Page 30 of The Succubi's Choice

The same small smile dances on his face.

“What did you do?”

“He never got the call, he’ll never know you were here, and your friends will be forever confused on why they didn’t get a response,” he says, his voice slow like honey. “Do you want them to forget as well?”

It takes a moment, but what he’s saying clicks into place. “Are you saying you can change memories?” She asks, and her breath catches in her throat again.

“For certain quantities of what memories mean,” he steps away from her, oddly formal. “Do you want them to forget?”

“No.” She blurts out. “No don’t do anything to them, they’re innocent, Jacqui doesn’t know, I can’t —"

His eyes narrow, but not maliciously, instead in a way that sees into her soul. “You keep yourself hidden, when you could control so much,” he marvels. “Enjoy explaining that.”

With one last firm grip on her arm, he takes a deep breath and disappears.

Leaving her alone in the gravelly parking lot, skin too hot where he touched her.

But there’s no more noise, and no more cars zooming past, just the sound of the exhaust from the air conditioner, where her friends are probably freaking the fuck out.

There’s blood, human blood, on her fingertips.

“Fuck,” she whispers, stooping over and rubbing dirt on her fingers to slough off the sticky blood, before walking back inside.

Inside, all the lights are on, and Jacqueline is sitting on the counter, hugging her knees, and Gabriel’s frantically dialing on his phone, his eyes wide.

They both spin and look at her, as she closes the door with a soft click, making her feel for all the world that she’s a delinquent child.

“Hi,” she says, soft, and her voice carries through the overly chilled air. “I’m okay, he only took me outside.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jacqueline blurts out. “Miri, he’s been saying some fucked up shit, something about ghosts and —"

“Yeah, he’s telling the truth.” Forcing her legs to walk forward, she heads towards her purse, eyeing Gabriel. “Did he actually hurt you?”

Gabriel shakes his head, his eyes wide, and this close, she can see his hands shaking badly.

“I made him promise not to, so uh....you don’t have to worry about shooting him again?” She shoves her used gloves into her purse, and there’s still some blood underneath her fingernails. “Can we go home?”

There’s silence except for the circulated air, then—

“What the fuck?” Jacqueline breathes. “What the fuck?”

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