I actually had been thinking of wussing out. After yesterday’s drama and now my regret over yielding to Maddie, I wasn’t sure I was up for my immortal friends’ zany hijinks.
“Come on,” Roman said. “Simone is so boring. And I don’t even mean her activities. She’s just bland. If you’re not there to entertain me, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Are you saying the rest of my friends aren’t entertaining?”
“They pale in comparison.”
I finally agreed to go. Although, it wouldn’t have surprised me if his interest in me making an appearance was just to bum a ride. Nonetheless, I was in a good mood as I headed over to Capitol Hill. It was a little weird having Roman with me and not with me. To continue his spying, he’d gone invisible and without signature. It was like having a ghost in my car.
As usual, I was one of the last to arrive. The Three Amigos—Peter, Cody, and Hugh—were there, dressed in their usual attire now, rather than historically accurate costumes. That meant a perfectly coordinated sweater vest and slacks for Peter, jeans and a T-shirt for Cody, and business casual for Hugh. I held the door open a little longer than usual, to facilitate Roman sweeping in after me. From there, I took it on faith that he was hanging out. As soon as he let us in, Peter scurried back to his kitchen without a word.
Simone was there too. She sat on the loveseat, long legs perfectly crossed and hands resting on her knees. Her body was slim with respectably sized breasts, clad in a black skirt and silvery silk blouse. Her hair was—unsurprisingly—long and blond. Most succubi seemed to think blond was a sure-fire way to get guys in bed. I considered that attitude a sign of inexperience. I’d been a brunette—albeit one with gold highlights—for a while and never had trouble scoring action.
Hugh sat next to her, wearing the flirtatious face that was standard for him when it came to wooing women into bed. Simone regarded him with a polite smile, one she turned on me when I entered. She stood up and held out her hand. Her immortal signature smelled like violets and put me in mind of moonlight and cello music.
“You must be Georgina,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
She kept that same polite expression, and I could tell it wasn’t faked. It also wasn’t mischievous or overly charming. Likewise, she bore none of the open hostility succubi had around each other, or even the sugar-coated passive aggressiveness that was also common among us. She was just averagely nice. She was…bland.
“You too,” I said. I turned to Cody as I tried to identify the scents coming from the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”
“Shepherd’s pie.”
I waited for the joke, but none came. “That’s not Peter’s usual style.” He was a great cook but tended to stray toward filet mignon or scallops.
Cody nodded. “He was watching a documentary on the British Isles earlier, and it inspired him.”
“Well, I’ve got nothing against it,” I said, sitting on the arm of the couch. “I guess we should just be grateful he didn’t decide to make blood pudding.”
“In Australia, they have a variant of shepherd’s pie that has potatoes on the top and the bottom,” Simone said out of nowhere. “They call it potato pie.”
Several seconds of silence followed. Her comment wasn’t entirely off-topic, but it was just odd—particularly since she didn’t deliver it in a smug, know-it-all voice that you found among people who always won at Trivial Pursuit. It was just a statement of fact. It also wasn’t very interesting.
“Huh,” I said at last, voice deadpan. “Good to know the name’s accurate. It’ll avoid any embarrassing confusion that might occur at dinner. God only knows how many wacky mishaps have happened when people ordered sweetmeats.”
Cody choked a little on his beer, but Hugh gave Simone a high-beam smile. “That’s fascinating. Are you a cook?”
“No,” she said. Nothing more.
Peter popped back in just then with a vodka gimlet for me. After last night’s showdown with Doug, I’d vowed to lay off for a while—like, a few days. I suddenly decided I might need a drink after all.
Peter glanced around with a small frown. “This is it? I’d kind of hoped Jerome might come.” Our boss used to hang out with us quite a bit but had been avoiding social events since his summoning.
“I think he’s got some business to take care of,” I said. I honestly had no clue, but I kind of hoped my vague allusion would trigger a reaction in Simone. It didn’t.
Peter put on a good spread as always, his kitchen table immaculately set, along with cabernet sauvignon to complement the shepherd’s pie. I noted that Guinness might be a better pairing, but he ignored me.
“Where are you from?” I asked Simone. “You’re here on vacation, right?”
She nodded, delicately lifting her fork. She’d cut her pie into perfect one-inch-sized cubes. It was enough to rival Peter’s obsessive compulsion. “I’m from Charleston,” she said. “I’ll probably stay for a week. Maybe two if my archdemon will let me. Seattle’s nice.”
“I’ve heard Charleston’s nice too,” said Hugh. He apparently hadn’t given up on getting laid tonight.
“It was founded in 1670,” she said by way of answer.
That weird silence followed again. “Were you there at the time?” I asked.
“No.”
We ate without further conversation. At least, we did until dessert arrived and Cody turned his attention to me. “So, are you going to help me or not?”
I’d been pondering how Simone ever managed to score guys and if her use of adjectives expanded beyond “nice.” Cody’s question blindsided me. “What?”
“With Gabrielle. Remember? Last night?” Right. Bookstore Gabrielle who was only into Goth and vampire guys.
“I didn’t promise you I would, did I?” I asked uneasily. There were too many memory gaps from that party.
“No, but if you were a friend, you would. Besides, aren’t you some kind of love expert?”
“For myself.”
“And if memory serves,” said Hugh, “she’s not even really good at that.”
I shot him a glare.
“You have to give me something,” said Cody. “I need to see her again…need something to talk to her about…”
I’d thought his infatuation with Gabrielle had been alcohol induced last night—seriously, was there anything alcohol couldn’t be blamed for?—but that look of puppy dog love was still in his eyes. I’d known Cody a few years and had never seen this kind of reaction from him. I’d never seen it from Peter either, but my friends and I had secretly decided long ago that he was just asexual. If vampires had been capable of reproduction, he would have done it amoeba-style.
I racked my brain. “I saw her reading The Seattle Sinner the other day on her break.”
“What’s that?” Cody asked.
“It’s our local industrial-Goth-fetish-horror-S&M-angst underground newspaper,” said Peter.
We all turned and stared at him.
“So I’ve heard,” he added hastily.
I glanced back at Cody with a shrug. “It’s a start. We’ve got it in the store.”
“Are you guys done with the boring love stuff?” a voice suddenly asked. “It’s time to get onto the real action.”
The new voice made me jump, and then I felt the familiar crystalline aura signaling an angel’s presence. Carter materialized in the one empty chair at the table—Peter had set for six, hoping Jerome would show. Seattle’s worst dressed angel sat back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest and expression typically sardonic. His jeans and flannel shirt looked like they’d gone through a wood chipper, but the cashmere knit hat resting on his shoulder-length blond hair was pristine. It had been a gift from me, and I couldn’t help a smile. Carter’s gray eyes glinted with amusement when he noticed me.
Hanging out with an angel might be weird in some hellish circles, but it had become pretty standard in our group. We were used to Carter’s comings and goings, as well as his cryptic—and often infuriating—remarks. He was the closest Jerome had to a best friend and always had a particular interest in me and my love life. He’d let up a little since the recent debacle with Seth.