Page 18 of The Succubi's Choice

He takesher to the copper room, and the chill of it drips down her spine and pools itself in her stomach.

The same two suited government officials sit across from the giant copper table, and they’re so identical they might just be wearing the same suits as last time. Lundy stands, as if he’s delighted to be some sort of security guard.

There are little noises everywhere: the hum of the lights, the buzz of the copper wiring, and the normal sounds of a business building late at night.

“I was just...I was out hunting?” Miri says, thrown, at the near silence and the chill and the entire visit, eyes flickering between the two men. “It was...entirely sanctioned, I was careful, I…” She trails off, not entirely sure why she’s rambling. Of course she was careful, she’s always careful, and there’s no reason she should have to justify, but…

One of the men’s lips curl up. Ever so slight.

That sneer, that little facial twitch, echoes one she’s seen too many times at the Organization, despite working for it, despite doing her best to never be out of line or do anything with questionable morality. It’s the people who got involved with the Organization not out of the will to do something good, or out of fascination with people like her, but out of anger that they exist. Out of a want to control what is not like them, instead of make the world more balanced.

It’s like she’s been doused with water, and she sits back.

As if sensing her thoughts, Lundy shifts. There’s a chance he saw the sneer as well, but thought better of doing anything about it.

“When you visited the Archdemon,” one starts, and she has to drag her attention to him, “Did anything...strange happen?”

She looks up at Lundy, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. “Everything’s in the report,” she says, small, and immediately hating it. “I put everything in it.”

They stare at her, twin beads attempting to pin her down, and she settles deeper into the chair.

“Anything else you’d like to report?” The sneering one asks, and somewhere deep behind his voice lays a warning.

But she’s never been good with looking for warning signs, so she just shakes her head.

The one with the sneer clears his throat, a harsh sound in the harsh room. “Nothing?” he asks, and this time there’s a hint of insinuation. “You haven’t had further contact?”

“I mean, no?” She has to resist the urge to sit on her hands, like some sort of wayward child. “I gave him my card but...but that’s literally in the report.”

“Well he showed interest in you,” he says, laconic, like he’s holding something over her. “He. The demon. Not the host, the demon.” He taps a hand against the table, like he’s gesturing at something in particular, but the table is as bare as it was before. “Why?”

As if she could command the attention of someone that powerful. “Uh. What?” She asks, couching her voice behind sarcasm and finding herself failing at even that. “What you mean, interest? I didn’t…” She looks back at Lundy, but he’s no help. “I didn’t meet the demon, I just...I charmed the host? He was nice?”

There’s a long pause, where she tries her hardest to not squirm, before the sneering man leans forward, tenting his hands beneath his chin. “We just have some questions.”

* * *

After more thanan hour of circular questioning, where they don’t stop sneering, where she doesn’t stop feeling small, they let her go, and her legs shake underneath her when she pushes herself up to stand.

Before they even leave the building, Lundy puts a hand on her elbow and pulls her into a recovery room.

The recovery room in the downtown Los Angeles building is a hell of a lot nicer than the one in their tiny little Sherman Oaks office, but it’s still recognizable. A cot, a few chairs, and some basic medical equipment that work for both humans and non-humans.

The DTLA one, however, also has a small fridge full of various things useful to non-normal people: plasma for vampires, chlorophyll for dryads, and the thin, not quite lemon-flavored appetite quencher for people like her.

Lundy kicks open the mini fridge and pulls out a bottle, handing it to her.

“I literally just fed,” she says, taking it anyways and uncapping the container.

Lundy points to the cot, wheeling over a blood pressure cuff.

“Why?” She asks, not moving towards the bed.

“Because you’ve been exposed to the copper room twice, and I take care of my wards.” He says, gruff. “Now sit down and drink that.”

She does, and the cot is much more comfortable than the one she naps on in the Sherman Oaks office.

He unfurls the blood pressure cuff, fixing it on her arm. It tightens, almost to the point of pain, but she just rolls back her shoulder to avoid the discomfort. “I know that Vincente is a shit.”

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