Hex Appeal

by Linda Wisdom

  “Yes, but I can’t imagine any witch who would be so foolhardy as to brave Clive’s lair even with the prospect of ending up in his dungeon as you had. You were very lucky you weren’t killed in the process.” Her musical laughter was off by just a hair. The tone was enough to set Jazz’s teeth on edge.

  Ending up in his dungeon. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. “Yes, well, some of us don’t like bullies.” She felt her head and jaw aching with the tight rein she kept on her temper.

  “A bully is only a coward who needs to be shown who’s really in charge.” Angelica sat back and crossed her legs, revealing a pale expanse of leg up to her thigh. “That is why every society needs an alpha. I’ve always believed our sex is much stronger than the males. That we know how to run things properly.”

  Like you? Jazz exhaled a deep breath. She was positive by the time the evening was over, she’d have a massive migraine. For a witch who rarely suffered a headache, lately she was sure making up for it.

  Ending up in his dungeon. The words rolled over in her head as she drove through Beverly Hills until she pulled up in front of a modernistic building built in the 1930s with The Velvet Trap written in stylized script on the canopy that led to the street. A valet ran forward and opened the rear passenger door.

  “Return for me at four and not one moment earlier or later,” Angelica instructed without looking at Jazz, now relegating her to nothing more than a servant.

  “In case you change your mind and wish to leave earlier just call the car service number and press Star 6. That will page me,” she said, keeping her eyes forward.

  “I’m sure I won’t.”

  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.

  She 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.”

  Chapter 14

  “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.” Such 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—”