“Iris’s is a boutique,” I told Ryu. “It’s really famous around here.” Ryu’s eyes stayed on mine, expectantly, so I continued. “The owner, Iris, does a really specialized personalized-shopping experience kind of thing. She has a store with regular stock in it, but she also brings in special stuff just for you if you’re one of her clients. Who are mostly rich people with holiday homes. I’ve never actually been there. I’ve just heard about it. It’s really expensive,” I added, lamely, well aware of my slightly shabby gray sweater. At this point in the week I was running out of “good” clothes.

“Well,” Ryu said, taking his BlackBerry out of his pocket and dialing the number from the planner. “Looks like you’ll finally get your chance to visit Iris’s boutique.” While it rang, he eyed me skeptically. “And maybe,” he said, poking his finger through a small hole in the side of my top I hadn’t noticed until then, “she’ll have something in your size.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Uh-oh,” Ryu said, as we pulled in front of Iris’s elegantly understated boutique. There was an absolutely sublime black pants suit on the mannequin in the window, and a pyramid of handbags that probably cost a small fortune. And I mean individually, not just in formation.

“Huh?” I mumbled, practically salivating at the sight of a particularly enormous red leather bag that I could probably have fit myself into. And, boy, did I want to give it a go.

“There’s a succubus in there. She’s left her mark all over the place,” Ryu said, grimacing. I didn’t think that was a very nice thing to say, and I told him so.

“I don’t mean succubus in the wanton harlot sense,” he explained, patiently. “I mean a real live succubus. They’re what you might call cousins to vampires. But they don’t feed off fear at all, just lust. And they can harvest essence from any bodily fluid, not just blood.”

“Oh,” I said, chewing my mental cud. And then everything came together. “Oh, a succubus,” I said, remembering the exact details of my mythology. “And any bodily fluid…” The thought was rather exciting, and I blinked. “I gotcha.”

Ryu pulled me toward him for a lingering kiss. “You’re almost too cute to fuck, Jane. But that just makes me want to fuck you even more.”

“Wow,” I murmured, as my libido kicked into high gear and I reached up to grab two fistfuls of his thick brown hair. Speaking of bodily fluids…

We pulled away from each other after a minute, panting. This was neither the time nor the place. Mostly because the stupid Porsche was too small to accommodate any horseplay. Foiled in my attempt to illustrate for Ryu what a true wanton harlot could do, and therefore rather frustrated, I was in no way prepared for what waited for us beyond the doors of Iris’s boutique.

If I had thought Grizzie oozed sexuality, the vision that came to open the door for us was gushing sensuality in a torrent so palpable I actually stumbled over it. Softly manicured hands caught me, and I was face to face with the most perfect bosoms I’d ever seen. I’m no slouch in the boobies department, but these personalities were impeccable. “Oh, honey,” came a voice like molasses. “Are you all right?” The hands helped me straighten up, until I was gazing into the most beautiful blue eyes I’d ever seen in my entire life. They were like my sea during a storm or the sky on a summer’s day. Or Nan’s toilets when she’d used those cistern deodorizing-tablet jobbies—

“Ahem,” coughed Ryu, dryly, and I found the strength to detach myself from the vision.

“Iris, I presume?” Ryu continued, putting out one hand to shake the vision’s while he used the other to haul me back to his side.

The vision turned the full weight of her attention onto Ryu, and I managed to straighten myself up. Wow, that was intense, I thought, trying to still my trembling hands.

“Yes,” came the butter-and-jam voice again. “And you must be Ryu. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Who is your friend?”

“Her name is Jane True,” Ryu said, stepping resolutely between Iris and me. “Her mother is the selkie, Mari, who made her home in Rockabill for a time.”

“Of course, little Jane,” Iris said, circumventing Ryu and somehow getting her lovely mitts on me once again. She used one hand, placed dangerously low at the small of my back, to steer me into her boutique.

“I sold your mother a red wrap dress, once,” she said. “You were just a babe in arms, but I knew then you would be a beauty. Your mother certainly was. And look at you now.” She put her hand on my shoulder and spun me around, and then took a step back to get a good look at me. I was getting more and more flushed by the second and I looked back at Ryu for help. I could tell he didn’t know whether to be irritated or to run and get a video camera.

“You have her hair, and her eyes,” Iris said, brushing my bangs away from my face. “And her figure. She’s built like a young Selma Hayek,” the succubus commented appreciatively to Ryu, who had stepped up to stand beside her. “Like in From Dusk Till Dawn,” she continued, as they both ogled me. I could see that Ryu was showing some fang, and Iris’s eyes had begun to glow eerily. For my part, I felt like I had fresh meat painted on my chest.

“Thanks, Miss, um, Iris,” I interrupted. “But we’re actually here on business,” I said, giving Ryu what I hoped was a meaningful look.

“Hmm?” he queried, his eyes scanning back up my body, slowly. “What? Oh yes, of course. Sorry.” He turned to Iris, professional once more. “We’re here because your name appeared in a diary belonging to Gretchen Kirschner, and we wanted to ask you what that appointment was regarding.”

Iris made a face. “Oh, business, schmizness. I’ll tell you all about Gretchen and what she wanted,” she said, giving me the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen in my life. I took an involuntary step toward her before I realized what I was doing. “If you let me dress up Jane. That sweater is simply not on,” she finished, reaching out to touch it as if she thought it might stain her fingers.

Ryu sighed. “Fine, Iris. Whatever you like. Let’s just get to it.”

Iris gave a delighted little clap and raced off into the expensive bowels of her boutique. I gave Ryu a confused look and he shrugged. “Succubae aren’t exactly what you’d call focused,” he apologized. “If we don’t keep her happy, she’ll never get around to telling us what we need to know.” His eyes took on a wicked glint. “And you could use a new sweater,” he teased. I was so mad I took it off and threw it at him.

“Ooh, you’ve started without me,” Iris murmured, giving me a sexy smile. She was dragging behind her an entire wheelie rack and I had no idea how she’d gotten around her shop that fast.

“What are you, a six petite?” Iris asked, pulling me and the rack over to the dressing room and handing me a pair of very tiny looking black trousers and a white blouse. “Put these on and we’ll get to work.”

Once in the dressing room, I pulled off my old jeans and began to pull on the pants. They were made of this really stretchy material that hugged every curve. Or, more accurately, wrapped every curve in a death grip. They were long and tight around my ankles, so I rolled them into cuffs, thinking they’d need hemming. Then began the arduous process of buttoning them up. After I’d sucked what felt like my liver up into my lungs, I managed to get them buttoned and zipped. Then I put on the white blouse, which I have to admit was gorgeous. It was really soft fabric with just the perfect amount of crispness. I had no idea who the hell would iron it if I took it home, since I was a disaster at ironing, but for right now it looked amazing. I also had no idea what I actually looked like, because there was no mirror in the dressing room.

While I was changing, I could hear Ryu querying Iris. He wasn’t having much luck, unfortunately. Every time he asked a question about Gretchen, Iris turned it around and asked a question about us: Were we together? Were we serious? When did we meet? She was particularly curious about when he would be leaving Rockabill; I could tell Ryu was just about to lose it, so I chose that moment to step out of the dressing room.

Iris tsked when she saw me, and before I knew it she unrolled my pant legs and adjusted them so they settled around my lower calves and ankles with a sort of ruched effect. Then she straightened up and undid the two top buttons on the blouse, taking a moment to smooth the material down over my hips. And down over my backside, twice, while I tried to keep my face neutral. Then she pulled a wide patent-leather red belt off of the rack and had it cinched tight, right underneath my boobs, before I could say “help!” When she saw I was actually having trouble breathing, she undid the belt one notch, but upped the ante by slipping onto my feet the most badass red patent-leather heels I’d ever seen in my life. “They’re Miu Miu,” she explained, and I nodded as if I understood her. “New for this season. Mary Jane pumps are hot on the catwalks at the moment.”

I had no idea how the hell I was going to walk, but I managed to trundle over to the mirror. The black trousers fit like a glove, and the tight tapering legs actually made my short legs look long, especially since the pants fell about halfway down the enormous red heels. The positioning of the belt made my breasts look amazing, and I had shown off more cleavage in the ten seconds it had taken to check myself out in the mirror than I ever had in my life.