Page 52 of The Succubi's Choice

They walk by a myriad of people of all sorts, some common ones, some she sees and writes paperwork every day about, then...some she doesn’t. A ghost, someone wispy and see through, next to a normal human, who seems unfazed. A pixie quietly whispering to a shapeshifter.

Their eyes flicker up at her, some recognizing, some out of base curiosity, some with a loathing so strong it takes her breath away.

But he leads her through the restaurant, his face unmoving, until they reach a heavily ornate door with a guard standing in front of it in a spotless suit.

Without a word, the guard opens the door, his eyes flickering too fast away from Miri, as if her very presence feels off. Wrong.

The room inside is dimly lit, with smoke curling along the incense sticks along the edges of the wall. The walls themselves appear to have depth, like some fancy wallpaper that’s more fabric than anything else, and the vague patterns dance in front of her eyes.

Sitting around a low table, with drinks in front of them, are the five people he spoke about, their faces partially obscured by the light and smoke.

First, her eyes are drawn to the man seated further back, and a jolt of recognition shoots through her the same moment he spots her. The succubi, from the house, with his salt and pepper hair and handsome jawbone.

He shoots the Archdemon a panicked look, for a brief second, before he narrows his eyes at Miri, clamping his mouth shut. Hostile.

Miri sweeps her dress from underneath her, seating herself on the couch. She all but sinks into the fabric, like a warm embrace, for a split second before the Archdemon sits next to her, so close it’s clearly possessive.

Or protective, it’s hard to say.

Next to the other succubi, tall and thin, is a vampire. An honest to god vampire, with pale features and dark hair and blood red eyes and everything. She cannot tell if they are male or female, but the air of foreboding creeps over every motion they make. Their body is ensconced in a garment closely resembling a robe, but it hides more than it reveals.

Miri’s breath sticks in her throat. Katya’s terrified of vampires, and pushes off any cases to another department, so she’s never actually seen one in the flesh.

There’s a single human woman next to the vampire, and the woman watches Miri with a single raised eyebrow. She’s small, almost elderly, with a plain face that belies some sort of steely intelligence. If Miri passed her on the street, she wouldn’t pay her any attention, and she gets the feeling that’s the point.

A dryad with skin rougher than bark sits next to her, and a dark, smoke blurred figure next to him. They pay Miri little attention, like she isn’t worth it.

But she’s used to that, so that’s fine.

There’s a moment, a quick breath of tension and waiting, before the other succubi sits forward with a raised eyebrow and an unhappy tilt to his head.

“I assume you know —"

“Yes,” Not-Thomas interrupts, smoothly. “I am aware.”

The other succubi’s eyes graze over Miri’s for a split second, before they return to the Archdemon. “And you’re sure of that?”

The rest of the table merely watches, like this is some normal event, though the vampire does lock eyes with Miri, unblinking. Like they know what’s inside her brain and could peel her apart without much effort.

Not-Thomas shrugs, settling an arm over Miri’s shoulders, as if he’s at ease. But there’s a hard line of tense muscle in that arm, like it’s taking all his effort to not explode into physical motion.

The ghost memory of him holding her by her collar with that very arm hits her, and she shivers, ever so slightly.

The other succubi sees that, obviously, and sits back, his mouth clamped shut again. In the dim light, instead of handsome, he seems pugish, mulish, and unfriendly.

“When I said I wanted to do this for all supernatural creatures, I didn’t mean just your little club,” the Archdemon says, his voice light, but he’s still unmoving. “I meant for those who would rather be under the Organization, as well as those who skirt around it.”

“Doesn’t she work for them?” The human speaks up, soft, with a voice that lilts into a rounded accent, like she has been in America for many years but hasn’t ever forgotten a different land.

Try as she might, Miri can’t place where she would have seen her before.

“Yes,” Miri says, instead of waiting for anyone to answer for her. “Department of Others and Human relations.”

The vampire exchanges a glance with the succubi. “That’s with Katya.” the vampire states, and their voice is rich and entirely non-human. “Unless...”

“Yeah she’s my boss,” Miri blurts out, and doesn’t miss the half smile quirk on Not-Thomas’s lips, and she straightens her spine, staring back at the vampire as if it’s a challenge.

Something in the room changes then, as if those are all the questions they have for her. A cocktail waitress, a pixie with glowing skin, swings in, dropping drinks for everyone. As if this is a normal social hour, as if it’s nothing stressful, as if they hadn’t just shown her open animosity just seconds before.

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