Drained: The Lucid by E.L. Blaisdell, Nica Curt Page B

she belonged there, she was acutely aware of Morgan’s quiet gaze.
    Riley sat down across the table from Morgan, still silent. She dipped her tea bag a few times in and out of her mug and watched as the herbs slowly seeped into the clouded water. “Rough day at school?” she asked, not looking up from her tea.
    Morgan cocked her head and considered Riley. “Why are you doing this?”
    Riley brought the steaming mug to her lips and blew across the water, watching the slight ripples her breath caused. “Doing what?”
    Morgan rolled her eyes. “Uh huh,” she deadpanned. “I’m on to you. You’re about as subtle as a water buffalo.”
    Riley smiled over the rim of her cup. “Are you calling me fat?” she complained in mock horror. “Have we regressed to juvenile insults?”
    Morgan set her cup down. The ceramic made a harsh noise on the wooden table top. “What are you getting out of this?”
    “Besides the pleasure of your company?” Riley countered pleasantly.
    Morgan said nothing. Instead, she returned her gaze to the picture window where rain continued to beat down against the pane of glass.
    Riley took the opportunity to inspect the other woman. Morgan had asked a very good question. What did she get out of this arrangement? Obviously if she and Morgan were having sex, she’d be benefitting from the energy and working toward her quota. But they weren’t having sex, and she was wasting energy. In fact, Riley wasn’t even convinced Morgan wanted her around. Most meetings were spent with Riley flirting and Morgan glaring her down.
    “How do you know what I am?” Riley asked.
    Morgan’s features troubled. “Most people don’t when you barge into their dreams?”
    “ No one’s ever known,” Riley emphasized. “For as long as I’ve been doing this, I’ve never encountered a lucid dreamer. Not like you.”
    “And exactly how long have you been doing this, Succubus?”
    “I have a name, you know.”
    “Why should I care?” Morgan snapped, the bite in her tone visceral. “I’m sorry,” she immediately apologized. “That was rude of me.”
    “It’s okay,” Riley shrugged. Her femininely muscled shoulders rose and fell beneath delicate lingerie. A single strap slipped down her shoulder with the movement, and she felt a hopeful surge when Morgan’s gaze fixed on the lightly tanned skin and down to the slight swell of the cleavage that poked above the demi-bra cups.
    The words that came next were unexpected. “What’s your name?” Morgan asked.
    • • •
    London, 1998
     
    Rillea Schroder thumbed through the book of names. “Rachel. Rain. Raleigh,” she recited out loud.
    “Keep looking,” Heather urged.
    “I underestimated how hard this was going to be.”
    “Why the name change anyway?” Heather asked as she removed another book from its shelf at the London bookstore.
    “I’m ready for a change,” Rillea said, not looking up from the book. “What do you think of Raquel?”
    “I think your age is showing, Ms. Raquel Welch.” Heather smirked.
    Rillea shrugged, nonplussed. “Don’t you mock me. That deer-skin bikini in One Million Years B.C. ?” She waved her hand like a fan in front of her face. “Totally hot.”
    “Let’s think of this name change as an upgrade,” Heather suggested. “You’re not just changing your name, you’re also updating your identity.”
    “What was your birth name?” Rillea asked.
    “Sahana Malik.” The syllables rolled off her tongue like honey.
    “Pretty.”
    “Thanks. I didn’t get to pick it though; that was all my parents’ doing.”
    “How many times have you had to change your name?” Rillea asked.
    “I’ve lost track,” Heather stated with a dismissive wave. “When I was first sired, I changed my name all the time. It was like a new identity for every mark. But then your president made changing one’s identity a hassle when he decided to create social security numbers,” she remarked, making a face.
    “ My