Page 121 of The Succubi's Choice

If they took Jacqueline they probably do. If they blocked Gabriel from contacting her, they probably do.

K (8:29 PM): Where are you?

Her spine tingles at it. It’s a perfectly logical question for Katya, it’s perfectly reasonable for her to ask, but…

MIRI (8:30 PM): Greater Los Angeles area.

It’s an answer Katya won’t like, but if Katya’s somehow been compromised, if the phone is being watched again, she’s not going to tip her hand.

K (8:31 PM): Be careful. Something’s going on at the downtown branch.

Of course it is, before she’s even gotten there.

She lets her feet take her up to the main entrance, walk her right through the main sliding glass doors, past an almost invisible barrier of copper, and into the main concourse.

It’s like any other main concourse in any major bank or large building in downtown LA, full of nondescript people in professional outfits, clean lighting, and shining floors. Nothing to say that it’s not exactly like every other professional building in the area, except for the chill of the copper and a small sensation of runes somewhere nearby.

But then again, people like her usually don’t go through the front door. Street level people wandering in still have to believe that there’s nothing different.

She strides through the lobby, her tennis shoes silent against the floors, and a few people glance at her idly, but the uniform blends her in, and they don’t look too carefully.

With a practiced motion, she steps into the bay of elevators, and sees the first person who gives her more than a cursory look.

He’s tall, slightly overweight with graying hair and enough of a goatee to be distinctive, and just familiar enough that she knows she’s seen him before.

Trying to not look at him, she presses the button to call one of the many elevators, but she can feel his gaze on the back of her neck, all but sense his furrowed brow at her.

He could have gotten the email, could have gotten the alert, or he could just have seen her at any number of meetings or business developments or trips to here before. He’s wearing the same polo shirt, though there’s the vague outline of a pistol hidden in his waistline, one she would never be able to spot without knowing Katya for forever.

Her phone dings, and she instinctively flashes the man a sheepish smile as she digs it out.

BLOCKED NUMBER (8:35 PM): They have an unnamed human female, age 29, held on floor eighteen. Trying to find the passcode. -T

The elevator opens, achingly slow, and her heartbeat must be loud enough for this guy to hear.

Across the grand foyer, the door opens and Beatriz steps in, like she’s just a dowdy housewife out for a business visit, as if everyone else couldn’t see that she scans the room with sharp eyes, or that the skin around her wrist is ever so slightly bruised, or the tilt of her jaw downwards.

It’s like she’s invisible. It’s like no one could think that she’s possibly a threat.

The man waiting with her holds his arm in front of the doors, letting her get in with a friendly smile. She nods at him, a simple inclining of her head, one that she hopes is enough to obscure her face from any of the cameras in the elevators.

Thomas had given her a series of numbers to punch in, to get her to the correct floor without proper identification, and her fingers almost slip on the buttons.

Jacqueline might be just a few floors away, and she can’t do anything right now. Not without the passcode, not without access to everything.

Behind her, the man hmmms, before reaching around her and pushing in his own series of numbers. “Sorry, have to go to Libraries,” he says, as if she would know what that meant.

So instead she shuffles to the corner of the elevator, as the doors close, whisking together with a hush.

The elevators here have always been achingly slow, and she braces her hands against the cold metal handrail, anchoring herself in the sensation. She resists pulling out her phone again, resists checking it, knowing that the elevators are garbage with no signal, no way for her to do anything and get any message out.

As the elevator begins its slow climb, the man looks at her, sideways, his eyes dropping to her arm. “What happened?” He asks, conversational, gesturing at the smudged make up around the black marks. “Don’t usually see that.”

Willing herself to be normal, willing herself to calm the fuck down, she flashes him a bright smile, the sort of smile that makes men blink and melt into her commands. “Oh, just a weird tattoo,” she says, and her voice almost cracks, almost trembles. “I was a rebellious teen.”

His head tilts, as he looks down at the marks. “Huh,” he says, before a quick glance up to her face. “I didn’t know succubi got tattoos?”

His voice is non-judgmental, careful in the way that belies years of training, but for now she’ll take it. “I mean, we’re not supposed to.” She lowers her voice, as if letting him on a secret. “I’m only allowed to work here because I’m usually good with the coverup.”

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