The dark red Supra blazed down the high way, weaving in and out of traffic with the ease of water flowing through rocks. In the front seat sat the young woman, a chocolate skinned-beauty with a slightly innocent air about her. She pushed one of her black braids out of her face. Underneath the top layer of her black braids, the nape of her neck held red set of braids, and she pulled one from the back of her head up over her shoulder. Her windows rolled down, wind thundered through the car and out, “Closer” from Nine Inch Nails trailing the car like a scarf in a gale. As she cruised along, brake lights flitted on like fireflies, as the traffic ahead of her ground to a halt. In a huff, she squeezed her way in between a sixteen wheeler and a four by four, struggling to get through to whichever lane moved the fastest at the time. Amidst the chorus of honking and the thuds of people smacking their steering wheels, she tailgated a white suburban in the left lane. Blasting her music louder, she wove her head back and forth, to and fro as she grooved to her music. Whenever an expletive escaped from her speakers, she would shout it into the traffic, ignoring the perturbed stares she got from a mother in the car behind her with her five year old child kicking her backseat.
“Mom, I wanna *@#$ you like an animal!” She shouted with glee, waving her pudgy hands in the air.
“Francesca Anne Robinson! Watch your tongue young lady! Never say that again!” The mother screeched, rolling up her windows and furiously looking for a classic rock station on the radio for them to listen to.
A normal human being wouldn’t have heard the words that the mother was saying if they were driving one car ahead with the windows rolled up and the music blaring, but of course the woman in the red supra is not an average human being. She’s not even a human being. To be exact, she is a succubus. A young one learning the ropes at best, Lock is a natural succubus, but trying to be a professional one is a whole new can of worms. Especially when Lock realizes how late she is for her appointment with her Maestro Pandit. A demented jingle sounded vaguely in the passenger seat as her cell phone rang. Lock glanced at it with a small nugget of dread sitting at the bottom of her stomach. She knew who it was without looking over. Sighing ruefully, Lock grabbed the phone and punched the “Send” button; she jammed it into her ear.
“Domino’s Pizza, can I take your order?” Lock replied flatly.
“Lock, how many times have I told you to estimate traffic time into your travel?”
“Maestra Asura, how many times did you tell me I need to learn more before I develop my powers of Future Sight? Pestering me won’t get me downtown any faster, you might as well wait.” Lock said, flicking a gum wrapper out her window.
“I shall be sure to note your tardiness to the Grand Council. Don’t think you will be let off easy this time, girl.” Asura hissed.
“You think getting the skin boiled off my left arm was ‘easy’?” Lock yelled into the receiver.
“Then I would think that you would have learned your lesson from that punishment, but I guess you do not. Perhaps your left leg this time, or maybe some place more intimate on your body?” Asura murmured. Lock swallowed a lump in her throat. Though she had the power to heal her body back to its soft smoothness, it had taken her weeks to recover from the pain of Hellfire induced oil as well as a few months to fully return her arm back to its normal sheen. She shivered at the thought of what parts Asura would be referring to. The Grand Council, being evil in itself, took glee into taking the worst of nightmares and turning it into a good torture device for all those who defied their Codes of Fire. Asura hadn’t broken any of them, just a few articles of a rule maybe. On occasions, she just pissed the wrong demon off.
“All right, Maestra Asura, I give. Please don’t tell the Grand Council of my treachery of being late yet again.” Lock replied with gritted teeth. She could hear the ends of Asura’s lips turn up in a very wry but somewhat satisfied grin.
“Good, see you here in about...judging how your gaudy automobile stands out in the traffic from here, about forty-five minutes.”
“Thanks for the report, Tracy. Now back to you Tom.” Lock muttered to herself. She tossed the phone back over to the other seat. She tapped her French-tipped fingernails against the ironically placed cherub steering wheel cover.  
“Forty-five minutes. That’s enough time for a small party.” Lock smiled to herself, as she slid her mp3 player into its holder.
“What other songs can we get Francesca to learn today?” Lock said, looking at the rearview mirror at the mother in the other car. She made eye contact with the mom, and winked.