Succubus Takes Manhattan by Nina Harper

generally ceremonial magicians tried to control demons, to bind us to do their bidding. They very rarely did anything for us. So why was Marten meeting with a demon? Did he have a bargain with one? That had happened before: Faust had bargained with Meph and Meph had won.
    But it wasn’t Meph that Marten went to meet. He stood in a knot near the screens with Greish and Ezamian, both of whom ranked on a level just below the lieutenants of Hell. Hatuman, our host, joined them and the four of them engaged in what appeared to be a serious, if short, conversation. Then the four of them left.
    Why would Hatuman leave the party? He was the host.
    But then I noticed that the party had thinned out considerably. Marduk was gone. So were my girlfriends. I wondered if they’d all gone home with someone. I’d find out at brunch, no doubt. They wouldn’t have interrupted me with Marten to say good night.
    As I stood there I saw most of the demons in evening dress drift toward the door. Most of the beings walking through the party space now wore Waldorf uniforms and were gathering up stray cups and canapés.
    It was time for me to go. I joined the line at the door. Hatuman was there saying good night to his guests. There was no sign of Marten or the two demons who had accompanied him.
    I paid my respects to my host and thanked him sincerely for a delightful evening. Then I found a cab and went home and lay in bed half awake until dawn.
    *      *      *
    The alarm went off at eleven, jolting me out of a bad dream. I had managed maybe five hours of sleep and I felt awful. A long hot shower helped, though not enough.
    My face looked ragged when I finally got the mirror cleared enough to attempt makeup. It was one of those days when I was grateful for foundation and blush and Visine. These miracles take a little time, though, so once I was fit to face the day there was no time for coffee.
    No help for it. I flew out of the elevator and through the lobby, not noticing which doorman was on duty. When he whistled me a taxi and held the door for me to get in, I did notice that it wasn’t Vincent. I wondered if Vincent had gone home with Sybil last night.
    I’d certainly lost track of the party.
    I arrived at Public precisely at noon. None of my friends were there.
    I fumed. I was furious. I was on time and I hadn’t even had my coffee and I’d had a bad dream and I was tired. And I was there first. I had never ever in my life arrived anywhere first.
    They were supposed to be here already. They should have put us on the list. I wanted to know what had happened that I had missed. And it was cold.
    I went inside to the hostess stand, a modernist statement in poured concrete that only made the rich mahogany and antique brass of the entrance area more elegant. There was the usual crush and at least six names on the list before us. I lied and said we were all here so the hostess would add us to the queue, and was conflicted when she said that it would be at least a twenty-minute wait.
    Desi and Eros came in a cab together, about five minutes after the hostess had given me a suspicious look. Sybil arrived last, her face glowing with something other than the chill.
    But just as she opened her mouth, the hostess announced “Lily, party of four,” and so we had to drop all hope of information until we were seated (at our second-favorite waiter’s station) and had our menus. Then Sybil, being either shy or actually hungry, refused to say a word until we had all carefully studied the menu, which hadn’t changed from last week or the week before, and even if it had I was still ordering the banana-stuffed French toast.
    Ryan came over to take our order. Since he’d served us about a hundred times, he just checked in with each of us. “Lily, the banana-stuffed French toast today? Coffee and a Bellini?” I didn’t have to say anything, I just nodded. One of these days I might surprise him and order something different. One of these days I