Succubus Blues by Richelle Mead Page A

when…” sort of game. We’d only gotten back as far as the Industrial Revolution before passing out.
    â€œBecause no one’s ever tried to kill me. So what, are you saying all those turf wars vampires have are for nothing?”
    â€œWell, not for nothing,” he said. “We inflict some pretty terrific damage, believe me. But no, no one ever dies. With all the territory disputes, there’d be very few of us left if we could kill each other.”
    I stayed silent, turning this revelation over in my head. “Then how do—” I suddenly remembered what Jerome had told me. “They get killed by vampire hunters.”
    Peter nodded.
    â€œWhat’s the deal with them?” I asked. “Jerome wouldn’t elaborate.”
    Hugh was equally interested. “You mean like that one girl on TV? The hot blonde?”
    â€œThis is going to be a long night.” Peter gave us both scathing looks. “You all need some serious Vampires 101. I don’t suppose you’re going to offer us anything to drink, Georgina?”
    I waved an impatient hand toward the kitchen. “Get whatever you want. I want to know about vampire hunters.”
    Peter sauntered out of my living room, yelping when he nearly tripped over one of the many stacks of books I had sitting around. I made a mental note to buy a new bookshelf. Scowling, he surveyed my nearly empty refrigerator with disapproval.
    â€œYou really need to work on your hosting skills.”
    â€œPeter—”
    â€œNow, I keep hearing stories about that other succubus…the one in Missoula. What’s her name again?”
    â€œDonna,” offered Hugh.
    â€œYeah, Donna. She throws great parties, I hear. Gets them catered. Invites everyone.”
    â€œIf you guys want to party with all ten people in Montana, then you’re welcome to move there. Now stop wasting time.”
    Ignoring me, Peter eyed the red carnations I’d bought the other night. I’d put them in a vase near the kitchen sink. “Who sent you flowers?”
    â€œNo one.”
    â€œYou sent yourself flowers?” asked Cody, his voice quaking with sympathy.
    â€œNo, I just bought them. It’s not the same. I didn’t—look. Why are we talking about this when there’s an alleged vampire killer on the loose? Are you two in danger?”
    Peter finally opted for water but tossed beers to Hugh and Cody. “Nope.”
    â€œWe aren’t?” Cody seemed surprised to learn this. His scant years as a vampire practically made him a baby compared to the rest of us. Peter was teaching him “the trade,” so to speak.
    â€œVampire hunters are simply special mortals born with the ability to inflict real damage to vampires. Mortals in general can’t touch us, of course. Don’t ask me how or why this all works; there’s no system as far as I can tell. Most so-called vampire hunters go through life without even realizing they have this talent. The ones who do sometimes decide to make a career out of it. They pop up like this from time to time, picking off the occasional vampire, making a general nuisance of themselves until some enterprising vampire or demon takes them out.”
    â€œâ€˜Nuisance’?” asked Cody incredulously. “Even after Duane? Aren’t you the least bit worried about this person coming after you? After us?”
    â€œNo,” said Peter. “I am not.”
    I shared Cody’s confusion. “Why not?”
    â€œBecause this person, whoever he or she is, is a total amateur.” Peter glanced over at Hugh and me. “What did Jerome say about Duane’s death?”
    Deciding I needed a drink myself, I raided my kitchen liquor cabinet and made a vodka gimlet. “He wanted to know if I did it.”
    Peter made a dismissive gesture. “No, about how he died.”
    Hugh frowned, apparently trying to piece together the logic afoot. “He said