Slipping away from Roman and Hugh, I headed across the room to mingle with my guests. Some of my co-workers from the bookstore Doug and I worked at were huddled around the punch bowl, and I stopped to chat. Immediately, I was bombarded with compliments.

“Your hair is amazing!”

“Did you dye it?”

“It doesn’t even look like a wig!”

I assured them it was a very good wig and I dealt out praise for them in return. One person, however, earned a rueful headshake from me.

“You have more creativity than all of us put together, and that’s the best you could do?” I asked.

Bestselling author Seth Mortensen turned to look at me with one of his trademark, slightly scattered smiles. Even when I was dizzy with vodka, that smile never failed to make my heart speed up. Seth and I had dated for a while, plunging me into the depths of a love I’d never imagined possible. Part of being a succubus was seducing men for eternity and stealing the energy of their souls; a real relationship had seemed out of the question. And in the end, it had been. Seth and I had broken up—twice—and while I had accepted that he had moved on, I knew that I would love him forever. For me, forever was a serious matter.

“I can’t waste it on a costume,” he said. His amber-brown eyes regarded me fondly. I no longer knew if he loved me, too; I only knew for sure that he still cared about me as a friend. “Gotta save it for the next book.”

“Lame excuse,” I said.

He shook his head. “Nobody cares what guys wear at Halloween, anyway. It’s all about the women. Look around.” I did, and saw that he was right. All the elaborate, sexy costumes were on women. With a few exceptions, the men’s dulled by comparison.

“Peter’s dressed up,” I pointed out. Seth followed my gaze to another of my immortal friends. Peter was a vampire, a very fastidious and obsessive-compulsive one. He was dressed in pre–Revolutionary French garb, complete with brocade coat and powdered hair.

“Peter doesn’t count,” said Seth.

Recalling how Peter had painstakingly stenciled swans around his bathroom’s baseboards last week, I couldn’t help but agree. “Fair point.”

“What’s Hugh supposed to be? Jimmy Carter?”

“Calvin Coolidge.”

“How can you tell?”

I was saved from answering when Seth’s fiancée—and one of my best friends—Maddie Sato appeared. She was dressed as a fairy, complete with wings and a gauzy dress nowhere near as slutty as mine. Her being with Seth was something else I’d come to accept, though I suspected the sting of it would never leave. Maddie didn’t know Seth and I had dated and she had no clue about the discomfiture I felt over their whole relationship.