Hex Appeal (3 page)

Jazz switched on her CD player, stepped into the steaming water, and activated the whirlpool jets, settling back against the curve at the end that cradled her neck with just the right touch. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the outside world as the soft sounds of Celtic Woman floated through the room and the rubber duckies started scrambling back up onto the ledge, taking turns diving into the water.

She sunk further down in the water and allowed the many jets to massage her body from toes to shoulders. Soon she was lulled into a light doze.

She suddenly felt the faintest of touches brush over her toes. She smiled and shifted her feet from her dream tormentor, not really trying to escape. She couldn't remember the duckies trying this game, but they did love to play, so she'd go along with their fun. Then she sensed the hint of fingertips trail along her ankles and up her calves. This time she couldn't escape, nor did she want to. Instead, she parted her legs a bit in a less than subtle invitation. Her smile dimmed to a slight frown as the phantom fingers stroked her inner thighs and upward. The closer they reached her core, the colder the touch became, even in the heated water, until she felt as if needles of ice pricked her skin and pain radiated through her body. A sense of something not quite right invading her dream state brought her back to awareness and she jerked away. Water splashed over the side of the tub as she sat upright looking around the room, but nothing appeared out of place. She was alone in the room.

Even in the heated water she felt chilled. The music still played and sounds of Fluff and Puff growling complaints added further background noise. She turned her head and found the duckies now perched on the ledge. They all had a faint look of alarm on their yellow-orange faces and their beaks moved in silent distress. She leaned over the side of the tub and peered through the open bathroom door where she could see that her suite's double doors were closed.

But that didn't stop the sensation that the atmosphere in the rooms had drastically changed, and not for the better. Jazz quickly climbed out of the tub and opened the drain. She wrapped a bath sheet around her body, swiftly drying her skin. Normally, she would take her time and smooth on body cream and dust herself with the shimmering powder, but this time she wanted to be out of there as soon as possible.

Once wrapped warmly in her robe, she went to her trunk for sage and began burning it in pots scattered around the bathroom and bedroom. She needed to cleanse the air and purify the rooms.

She had no idea what brought her so rudely awake, but she knew one thing: whatever the fingertips that had caressed her intimately belonged to, they weren't even remotely human.

***

Even after smudging the rooms, Jazz still felt a bit out of sorts as she dressed in aqua terry drawstring pants with an embroidered strawberry doubling as decoration and back pocket, and a matching hoody. Tiny strawberries decorated her flip flops. She kept her makeup minimal. She tried a hint of plum eye shadow and black mascara to highlight her green eyes and a dusty rose blush with shimmer in it that echoed her lipstick. Today she wanted the color to boost her unsettled spirits.

She left a pair of angry slippers behind as she exited the room.

“Wow, look at you,” Krebs, aka Jonathon Shaw, III, greeted her when she sauntered into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of citrus-flavored sparkling water out of the refrigerator. “No bad scary witch today?”

She thought of the black leather pants and black silk shirt she'd almost put on in an attempt to feel like the big bad scary witch after a bath that had turned less than relaxing.

“Maybe I'll go more suburban witch.” She tried to picture herself driving an SUV or minivan with kiddies headed to Little League or soccer practice. She shuddered at the idea. She twisted the bottle cap off and drank half the bottle in one gulp. “Do you want to take a drive up the coast? Stop and get dinner somewhere?”
Pretend all was normal with the world even if it wasn't.

Krebs looked at her bright, almost perky, self and then down to his T-shirt, faded to the color of ancient bones, and tan and navy plaid pajama pants. His dark-brown hair stuck up in unruly spikes. Not as a fashion statement, but only because he hadn't cleaned up yet.

“Um, we're not even at lunchtime yet.”

“We could do it for lunch instead of dinner. I'm free,” she suggested with a brightness she didn't truly feel. “Or even drive up to Santa Barbara, do some sightseeing, then have dinner. Come on. It's a gorgeous day. Let's enjoy it.”
Let me escape my haunted bathroom and pissed off slippers for awhile.

“I—ah—I don't think so. Thanks anyway.” He developed a sudden interest in his coffee mug. “Besides, I think that ghost of yours gropes me when I ride with you.”

Jazz snorted as she drank her water, then coughed. “Irma's too much of a lady to do that.” No way in Hades she'd admit that she'd seen the irascible ghost do some braille on Krebs's very nice male bod the last time he rode with them. She guessed while he couldn't see Irma, he could sense when she was taking liberties with him.

Bad ghost! Bad!

“And that's not all,” he lowered his voice. “And this has only been in the past few months, but sometimes when I've been in the carriage house, I swore something was humping my leg.”

She swallowed the hysterical laughter that threatened to erupt. She hadn't mentioned the dog to him yet and wasn't looking forward to the day she did. She knew Krebs was allergic to dogs. Luckily he wasn't allergic to a spirit dog.

“Come on, Krebs,” she whined. “We haven't had a fun evening out in a while.”

He continued stirring his coffee even though she knew he drank it black and wouldn't need to stir it.

“I've got work,” he mumbled.

“All work and no play make Krebsie a dateless boy.” She took her keys off the board near the back door. “Okay, but you're going to miss out on some awesome seafood, terrific conversation, and a scintillating evening with
moi.
” She blew him a kiss and sailed out the door.

The crusty tones of Humphrey Bogart along with loud weeping greeted her as she activated the carriage house door, watching it swing outward.

Casablanca.
She heaved a sigh as she entered the carriage house. Irma sat back in the cushy recliner Jazz had gotten her with a lace hanky dangling from one hand as she dabbed at her eyes. She stared at the TV, mouthing the final words.

“Okay, Rick and Louis will be the best of friends. How about a drive?” She tossed her keys from one hand to the other.

Irma covered her nose with her hanky and honked. No delicate sniffs for her.

“He just let her leave,” Irma sobbed.

Jazz ignored the fact that she cried buckets when she first saw the movie at the Rialto Theater in 1942.

“That's the war for you. Tell you what, let's cruise the coast. That will cheer you up.” She climbed in the car and started up the engine. A moment later, Irma was in the passenger seat. “Grab some dinner.”

“
You'll
grab some dinner,” Irma grumbled, tucking her hanky in her dress pocket. Her navy print dress looked as freshly pressed as the day she was laid to rest in it. She never forgave her lying, adulterous husband for choosing an unflattering style for her eternity wear. “I'll just sit in the car like one of those bobbling hula girls people set on the dashboard.”

“You in a bra top and grass skirt is something I so do not want to picture. Besides, you can leave the car now. Go sit on the beach or something. Find a stick and throw it for the dog to fetch.” She eyed the furry behemoth that lay next to Irma's chair. “He needs some serious exercise.”

“What good is my ability to leave the car if I can't come in with you?” Irma argued.

“Oh no, not after that day in Taco Bell.” Jazz shuddered at the memory.

“It wasn't my fault that ghost-hunting crew was in there having lunch,” Irma huffed. “Or that one of their people sensed me.”

Jazz knew it wasn't Irma's fault, but it didn't make the insanity of that time or the panicked customers running out of the restaurant when the psychic ghost hunter jumped up with his camera any easier to remember. “Look, I'll park where you have a great view of the beach,” she promised, activating the remote for the doors then backing down the driveway. “That way if you change your mind you can walk down to the sand and enjoy the sunset.”

When Jazz reached the street she heard the faint tinny sounds of the carousel's calliope coming from the boardwalk. She resolutely ignored the lure of the Midway and turned in the opposite direction.

As she drove toward the Pacific Coast Highway she swore she felt a whisper of a touch along the inside of her leg. The contact was unsettling, since she knew it had nothing to do with the dog.

***

“Assure me this will work,” a low voice echoed against the chamber's stone walls.

“My work never fails.”

“Good, because if it does, you will never leave this room.” The speaker opened the large iron door and left the room.

The one left behind returned to his task.

Flickering candlelight highlighted the ancient text etched in parchment lying on the antique oak table. The words written in an arcane language long forgotten by many in the magick world were etched in the blood of its creator's enemies just as the parchment was crafted from its enemies' skin. Long fingers ending in similarly long nails polished so brightly that they glowed black in the candlelight traced the lines of text. A low guttural voice repeated the spell over and over, but what made the words even more powerful was the drawing placed next to the text.

A drawing of Jazz Tremaine that was so lifelike, so exquisitely real, she could have stepped off the paper. Every bare inch of flesh detailed in the drawing was absolutely perfect.

Jazz drove up to Santa Barbara, where she indulged in some shopping, then returned home at a leisurely pace, finally stopping in a small funky coastal town that looked like a movie set straight out of the 1940s. The seafood restaurant she chose sat on stilts overlooking the beach with a bar displaying fishing nets, colorful glass floats, and starfish for decoration. She ignored the looks of frank male interest directed her way as she was seated on the deck with a glass of wine and a perfect view of the sunset.

The morning's events had left her feeling uneasy. If Nick hadn't bitten her, why did it feel so real at the time? And just what in Fates' sake happened in the tub? Two unsettling dreams in less than twenty-four hours could not be a coincidence.

She mentally vowed not to use the tub again until she thoroughly cleansed it. And not with Scrubbing Bubbles either.

She may have been half-asleep at the time, but what touched her in the tub didn't feel like a dream.

Meaning...if that was the case, then the same could be said for what happened at Nick's apartment.

Meaning...magick.

She preferred to dismiss that thought because she honestly didn't want to think someone was casting spells against her. It was bad enough that she now had to find out what happened to Wereweasel Willie before Rex lost his patience and reported the slippers to the Ruling Council. He may have agreed to give her time to find out what happened, but Rex also believed in his own time-table, one that didn't always agree with anyone else's.

Plus for now, she just wanted to relax and enjoy the evening. Her eyes focused on the horizon, admiring the play of gold, orange, and red on the ocean heralding the sunset. The faint silhouette of a porpoise jumping into the air and diving back into the water as the sun finished its descent caused her to smile. The votive candle set on the small round table flickered wildly in the ocean breeze, casting shadows across her face.

“You know, it's never a good thing to see a pretty lady sitting alone.”

Pretty lady?
Jazz mentally summed up her unwanted visitor before she turned from the view to see who was interrupting her peace and quiet. One look told her she had it right on the mark.

The man standing by her chair was about six feet tall with sun-bleached blond hair arranged in a tousled way that said he spent more time on his grooming than she did. His perfectly maintained tan was meant to show off his baby blues, and gym-toned pecs and six-pack abs were visible under a—natch—blue polo shirt tucked into designer jeans. A quick downward glance showed tanned bare feet shoved into Top-Siders that she'd bet her favorite cauldron had never stepped onto a boat deck.

She smiled. “Sometimes the lady prefers to sit alone.”
Go away before I turn you into a gingerbread boy and have you for dessert.

Not accepting her mental hint, he flashed his bleached pearly whites and took the seat across from her. He set his whiskey glass down on the table.

“I'm Thad.”

“Of course you are.” She enjoyed his faint annoyance that his charm wasn't getting through to her. It would have been so tempting to see what he'd look like as a frog. Or maybe a hermit crab. They were at the beach, after all. But she didn't think the Witches' Council would see it as improving his lot and she had that hundred-year's probation to think about.

“You're not local. I would have remembered you.” Thad's eyes were centered on her breasts. “Where are you from? L.A.?”

“Yes.” She was always grateful her breasts weren't centerfold material, but obviously Thad only cared she was female. She didn't need to be psychic to know that.

His smile almost glowed bright in the candlelight. “Maybe you'd like some company and after dinner we could have a drink at my place. I've got a cozy place just up the beach.” He reached across to touch her hand.

Okay, she was
this
close to turning him into a sea urchin, no matter what the Witches' Council would do to her.

“Sweetheart, our table is ready.” There was no warning someone stood behind her chair or even a hint of warmth at her back, but she didn't need either to know who stood there. For a second, she even enjoyed the deer-in-the-headlights look on ole Thad's face. She lifted her hand, feeling the slide of fingers through hers as Nick rested their clasped hands on her shoulder. “This is Thad, darling,” she purred.

“Thad,” Nick growled with just enough emphasis to make his point known.

“I didn't know.” Thad rose so hastily his drink glass tipped over, spilling whiskey on his jeans. He didn't appear to care as he walked to the end of the deck and rushed down the stairs leading to the beach.

“Well, that was rude.” Jazz looked up. “And don't you look tall, dark, and dangerous?” Nick did look dark and utterly dangerous in a black silk shirt left open at the throat tucked into black slacks and black loafers she hazarded a guess were Italian made. Probably left over from his wardrobe when working for the Protectorate and their unlimited coffers. The evening breeze ruffled his dark hair and the candlelight etched shadows across his jaw.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Rude? Me or him?”

“You for running off my impromptu date. Him for, well, running.” She allowed him to effortlessly pull her to her feet. “I gather you weren't lying about our table being ready.”

“Not at all.” He rested a hand against the sweet hollow in the base of her spine as they followed the hostess through the restaurant to a window table.

Jazz didn't bother asking Nick how he managed to find her. How he tracked her down had been a gift he'd never shared and she doubted he ever would.

In record time they gave their orders and were left alone.

“You do realize I'm sticking you with the check?” She sipped her wine, watching the light from the candle flame play over his face. Judging by the hint of color in his skin, she guessed he'd recently fed, and if she wasn't mistaken, he'd also made use of the spray tan booth membership she set up for him at a nearby tanning salon. At least he looked more outdoorsy than the tanning bed color Thad sported. Come to think of it, a tanning bed would turn Nick into a crispy critter, which, in her opinion, would be a waste of a perfectly good vampire.

“So that's why you ordered the Surf and Turf for yourself and the lobster for me?” He glanced up as the waitress deposited a glass of merlot in front of him. He would drink enough to appear polite while he knew Jazz would also nibble on his food.

“And I plan to have their Kahlua cheesecake for dessert.” Jazz toyed with the idea of telling him what had happened in the tub, but what would she say?
By the way, sweetheart, some specter played touchy-feely with me under the bubbles today.
She hadn't detected any hint of magick in the room, but she refused to believe she'd dreamed it happening or that magick wasn't involved. No, whatever she felt was as strong as what she'd felt in the early morning hours when she was positive Nick had taken her blood. She refused to believe either was her imagination.

“Did you do some heavy-duty running to get up here right after sunset, or use another method?” she asked. She'd always been curious about a vampire's method of transportation other than the usual mortal means, but Nick was close-mouthed about the vampire ways. She pretended only mild curiosity, but damn him, he knew different. The faint grin on his lips told her he saw through her ploy.

“Do you mean something like ‘Beam me up, Scotty'?”

“If the bat fits.” She narrowed her eyes, trying to imagine him as a winged creature of the night.

“Be nice. I saved you from Thad.” He lifted his glass in a silent toast. “He saw you arrive, admired your sexy convertible, and obviously saw you as some bored Hollywood wife who was looking for action he would be only too happy to provide.”

“Little did he know I'd just use him and abuse him,” she drawled, well used to Nick's gift of reading minds. She wasn't surprised that Thad's mind wasn't all that difficult to navigate.

“And he would have loved every minute of it.”

Jazz stared at the platter set before her. Considering she'd eaten little all day, it was no wonder she was starving. After she eyed Nick's lobster she knew she would be making short work of the luscious crustacean along with her own meal.

The things she did for the man.

***

“Just roll me out of here,” Jazz said with a contented sigh as they later exited the restaurant.

“I could have done something with my lobster,” Nick muttered.

“My idea was better.” She patted her over-full tummy. “But the cheesecake may have been over the top. You were smart to stick with just coffee.”

He chuckled. “As if I had a choice.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her around the side of the restaurant. “A walk seems to be in order.”

“Augh! Carrying me would be more like it.” She bumped her shoulder against his, but tugged off her flip-flops as they trudged through the sand. Nick took her sandals from her and draped an arm around her shoulders.

“I honestly don't recall taking your blood.” The salt-tinged evening breeze caught up his quiet words and seemed to blow them out to sea.

Jazz winced at the memory of how her morning had begun. While she now questioned what she felt or if it was a dream, the faint throbbing in her neck was a vivid memory.

“It was all so real,” she said softly. “A hot sexy time and then you biting down.” She paused. “I honestly felt as if it happened.” Her fingers absently fluttered toward her neck. “Still feel...” Images flashed before her eyes like a horror movie. Suddenly, her dinner wasn't settling so well.

Nick rubbed his hand down her arm in a comforting manner.

“I need to know what you dreamed. Perhaps I can figure out what happened.”

“I don't do well with blood, you know that. I'd need an Alka-Seltzer before even talking about it.”

“Pretend you're watching a movie.” He steered her toward an outcropping of rocks and settled her against one that was shaped like a seat.

“Great, Freddy Krueger time.” She breathed in through her nose. “We were, ah, making love.” That was a memory she could deal with. “And as it got more intense, you took charge the way you like to.” She shot him a look when he opened his mouth. “My story. My way. Simple. You were on top. Your eyes turned red, then you leaned down and tore into my throat. I screamed and wondered why my blood didn't make you sick. Next thing I knew I was yelling at you and exiting your apartment as fast as I could go.” She flinched when his finger-tips moved over the affected area.

“A dream with pain is nothing unusual,” he murmured, continuing to caress her skin in soothing strokes. “There are those who would pay a fortune to have such a dream. They would welcome such pain.”

“Well, they can have mine for free.” She stopped, recalling what had happened before the definitive moment. “The last part, that is.”

“Why do you think you had the dream?”

“Bad Thai food. Who knows? Maybe a holdover from what happened before.” There was no need to explain her choice of words. They both knew what “before” meant.

“Magick?”

She shook her head. “I thought of that, but it doesn't make sense and it didn't feel like a magick I'm familiar with. I haven't pissed off anyone enough to do something like this. Well, I haven't!” she protested, easily reading his skepticism.

When the wind picked up Nick stood in front of Jazz, protecting her from the chill. His fingers moved from her throat to her hair, tangling themselves among the heavy strands. The idea of snuggling into his arms and kissing him grew stronger by the moment.

Jazz gave in to temptation, since Nick was the best kind of temptation. Their tongues tangled as she slid her fingers between the buttons of his shirt, stroking his skin while he palmed her breast through silk and lace.

“Mmm, even better than chocolate,” she murmured, once she had a chance to take a breath.

“What's better than chocolate?” His amusement washed over her.

“You. Although, I have to say some days I'd go for the chocolate.” She feathered kisses over his face.

“I'd rather go for you.” He kissed the top of her head and wrapped her tightly in his arms.

It didn't take much effort for Nick's slacks to hang open and Jazz's to end up around her ankles. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he lowered her onto his erection. She kept her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his as he moved his hips in cadence with hers. There was no urgency in their movements, none of the heat of before, but a soft gentle loving that brought a big smile to Jazz's lips and the same with Nick. As her body tightened around his, she breathed his name against his skin. He didn't lower her back to her seat on the rock for a moment, instead preferring to hold onto her.

“You sure know how to show a girl a good time, Nick Gregory,” she said, looking as dreamy as she felt.

“I do my best.” He helped her dress.

***

At the sound of laughter and barking, they turned to see Irma standing at the water's edge while the dog raced up and down, chasing the incoming waves.

“Come back before you drown!” Irma shouted to the dog, who ignored her entreaties to return to her.

“Did she ever name him?” Nick asked.

Jazz shook her head. “Irma's tried out names, but so far he doesn't seem to like what she's come up with. But then, I wouldn't want to be called Fluffy or Pooh Bear.”

Nick winced. “They don't work for me either.”

“Oh, I don't know, I can see you as my l'il Pooh Bear,” she cooed. “Do you want a ride back to the city? Easier than flying back, even if I would like to see you in bat form.”

He smiled. “Only if I can drive.” He grasped her hands and pulled her to her feet as she called out to Irma to join them at the car.