Authors: Richelle Mead
Succubus On Top (7 page)
My efforts to simply eat unnoticed proved futile, as I soon found myself surrounded by a group of women. I didn't know where they'd come from. One minute I was just eating, the next minute six perfect faces were smiling at me. They were like a pack of wild dogs, yipping nonstop, honing in on lone prey. They'd even managed to separate me from Bastien, all the better to tear me apart. The incubus now stood across the room with a similarly ravenous group of men, no doubt discussing cigars and lawn mowers. I shot him a panicked look, but he merely shrugged.
“Mitch's sister,” oozed one of the women. “I should have known! You guys look exactly alike.”
“Well, not
exactly
alike,” tittered another. She wore an appliqué sweater vest. Yikes.
exactly
alike,” tittered another. She wore an appliqué sweater vest. Yikes.
“We were just talking about stamping. Do you stamp, Tabitha?”
“Um, like use stamps?” I asked with a frown. “I mean, I mail things . . .”
The Stepford Wives giggled again at this. “Oh! That's so funny.”
“We mean rubber stamps. Arts and crafts stamps,” explained one of them. She'd introduced herself as Jodyâthe only name I could remember among the group. Probably because she seemed to have a slightly higher IQ than the rest. And was the only one of us without blond hair. “You use them to decorate things.”
She dug into her purse and produced a small invitation on beautiful ivory cardstock. Scrolling vines and flowers decorated the front.
“This is the invitation Dana made for this party.”
I stared. “Seriously?”
Somehow I'd imagined the “Great Job!” kind of stamps that teachers used on well-written papers. This was beautifully inked and in different colors. It looked professional, like something from Hallmark.
“Mitzi's having a stamp party next week,” exclaimed one of the other women. “We could show you how to do it.”
“Ooh . . . that would be so fun!”
“Yes! Let's!”
“Gee, it looks kind of time-consuming,” I told them, wishing desperately that I was somewhere else. I was sure I could have held my own in a cigar and lawn mower conversation better than a stamping one. “I don't think I have the time.”
“Oh, but it's so worth it,” one assured me earnestly. She wore earrings that spelled
ALOHA
in dangling letters. “Betsey and I made bridal-shower invitations for her sister all day yesterday, and the time flew by.”
ALOHA
in dangling letters. “Betsey and I made bridal-shower invitations for her sister all day yesterday, and the time flew by.”
“Did you use those cute dove stamps?” cooed another, not unlike a dove herself. “I spent all Tuesday looking for those at the mall.”
“Don't you guys work?” I asked, wondering at their frequent use of “all day.” A century ago, I wouldn't have given it a thought. But this was the age of the so-called modern woman. We weren't supposed to lounge around in parlors anymore and pass out from wearing corsets.
They turned to me, mouths agape.
“Well, there's so much to do around the house,” Jody finally said. “Most of us are too busy with those things.”
Like stamping?
“Besides,” laughed Bitsy or Muffin or whatever the hell her name was, “it's not like we need to. Do you have a job?”
“Well, yeah . . .”
“What's your husband do?”
“Oh. I'm not married.”
This got more stares, and then suddenly they erupted with ideas and suggestions of “perfect single men” who worked with their husbands.
I
had
to get out of here. Either that or render myself unconscious with the wrought-iron pig wearing an apron that sat on the kitchen table.
had
to get out of here. Either that or render myself unconscious with the wrought-iron pig wearing an apron that sat on the kitchen table.
I turned anxiously to Jody. “Didn't I hear there was a pool somewhere?”
She brightened. “There sure is. I'll show you.”
We extracted ourselves from the others, and she led me toward the back of the house.
“Sorry if they're a little overwhelming,” she apologized. “I sort of feel responsible for their stamping frenzy.”
The fact that she'd used the word “frenzy” to describe them made me laugh. “How so?”
“I got them into it.” Her dark eyes twinkled. “Never thought it'd go this far, though. I used to be an elementary art teacher, and sometimes they remind me of the kids. They're all good souls, though.”
“Why don't you teach anymore?” Drawing pictures with children sounded like a wicked cool job to me. If nothing else, the grading had to be easy.
“Well, Jack likes me at home, and this way I get to take out my artistic urges on the houseâand enable the neighbors. Every time I get hooked on a new project, our house takes the brunt of it: pottery, beading, watercolors . . .”
“And stamping?”
She laughed. “And stamping.”
“Could you, like, teach part-time and still get everything done around the house?”
“Maybe. But I've also got my CPFV duties, so my schedule's pretty packed.”
CPFV? Damn. For a minute there, Jody had seemed like a pretty cool person. “You're a member?”
Her expression registered mild surprise. “Yes, of course. We all are. You should come to a meeting someday. I know Dana would love to have you.”
“Where
is
Dana?” I hadn't even seen the main attraction tonight. “I mean, I'm such a fan and all. When Mitch told me we were coming, I couldn't even believe it.”
is
Dana?” I hadn't even seen the main attraction tonight. “I mean, I'm such a fan and all. When Mitch told me we were coming, I couldn't even believe it.”
Pursing her lips, she glanced around with a cute frown. “I'm not really sure where she is. She's probably just mingling. Everyone wants to talk to her. But don't worryâyou'll see her before you leave.”
“That'd be great.”
She smiled and gave my hand a quick squeeze. “I hope we get to see you around. Ohâhere we are.”
We arrived in a massive, glass-encased sunroom containing a crystal blue pool. It looked lovely and inviting. When Jody asked if I had a suit, I assured her I had one under my clothes and thanked her for helping me. She returned to the main party, and I slipped into a bathroom where I shape-shifted into a turquoise bikini.
Some people eyed me curiously, probably wondering who I was, but they left me alone once I was in the pool. I dove under, swimming laps, enjoying the solitude water offered. It had been a long time since I'd been able to do this. I knew Seth swam at a local health club; he said it helped clear his head sometimes. He and I would have to go together one of these days. Or better yet, swim in the ocean somewhere. Yes, that was the way to go. Moonlit beaches and tropical air, away from this crummy rain. Maui. Cancún. Hell, why did we even have to constrain ourselves to North America? We could go to the French Riviera, the Greek Islands . . .
I was so caught up in my fantasies that when I climbed out of the pool, I didn't notice the woman in front of me. I sidestepped, ever quick on my feet, just barely avoiding collision.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn't seeâ”
I froze. It was Dana.
She looked exactly like her promotional pictures. Slim, average height, shoulder-length black hair, and penetrating blue eyes. Her bio placed her in her forties, but she looked a lot younger than that. The result of all that clean living, I supposed. She wore khaki shorts and a green T-shirt, modestly covered by a white button-up blouse tied in a knot over her stomach.
A smooth, cool smile settled on her face, and those eyes reminded me of a hawk seeking out prey.
“No harm done,” she said in that same hypnotic radio voice. “I don't think we've met. I'm Dana.” She extended a hand, and I took it.
“Yes. Of course you are. I mean, I know you are. I've seen your pictures. Er, I mean, I'm a fan and all . . .”
“And you are . . . ?”
“Oh. Sorry. I'm Tabitha Hunter. Mitch's sister. Though maybe you knew that. Everyone says we look alike. I guess we do. I've never really thought about it . . . much . . .”
Ye gods, why was I rambling like this? I had worked dukes and bishops who were ten times scarier than her. They hadn't turned me into a blathering idiot. What was it about one radio bigot that should prove so unsettling?
The eyes, I decided. They reflected no warmth. They were shrewd. Conniving. The kind of eyes that warned she had not risen to where she was today without hypervigilance. The kind of eyes that had an agenda.
“It's nice to meet you,” she said, still maintaining that tooperfect smile. “I didn't know Mitch had a sister. You seem to be . . . enjoying the pool.”
Her eyes glanced down over me and back up, suddenly making me feel self-conscious. Water dripped most unflatteringly off of me, and I uneasily wondered if this suit showed too much skin. At least it wasn't white. Bastien's warning about wholesome image came back to me for real, and I understood his concern now. Looking like a strumpet could be bad for his reputation. If he drew whispers and disdain, he might be ostracized from this group and lose access to Dana. Suddenly, Dana's frostiness didn't seem so weird. It was disapproval. She had, after all, delivered a whole spiel on the abominable state of today's fashions. Here I was embodying it.
“It's very nice,” I said. “One of the, um, best pools I've swum in.”
I stopped before I could say something else even more asinine, and silence fell. She looked as though she expected me to continue and could wait all night until I did. Unfortunately, I had no idea what to talk to this weird woman about. My alleged hatred of homosexuals? Ask if she had recommendations for a more modest swimsuit?
“So, um . . .” I began. “This barbecue theme . . . it's really, uh . . .”
I was saved just thenâsort ofâby Bastien. He strode up to us, appearing very excited to have found Dana. A sharp look in his eyes said he was less thrilled to see me, especially in this state, but he kept it masked from the other woman, instead coming off as amiable and charming as ever.
“Ah, Tabitha, I see you've met our hostess.”
“Yes,” agreed Dana. “We've been having a most stimulating conversation. Your sister's quite the wordsmith.”
I flushed. Bitch. When I was in my zone, I could outtalk her any day.
“Glad to hear it. My Tabby Cat here is nothing if not stimulating.”
Oblivious to my horror over my new nickname, Bastien steered her into some pleasant conversation about the creativity of the party and the beauty of her home. Her demeanor warmed up only a bit from what it was with me. She still came off cool and watchful. Maybe she was always chilly around people, and it wasn't just me. In fact, I thought optimistically, this slightly elevated interest in Bastien might indicate that she wanted to throw him up against a wall.
They conversed a bit longer about something I lost interest in, and I tried to stay inconspicuous, though I could tell I never dropped off Dana's radar. She was studying me, trying to figure me out. Finally, Bastien said good-bye, and we began our retreat toward the front doorâonce I'd changed back to decent clothing, of course. Our exit proved more difficult than expected since apparently it was customary to say good-bye to every single person you passed and get continually delayed by meaningless small talk.
“My God,” I exclaimed once we were safely back at his place, “that was annoying.”
He turned on me, anger flashing in those movie-star blue eyes. “Are you completely out of your mind?”
“Okay, you're right. I've been in more annoying situations. Remember that marquis' party back in Marseille?”
“That . . . that getup! When I first saw you two together, Dana looked ready to explode. Thank goodness this body's more flat chested than your other one. It saved you from looking like a complete pinup.”
“I'm sorry,” I told him. “I was just trying to escape those stamping women and headed for the pool without thinking. I have a suit just like this at home. It was stupid . . . but I don't really think it caused long-term damage.” I hoped.
His expression darkened, and he threw himself into one of the living room's exquisite armchairs. It was covered in white suede. Breathing on it would probably get it dirty.
“I don't know. She was distant with meâyou saw it.”
“I was hoping that's how she always is. And she was a bit more responsive with you than me,” I offered helpfully.
“No. You should have seen her when we spoke earlier tonight. Much friendlier. She definitely clammed up with you around.”
“I'm sorry,” I said again, feeling idiotic. “I guess I shouldn't take a front-row seat to this after all. I'm cramping your style. Or rather, destroying it.”
His stormy expression lingered a bit longer, then disappeared like clouds swept away by wind. That was my Bastien. Quick to anger, quick to love. “No matter, Fleur. Takes a lot more than you to âdestroy my style.'” He patted his lap and grinned. “Come here, sis, and I'll tell you the rest of my brilliant plan.”
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