The Problem With Hexes

by Lexi Ostrow

  “Here you go.” He dragged out the last word as if trying to get her to spill her idea.

  “Thanks.” She didn’t so much as glance up as she tapped on the green message button and typed in her number. “Oh.”

  “Oh, what?”

  “Oh, my name populated when I started typing my number.”

  “Is that not allowed? I thought people who occasionally hung out did that sort of thing – stored numbers.”

  Deidre shook off the surprise. He wasn’t wrong, she just never bothered to get his.

  “Here I go.” Holding her breath, Deidre’s fingers moved skillfully over the screen, composing the text message to herself.

  She wasn’t sure what she expected. The characters to vanish as she typed? The text to send and maybe kill whoever read it? Just as she finished composing it, Deidre began to hope she’d found a way around the hex. “Yes.” She breathed out as she hit send.

  A sharp crack rang out as a jolt of electricity zapped into her hand. Yelping, she opened her hand accidentally, and the phone fell onto the kitchen table with a crack, the screen utterly blank save for a black burn mark in the center.

  “Are you okay?” Jonathon had her hand in his, turning it this way and that before she could recover from the shock.

  “Did your phone just … blow up?”

  Jonathon lifted it using just the tips of his fingers to grab the corner. “It sure looks like it.”

  A pin drove into the balloon of hope, letting the air out with a wheeze.

  “We’re all alone.” Her lip trembled as the realization sunk in. “All that’s left is to try to tell a ghost.”

  “I can’t raise the dead.” Jonathon murmured matter-of-factly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Necromancy. I never learned it. I imagine anyone in the room would suffer something tragic.”

  Deidre shook her head. He would be the one person to mistake sarcasm for seriousness. “I hadn’t been serious.”

  “Why not? If a ghost could pass a message along, we could save a lot of lives. I don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in fleeing the city. Either we’ll die instantly, or this potent ass hex will destroy wherever we are. Death isn’t on my to-do list for quite some time.”

  “Mine either.” She shuddered. “You really think a ghost could help?”

  “Can you raise one?” He sounded skeptical. Witches rarely practiced darker magic.

  “I can’t, but we could learn.”

  He shook his head abruptly. “Necromancy takes years to learn. We have days at best.”

  “So, we have three options. Leave New Orleans and die. Leave New Orleans and bring death to others. Stay here and fight and maybe drown all of New Orleans.”

  “We’re going to stop this. Just don’t ask me how right now because I’m out of ideas.”

  “Funny, that didn’t sound like out of hope.”

  “Because I’m not.” He narrowed his gaze on her, and it sent a thrill through her.

  Deidre knew some women liked serious men, liked the way their intense stare could turn them into putty. Not her. She’d always been more interested in the ones who could make her laugh. Except for right this moment when the man before her was doing some seriously questionable things to her judgment.

  The way Jonathon looked at her, like she was his life raft and he was preparing to grab on, sent a tingle through her. Jonathon wasn’t her type. This was all the after-effects of fear. She was stuck with him, and that made him attractive. Didn’t it? She’d known him almost a year without noticing the slight sparkle in his dark brown eyes. Attraction didn’t come from nowhere. The situation was making her feel weak, and the man before her was anything but. A perfectly logical explanation for why you’re suddenly making eyes at a man nearly five hundred years younger than you. Except, this is the first time you’ve ever spent time alone with him. How could you know anything about him other than he was good looking?

  “Did you hear me?” Jonathon tapped the dead phone on the table.

  “Hmm?”

  “I said I’m going to into work. Not to work, but to poke around and see what I can find. Are you coming?”

  “Did you forget? Trapped together. Unable to communicate. Staring at a black hole of problems, and still, you’re ready to get moving even after two failures in less than five minutes.”

  He nodded. She sighed.

  “Get me that toothbrush. Being stuck with you is proving to be much like being stuck with Ivy.”

  “That’s an insult?”

  “Not in the slightest. Ivy is the most determined person I have ever met. She’s a goddess-be-damned bull when she wants her way, and even Elijah doesn’t win their fights – and trust me, he tries.” She smirked. “I am not thrilled about any of this, but if you’ll get me that damn toothbrush, it’s time I stopped being a victim and took my life into my hands.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  “Funny, I didn’t realize you were a djinn.”

  “Hilarious, Deidre.” He chuckled as he walked past.

  “I didn’t strike you as having a sense of humor.”

  “Like I said, I’m not what I appear.”

  “Which is a shame since you appear to be the next best distraction I’ve got,” Deidre muttered.

  “What?” Jonathon came out of the hall bath with a toothbrush wrapped in plastic.

  “Just give me the toothbrush.” Deidre flicked her wand and brought the thing over to her hand. “We’ve got a city to save.”

  “We’re agreed. In and out.” Jonathon looked over at her as if she were daft.

  “I agreed the first time. I don’t even know what you’re hoping to find, so you have my word I’ll stay out of your way.”

  “Thanks.” Jonathon looked past the black gates and cursed. “Sam’s coming.”

  “You go ahead in and hit whatever database you’re thinking will help. I can deal with Sam – he’s got a baby on the way, and I know just how to set his head spinning.”

  Jonathon bit back a chuckle. He’d heard his sister rattle on when she was pregnant, and he almost felt bad for Sam. “Wait, what?”

  Deidre snickered. “Sometimes, having ties is useful for information.”

  “Well, shit.” Jonathon blew out a whistle.

  “Hey, you two.” Sam arched a brow. “I dropped you off yesterday, and you’re still together?”

  “Leave it alone, Carson.” Deidre patted him on the shoulder. “My life is a lot less complicated than yours … double dad.”

  “Double?” Jonathon’s hand paused just before the door. “Twins?”

  The color drained from Sam’s face.

  “Lita.” Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair and dropped to sit on the small stone step up toward the office. “She told you.”

  “Um, of course, she told me. Like the minute the results came back with two little heartbeats.”

  “Fantastic. That means I have someone else I have to watch what I say around.”

  “Twins?” Jonathon’s lips quirked into a smile. “You are in for a handful.” He bumped Deidre on the shoulder. “Be nice to him.”

  “Excuse me?” Sam glanced between the two of them. “What is she going to do that requires being nice?”

  “I’m going to quiz you on all things infant to see if you’re ready for twin witches … or warlocks.”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus, you think they’ll have magic, too?”

  Deidre’s twinkle of a laugh was a pleasant sound in the chaos of their current situation. Laughter shouldn’t be possible, but even he had to admit the situation was hysterical. If there was anyone less qualified to have twins than Sam, Jonathon had yet to meet them. The man thrived on work, catching the scum in the city, and his wife. Twins would destroy his focus.

  Jonathon chortled. “Better you than me.”

  Sam glanced out from behind his fingers. “Wait a second, Lannow said you were off for the next month. Why are you here?” Fingers slipped off Sam’s face.
“And why did you walk up with Deidre? That’s two times I’ve found you two alone.”

  “We’re working on something for Lita together. You know I couldn’t very well ask Jay to help. His loud mouth would have the entire Quarter spilling the secret gift.”

  Sam quirked a brow in disbelief. “You took a month off to help with a gift?”

  “No, we’re together because we’re working on something.” Jonathon bit his tongue. He didn’t lie well, and despite Deidre pulling it off with flair, he would undo it all if he didn’t get inside and check on the database of magical busts. “I need some time to chill. I don’t think I’ve taken a single day of leave since I started two years ago.”

  “Three. You haven’t taken any paid time off in three years.” Sam’s normally sour expression lifted into a smile. “I’m glad you’re taking a break. Maybe you can get back to that big city of yours and blow off some steam.”

  “Right, maybe. If I’m not swimming from a storm.” He muttered and finally put his hand back on the door. “Dee, can you wait here? I just need to check a database for a case I was working before the Council pulled strings for me.” His desk wasn’t far enough back on the main floor that they’d suffer any issues … he thought.

  “That’s how you got your leave?” Sam whistled. “Jesus, man, most of us just ask internally.”

  “It was a last-minute decision. Patrick helped. Dee?”

  She hid a smile, apparently enjoying his discomfort.

  “Go ahead, Jonathon. I’ve got a little quiz for the daddy to be, anyway. We’ll just chill here?”

  She’s asking me if it’s safe for me to go inside. Jonathon offered a small nod.

  Sighing, Jonathon pushed the door in and took in the blast of frigid air. There was no winning in New Orleans in the summer. Someone either melted outside or froze inside.

  His desk stood out amongst the chaos of the desks around it. Sixteen standard, boring brown desks. Each with a laptop and stacks of paper taller than the damn monitors. Pens sat uncapped across half-filled out forms. Brown lunch bags were folded over, and jackets hung off the back of most of the chairs. Except Jonathon’s. Every single piece of paperwork was done before he ever left. He didn’t have open cases, not since taking down Vexx. Detective or not, he didn’t handle casework. He consulted and worked his ass off, but didn’t run point.

  An issue to vent over another time.

  Dropping into the chair, Jonathon booted up the computer. Raising his palm, he let his index finger gently press into the screen. Supernaturals on the force used fingerprint identification for everything. So much easier for someone to steal a password than a finger.

  The blank blue computer screen booted up. One day Jonathon would select a stock photo for a backdrop. That would mean accepting New Orleans was his home, and he had every intention of returning to New York the minute the NOPD found someone who could match him in skills. No backdrop for his computer.

  “Hey, Trevors! Sam said you were taking the day off?” Tanner, Sam’s best friend and all-around pain in the ass, came around the corner and dropped down into the chair next to Jonathon.

  It wasn’t that he had a problem with Tanner, he just wasn’t in the mood for jokes and cavalier comments. “I’m just checking in on something before it begins. Loose ends.”

  “And then it’s off to the Big Apple? To the woman you must be seeing, and that’s why you never look twice at the beautiful ladies here?”

  Jonathon gritted his teeth and blew out a breath. Tanner meant well, but the man was the opposite of someone Jonathon enjoyed being around.

  “I’ll be staying here. Waiting in case the storms roll in.” Or I create one.

  “Well, take my advice and don’t do it all alone. You’re a workaholic, and you need to indulge every so often.”

  Pretty sure the last thing Deidre would even dream of doing is looking twice at the young warlock she’s stuck with.

  The bitter thought came from nowhere and shocked him. Jonathon never looked at Deidre. Yes, she was stunning, but he didn’t look within a circle of friends for a partner. Things got messy.

  Then why did Tanner’s suggestion make you think of her damn near instantly?

  He let out a low growl.

  “All right, damn. I can take a hint.” Tanner lifted his hands in mock surrender and stood up from the chair, sending it rolling backward until it hit the desk behind Jonathon’s. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

  Jonathon didn’t see a need to respond. One day, he and Tanner might very well become friends. Today was not that day. Not when the weight of an entire city balanced on his shoulders like the weight on Atlas’s shoulders.

  The database booted slowly, a usual occurrence thanks to its sheer size. Before Supernaturals were known in the world, crime was still crime. Unfortunately, with the emergence of those with mystical powers, illegal activities blossomed in the city with the largest population allowed in the country.

  “Come on now, just a little bit faster.” Jonathon tapped the center mouse button, occupying his hands, so he didn’t accidentally spell the system to work faster. Technology didn’t respond well to magic, and blowing up his laptop would ensure he found himself off leave.

  The search bar appeared, and his fingers glided over the keys. Magical Dealers.

  Magic could be sold for any price anywhere shops were permitted. However, not all magic could be used for profit, and it couldn’t happen just anywhere in New Orleans. A fact that many decided to ignore, placing them on a list more dangerous than the drug dealers vice units tracked down.

  Thirty-two names populated. Thirty-two different casters who might be behind the attack.

  “We’ve done a damn good job.” Jonathon didn’t mean to come across smug, but he did.

  “With what?” Deidre’s soft tone sounded in his ear.

  He tensed at the words. His back went so ramrod straight he’d feel it in his hip for the next few hours. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

  “Sorry. I figured with our connection you’d feel me.” She leaned over and braced herself on his desk. The smell of wisteria and honey flooded his nose.

  Did she smell this inviting back at the house?

  Jonathon shook off the delightful scent. “We weren’t far enough apart. It’s less than a hundred feet from the door to my desk.”

  “Oh,” One small word had never sounded so defeated.

  “I’m sorry.” He tapped at the screen, his index finger covering up a name or two. “This list is the only people we have on file that we haven’t caught who deal magic.”

  “Not all of them are casters.” She tapped the third line down. “This is a demon. I know her.”

  “Exactly.” He lowered his voice as two street cops passed by. “But do you think a demon could get the needed help to brew what happened?” He jerked his head to the side. “I don’t.”

  Deidre nodded. “You’re right. I don’t know any of these names, though.”

  Jonathon let out a sigh. His momentary enjoyment at taking down multiple perpetrators vanished with the reminder that not one of these people could pull off what was done to them.

  “Most of these are humans. Two warlocks, six djinn, and one witch. The rest are run-of-the-mill humans who jumped ship dealing drugs to deal magic.”

  “There’s no way someone powerful enough to brew that hex would work with humans.”

  “Mostly correct.” He turned his attention to her.

  Green eyes seemed to narrow with annoyance as she stared at the soft white glowing screen. He’d never noticed before, likely because he never looked at her from this angle, but she had cheekbones to rival any model. She looked powerful, like a warrior ready to go into battle based on the scowl on her lips. Not like a frightened witch who’d rather spend her days sipping mimosa’s and visiting a grave.

  “Are you going to explain what that means?” Annoyance lingered in her words.

  “Right. Sorry. I’d love to know how I can get distracted at a time li
ke this.” The sentiment was directed at himself, but the words slipped out.

  “My minds all over. I get it.”

  Jonathon twitched, wondering just what her distractions were because he doubted he smelled like anything except deodorant. And you shouldn’t care. Come on, Jon. This is ridiculous. Tanner just got in your head, that’s all.

  “A person powerful enough to brew that hex would work with a human. If a human could pay the price. Drug dealers don’t accumulate that kind of wealth, and neither would a manufacturer.”

  “So, we’re looking for a Supernatural with a long lifespan or a human who despises the city.” Deidre scrunched her nose. “I know we have our share of problems down here, but we’re called the Big Easy for a reason.” Her arms crossed over her chest. “No one with enough money would want to save certain shifters and kill everyone else. Not down here. If this were a big political outlet, yes. This is personal. This is a vendetta.”

  “Unfortunately, those run wild through the streets of New Orleans. You can object, but it would be pointless. I have the stats to back it up.”

  Deidre’s lips pressed together and turned a shade lighter as she held them closed when she pushed off his desk, clearly irked at his dislike of her city. “Fine, but we’re getting nowhere with your list. Let’s head to my place. My family has grimoires that belong in this city. At the very least, we can read up on weather magic. If we’re going to start a hurricane, we might as well learn what that looks like.”

  “That would work.” He leaned back in the chair, ignoring the way it tipped backward slightly. “I want to learn how to cast it myself – ritual, potion – whatever it is. If I know how to do it, I can certainly stand a chance at stopping us from doing something.” There was little point in telling her he already knew, it might just irk her with the mood she seemed to be in.

  “We. We can stop it. I’m pretty good with weather magic, but stopping hurricanes, not brewing them.”

  “Right. We.” He nodded to no one. He didn’t get to go at things alone in New Orleans. They partnered up down south. They worked together. And if you hadn’t, Vexx would have wiped out humanity. “Thanks.”