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to draw attention to our whispering, “I ripped on his fans and on how long it takes for his books to come out.”
    Doug stared at me, his expectations exceeded.
    â€œThen I said—not knowing who he was—that I’d be Seth Mortensen’s love slave in exchange for advanced copies of his books.”
    I didn’t elaborate on my impromptu flirting. To think, I’d imagined I was boosting a shy guy’s ego! Good Lord. Seth Mortensen could probably bed a different groupie every night if he wanted.
    Not that he seemed like the type. He’d demonstrated much of the same initial nervousness in front of the crowd as he had with me. He grew more comfortable once he started reading, however, warming to the material and letting his voice rise and fall with intensity and wry humor.
    â€œWhat kind of a fan are you?” Doug asked. “Didn’t you know what he looked like?”
    â€œThere are never pictures of him in his books! Besides, I thought he’d be older.” I guessed now that Seth was in his mid-thirties, a bit older than I looked in this body, but younger than the forty-something writer I’d always imagined.
    â€œWell, look on the bright side, Kincaid. You succeeded in your goal: you got him to notice you.”
    I stifled a groan, letting my head flop pathetically onto Doug’s shoulder.
    Paige turned her head and gave us a withering glance. As usual, our manager looked stunning, wearing a red suit that set off her chocolate brown skin. The faintest swellings of pregnancy showed under the jacket, and I couldn’t help but feel a tug of jealous longing.
    When she had first announced her unplanned pregnancy, she had laughed it off, saying: “Well, you know how these things can just happen.”
    But I had never known how it could “just happen.” I’d tried desperately to get pregnant as a mortal, to no avail, instead becoming an object of pity and carefully hidden—albeit not well enough—jokes. Becoming a succubus had killed whatever lingering chance I might have had at motherhood, though I hadn’t realized that at the time. I had sacrificed my body’s ability to create in exchange for eternal youth and beauty. One type of immortality traded for another. Long centuries give you a lot of time to accept what you can and can’t have, but being reminded of it stings nonetheless.
    Giving Paige a smile that promised good behavior, I turned my attention back to Seth. He was just finishing up the reading and moving on to questions. As expected, the first ones asked were, “Where do you get your ideas from?” and “Are Cady and O’Neill ever going to get together?”
    He glanced briefly in my direction before answering, and I cringed, recalling my remarks about him impaling himself when those questions were asked. Turning back to his fans, he addressed the first question seriously and dodged the second one.
    Everything else he answered succinctly, often in a dry and subtly humorous way. He never spoke any more than he had to, always providing just enough to fulfill the questioner’s requirements. The crowd clearly unnerved him, which I found a bit disappointing.
    Considering how punchy and clever his books were, I guess I’d expected him to speak in the same way he wrote. I wanted a confident outpouring of words and wit, a charisma to rival my own. He’d had a few good lines earlier while we spoke, I supposed, but he’d taken time to warm up to them and to me.
    Of course, it was unfair to make comparisons between us. He had no uncanny knack for dazzling others, nor centuries of practice behind him. Still. I had never imagined a slightly scattered introvert capable of creating my favorite books. Unjust of me, but there it was.
    â€œEverything going okay?” a voice behind us asked.
    I looked over and saw Warren, the store’s owner and my occasional fuck-buddy.
    â€œPerfectly,” Paige told