Hex Appeal (6 page)

“Gee, D. I'm so sorry I lost you your favorite client just because the oozy grotesque arranged to have me captured by an insane creature who wanted to keep me for a sex pet while he drained my boyfriend of all his blood. I guess if I was a better person I would have let bygones be bygones.
Not!
Foulshadow deserved everything he got and more.”

“But he paid in gold bars!”

She winced at the assault on her eardrums. “D? Can you lower it a few million decibels? I swear that voice could cause a stroke.” Jazz pulled her earlobes. “Listen. You'll just have to get over it. I don't think he'll be leaving that realm anytime soon.”

Dweezil fumed. “And it gets worse. You can't imagine what's been going on here.” His voice grew shriller by the moment.

“No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me.”

“It's that elf bitch! She's stealing all my business!” Dweezil snarled and began pacing the length of his office with short jerky steps. This wasn't easy considering he was seven feet tall with an olive-colored body that resembled a dead asparagus with a messy mud brown thatch of hair on top that looked as if it had been stuck on by a preschooler in arts and crafts class. He paused by one of the shelves and plucked off an ancient Greek dildo. He made strange crooning sounds, stroking the worn leather surface lovingly, seeming to use the erotic tool as a pacifier. A small ripple showed under the fine wool of his specially tailored Armani jacket, slithering its way downward.

If Dweezil's third hand ended up anywhere near his second dick, she was so out of there!

“Uh, D, what did we agree on about using the B word?” She kept her gaze focused on a point just past his left ear which was turning a deeper shade of olive-green the more agitated he became.

The burnt-almond scent again flared throughout the room and he bared his yellowish-green jagged teeth at her. She bared her pearly whites back at him, and he started to swear. Whenever he got this upset, the odor not only became more foul, but so did his language, which was usually limited to the F word.

“
Dweezil!
” Jazz shouted.

He jumped, dropping the dildo at the same time his hidden third arm whipped out of his pants and returned to its hidden sleeve inside his jacket. He glared at her then picked the sex toy up, tenderly transferring the object to the shelf. Jazz tried to generate some anger, but felt pity for the great lout instead.

“Okay, can we get back to your so-called problem.” She held up her hand to stave off his protest. “Fine, traumatic event. How do you know Mindy is cutting into your business?”

Dweezil returned to his desk, dropping down onto his black leather chair. “Ficus told me he saw Kreen at The Crypt and he left in a brand new black Hummer limo.” His black eyes glowed with a strange yellow light where the irises would have been.

Jazz knew Kreen to be a vampire with a penchant for sweet young things. He rated second on her list of
Who I Want To See Torn Into Tiny Pieces.
“And you don't have a Hummer limo, new or otherwise.” She glanced at his collection of vintage erotica and sex toys. “Don't be so cheap, Dweezil, and get one.”

“Maybe I could afford the fuckin' Hummer if I wasn't overpaying some of my drivers,” he snarled. “Or if someone hadn't blown up an almost new specially fitted limo.”

“Give me a break, D! That vehicle was almost eight years old. Besides, the crew had to replace the air filter after every trip with Foulshadow. So don't blame me. Maybe you could afford the feckin' Hummer if you didn't spend all your profits on vintage erotica and sex toys,” she pointed out, unaware her own temper was bringing out her Gaelic roots. She wrinkled her nose and sneezed as an extra burst of burnt almond attacked her nostrils. “Damn it, D! If you don't calm down, I'm outta here.” She started to rise to her feet.

“All right, all right.” He waved her back down. “There's more.”

Jazz swallowed her sigh, hating to think what else could be going on to send Dweezil into a tizzy. “Such as?”

“Such as I've lost six workers in the last week.” He fiddled with his sleeve. His extra-long fingers stroked the fine cotton. “Little fuckers went to work for that elf bi...” he caught the warning glint in Jazz's eye, “
her.
They say she's paying better. She only hired them so she can ruin me.” He continued stroking the sleeve the way he'd stroked the dildo and glanced up. “You have to go talk to Mindy. Tell her to give me my workers back. And if she won't, do some witchy thing to make her give them back.”

“No, I don't have to talk to her. And no way I'm casting any hexes just because you think you've been wronged.” She idly examined her nails and realized it was past time for a manicure. Maybe she'd opt for a pedicure and even a massage while she was at the day spa.
Thank you, Patrice, for the great idea.
“When you think about it, it's surprising they hadn't left sooner.” She'd been present when Dweezil went on one of his rampages and fired everyone. She figured this time the dwarves got fed up and went elsewhere. “Maybe they went where they'd feel appreciated. They work hard, D, and you know you don't pay them a fraction of what they really deserve. I've seen how some of those cars come back and it's downright disgusting.”

“I'm a wonderful guy to work for.” He held his arms open in an expansive gesture. “They got every fuckin' thing they need here! I even give them time off when they're sick! Maybe I don't pay them for it, but I don't make 'em come in and get everybody else sick. Most of 'em haven't had such a good paying job since they played those Munchkins in
The Wizard of Oz.
”

“Yeah, you're a saint, D. You keep on thinking that.” She pushed herself out of her chair. “Why all this concern about Mindy? How many limo services have you forced out of business over the years? She'll be gone in a year and all your clients will return claiming you're the only one who treats them right.” She noticed the way he fidgeted in his chair and ignored it. She was tired of cleaning up Dweezil's messes. The last time she got involved her car had been blown up. If it hadn't been cursed, her beloved T-Bird, and Irma, would have been no more. And she really would have missed that car.

“You owe me. I lost money when the insurance company wouldn't pay up on the limo that got destroyed when you drove up to that mansion.”

“Maybe if you used a legitimate insurance company instead of the fly-by-night firm you went with to save money, you'd have a replacement vehicle,” she pointed out. “And thank you for all your concern on my behalf. I could have been killed up there from all the vamps running out.” She almost
was
killed up there, but that was something she'd keep to herself. Even if Dweezil knew, he still wouldn't offer sympathy.

“It was that damn clause that said they wouldn't pay on damage caused by magick. Print was so small you couldn't read it with a microscope.” He pulled in a deep breath. “Fine, I'll pay you to go talk to her.”

Jazz was sorely tempted to find out just how much he would pay. For Dweezil to be willing to part with coin he kept as close to his icky breast as Scrooge kept his fortune in his coffers meant that he was really worried.

“I'll think about it. Don't think that means anything,” she warned him when she saw that he perked up. “I only said I'd think about it.”

Dweezil hopped out of his chair and remained on her heels as she left his office and strode into the reception area.

Grevia was occupied talking to a tiny creature that couldn't be more than two feet tall and was wrapped in a dark cloak. Its squeaky chatter reminded Jazz of the Jawas in
Star Wars,
except this one's lineage didn't involve trading or scavenging. She knew for a fact the Skiznogs' gifts lay in the stock market.

“I still can't understand why you hired her,” she said, pulling Dweezil toward the door. He hissed and reared back as the afternoon sun touched his face.

“She keeps things running smoothly and doesn't give me any shit like some people I could name,” he muttered, retreating further.

Jazz rolled her eyes. “Honestly, D, the sun won't hurt you.”

“My kind gets skin cancer very easily.” He patted his face, checking to see if lesions had blossomed just from that minute exposure.

She was tempted to ask him about his kind since she had never seen another creature like Dweezil, but past experience taught her he preferred to keep his heritage a secret. For all she knew he came from the same galaxy far far away as the Jawa-like Skiznogs.

“Look at her, D. She's flaking all over the place. Do her a favor and fire her. Find someone who will remain in one piece,” she whispered, giving the receptionist a quick glance. Luckily Grevia was still occupied with the two-foot-high client. Flakes of skin littered the counter like gray dust. When Dweezil refused to look at her, the truth popped on like a lightbulb. “Oh for Fates' sake! You bought her!” She silently counted to ten then counted again. “You bought a zombie to work for you.”

“Zombies don't bleed and they're efficient.” He didn't admit his guilt, but then he didn't have to. It was written on his olive-skinned face.

“And it's considered slave labor.”

He held up his forefinger to make a point. “Well, yes, but it's not illegal as long as I provide housing for her.”

Jazz threw up her hands. “But it should be. It's wrong, D, and you know it. Fine, but once her body parts start falling off, and they will, you'll be losing customers.” She pushed the glass door open.

“You'll still go see Mindy, right?” he called after her.

She ignored his plea and headed for her car. Irma took one look at her face and for once didn't say a word.

“Idiots. All men are idiots no matter what species they are,” Jazz muttered once they were on the road.

“It took you this long to figure that one out?” It seems Irma was determined to have the last word after all.

***

When Jazz stepped inside the house, she stared at the stack of boxes near the front door.

“Wow, Krebsie, you gave the UPS man a workout today. How many more computers can you put up there?” she teased.

“They're not all mine.” Krebs carefully pulled computer parts out of a large box, comparing the contents with the invoice, marking each item off. “Your boxes are over there.” He pointed with his pen.

“Ooh, goodies!” Jazz picked up a large box marked Priority Mail and quickly dispensed with the tape. She was soon opening bottles and jars, inhaling the rich scents with a near orgasmic thrill. “I'm in The Body Bakery heaven.” She opened a small bottle of roll-on scent and tried it on her wrist, sniffing the fragrance. “This is great. Smell. It's called Cinnamon Crunch Cake.” She held out her wrist.

“I thought you were going to cut back on the bath stuff.” Krebs moved on to another box. “You have enough body wash and lotion now to last you for centuries. Still, considering your advanced age, maybe it is a good idea to stock up, just in case.” He ducked the wad of packing paper lobbed at him.

“Ha, ha, very funny,
not.
I have cut back, but these scents are seasonal and limited editions, so I had to get them. Besides, I'm never at a loss if I need a last-minute gift for a friend.”

“Ha! I asked you for some of your stuff when I needed a birthday gift for Michelle and you wouldn't give me any,” he accused.

Jazz's gaze shifted away. She protectively cradled her booty as if guarding a small child. “Yes, well.”

“You're a body wash and skin cream addict, Jazz. Pure and simple.” He shook his head. “You're not happy unless you're surrounded by bottles and jars.”

“Look at it this way. I'll never smell bad. Plus I can smell according to my mood, so you'll know how I feel before I even enter the room. Sometimes I want something sweet and subtle. Other times I can use something stronger and sexy. I'm set for every occasion,” she stated. “Plus Lia knows if she's ever cursed I am so there for her. And she can even pay me in product.” She grinned as she reached for another box lavishly decorated with gold script. She didn't need to look at the return address to know the identity of the sender.

“Broom-Ex?” Krebs wandered over to Jazz and peered over her shoulder, reading the stylized logo printed on one corner of the box. “Now you witches have your own delivery service?”

“That's Thea's lame idea of a joke. Just because she doesn't want anyone to know she's a witch doesn't mean she won't use little hints like this,” Jazz replied, setting the box on a chair and carefully opening it. As she lifted the lid, the contents popped up. “What on earth?” She started to laugh.

“What's so funny about a pair of shoes?” He thought over his question then backed up a few steps. “Or are they something I can't see?”

“They're magick.”

“I see the real Fluff and Puff and they're magick.” He backed up another few steps, just in case.

“That's because I fixed it so you could see them, so they couldn't pull any stunts on you.”

“Yeah, like that ever stopped them,” he muttered.

Jazz held her hand over the gorgeous dark gray stilettos that would tempt any red-blooded witch. “Reveal to he what I do see. Because I say so, damn it!” A shower of multi-colored sparks rained on the shoes.

“Shit!” Krebs stared at the open box as a pair of gray crocodile open-toed stilettos looked at him with yellowish-green eyes and fluttered their long lashes. Glossy red lips cooed soft sounds in his direction. “What the hell are they?” He backpedaled fast.

“According to Thea's note, they're named Croc and Delilah.” Jazz scanned the sheet of linen stationary with an embossed seal at the top. “She found them in a boutique in Milan and thought they were perfect for me. Trust her to find the ultimate shoes. She knows how much I love stilettos.”