Disenchanted (7 page)

“She is working and going to school, but I cannot see Jenny taking
that
up as a second career. As for her catching the fever, she seems too grounded.”

“Yeah, but I’ll review her salary tomorrow.”

CHAPTER TEN

I’m seriously considering closing up shop for the night. Shredding the Iowa Star without even finishing the article, I toss it in the trash. This time they are withholding the victim’s name, a minor, and the cops are keeping the details to themselves. I rub my hands over my face, not caring if my makeup migrates. It’s bad enough what that asshole is doing without going after kids.

“Can’t they read the damn sign?” I mumble, hearing the jiggle of the door handle.

Lifting my head, I see Jenny relocking the door. Not something I want to deal with at the moment. She looks normal enough, casual slacks and blouse, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, a hint of makeup. Not a trace of the super slut I saw the night before, but still not quite right.

What to do, what to do. Talk to her about what I saw last night? Mind my own business? Go hide under the covers? That third option sounds pretty tempting. I seem to be falling into the, if ignore it, it will go away attitude.

“Oh, you startled me.”

She raises a hand to her chest where an interesting pendant distracts me. It’s gorgeous, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, golden knot work studded with gemstones that shimmer like fire. Fire and power.

“Keely, are you alright?”

Reluctantly, I draw my attention from the stunning piece to her face. My focus is blurry, like looking through a window in the rain. Pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers, I have to close my eyes. A headache must be coming.

“Keely?”

“I’m fine, just the beginnings of a headache.” I open my eyes and everything is normal. As normal as life has been the past week.

Jenny steps behind the desk, looking at the appointment book.

“Your first client isn’t due until eight, why don’t you go up and take a nap. I’ll call and wake you about 7:30.”

Same sweet Jenny, I reach out to pat her hand and she pulls away.

“Sorry,” she says, “I’m just not a touchy, feely person.”

I nod, keeping my hands to myself. Jenny is always the first one to give a hug when needed, whether you want it, or not. Split personality? Last night she’d been walking on the wild side and today a reasonable facsimile of an executive’s assistant, both a contradiction of the plain, submissive college student I thought I knew. I shouldn’t leave her alone here after everything, but when Nyssa’s car pulls around the corner, I figure what the hel. She won’t be alone more than a few minutes.

“I think I’ll take you up on that wake up call. Let the others know what’s going on when they get here.”

“No problem.”

Jenny makes a shooing motion as she takes my spot behind the desk and smiles, but it never reaches her eyes.

***

Sleep is out of the question—lack of time and fear of more strange dreams—so I just slouch on the sofa, C.C. draped across my lap. I feel as if I’ve been in this position forever, so when the phone rings I just assume it’s my wake up call. The Captain yawns and tries to keep me planted as I reach for the handset.

“I’ll be right down.”

“That would be up, not down.”

I laugh, not the voice I expected, but welcome more than she knows.

“Had a feeling I should call. Is something going on?”

Gods bless Annya and her feelings. She and I have been best friends since beauty school. Well, not at first. I hated her, she was so perfect, and come to find out she was scared of me. I was strange to say the least, still am, or so she reminds me.

“I saw The Sisters and they dropped a few none too subtle hints you might be up to your scrawny ass in trouble. Reinforcing the gooseflesh I get every time I think of you.”

“Who you calling scrawny, ya Swedish Injun?”

“You, you albino twit.” She laughs. “Now, out with it, what’s going on?”

“Too much to even attempt to tell you in the amount of time I have.” I look at the clock, nearly 7:30. “Here’s the basics. Have the papers there reported on this scum bag they’ve dubbed The Collector?”

“Yeah, what’s that got to do with you?”

“At least three of the victims were clients at the salon.”

Her pause is deafening and her tone not very reassuring when she does finally say something.

“You want me to come down there?”

“Hel no! I don’t want you anywhere near that kind of danger.”

She clears her throat. “And what about you? I’m supposed to just sit here and worry?”

“No worries, I’ll be fine.” Even I hear the tremor of uncertainty in my voice.

“That answers it. I’ll be down in the morning.”

“No, seriously, I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll let it slide for now, but if things get worse, I’m coming down there and dragging your skinny ass back to Sioux City.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I promise I’ll call, or email soon to give you all the details, but I’ve gotta run. My appointment will be here soon.”

“Well, be careful. I don’t want to hear about some jackass running around making dead tissue grow unless it’s you.”

“I’ll chat at ya laters, chicky.”

“Back at ya.”

It’s funny how a simple phone call can ease the tension and give you a sense of security, even if it might be false.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The usually peaceful drive to pick up stock at Witchy Weeds is disturbed by new questions brought up by my conversation with Annya. Is it possible The Collector isn’t just punishing Ens by taking their Talents, but able to use them? If just a small amount of hair, or a nail clippings could give a caster control over someone what would the missing body parts do?

Pulling into the drive, I’m greeted by Mel’s alarm system. Ranging in size from ankle–biter to knock–you–on–your–ass–and–keep–you–there–until–the–order–is–given–to–eat–or–release. I climb out of the ‘Stang to a chorus of thumping tails and head–butts to the legs. I step over those flopping in my path demanding belly rubs. C.C.’s not the only four legged critter intent on tripping me.

“Looks like you need something to help you relax,” says Mel, already reaching for the appropriate remedies as I step inside Witchy Weeds.

Gods love her and her ability to know exactly what I need without asking. Peace and relaxation literally flow over me, possibly from spells carefully woven throughout the store, or the paraphernalia covering the shelves. More likely, the vibes Mel herself radiates.

All the credit for the products used and sold at Fey Creations goes to Mel. Her ingenious use of nature has produced a line that anyone can use, barring allergies, of course.

Most Ens have a real problem with commercial cosmetics, maybe it’s the man-made substances, but an all–natural mix seems to work. When you look back at the history of cosmetics, things like berries for cheek and lip color, or crushed stone for eye shadows were used. Those ideas had to come from somewhere. Maybe they had been lost after many Ens stepped behind The Veil. Who knows? I’m not arguing with something that works.

“So what’s got you so bunged up? Work? A man, or lack thereof?” A mischievous grin plays at the corners of her mouth as she begins pulling boxes of supplies for the salon.

Mel is the type of person who could brighten any situation. I don’t even mind her teasing me about my lack of male companionship. Hippy chick through and through, from her tie–dyed apparel to her one–length nutmeg tresses, becoming more gunmetal by the year. Not my fault. She feels that to color what nature gave her would be a sin.

“None of the above.” I grab some much–needed cooking herbs and spices and add them to my personal pile. “If anything is bothering me, it’s all the strangeness going on lately.”

She nods, slowly writing up the ticket. “The Collector.”

“If you haven’t already noticed three of the victims had their hair done at the salon. Not sure about the most recent, since they haven’t released a name.”

She nods again, sliding two bills in front of me.

“And one was a long–time client.” I sigh, fishing the change out of the bottom of my coin purse for my purchases. “I guess I’m just wondering why.”

Checking the total of the order, I fill out a check for the salon supplies.

“Why it was your client, or why the connection to Fey Creations?” she asks before helping me tote the boxes out to the car.

“Both,” I reply, moving a brick over to keep the shop door open. I grab a box and follow her out, the questions from last night rearing their ugly heads.

“Mel, is it possible to use body parts, like the ones taken, in some sort of spell? Maybe to gain control of the Talent?”

“Why do you ask?” Her frown makes me feel like an under aged kid asking hypothetically how get a bottle of vodka, knowing you are probably going to try.

“No special reason.” I scrape my toe against the dirt. “It’s just something a friend said over the phone last night.”

She stands with arms crossed waiting for me to finish what sounds like a bullshit story.

“She said she didn’t want to hear about anyone making dead tissue grow unless it was me.”

Mel rubs her hands over her face. “There are rumors of spells that can harness Talents allowing another to use them. Personally, I’ve never heard of anyone actually achieving it, but yes, I suppose it’s possible. Is that what you think this Collector is doing?”

“I don’t know what to think, but the possibility of it scares me.”

“Me too, kid.”

***

Having put it off long enough, it’s time for my least favorite task at the salon. Disposal of all the hair, nail clippings, or any other remains from services rendered. The smell of burning hair is often compared to burning chicken feathers. If this is true, then burning En hair is more like burning chicken droppings. The smell has to be removed with magical air fresheners. All the little green trees in the world won’t cut it. My gorge rises at just the thought.

Oddly, light traces the edges of the backroom door and there’s a faint rustling. Now I’m no superhero, just stupid and protective of what’s mine. I debate between a broom and a pair of shears, deciding on the broom, more distance between me and whoever is invading my space.

I move toward the storage room and push the door the rest of the way open with the broom handle then pull back to swing. The slight form hunched over a pile of bags meant for disposal, turns squeaking like a trapped mouse, hands clutched over her head.

“Hel’s Realm, Jenny, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry,” she whispers, between gasps.

“No harm done, I probably scared you as much as you did me.” Slightly embarrassed I lower the broom. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have class?”

“Not until this afternoon, I thought I’d help out a little more, take these out to the dumpster for you.” She points to the bags piled in the corner.

“I take care of those, you know that.”

“I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.” Jenny lowers her head, hiding behind a veil of hair.

Leaning my mighty weapon against the wall, I place an arm around her shoulders and gently ease her from the room. “In a way I’m glad you’re here, I wanted to talk to you.”

I position her in front of the dryer chairs and motion for her to sit as I take the next one over. She perches on the edge of the chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap, head bowed.

“Jenny, you’ve been with us over six months now and I’ve neglected to give you a review.”

So far so good, only a slight tightening of her shoulders and she manages to look at me, even if her head is still bowed. What in hel is going on with this girl? Yesterday, self–assured professional, before that whore galore and now the submissive belle of a BDSM ball, I wonder how many personalities are stuck in that little body.

“You’re doing fabulous, especially considering you hold down a full time job and go to school. Because of your performance, I’ve decided to give you a raise. An extra couple of bucks an hour will show up in your next check.”

“That’s all?” Moisture gathers in those big brown eyes.

Not exactly the response I expected and I’m sure it shows. “Were you expecting more?”

“No! No, that’s not what I meant. That’s all you wanted to talk to me about?”

Okay, she knows I saw her the other night and is waiting for me to say something. I’m not going to; it’s none of my business. I know by giving her the raise I’ve kind of made it my business, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Yep, that’s it. Why don’t you take off, go study before you have to go to class.”

“Thank you, thank you so much, Keely.” She hugs me before practically running from the room.

I almost ask what happened to
I’m not a touchy feely sort
, but decide it’s not worth it. Waiting until I hear the click of the deadbolt I take a deep breath and wonder just how stupid I am. What if it had been The Collector, or a thief? And why didn’t I ask for help dragging in those boxes? With some reluctance, I turn back to why I’m here and shudder. Might as well get to it, it’s not going to happen on its own.