Hex Appeal (26 page)

Jazz waited until the door was firmly closed then rolled forward. Her first inclination was to burn rubber outta there, but the last thing she wanted to do was attract attention or allow Angelica to realize she had gotten to her.

Ending up in the dungeon.
“That bitch! And I bet she knows exactly what happened down there and not the story Nick and I agreed would be told to the Vampire Council, which wasn't everything that happened.” She made her way through the streets to the freeway. The vehicle responded to her touch with a burst of power.

Jazz wanted nothing more than to heap a mountain of curses on the bloodsucking bitch, but that would only get her into so much trouble with the Witches' Council she'd never escape the fallout.

Her first thought was to call Nick and tell him what Angelica said, but considering the mood she was in she knew she'd say something she shouldn't. Plus, she realized that while she was angry, she also felt very unsettled from her conversation with Angelica even if the vampire had done most of the talking.

“And no way this little witch is going to go to big strong macho vampire for help when there's no reason she can't handle this herself,” she muttered, making a quick U-turn when she saw a Starbucks. There was something about a Venti
cinnamon dolce latte that helped her think more clearly.

By the time she had two lattes and sat through what was advertised as a spine-chilling thriller that turned out to be a yawner, she picked up an Angelica who appeared downright merry.

I wonder whose vein cheered her up so much.
Jazz had made sure the privacy screen was up before she returned to The Velvet Trap and luckily for Jazz, it remained up for the trip.

When she arrived back at Angelica's house and opened the rear passenger door she heard a snatch of Italian before Angelica snapped her cell phone shut and tucked it into her small evening bag.

“You are very good driver, Jazz,” she said as she stepped out of the Bentley. “So many I've encountered tend to have a heavy foot on the pedal or brake too abruptly. I will let Dweezil know I was very pleased with your service.” She placed her folded fingers in Jazz's hand and walked up to the open front door that the stone-faced butler stood by.

Jazz's fingers tightened on the small roll of bills that Angelica left there. She didn't need to count it to know she had never received this large a tip, not even from the lascivious Tyge Foulshadow. The idea of dropping the money to the ground lingered in her mind for about two seconds. She knew the bad taste the money left in her mouth would disappear once she turned it over to the Witches' Benevolent Fund. There was no reason witches down on their luck should suffer because she wanted to indulge in a witchy temper tantrum.

As she left the property in the rapidly appearing dawn, the pinkish light gave the Southern-style mansion a decidedly creepy look as if ghosts of Confederate soldiers would soon descend on it.

“I really can't stand that woman.”

***

The balcony overlooked a lush green expanse of
petit gazon,
or Louisanagrass, and beyond that was a row of cypress and oak trees, laden with Spanish moss damp with moisture.

But instead of the scene giving her peace, she felt mind-numbing terror as she stood barefoot on the whitewashed wooden planks that were wet with blood-flecked liquid. Her white gown, made of fine lawn, looked like a sack hanging on her emaciated body with its distended belly that twisted and turned with signs of impending birth. Her broken nails dug into the wood as she clutched the railing while pain rolled through her body. She gazed outward, her hope growing as weak as her body as the one she prayed to return wasn't in sight.

“Let us in,
ma petite,
” the male voice was husky, cajoling even as the knock on the door was made with a heavy-handed fist that promised pain more horrific than what went on within her body.

Her stomach clenched with fear as she saw the door shiver under the pounding. The door may have been of solid cypress, but that didn't mean it wouldn't eventually give in to the madman's fury.

“You are very sick,
chérie
. Please come here and unlock the door. We need to help you before the babe arrives. Let us in. Allow the midwife to attend to you.”

She knew the last thing he wanted was for a midwife to attend her. He could sound so sweet, so tender. But his hands were hard and calloused, made for violence, not tender caresses. There was an excellent reason why he made many trips to the slave markets in New Orleans. Slaves tended to die when the lash was laid too heavily on their bodies and he preferred to be the one to mete out the punishment. She knew he wouldn't hesitate to use the lash on her if she defied him for much longer.

She cradled her belly with her hands, feeling the rolls and bumps of her child who was so eager to be born. It was a time when she should be eagerly awaiting the arrival of her baby. Instead, because of the man on the other side of the door, she feared it wouldn't live long outside of her womb and she would soon follow her child into the afterlife.

“No, my little one, it is too soon.” Her eyes burned with her tears as she scanned the grounds, looking for the only one who could save her. “We must wait.” She cried out as the pain wrapped around her belly. She gripped the French door, the remnants of her fingernails breaking under the force. When the pain receded, she collapsed against the door, panting heavily.

“You bitch! I will not allow you to do this!” The roar on the other side of the door left her trembling with fear even as the door seemed to bow under his blows. “You cannot lock me out of my own room. Let me in now or suffer the consequences.”

She licked her chapped lips and tried to remain upright even as her legs threatened to give way. But she knew if she collapsed she wouldn't be able to get up again. It was the twenty-third of the month and he promised to be back by then. All would have been well, but her husband found the letter his brother had written to her. A letter speaking of love and passion, his joy at the impending birth of their child, and that he would come to take her away from the hell she'd lived in and the devil who tormented her.

Luck had been on her side. If she hadn't been feeling ill that noon and spent that time resting in bed, she would have been downstairs and incurred her husband's wrath where she wouldn't have had a chance to escape. Instead, her maid had just enough time to warn her, so that she could bar the door from the man who had left her with cuts and bruises too many times over the five years they'd been wed.

“Your papa is coming,” she whispered to the child eager to join the world. “We must wait for him to arrive. He will protect us.” But she knew by the increasing pain that wasn't possible and that she would be dead before her lover could reach her. There would be no warm and loving family life in another city where they would be safe. She always knew she wouldn't escape, but the dream of doing so had kept her going during the dark nights.

S
he started and looked over her shoulder as the crack of an axe striking the door soon sent pieces of wood flying. A tall man wearing a white linen shirt and riding breeches stood in the doorway. He held a whip handle in one hand. For one brief moment the flash of a pale face appeared behind him then seemed to disappear back into the dark hallway.

“Eve!” She spun around to look out over the lawn, spying the man she'd been waiting for riding toward her. There was no mistaking the love and light on his face, just as she saw the darkness and hate on her husband's features as he stalked into the room. The miasma of hate and violence roiled around him like a dark cloud.

“Please, don't.” She backed away. “The baby is coming.” She hoped he would show compassion for the child. It was quickly apparent he wouldn't.

“You shall bear no bastard, bitch, even if I have to cut that babe out of you,” he growled.

She blindly felt behind her for the balcony railing, sensing the wood against her back.

“I beg for your mercy.” While she hated him with every fiber of her being she would do anything for the child. She could hear the shouts and sounds of boots pounding up the stairs. But looking into her husband's eyes she knew her lover would be too late.

“Philippe, no!”

Eve looked past her tormenter and gazed at the man she had loved since childhood but lost when her father sold her to Philippe to settle his gambling debts. Philippe had always envied anything his brother had and his acquiring Eve as his wife was the ultimate triumph in his eyes.

He looked over his shoulder. His features darkened further as he stared at the man who shared his blood, but he had no more feeling for him than he had for his hunting dogs. “If you want her so badly, brother, I suggest you run fast.”

Neither lover had an idea of Philippe's intent until it was too late as he quickly scooped her up into his arms and dropped her over the balcony.

Eve's screams mingled with the cry of horror from her lover as he rushed to the railing. At the moment her body hit the stone pavement below and before her life force abandoned her she saw the shadow of a man following her.

She had no idea that when the man she loved so dearly landed beside her, his hand flung out as if to touch her. But even in death they were fated to be kept apart.

***

Jazz awoke feeling as if every bone in her body had been pulled in a different direction. No wonder, considering what her dream self had done to herself. She cupped her hands over her face to stop the hyperventilation, but it took some time for her breathing to return to normal.

She lay back down, forcing herself to relive every moment of the dream, once again experiencing the horror, fear, and helplessness of knowing there would be no reprieve for a woman guilty of nothing other than being forced into a brutal marriage and finding love elsewhere. And having no way to escape that terror except through death.

“There's something I'm missing,” she whispered to herself. Even though she hated the idea, she mentally replayed the dream once more, slowing it down and pausing as if viewing a DVD. In time, what eluded her became viciously clear. The flash of light behind Philippe finally turned into a face that was familiar to her. The face of an angel coupled with the soul of evil. A woman who had a smile on her face, as if she knew the young Eve would soon meet her death.

Angelica.

Jazz forced her dream-battered body out of bed and limped her way to the bathroom for a long hot shower.

“I don't care how powerful she is, the bitch has got to go.”

“The bitch has got to go.”

Nick looked up from the paperwork strewn in front of him. How he hated living in a millennium that demanded more forms by the moment. Yet, at this minute the thought of filling out the forms seemed a lot more appealing than dealing with Jazz, even if his saucy witch looked damn hot in black leather jeans and a black knit top highlighted with a lilac Pashmina shawl draped artfully around her shoulders. Her copper red hair was pulled back in a mass of spiral curls spilling down her back. He noticed her crocodile stilettos had decided to match her shawl instead of going for basic black and if he wasn't mistaken they wore lilac eye shadow. His nostrils flared at the rich scent of something light and floral. It figured her choice of fragrance would be lilac too.

“Nick!” That one sharp spoken word brought him back to the present.

“I thought you hated the B word.”

Jazz dropped into the chair across from him. “I do, but when we're talking Angelica, we're talking bitch with a capital B. She's behind the dreams.”

Nick rubbed his forehead. Vampires weren't supposed to feel stress, but then most vampires didn't deal with a snarky witch with attitude either.

“Angelica has much better things to do than find a way to give you nightmares. Directors of the Protectorate don't have time to make one witch's sleep miserable.”

She peered at him sharply. “It's just not me and you know it.” She settled back with a smug smile when he sat up straighter. “Krebs has had odd dreams too and so has Irma.”

“I've had a few,” he admitted.

“Such as?”

“Just the usual.” S
uch as a sexy witch ending up with a white picket fence lifestyle or his taking her life in a violent manner.

“Like any of us would have usual nightmares. If we did, my biggest nightmare would be standing in the middle of the mall without credit cards or finding out Starbucks went out of business.” Jazz absently stroked her tiny Kate Spade bag. “Or I'd somehow end up with every curse I've eliminated. And some of them weren't all that pleasant.” She considered her words. “Actually, none of them were. Especially that rash on that guy who was engaged to six women at the same time. You remember, the one where they all ganged up on him,” she reflected.

“You didn't eliminate that curse.”

“Only because he really deserved that rash and I told him so.” Jazz took a deep breath. “But back to the bloodsucking bitch.”

Nick rubbed his temples. “Jazz, no name calling.”

“Oh come on, I'm speaking the truth.” She drummed her fingertips on the chair arm. “Any ideas who she'd use to conjure up your basic terrifying nightmares? It's got to be a wizard.” She wrinkled her nose as if something smelled bad.

Nick grinned. “You're not blaming a witch for this?”

She shook her head. “Not after I really thought about it. A witch would get to the heart of it. Zap you once good and strong. Not lead up to it. We don't go in for torture when we can do it all at once and have it over with.” She stopped, thinking of her last nightmare. The fear and pain that went with it. Someone wanted her to suffer and suffer was exactly what she did. “Besides, I had a nightmare that featured Angelica.”

Nick shook his head. “Just because you heard she's back in town you dreamed about her? Isn't that a bit much?”

“Not when this witch drove that vampire to The Velvet Trap the other night and she first acted like my new best female friend then relegated me to the role of servant. Probably because she was in her role as high muckety muck of vampires.” She idly examined her nails. Nick noticed even they were polished a shimmering lavender and looked a little too sharp for comfort.

“And once again, why would she want to bother with you?” He knew playing devil's advocate here was dangerous since he was only too aware of Jazz's feelings toward Angelica. Not that the head vampire was one of his favorite people. He had his own issues with Angelica and would have to deal with them on his own. Not something he would say to Jazz either, because knowing her, she would want to do her thing whether it was a good idea or not. Her sense that Angelica could have something to do with her nightmares was something he'd also thought of, but he wanted to be wrong. Except now Jazz was thinking the same thing.

“Even with her ‘let's be best friends forever' crap, we both know I'm not her favorite witch,” she admitted.

“What do you expect? You piss off the vampire community on a regular basis.”

“And you don't?”

“No, I piss off the witch community.” A hint of a grin lifted the corner of his lips. It was soon echoed on Jazz's mouth until it blossomed into a full smile.

“Gee, with our charming personalities people would think we were made for each other.” She leaned over to take a look at the paperwork on Nick's desk. He shot her a warning look and pushed it together into a pile and off into a drawer.

“Is that the only reason you showed up here? To tell me you think Angelica is your nighttime boogievamp and you want me to head over to her house and call her out?”

“If that was the case, I'd rather go over there at high noon on a hot summer day and call her out. Although, you really do owe me for getting you out of Clive Reeves' mansion before you bled out. I took care of Clive, so it seems fair that you take care of Angelica.” She conveniently forgot her vow that she wouldn't ask someone to take care of her problem for her.

“Do you have any idea how old she is?”

“I know she's been around as far back as Cleopatra. And for all I know she crawled around wearing a saber-toothed tiger skin and had a really ugly high forehead.” She stood up, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her. “I do know that in my dream I saw her gloating face as my husband broke down my bedroom door, strode in, and in front of the man I truly loved tossed my pregnant body over the balcony railing.”

Nick flinched. “Jazz—”

She shook her head. “I believe Angelica has her bloodstained fingers in this dream pie and I intend to prove it.”

“The last time you tried to search out the source you ended up with a house that smelled like a toxic dump. What if the next time you end up mortal for all time?”

“Then I'll just have to find another way, won't I?” She exited the office with a dramatic flourish.

His blood may not flow through his veins, but he was positive his blood pressure was at an all-time high. And while peace and quiet returned to his office once Jazz was gone, Nick didn't feel all that serene.

“Why do I feel she's going to get into trouble and I'll have to find a way to extricate her,” he muttered. His eyes fell on a chunk of obsidian on his desk that doubled as a paperweight. It had been a gift from Flavius many years ago. “You should still be among the undead, my friend. If you were here you would be the new director, not that venomous bitch.”

At least he hadn't told Jazz that he agreed with her assumption. Once Reinhold told him that Angelica had risen to the position of director he felt that she had something to do with the unsettling dreams he and Jazz were having. If there was something Angelica did well, it was hold grudges. She held a very major grudge toward Jazz. And a much bigger one toward him for leaving her. And even with their battles over the centuries, he always returned to Jazz while he refused to return to Angelica.

He picked up the phone and tapped out a number he never thought he'd call.

“We need to talk,” he said when Reinhold's growl sounded from the other end of the line.

***

“This is a curse, right?” The bleached, liposuctioned, and ultra-thin blonde who Jazz sensed was already a plastic surgeon's dream client was dressed more like she was in her early twenties than her mid-thirties. Her strapless hot pink dress barely covered the essentials with the tiny shrug sweater with pink and silver threads to add to her “let's go clubbing” look.

Jazz looked out over the deck complete with chaise longues, tables, and umbrellas. She doubted the deck was used for anything but parties. The woman's spray tan was proof she didn't use the sun for color.

She stared at a deck overlooking Los Angeles that could have been considered for
Architectural Digest—
except for the frogs and slugs that covered the wood. Bullfrogs and their smaller brothers hopped around on the tables while fat slugs crawled up table legs and chairs and chaises. One extremely large bullfrog sat in the center of the deck and erupted a deep froggy growl. What sounded like thousands of coyotes howled from the foothills.

“My neighbors are trying to get me to move,” Sofi “with a fi, not phie” moaned, wringing her hands as she stood behind Jazz as the witch surveyed the animal kingdom. “They say I'm a nuisance. I didn't do this!”

“But you know who did.” She turned around, studying a room that was so white it hurt her eyes. The only hint of color was a large abstract painting over the fireplace that was equally eye burning in glossy shades of red, black, and, you got it, white.

“Denny Masters,” Sofi spat out the name. She reached over to a small table and picked up a black envelope. Her name was written in elegant calligraphy in silver ink.

The minute Jazz took the envelope she felt a hint of magick covering the envelope. The black cardstock inside was even stronger, although she sensed it was a lot stronger before Sofi opened the card.

You claim to be looking for a prince, bitch. Here's your chance.

“And the minute you read the words the frogs and slugs appeared,” she said.

Sofi nodded. “They just popped up everywhere!”

“Scorned lover?”

She shook her head. “Not a chance. The guy wouldn't even be my thousandth choice. He was a disgusting hairy prick. I told him I'd rather have a...”

“Prince,” Jazz finished for her. “So he found a way to give you that chance.” She swallowed her sigh. She
really
hated dealing with curses from the rejected. They were always gross and messy. “Okay, let's see what's really out there.” She took a deep breath—she always hated anything slimy—and stepped outside. When the frogs retreated from her she knew that they recognized just what she was. “Show me what you are.”

“What is it?” Sofi demanded.

Jazz waved her hand, indicating she wanted silence. She walked around the deck, stopping every so often to examine a frog—
euww!
And checked out a few slugs.

“This is a good one,” she said, once she returned to the house.

“But you can get rid of it,” Sofi demanded. “I was told you're the best.”

“I am the best, but this isn't your everyday curse. It wasn't set up as a curse, but as a powerful spell.”

“Meaning what?” Sofi tottered around the room on her four-inch Christian Louboutin peep-toe pumps.

“Meaning I banish curses. Only the one who cast a spell can remove it.”

“But I don't know who did this!”

Jazz winced at the shriek that assaulted her eardrums. “Actually, this spell is set up for
you
to remove.”

“Me? I don't know anything about magick. That's why I hired you.”

Jazz shook her head. “The spell needs you to do it.”

“But how do I find out what to do?”

“It's easy.” She just knew this wasn't going to go well. At least she'd received her fee up front. Maybe there wasn't a curse to eliminate, but she still had to work at figuring out what happened. She picked up her bag.

“So what do I do? I'm not moving! This is a prime piece of real estate!”

“You don't have to move, Sofi,” Jazz said, heading for the front door. “Just remember your fairy tales.”

“Fairy tales?” Sofi shook her head. “Who remembers fairy tales?”

“You have the Internet, right? Look up
The Frog Prince,
” she advised. “It will tell you how to get rid of the frogs and slugs and I bet once they're gone the coyote howls will disappear at the same time.”

She noticed that Sofi was busily typing away on her laptop as Jazz exited the house. She'd barely seated herself in the T-Bird when she heard an ear-splitting shriek from the house.

“What was that?” Irma's cigarette disappeared in a puff of smoke...literally.

“I guess Sofi with an ‘i' found out what she needs to do to remove the spell. There was no curse in there. And the only way she can remove the spell is to kiss every frog hopping around on her deck. She told a guy she wanted a prince and that's what he sent her. An army of frogs and a whole mess of slugs.”

“It sounds like she needed someone from pest control instead of you.”

“Not with this.” She put the car into gear and backed out of the driveway. She looked through the windshield and saw Sofi pacing back and forth in front of the bay window, her hands moving and lips moving just as frantically as she spoke on her phone. Jazz guessed she'd called the spurned suitor in hopes of finding another way to end the spell. She was pretty sure anyone who laid out serious money for a spell that complicated wasn't going to take it back just because Sofi asked him to.

“How many frogs were out there?” Irma smoothed her hands over her gray tweed wool pants that she'd paired with a soft blue sweater. Jazz was grateful the woman was willing to dress her age. Even Irma's blush was changed to a rosier shade that matched her lipstick. The ghost was making good use of the fashion magazines Jazz picked up for her. Even the dog had stopped terrorizing Mrs. Sanderson's Pepper, or at least was doing it when she wasn't around.

“More than I cared to count. I've got to say I was impressed with the intricacy of the spell.” The sports car picked up speed as Jazz roared down the winding road. “Whoever did it knew just how to get to this woman.”

“Except you didn't banish anything so you weren't paid.”