had seemed genuinely happy to do so. In my experience, succubi would jealously guard those kinds of positions, keeping out the competition.
“I have no doubt you’ll dance your way right into this Matthias’s heart,” Bastien mused. He gave a mournful sigh. “Would that I could dance so easily into Phoebe’s heart.”
“She’s too smart for you,” I said. “She knows your tricks.”
“Of course she does. I’d think that would be half the appeal.” He paused to finish off the last of his cocktail. “Speaking of bizarre attractions . . . I’m totally behind in what’s transpiring in your Northwestern world. Are you still joined at the hip with that introverted mortal?”