Page 6 of Obsession

“There’s no way I’m letting you pick my outfit. You’d have me wearing pasties and a thong,” I say, peeling the banana and taking a bite.

“Well at least tell me you’re wearing sexy underwear. Or better yet, none at all. And then casually mention that to Damion.”

“Oh my Goddess, will you butt out,” I groan as I finish the banana and toss the peel.

I walk to my room to find Damion sprawled on my bed with his hands crossed behind his head, looking sinfully delicious in a charcoal-colored suit and blood-red tie. I’m quickly learning this tie is his favorite. “So are you wearing underwear?” he asks as a warm phantom touch traces my shoulder and my exposed bra strap. He moves his touch down to the lines of my thong underneath my skirt, giving it a little pop. “Mmmm, sexy underwear.”

“I hate you both. Let’s go,” I say, grabbing my phone and pretending my nipples aren’t hard enough to cut glass.

Traffic isn’t too bad this late in the morning, but there are still a few drivers who manage to get in Damion’s way. And by in his way, I mean having the nerve to share the road with us.

“Does your mother know Sonia is a she-demon?” Nora Blackmon was less than warm and welcoming when we first met. Ha, that’s putting it nicely. But I’m trying not to hate Damion’s mother and look at the situation from her perspective. Maybe she felt used by Damion’s father, Zazel, and doesn’t want a wicked witch like me to do the same to her son. Nice theory, but that still doesn’t explain her attempts at matchmaking her son with a succubus.

“No. She’s never asked, and I’ve never volunteered the information.” Well, there’s my answer.

“How did you and Gabe become friends?”

“Ah, it’s time for road games with Aubry and my all-time favorite, 21 Questions.” I smile and patiently wait him out. “He’s a Nephilim. I’m a Cambion. There aren’t too many of our kind.”

“You don’t have any brothers?”

“Zazel has fathered sons in centuries past, but I’m his only living offspring.” I realize Damion’s father is immortal, yet I still have trouble wrapping my head around this statement.

“Is it true that succubi are daughters of Lilith?”

He shrugs. “You’d have to ask a succubus that question.” That’s a problem. The only succubus I know would just as soon hit me over the head with a terra cotta bowl than answer any of my questions.

“What about Lucifer? Did he lead an army of angels against his god and get kicked out of heaven?”

He shrugs again. It’s infuriating. “Depends on who’s telling the story.”

“But if you asked someone who was there, wouldn’t they know? And if you shrug one more time I’m going to hex you.” Goddess help me, I’ve turned into Amelia.

He laughs, shrugging anyway. “I will say this—eyewitness testimony is inherently inaccurate and unreliable.”

“Is it safe to say that angels try to preserve the natural order of the world, and demons try to wreak havoc on it, with humans stuck in the middle?” I try.

“Like the angel Eiael preserved the natural order?” he counters. Rogue angel murdering innocent women to power his ascension to godhood? Point taken. “Nothing is black and white. One civilization’s god is the conquering civilization’s demon. I’ve met my fair share of obnoxious angels and conversely, many decent demons. Angels, demon, humans—regardless of what we are, we get to choose who we are, each and every day.”

Arriving on campus, we navigate to Sonia’s office in the Department of Religious studies. Damion’s words about choosing who we are stick with me. Today I’m going to choose to be the bigger person and give Sonia another chance.

Damion knocks on her office door, and Dr. Sonia Thompson appears and greets him with a double cheek kiss and hug that lasts waaaaay longer than it should. Choosing to be the bigger person. Choosing to be the bigger person.

Sonia’s what you’d imagine a she-demon seductress would look like—perfect heart-shaped face, long, dark lustrous hair, and curves for days. I’d guess Sonia to be in her mid-thirties, of indeterminable heritage. Dressed conservatively in a black skirt suit and silk white blouse, she still manages to make it look sexy as sin. Again, choosing to be the bigger person.

“Sonia, thank you for seeing us. You of course have met my girlfriend, Aubry,” Damion says, extricating himself from her arms.

“Little witch,” she says, pursing her perfectly pouty red lips as she looks me up and down.

“Little succubus.” I match her look. She’s making this choosing to be the bigger person thing extremely difficult.

Damion removes the bowl from the box using his power. “An incantation bowl! I’ve never seen one in person before,” Sonia says excitedly. “These were extremely popular in the Jewish community of Mesopotamia.”

“Can you translate the writing for us?” Damion asks.

She studies the bowl for a moment. “Of course,” she says haughtily. “It looks like either Jewish Babylonian Aramaic or Mandaic. Give me a few days.”

“If you’ll take a picture of the bowl and get back to us with the translation, that would be extremely helpful,” Damion says, flashing his dimples. Watching Damion charm Sonia to help our cause is like the saying about sausage—good eats, but you don’t want to see how it’s made.

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