Page 134 of Stalked By Seduction and Shadows

I opened the diary.

Rows and rows of slanted words were written across the pages, top to bottom. I remembered the times I saw her writing at the kitchen table. Or on the back patio, next to our mother’s dead garden, casting me glares as she scribbled furiously.

I didn’t read the wall of words, not yet. Or at least I tried not to, occasionally homing in on my name or Phillip’s. I only scanned the dates, searching for the time period the switch had flipped, when she stopped liking me. It had to be near the beginning, because I remembered when Phillip’s mom had given her the journal after Dad had passed.

As I searched, I caught a glimpse of the first line in an entry, my heart completely halting in place.

She’s not even my sister.

I read that line over and over.

My palms were sweating so furiously that I had to wipe them on my sweater. My hands shook, my mouth dry.

Scarlett was adopted. Fran let it slip one day when I was helping her clean up her yard.

Fran was Phillip’s mom. She’d never cared for me, or maybe she hadn’t liked how much Phillip did.

She told me everything. It finally makes sense. Why she’s never felt like one of us. Apparently, Mom miscarried my real sister, so when someone left their scandal baby at Helia’s feet, Wes told Fran and Fran said the baby should go to Mom. Wes said Scarlett was a gift from Helia. I call bullshit. So does Fran, but she’s too nice to say.

Wes, Fran’s husband, was a high priest at the local temple for Helia. I stopped reading, my vision blurring with tears and shock. My innermost wound had been cut right open, and now it was gushing uncontrollably. I shook my head, willing it not to be true, willing this explanation not to make so much sense.

Why I’d never felt like I belonged, why I didn’t resemble anyone else in our family. Why Isabella had abruptly stopped treating me as her sister.

Was Isabella really that cruel? Adopted or not, Mom and Dad were still my parents, weren’t they? Tears streamed down my face, and I sunk to the floor. I gently rocked, pulling my knees to my chest as I still clutched tight to the diary. I should’ve stopped there, but I couldn’t. I had to understand why Isabella had rejected me, why she’d ended up hating me so much.

My shaky fingers flipped through the pages, scanning as I sobbed. It was as though I was grieving my parents all over again.

…she cut herself making dinner, and that was when I took my opportunity. I brought the blood to Beatrice. Her cousin has a spell—a spell to recognize glamoured demons.

My latest sob halted in my throat, confusion giving me pause. I wiped at my eyes to clear my vision. I must’ve missed something during my frantic skimming. I tried going backward, mining for context.

Fran joked that Scarlett was a succubus, and that was why she was such an attention-hungry whore. That was why Phillip’s eyes always strayed, against his will, despite how much he loved me and wanted to be with me. That was why she toyed with men for fun, even when she wasn’t being a slut for money, food, and favors to keep us alive.

Fran was joking. But I went to the library, and I started reading about Lillian’s sex demons. And I knew. I knew without a doubt, no confirmation necessary. Succubi were supposedly glamoured against suspicion about their true nature, especially by anyone under their spell. But I wasn’t under Scarlett’s spell. I saw right through her, right down to the dark void where her soul should’ve been.

I skipped forward, horror a punch to my guts. I’d stopped crying, now caught in a stupor and left scrambling. Thoughts flashed through my mind, feelings I’d never had words for—my ability to sense magick, the way I could perceive others’ desire. Sometimes, it felt as though I could wield it too.

No.

Everyone could pick up the energy of the room—sense where there was tension and lightness. Everyone could tell when someone wanted them. I’d primed myself for it. My seduction tricks were skills. Anyone could perform them. They only needed to pay close attention and learn the game.

Isabella’s voice arose from my abyss. The words she’d spoken after I told her I’d been assaulted: The hell did you expect when you act and dress the way you do? Did you think everyone bends to your whim out of the goodness of their hearts? Because you’re just so fucking charming, witty, and pleasant to talk to? You’re a manipulator, and sooner or later the allure will wear off and they’ll come to collect what you’ve so freely offered.

You’re a parasite, Scarlett. Mom and Dad knew it, and now I do too.

Then I recalled Rune’s familiar description of succubi. His satisfaction when he said he’d had the pleasure of torturing and killing one last week.

I seized up, my mouth dry as sand and a firm lump in my throat. I trembled, frightened tears building back up again.

I kept reading as bile churned in my guts, skipping forward again.

It all makes so much sense. In my reading, I learned that succubi are even powerful as babies and children, attracting help and protection when they’re in danger. It’s all a survival tactic, the start of their manipulation magick. Scarlett forced our parents to love her because she needed them to take care of her, plain and simple.

I paid off Beatrice and her cousin to keep it a secret. I didn’t tell the cousin whose blood it was, and she’s leaving town, anyway. But Beatrice knows, and I had to ensure she never tells Scarlett.

I told the demon who lives in my home that the money was for faulty plumbing. I took it right out of the tips she’s earned whoring. One day, I will tell her. Maybe I’ll tell the whole village and see what they decide to do about her. But for now, I need her. This stays between me and the old witch. Phillip and I are building a life together. I can’t have Scarlett running off to find her demon family, or the human side, either. Though I’m sure whatever vampire fucked a human killed them too.

The diary fell to the floor, and I ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I threw up everything I’d eaten in the past twenty-four hours.

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