“You fucked your therapist?” he exclaimed.

I gulped. “I wasn’t making much progress.”

“Georgie!”

“Why is this a problem? He was a good soul. I thought that was what you wanted me to do!”

“I wanted you to get this fucking chip off your shoulder that you’ve had ever since that boring mortal dumped you.”

I flinched. It was kind of a weird thing. I’d been so depressed after the Seth breakup that Jerome had finally flipped out and told me to go seek help because he was tired of listening to me “bitch and moan.” The strangeness of a demon encouraging counseling for one of his employees wasn’t lost on me. But honestly, how could he understand? How could he understand what it was like to have your heart smashed? To be ripped from the person you loved most in the world? My whole existence had lost meaning, and eternity had seemed impossible to bear. For weeks, I wouldn’t go out or talk much to anybody. I’d isolated myself, lost in my own grief. That was when Jerome had thrown up his hands and demanded I snap out of it.

And I had, kind of. I’d swung the other way. I’d suddenly become angry—so, so angry at the way life had treated me. Some of my misfortunes were my own fault. But Seth? I didn’t know. I didn’t know what had happened there, and I felt wronged by the world and the lifetimes of hurt it kept giving me. So, I’d started getting back at it. I’d stopped caring. I’d thrown myself into full succubus mode: seeking out the most moral men I could, stealing their life, and breaking their hearts with little remorse. It helped with the pain. Sometimes.

“I’m doing what I’m supposed to!” I yelled. “I’m scoring soul after soul. You have nothing to complain about.”

“You have a bitchy attitude and keep picking fights with everyone—and you aren’t getting better. I’m tired of it. And I’m tired of you.”

I froze, my antagonism turning to pure fear. When a demon said he was tired of you, it often resulted in being recalled to Hell. Or being smote.

“Jerome . . .” I tried to assess my best strategy here. Charm? Contrition?

He stepped away and took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t help much. His anger came through loud and clear.

“I’m sending you away. I’m going to outsource you to someone.”

“What?” My anger returned, pushing my fear away momentarily. Outsourcing was a huge insult to a succubus. “You can’t do that.”

“I can do whatever I fucking want. You answer to me.” A lanky guy turned down the hall, heading toward the restroom. Jerome fixed him with a piercing, terrifying look. The guy yelped and hastily headed back the other way. “There’s an archdemon in Vancouver who wants someone to keep an eye on a cult he has an interest in up there.”

“Up there . . .” My mouth dropped open. “You mean Vancouver, BC? You’re sending me to Canada?” Fuck. I really had gone too far. There was also a Vancouver in Washington. That wouldn’t have been so bad. At least I would have stayed domestic.