His face was unreadable. "Honestly, I don't know." He suddenly sounded tired. "I don't know if I want to."

"Yeah, well, I'll tell you anyway."

The words tore at me while coming out, but I really didn't want to hold onto the secret anymore. Not only because Bastien had given it away but also because I knew I wasn't going to be able to stand having it fester inside of me. It hurt too much. Talking to the incubus had made me realize that.

So while I didn't mention the pictures, I told Seth everything else. Everything.

When I finished, he didn't say anything. He stared at some nonexistent spot in the air, face blank once more. After a couple of minutes of aching silence, he finally turned back to me.

"So. How was I?"

 "That's not funny," I said.

"Seems like a reasonable question."

I looked at him and then wrapped my arms around myself. "Is that all you're going to say?"

"I…I don't really know what else to say."

"This is the part where you yell at me."

His eyebrows rose. "Oh, I see. I didn't know this was already scripted out. "

"That's not what…look. I slept with someone else. And not just slept. I didn't have to do it…not the way I have to with humans. You get that, right?"

"Yes," he said, still dead calm.

"And I wasn't drunk or anything. Tipsy maybe, but still in control of my senses."

"Yes."

"So aren't you mad?"

"Stunned is the dominant emotion at the moment. Finding out someone impersonated you is almost more troubling than the sex part."

"He didn't impersonate you, perse…I mean, I knew it was him."

"I know. But it's still weird."

When he fell silent again, I could only stare with incredulity. He caught my look and retuned it.

"What do you want?" This time he did sound annoyed, almost angry. "Do you want me to be mad? Will that like…punish you or something? Is that what you want?"

I said nothing and realized that was exactly what I wanted. I had read a book once where a guy accidentally killed a girl while driving drunk. His powerful family had managed to keep him out of jail, and he'd hated it. He'd wanted the cleansing catharsis of real punishment, of paying for his crimes. Right now, I needed the same thing.

"I deserve it," I told Seth.

His voice was cold. "Well, I'm not going to give it to you right now. You can't dictate what I feel. Sorry."

My mouth started to drop open, unsure what to do with this turn of events. The ringing of my cell phone interrupted my rumination. I glanced at my purse, then let the phone go to voice mail. A moment later, it rang again.

"You should answer it," Seth told me.

I didn't want to talk to anyone. I wanted to crawl into a hole. But I got the phone and read the display. No one I recognized. Sometimes that was Jerome. If I didn't answer, the demon was likely to teleport on over, and that was quite possibly the only thing that could make this scenario worse.

"I'm sorry," I said softly to Seth, just before I answered. I didn't know if I was apologizing for the interruption or what I'd done with Bastien. "Hello?"

"Hey, Georgina. This is Wyatt."

It took me a moment. From Doug's band. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Bad. I didn't know who else to call. I'm at the hospital with Doug. "

My heart stopped. "Oh my God. What happened?"

"He, uh, took some pills."

"What kind of pills?"

"Not sure. But he took a whole bottle of them."

Wyatt's news spurred Seth and me to action. It was funny how tragedy could override anger. Whatever unresolved issues ensnared us, we put them on hold as I drove us downtown.

Wyatt had briefly told the rest of the story as I'd left my apartment at a run. Alec hadn't come through with his latest shipment. Doug had crashed again, plunging into that frightening darkness I'd observed before. Wyatt didn't entirely know what had triggered the overdose. He blamed everything from a suicidal urge to a desperate attempt at recapturing the high through other means. The emergency room had pumped his stomach, and the doctor said he was okay for now, but he hadn't yet regained consciousness. Wyatt had called me because Doug had no family here, and no one knew how to contact the ones who lived out of town.

Corey and Min were there when we arrived. They elaborated a bit more for us and said there was no change in Doug's condition. Seth stayed silent, but I could tell he was as concerned as I was.

I asked if I could see Doug, and a nurse told me I could. I entered the room alone and found him asleep, hooked up to tubes and a bleeping machine. I had watched medical technology change over the years, from leeches to defibrillators, but that didn't mean I felt comfortable with any of it. Machines that kept people alive rubbed me the wrong way. They weren't natural, even if they did good.

"Oh, Doug," I murmured, sitting at his bedside. His skin was pale, his hand cold and clammy. The bleeping machine registered a steady heartbeat, so that was something. None of the other readouts meant anything to me.

I watched him, feeling helpless. Mortals, I thought, were fragile things, and there was nothing I could do about that.

Many, many years ago, Bastien and I had worked at a dance hall in Paris. Dancers in those days were almost always prostitutes too, but I hadn't minded. The opportunity had provided me with both succubus energy and monetary income. Bastien had been a bouncer and ostensibly my lover. This allowed him to sing my praises, bolstering my reputation and sending me a large clientele.

"There's a young man who shows up every night," the incubus told me one day. "He has 'virgin' stamped all over him, but he's rich too. I've talked to him a few times. He doesn't like the idea of paying for sex, but he's completely obsessed with you."

The news pleased me, and when Bastien pointed out the gentleman, I made a lot of eye contact with him throughout the performance. Sure enough, a manservant of his discretely solicited me on behalf of his employer afterward, and I hurried to prepare myself backstage.

"Josephine," called a voice beside me. I turned and saw another dancer, an especial friend of mine named Dominique.

"Hey," I told her, grinning. "I have a nice prospect I've got to get to." Her grim face made me pause. "What's wrong?"

Dominique was small and blond, with an almost waifish appearance that made her look like she wasn't getting enough to eat. That wasn't a surprise, however. None of us in that profession ever got enough to eat.

"Josephine…" she murmured, blue eyes wide. "I need your help. I think…I think I'm pregnant."

I stopped in my tracks. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. I…I don't know what to do. I need this job. You know I do."

I nodded. From the wings, Jean—the man who took cuts from our liaisons—yelled at me to hurry up and meet my young man. I gave Dominique a quick hug.

"I have to go do this. I'll find you later, okay? We'll figure something out."

But I never really got a later. The young man, Etienne, proved to be adorable. He was much younger than my apparent age, and engaged to be married. He was torn on the issue of sex. Part of him felt he needed to be pure for his bride; the other part wanted to be experienced on his wedding night. That was the part that won out, the part that brought him to my bed and gave me the succubus bonus of both a moral corruption and an energy yield.

He resented me for both my lifestyle and my hold over him, but that didn't stop him from coming back every day for the next few weeks.

"I hate you for this," he told me one day after we'd been together. He lay back against the sheets, in a sweaty, postcoital repose. I stood near the bed, putting my clothes on while he watched. "Marry me."