"Fluffy?"

"Well, I don't know. Not nightmares. They're intriguing to you. They bring out emotions—fascinated, happy emotions. They're giving you visceral reactions, I suppose, but not the type that the Oneroi usually go after."

"And," continued Erik, "there's also the fact that you aren't an ideal choice for them. You're inefficient. You're a conduit, a link to the mortal world and their energy. If Oneroi are stealing from you, they have to wait for you to get your power from someone else first. Far simpler for them to take directly from a human."

I suddenly realized I'd forgotten something. "One other weird thing happened…more than the energy loss…" I explained about waking up feeling cold and wet.

"I guess that's kind of weird," said Dante, "but I don't know that it's really related to this."

"Well, except later that day, I read this article about a guy who went crazy and tried to swim across the Sound. He thought it would help his family—and it did because he drowned and they got his insurance money. When I read the article, the wet and cold feeling came back. It was like…for a second, I was him. I felt exactly what he'd felt. Like I was drowning too."

"Empathy," said Dante. "You read it and imagined what it must be like."

"No." I frowned, trying to bring the feeling back. "I…I felt him. I knew it was him I was feeling. That guy. The same way I knew the girl was my daughter. It was in my gut."

Dante looked annoyed. "Would have been helpful to know this earlier."

"I forgot. I didn't really see it as relevant until now."

"Have you ever had anything like this happen before? Knowledge of something you didn't experience?"

"I don't think so."

Erik glanced at Dante. "Clairvoyance?"

"I don't know. Unlikely. Too many variables. None of them mesh." Dante turned his gaze back on me. "Have you talked to your own people about this?"

I shook my head. "Jerome's been gone. I mentioned the first dream before he left, but he didn't seem very concerned."

"Well, I don't know what to make of it," Dante said.

"Nor I," said Erik kindly. "But I will look into this for you."

"Thanks," I told him. "I really appreciate it."

We stood up, and like that, the momentary truce between Erik and Dante vanished. Erik looked stormy once more. Dante appeared smug and condescending.

"Miss Kincaid," Erik began stiffly. "You know I have nothing but the highest regard for you, and I am more than happy to assist you in any way you need. I also recognize that Mr. Moriarty can also offer you help. But I would prefer it if…"

"…if you don't bring me around anymore," finished Dante. He saluted. "Noted, old man. Meet you at the car, succubus." He turned and walked out of the shop.

Erik's mood didn't vanish with Dante's departure. I could still sense the fury radiating from him. Erik had said Dante was corrupt, but really, so was I. Erik didn't have this kind of reaction around me. There was something I was missing here.

"I'm sorry," I told Erik. "I didn't know it would bother you so much."

"You couldn't have known," he replied wearily. "And after all, I was the one who directed you to him."

"I'll keep him away," I promised.

I thanked him again and went out to meet Dante. He leaned against my car, his thoughts obscured by a lazy smile.

"Why does Erik hate you so much?" I asked.

Dante glanced down at me. "Because I'm a bad man who does bad things."

"There's more to it than that," I said. "And you don't seem that bad. The worst things you've done are trick customers and offer useless information. Although…well, you actually were pretty helpful just now. But like I said, I don't think you're as bad as your reputation implies."

"How would you know?"

I shrugged. "Instinct."

In one swift motion, Dante snaked his hand behind my neck and pulled me to him. I put a hand on his chest and started to push him away and then stopped. There was a warmth in his body, the eagerness of a man who'd been deprived of something for a very long time. To my surprise, I felt arousal burning in me—a yearning of my own to touch someone who wasn't all business. I experienced that feeling a lot, and it usually got me into trouble. My succubus nature woke up, wondering if energy might be on its way.

And despite my lofty talk earlier about not sleeping with people I was acquainted with, I suddenly wanted him to kiss me. I wanted his energy—just a taste.

His mouth moved toward mine. I started to close my eyes and part my lips—then, abruptly, he stiffened. Releasing me, he stepped back. I opened my eyes, staring in astonishment.

"What the hell?" I asked. "You backed off. And after all the grief you've given me about sleeping with you."

"You're drained and hungry, succubus," he said. "It'd be like taking advantage of a drunk girl."

"Right. And you've never done anything like that."

"Yeah, well, I'm not eighteen anymore." He opened the car door. "Are we going or not?"

I studied him a bit longer, thinking again I saw that hope and compassion from earlier. I was starting to wonder if a lot of his cattiness was just bravado, hiding the same insecurities everyone in the world had. I kept my psychoanalysis to myself, however, and joined him in the car. We drove back to his shop, our usual flippant banter obscuring anything serious that might have happened.

CHAPTER 13

"I'm really not a serial killer. It just seemed like too good a chance to pass up."

"Man," I said. "If I had a dime for every time I heard that…"

Liam, the guy who'd bought me at the auction, laughed and opened the car door for me. He drove a shiny black Lotus Elise that he'd had imported from the UK. I found that impressive. It appeared to have just been freshly washed. I found that impressive too—and a little sad since it looked like it was going to rain at any moment.

"It's supposed to be really good, though," he added, starting up the engine. "So, I hope you'll like it and not think it's too demented for the holidays."

I hadn't been keen on following up with my charity date, but I'd known it would have to happen sooner or later. When Liam had called earlier to say he'd gotten tickets to a dramatic production of three Edgar Allan Poe stories tonight, I figured it was as good a time as any to get it over with. Besides, I liked Poe. It was kind of a creepy date to have around the happiest time of the year, true, but that would be the theater's fault, not Liam's.

It was an early show, so we planned to attend first and catch dinner later. On the drive there, he turned out to be a lot like I'd expected. Intelligent. Nice. Moderately funny. He worked for an investment company downtown and had enough sense not to bore me with the details. We traded light banter, sharing anecdotes and experiences. I still would have rather been with Seth, but Liam was a fine guy for one night, and I figured he should have a fun time after donating so much money.

The play was about as twisted as I'd hoped. They started with "The Masque of the Red Death," followed by "The Cask of Amontillado." "The Tell-Tale Heart" closed the night off because honestly, what sort of Poe festivities would be complete without that crowd pleaser?

"I've never heard of ‘The Masque of the Red Death,'" Liam said afterwards. We'd decided to leave the car and walk the six blocks to the restaurant he had reservations at. "I read the others in high school. I guess it's some kind of allegory about how you can't escape death, huh? You can lock yourself away, but it doesn't work."

"More than an allegory, actually," I mused. "Historically, that wasn't an uncommon way for people to deal with plague and disease. Lock themselves up. Or else leave town and run away. Sometimes they'd throw the sick people out of town and lock the doors, so to speak."