50 Ways to Hex Your Lover (14 page)

“Honestly, Stasi. You do know you can actually go into a store and buy nail polish and manually apply it to your toes, don’t
you?” Jazz asked. “Or you can go wild and even go to a salon where they’ll do it for you.” She held up her hands and wiggled
her scarlet painted nails.

“I know, but sometimes it’s fun to try something out ahead of time.” Stasi did the same to her fingernails and sat back to
admire the effect. “That way I don’t end up with something I don’t like.”

“Jake is late.” Jazz picked up the binoculars resting by her chair and brought them up to her eyes so she could scan the landscape.
Several houses were set nearby.

“Only by about five minutes.” Blair sipped her vanilla caramel macchiato. “He’s not known to oversleep. It is so sad I’ve
never had the pleasure of personally discovering if that little piece of information is true. More’s the pity.”

“He better get his cute, tight denim-clad butt in gear and up on that roof soon because I have to be on the road in the next
half hour.” Jazz kept the binoculars trained on a cabin set a short distance away.

“Mrs. Benedict jokes that the minute the coffee is brewed and her first batch of biscuits come out of the oven, he’s on her
back doorstep ready to work,” Blair said.

“Does she still make those incredible sourdough biscuits?” Jazz asked settling back in her chair with her leather-booted feet
still propped up on the railing.

“Like clockwork every Thursday morning and sometimes she sends a batch over here. With
him.
” The
yummy
was unstated, but the image of hungrily licked lips fairly layered itself over the blonde witch’s provocative mouth. “The
last time she sent him over with a jar of homemade raspberry jam along with a plate of biscuits,” Stasi said with a sense
of reverence for a sexy male bearing homemade biscuits and jam.

“There he is!” Blair snatched the binoculars out of Jazz’s hands almost strangling her with the neck strap as she brought
the lenses up to her eyes. “Good morning, sunshine,” she purred. “They are so right—a tool belt does make the man.”

“I want to see!” Stasi leaned over to grab the binoculars.

“No, me!” Jazz said, sliding her head out from under the binocular strap even as she reached from the other side. “Besides,
I had them before you stole them!”

Blair kept one hand on the binoculars and the other batting back and forth at the women’s hands. “Three minutes,” she sang
out. “The rule is three minutes each. And that means three minutes viewing time without any interference.”

Stasi collapsed back in her chair. “Whoever made up that rule was seriously disturbed.” She absently fiddled with the delicate
coral hearts that dangled at the end of her gold earrings.

“You were the one who suggested the three minute rule. I voted for a five minute viewing time,” Blair felt obligated to point
out as she settled back in her chair to enjoy the view. She set her cup on the small glass-topped table next to her chair.

“Bandanna?” Stasi asked. “Jeans or cut-offs? Is he wearing a shirt?”

Blair nodded. “Red. Tied neatly around his forehead with that one lock of hair draped artfully over it. Cut-offs and a dark
green t-shirt.” Her shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. “Think it will be hot enough for him to take his shirt off today? How
long do you think it will take before he gets all sweaty?” She looked up at the dim morning sun as if she could use her magick
to heat up the orb.

“Never fool with Mother Nature.” Anticipating Blair’s wish, Stasi shook her head reprovingly. “She doesn’t have a sense of
humor.” Her bare foot gently nudged a small ball of fur lying by her chair. A tan-colored head raised and looked up with canine
delight. She leaned over and picked up the small dog that uttered a high-pitched yip and covered her face with Snausage-scented
kisses.

“Okay, your three minutes are up. My turn.” Jazz twiddled impatient fingers in front of Blair’s magnification-enhanced vision,
demanding her shot at the binoculars. She settled the lenses in perfect viewing position. “Oh my, almost as good as a nice
hot cup of coffee for a wake-up call. Have you seen what incredible hands the man has? And doesn’t that give the imagination
a lot to work with.”

Stasi counted off the seconds to three minutes. As she handed over the binoculars, Jazz plucked the dog out of the other witch’s
lap and cradled the small canine against her breasts.

“One day, you need to get a real dog,” Jazz said, handing the little beast over after Stasi reluctantly passed the binoculars
back to Blair.

“Bogie is a real dog,” Stasi said, stroking the dog’s head and scratching him behind his ears. “He’s a Chihuahua/Yorkie. Both
are very old and respected breeds.”

“Just because the AKC says those are dog breeds doesn’t mean this critter is a dog,” Jazz said.

“Stop making fun of my Bogie!” She hugged the small canine against her chest and received a sloppy kiss. “He’s a wonderful
dog!’

“Is not a dog.”

“Is so.”

“A dog barks. That thing yowls like a scalded cat. A dog licks its ass. That critter licks his paws as if a speck of dirt
on them was something downright disgusting. Only cats do that. Do you think he can land on all four paws too? Let’s see if
he can.” Jazz plucked him out of her lap and held him a small distance above the ground.

“Not nice!” Stasi snatched him back.

“He is more like a doggie dust ball than a real dog,” Jazz argued.

With a regretful sigh at the distant male figure walking the length of the sloped roof with surefooted grace, Jazz pushed
herself out of her chair. “I need to be off.”

“We mean it, Jazz. Move up here with us. Work would be no problem.” Stasi said, following her down the stairs that led from
their flat-topped roof to the ground. Her small dog trotted happily at her heels, but if anyone looked closely they’d realize
the dog’s paws never touched the ground. “There’s plenty of room in the building to open any type of business you wish. Think
how wonderful it would be if more of us settled back here.”

“You’d be amazed at all the cute guys that stop by on their way to the resorts,” Blair tempted.

“While I enjoy visiting Moonstone Lake, I like where I am now, and I’m doing well there,” Jazz assured her. A faint image
of Nick lingered in the back of her mind before she ruthlessly banished it. “Who knew there were so many curses in the L.A.
area that needed to be eliminated.” She chuckled, as they stood near the small parking area behind the building. “Especially
in Hollywood.”

“It’s about time you showed up! A body could die of old age waitin’ on you!” A woman’s querulous voice drifted toward them.

Jazz rolled her eyes. “Your watch stopped working in 1956!” she snapped.

“You should be nicer to her,” Stasi said under her breath. “She hasn’t had it easy all these years what with being unable
to leave the car.”

“
Her? I’m
the one stuck with her.” Jazz glared at the gray-haired woman.
Ghost,
she amended irritably.
Ghost, ghost, ghost!
Irma’s flower trimmed hat bobbed up and down with her head as she continued criticizing Jazz’s social skills and lack of concern
for others. Jazz stamped her foot. “You’re dead, Irma! Time is not a problem with you!” She muttered a few choice curses under
her breath but nothing magickal. Not that any spell could have affected the victim in mind.

“You’ve been able to eliminate every nasty curse thrown your way,” Blair said. “Why haven’t you been able to zap Irma out
of the car?”

Jazz shook her head. She pulled her keys out of her jacket pocket. “I wish I knew. No other curse gave me this much trouble.
It’s as if she’s under some damn spell that keeps her safe. I’ve gone through so many spell books and I’ve never been able
to find anything that works.”

“Are we leaving or not?” Irma shouted. A stream of cigarette smoke floated out the window.

Jazz cast her eyes upward as if seeking help and then hugged her friends.

“Safe journey,” Stasi murmured in Jazz’s ear. Blair repeated the same words when the two women hugged.

Jazz smiled at both of them and then turned and stalked toward her car. “I told you no smoking in my car!” she shouted.

“It’s not as if I have to worry about lung cancer.” Irma held her cigarette to her Tangee-colored lips and blew out a perfect
smoke ring. “And you forget, it was my car first, which is why I don’t see why I can’t have a pet to keep me company when
you leave me alone here. It could also protect me.”

“No pets allowed,” Jazz insisted. “And the only reason you consider the car yours is because you died in it.”

Stasi and Blair stood shoulder-to-shoulder watching the snazzy T-bird roar out of the parking lot. The two women walked around
to the front of the building to their shops.

“If Irma wasn’t already dead, I fear Jazz would gladly accept any punishment as long as she could zap her somewhere unimaginable,”
Stasi said.

Blair chuckled. “If Irma wasn’t dead, Jazz would just turn her into a seat cushion and put it in that special limo for Tyge
Foulshadow to use.”

Stasi looked over her shoulder in the direction the small car had taken.

“Did you notice something when Jazz told us what’s been going on with her lately?”

“Nothing new, other than she still isn’t dating, why?”

Stasi shook her head. “She may have thought she made us think she told us all, but I could tell she didn’t. Our Jazz kept
something back and if she did…”

“That can only mean one thing,” Blair finished for her.

They faced each other. “It has to do with Nick!”

Ten

What do you mean you haven’t stopped by there yet? You promised me you would go by the shop and pick it up for me. They’ll
be closing in a couple of hours!”

Jazz winced at the accusation in Krebs’ voice. She really should have checked caller ID before answering her cell phone. Krebs
in a snit was not easy to deal with. And her Witch’s Code wouldn’t allow her to conjure up a harmless li’l ole spell to allow
him to forget her promise. A promise, mind you, she’d given when she was desperate for coffee that morning and he was holding
the pot hostage until she agreed to pick up some computer equipment he’d special ordered.

“A promise you extracted from me before you told me exactly where I had to go. They don’t like me coming in there.”

“That power outage wasn’t your fault, so don’t use it as an excuse. Just run into the store, tell them you’re there to pick
up my order, sign the paper, and get out. They’ll even load the boxes in the car.”

Jazz’s mouth opened then closed when she realized he’d already hung up.

“Fine,” she muttered, dropping her cell phone into her jacket pocket. Her boot heels clicked loud in the almost empty parking
garage. She frowned as she passed a large number of parking spaces devoid of the minivans and SUVs she was used to seeing
when she came here. With it being a mega sale day at the mall she would have expected the garage to be filled by this hour.
Numerous cars rolled past, the drivers each looking for that all-elusive parking spot closest to the store entrances, but
they ignored the nearby empty slots. Echoes of traffic sounded muted in the concrete structure.

Her T-Bird was in sight when an overpowering wave of a suffocating sensation engulfed her. Her footsteps faltered for a moment.
She instinctively knew that increasing her speed would only slow her down as she crossed through an invisible threshold that
felt like a gooey sticky barrier.

As she stared at her car parked at one end of the deserted section, she knew exactly why drivers subconsciously left this
part of the garage alone even if they would have been only a few steps away from the parking garage elevator. She wouldn’t
have wanted to park here either.

As she walked forward with her eyes trained on her car, which any mortal would see as a dingy sedan, a tall figure separated
itself from the shadows near the front bumper and now stood near the taillight. There was no doubt the man had been waiting
for her. Irma sat frozen in the passenger seat wearing an expression Jazz didn’t think she’d ever seen on the cranky ghost.
Fear.

Jazz didn’t blame her. She wasn’t feeling too brave at the moment either. Not that she’d admit it. She had a sick feeling
this was one time she would have to rely on her wits more than her gifts.

“Good afternoon.” The man flashed a smile that looked about as threatening as a glass of milk but under the surface a promise
of something dire lurked. If she read auras, she knew she’d see something as dark as the clothing he wore. Dressed in black
slacks and a black polo shirt with an embroidered emblem over his heart that would not be found at Ralph Lauren or La Coste,
he looked like any other man. With a full head of salt-and-pepper hair professionally styled and his dark tan, he would be
the kind of wealthy retirement-aged man found on any country club golf course. Jazz sincerely doubted he’d been walking the
links for the last seventy-some years. “Nice little car you have here,” he said, flashing her a warm smile that chilled her
to the bone.

Fine, she could play the game he started. “I like it.” After all this time, she could role-play with the best of them. Today,
she was your typical single working girl enjoying a leisurely afternoon at the mall where
40 percent off
was any red-blooded woman’s, and witch’s, siren’s call. As much as it galled her, she had no choice but to follow his lead.
One misstep could lead to her downfall. She’d played that game once and lost. Never again.

She kept her eyes on an ornate gold ring on his right hand as he trailed his fingers along the T-Bird’s rear bumper.Afine
mist the dark rainbow color of fresh oil rested briefly in the air before it settled on the shining metal. His concentration
was centered on the car and he acted as if Irma wasn’t there. While humans couldn’t see the ghost, Jazz knew the man standing
before her was very aware of Irma’s presence. If she wasn’t mistaken he was even feeding on the spirit’s distress as if it
were a sumptuous banquet. Once more, she tamped down the fury rising up within her. This was not a time to give in to her
temper. It was a time she needed to think way long before she spoke.

“You’ve kept her in beautiful condition. Any chance you would care to sell her?” He cocked an eyebrow and kept the easy-going
smile on his lips. To an outsider, he would still have appeared as nothing more dangerous than an admirer of classic cars.
To Jazz, he was about as bad as you could get. “I’m prepared to offer a very good price for this beauty.”

The sound of Irma’s emotional pain tore through Jazz’s body like a cold sharp knife.

“No, I would not.” Acting polite tasted harsh on her tongue, but she was determined not to do anything to create a problem.
She wasn’t sure if the gooey barrier she’d stepped through blocked anyone from seeing them, but knowing the creature she faced,
she was certain it would offer an illusion for mortals. She hoped any innocent who might not sense the darkness and happened
to walk by would see nothing more than two people having a polite conversation. Yet, she was positive one wrong word could
spiral things downhill fast, and she couldn’t afford collateral damage among humans who had no idea what stood there contaminating
this dimension. “The car holds sentimental value.”

He kept his eyes, a flat black color, centered on her face. She kept her features impassive even as she felt something tiny
crawl across her skin, mapping it, looking for a spot to burrow in. Gauging her true feelings. Anger and hatred drifted up
inside her, but she tamped them down before they erupted and mentally turned the microscopic being to a magickal crispy critter.
If it continued on she
would
do something to it. “So you enjoy things from the past?” He remained by the rear bumper, with one hand resting against the
metal. The back continued to shimmer with the same rainbow black shade of oil as it flowed across the sides of the car.

“I value some things.” She refused to take her eyes off him. That would indicate fear, not to mention that taking your eyes
off a cobra was a very good way to get bitten. What stood in front of her would make a cobra bite seem no more dangerous than
a paper cut. She knew the creature masquerading as a man was about as dangerous as they came. Her fingers itched to bring
up a large quantity of witchflame, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good because what stood before her was nothing more than
a malevolent illusion bent on infusing her with terror. “Now if you don’t mind I have an appointment to keep and I’m running
late.”

He didn’t move off right away but kept watching her, his gaze dark and probing. Jazz felt as if his stare burrowed down to
find and touch a part of her that she’d kept tucked deep inside. A violation she abhorred with all her being.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she said in a low even voice. “I picked up that broken bottle and I plunged it into your heart.
How did you survive that killing blow?”

His smile never wavered as he glanced down at the car, and then at her, speaking as if he hadn’t heard her question. “Yes,
very lovely indeed. I would be interested if you ever plan on selling your car.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket
and held it out. She didn’t move to take it. He shrugged and left it on the car. “Good day.”

He walked past her, the ringing sound of his footsteps soon growing faint until he disappeared from sight.

Jazz stared long and hard at the rectangular calling card lying on the car. Letters the color of blood spelled out a name
she had heard all too often lately:
Clive Reeves.
A narrow coil of smoke swirled upward and the card disappeared without leaving any damage to the car’s surface. Unfortunately,
the oily substance that had covered the rear of the T-bird now covered the entire surface and wouldn’t be as easy to remove.
While she knew no mortal being could see the damage done to her vehicle, she not only saw it, she felt it all the way to her
bones.

“I feel so dirty,” Irma whimpered from her spot in the front seat.

Jazz bent over and vomited in front of the car next to hers. Moving away, she braced her back against the wall and slid down
until she sat on the concrete floor. She pulled in a ragged breath.

“I killed him once. No prob in killing him again. And this time I’ll make it stick.”

That evening, Nick followed the sound of bells to the back yard. When he rounded the corner of the house he noticed the spotlights
set above the carriage house door, which were illuminating the scene before him. Krebs, beer bottle in hand, slouched in a
chair on the edge of the lawn watching Jazz pass a wet cloth over the side of her car, which was parked in the driveway in
front of the carriage house. What appeared to be some sort of dark viscous oil slowly disappeared from the vehicle’s surface
and transferred itself to the cloth she wielded with such fury it could have been a weapon. Temple bells sounded from a small
boom box sitting on the ground by Krebs’ chair. Nick sensed the music playing was not the man’s choice.

“Light covers dark, so it will never return,” she murmured as she ran the cloth over the metal. “Light gives us life.”

Jazz’s movements were slow and graceful, that of a dancer as her lips moved, uttering words in a long forgotten language.
The sound of her words cast a golden glow over the car and the temple bells created a musical counterpoint to her actions
and the fury that transferred to shimmering shades of red, gold, and purple around her. The rich scent of cedar drifted through
the air even though he knew there were no cedar trees in the area. Nick realized the scent came from Jazz. She was using water
charged with cedar and oils. A large cauldron rested nearby with an unlit white sage smudge stick propped inside; a large
quartz crystal lay close beside the pot. Several other crystals were placed around the car. He knew the broom propped near
the carriage house door was not there for decoration. It was an important part of Jazz’s ritual. She was casting a cleansing
spell. She was invoking a strong magick—cleansing the car of something so dark he could sense it like a putrid substance.

He had a very bad feeling he knew where the foul substance came from and it was not good. He stepped closer while remaining
out of the circle Jazz had cast around herself and the car.

“What happened?”

Jazz spun on her bare heels. Her tank top and denim capris were soaked from the charged water and sweat. The look on her face
boded ill for anyone who stood in her path. Right now, Nick was that obstacle. Nothing like a six-foot plus target to get
a witch’s back up.

“You bastard, you told me he couldn’t leave his estate. You said he hadn’t left the mansion in years! But you didn’t tell
me he had mastered astral projection!” Her accusation sliced through him like a well-honed blade. It didn’t take magick for
the wet cloth in her hand to score a direct hit against Nick’s chest—just Jazz throwing it at him like a fast-pitch baseball
the way she’d throw a fireball. The moment the fast-moving cloth broke the circle, she had it sealed again. The cloth slid
down his front, landing on the ground with a wet plop. She glared at the cloth, turning it to ash within seconds.

Her words rocked him back on his heels. Jazz zapping a wet cloth to powder was nothing new. The information that she had obviously
run into Clive Reeves was. He hadn’t expected the man to confront her openly.

“I didn’t know.” His stunned gaze whipped from her angry features to Irma huddled in the passenger seat, tears streaming down
her paler-than-usual features.

Jazz glared at him again and then spun around, sending a fireball straight at the smudge stick. It flamed to life, sending
out the scent of white sage.

Nick had a sick feeling that the fireball could just as easily have ended up flying right at him. “Oookay.” He turned back
to Jazz, ready to face her wrath. He understood her anger, and he was willing to absorb it and take full blame for what had
happened. He accepted that Clive Reeves’ confronting her outside his estate was his fault and his alone because he hadn’t
ended this disaster back then. “There’s never been any intel that he had the ability to leave his body. No one has reported
him leaving the mansion grounds in decades. He even built his offices and studio up there since the property is so extensive.”

Jazz’s eyes glowed a dark green that seemed to take on a life of their own and snapped with more than their usual share of
witchy temper. They looked as if they could invoke a dangerous spell on their own. “Guess again, Fang Boy. Your
intel
is wrong, because he sure as Fates was standing by my car two hours ago.” She swept her hand backwards toward the T-bird.

Nick stared at the vehicle, still seeing faint traces of the black and foul substance smeared across the usually immaculate
aqua and white exterior. He knew Jazz never went anywhere without powerful wards protecting her car, but it was clear that
even they hadn’t been enough to defend the vehicle from this particular evil. No wonder she was seriously pissed and looked
ready to zap him into powder right along with the befouled cloth.

“What happened, exactly?” he asked again.

Jazz returned to casting her cleansing spell. She picked up another cloth and soaked it with the charged water, running it
over the metal surface.

“I was at the mall. When I got back to the car I found some sort of strange thick barrier in front of it. It felt like some
weird, really…,” she reached for an adequate description, failed to locate one, and so used what came to mind, “revolting
goo as I passed through it. He was standing by the car.” Her words were jerky with emotion while her movements remained graceful.
“He tried to act as if he was some stranger interested in classic cars. He stood there smiling and friendly as if….” Again
speech failed. “While all I wanted to do was….” She crushed the wet cloth in her fist. She shook off her thoughts and returned
to her task.