Free Succubus in the City by Nina Harper Page B

often.
    Poor Desi.
    I wondered what Steve had done to her.
    Friday was a quiet day at the office and I’d finished most of the work I really had to do. So I had MagicMirror up on my computer. Asura, Lady of Vengeance, had taken a vacation to Aruba where she drowned two divers and complained about the cuisine. Which seemed like it was mostly American chains and steak houses. Well, what do you expect, going to a Dutch island? I was really tempted to write that in her reply column, but you don’t say things like that to the Lady of Vengeance.
    I watched the freezing rain splatter the window. Aruba sounded nice. Two days now without sun and constant precipitation—no wonder Desi was a mess. What’s the good of being a demon with a pile of cash when I couldn’t take off and go to Aruba for the weekend? Everyone else on MagicMirror was someplace warm and nice. Asura in Aruba, Beelzebub in Rio, even the Furies were off in Baghdad, which sounded a lot nicer than New York in the rain. Of course, they were just loving all the war and chaos and were hoping to take credit for some of it. As usual. They really liked to go where everyone else had been in on the action and then talk like they were responsible.
     
    Hi everyone! Ohhhh, this is one of those travel posts just like sending picture postcards but so much faster! We just couldn’t resist war and mayhem! Bombs, mines, all the fun and none of the bad weather. Restaurants are a little scarce and most of them aren’t very good at the moment. Journalists have such pedestrian taste—it’s all lamb and roast beef and rice. And no drinks! When we finish up stirring up the crazies here, we’re off to someplace where cute young waiters serve drinks with umbrellas in them.
    Anyway, having loads of fun! Wish you were here! Well, you probably wish you were here, but look at all the souls we’ve delivered in so little time. So easy. *sigh* It’s almost like a vacation.
     
    I mean, really! At least they write with capital letters and punctuation and have not succumbed to IM abbreviations.
    I was so fed up with their posturing that I closed down the site and went to zappos.com instead. And after a thorough perusal of how various companies are trying to copy the best designs it was time to go to lunch.
    The restaurant is in Chelsea, very trendy with the twenty-something set and very loud. It also serves amazing lychee Bellinis, blood orange martinis, and the kind of comfort food that a demon in distress really needs. There are elegant selections on the menu as well, but I thought that Desi could use a burger or mac and cheese, and how many cool and trendy places can offer lychee Bellinis and mac and cheese?
    Desi was already seated at a table when I arrived. She was in a back corner, as private as anything could be in this room. A large bright cocktail sat in front of her.
    Good. At least she was taking some kind of care of herself, then.
    “Hey, I thought this should be a three-martini lunch,” I quipped at her as I took a seat.
    A waiter appeared immediately and I ordered a blood orange martini and another of whatever Desi had. She would probably need it, and it was better to be prepared.
    For a desire demon, Desi looked a mess. Usually her shiny hair, a perfectly exquisite but understated shade of warm honey brown, bounced in gentle waves to just below her shoulders. Now it looked stringy and dull. Her eyes, usually as large and round and blue as an anime character’s, were red, surrounded by dark puffy circles. Her white blouse, the one with the extravagant cuffs, looked wilted, and washed out her complexion. She looked like she’d been up all night.
    “Hey, Des,” I said, and I squeezed the hand that lay limp on the table.
    And she began to cry. “I don’t know, Lily,” she said. “I don’t think I’m heartbroken; I think mostly I’m just angry. Or am I losing my touch? Am I all washed up? Am I a failure ?” Her voice went up at the end in a long wail.
    “You’re