Hex Appeal

by P. N. Elrod

  I sat up and stared at him, but he didn’t meet my eyes. “What?”

  “It’s a dead end,” he said. “I mean that exactly, ’cause when I tracked the son of a bitch down who handed over the money, he was dead and buried in a ditch out behind his house.” There was something unnatural in the focus he was giving the stupid reality show, and I knew he wasn’t really seeing it. What he was seeing was far worse. “Didn’t have time to do a real resurrection, so I took some shortcuts.”

  “What do you mean, shortcuts?”

  “There are things I know you don’t, Holly Anne. Things it’s better you don’t, and this is one of ’em.”

  “What are you talking about, Andy?”

  “There’s a way to pull a soul back over into his own ruined body and hold it there, long as you’re not too particular about what it takes to get it done.” He paused a moment, then said, “I got a couple of questions answered, once he stopped screaming. Couldn’t hold him long. Your killer wasn’t too kind to that body.”

  I swallowed hard. From the stony look on Andy’s face, it was worse than he was willing to tell me, which made it way worse than I could imagine. “Oh God,” I said faintly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Just did. No reason to give you nightmares, wasn’t your doing. Anyway, I found out who gave him the money to hire the witch. Name was a dead end.”

  “You should still tell Prieto,” I said. “Maybe the witch he hired has more information…”

  Andy was already shaking his head. “Nothing more to be learned. Believe me, your police friend ain’t gonna get any more out of this than I did.”

  “It’s not just about the information. It’s about justice.”

  He looked at me, suddenly. His eyes were unreadable. “Justice.”

  “That witch is guilty. Maybe guilty after the fact, but she ought to be charged and her license to practice taken away, at the very least. If you don’t want to go to the police, we need to report her to the network.”

  “I will,” he said. He settled back against the pillows, still watching me. “Holly…”

  I slowly stretched out, facing him. We were close together now, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath stirring my hair. I held out my hand, and he took it, and our fingers twined together.

  “Going to be staking out that place again tonight?” he asked.

  “Probably.”

  “Mind if I tag along?”

  “Not at all.” I smiled, and it felt sad. “I love spending time with you, Andy. I wish there were all the time in the world to spend with you.”

  “Hush, now. Don’t let what’s sad take away what’s beautiful.” His fingertips touched my cheek, lightly, and my lips parted in unbidden response. “You’re beautiful.”

  “We’re beautiful,” I said, and kissed him. He tasted like apples and wine, sweet and crisp and clean, and his mouth opened with a wordless groan under mine. The wet, slick dance of our tongues made my skin tingle, melted warmth from the rest of my body to trickle and pool between my legs, and I didn’t resist as he shifted his weight and eased me back to the pillows

  A sharp tug was all it took to pull loose the snaps on his plaid shirt, and he smiled as he straightened up to take it off. I loved the way light slipped golden over his skin, catching on his muscles and glistening on the hair on his chest; it even gilded the scars, the ones that his avatar had carried out of the resurrection even though he ought to have, by all logic, been fresh and unmarked. The scars had a kind of beauty to them—living badges of the kind of courage I couldn’t really imagine.

  Andy stood up and shed his jeans, and stood there looking down at me; and then he sat on the edge of the bed and trailed his fingertips lightly over my stomach. His touch made me tremble, and my breath come faster. “It seems disrespectful to those dead girls to want you this much right now,” he said. “But want you I do, Holly Anne. This minute. And I think you want me just as much. Right?”

  I deliberately pulled down the sheet, never looking away from those deep, shadow-haunted eyes. His hand moved slowly over the bunched fabric, then up my inner thigh. He grasped the thin elastic band of my panties and pulled them off. He slowly caressed and kissed my bare leg, moving up into the shadows. I gasped and arched against him as he stroked me in wet, deep, aching places. His mouth, lips, and tongue bathed my nipples in heat, and I was well on the way to a bright and shattering climax even before Andy shifted his weight and slowly, relentlessly filled me.

  It took my breath away, and he held there for a moment, staring into my eyes. “All right?” he whispered, and I nodded and wrapped my legs around him, pushing him deeper, arching against him. “God damn, Holly…”

  “Stop talking,” I whispered, and kissed him as he lost the fine edge of control to which he’d been clinging.

  Our lovemaking was swift and hot and hard, different from the times before; it seemed to go on forever, one breathless deep thrust after another. No words, just indrawn breaths and gasps and whispers that had no meaning other than what we felt.

  He’d never been more real to me. More alive. And he drove me to a shattering, gasping pinnacle with my nails digging into his skin, leaving marks. He came a few deep, fast strokes later, and collapsed against me, shuddering with the force of it.

  When he stirred, his kisses were sweet and soft and slow—a silent gift. We lay together, linked, for a long time before he heaved a deep sigh, and said, “Didn’t mean it to go quite that way.”

  “I did,” I said, and touched his lips gently with mine. “I needed it.”

  “Ah. Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint a lady.”

  “That was not what a lady would have done.”

  “I’ll have you know that I’ve known me a good number of ladies, and a fair number of them…”

  I put my fingers on his mouth, stopping him. “Really not the time for your back-in-my-day reminiscences, Andy.”

  He kissed my hand. “I know that.”

  There was a ring from somewhere in the direction of his pants, which were on the floor, and both of us sighed. Andy touched his forehead to mine for a few apologetic seconds, then said, “I was hoping to hear from somebody on another lead…”

  “Take it,” I said. He kissed me gently and slipped out of bed to grab up his pants and find the cell. He didn’t put the pants on, which I could only appreciate; he was breathtaking, for all his scars—or because of them. I couldn’t imagine not having him here, with me, always, and now the gnawing fear came back that this was the last time I’d have this, the last night we’d be together.

  Life was so fragile, sometimes.

  He said hello, listened, then cast a glance at me and left the room to talk. I got up and gathered my scattered clothes, got fresh ones from the closet, and turned on the hot water in the bathroom.

  Andy popped his head in. “Sweetness, I’ve got to go meet a man about a horse.”

  “Knowing you, I’m afraid you mean that literally. Want to shower? It’ll only take about ten minutes.”

  He smiled, a slow and wicked expression that made my blood warm, again. “Maybe twenty,” he said.

  “You’re such a gentleman.”

  That made him shrug. “Not so’s you notice.”

  * * *

  It was about fifteen, truth be told, but fiercely sweet, then he was dressed and gone, with his hair still shining and wet. I took my time, relaxing in the spray and the calming scent of the lavender soap.

  My cell was ringing when I stepped out. I toweled off hastily, wrapped my hair, and grabbed the phone just before the call flipped over to voice mail. “Hello?” I sounded cross, and I was. I hoped it wasn’t my day job calling, because if it was, I didn’t sound nearly enough out of it.

  Instead, I got a male, totally unfamiliar voice. “You were asking questions about a witch who’d made an avatar recently.”

  “That’s right.” I felt a quick burn of excitement. “Do you have a name?”

  “I do,” the voice s
aid. “But understand, I don’t like doing this.”

  “I appreciate that. I won’t ask. All I need is a name, and I won’t tell anyone where I got it. I’m not asking your name, either.”

  There was a long hiss of silence, as if the caller was debating hanging up, then the man said, “You know him. I’ve seen you with him.”

  I frowned, racking my brain for all of the witches I’d met with in the past few months. There were at least fifteen, about a third of them male …

  “It’s the one you brought back,” the voice said. “The one who won’t die. Toland.”

  “What are you—” Silence settled cold inside. I was aware of the whisper of traffic outside on the road, of wind in the tree by the window, of the rattle of the air-conditioning kicking in, the warmth of the sunlight on the towel over my legs.

  But the world had stopped. Just … stopped. For me.

  “You’re wrong,” I said. I didn’t even mean to say it, but the words came bubbling up, out of control. “He didn’t. He’s a resurrection witch, not—”

  “He can do both. He’s the only one who can do both. Didn’t you know that?”

  And the caller hung up without waiting for an answer.

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it, numbed and empty. No. No, it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

  But I remembered. He’d brought home five thousand in hundred-dollar bills. Cash. The way that illicit transactions were done all over the world.

  He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

  But he’d thrown himself into this with a furious intensity—been gone all night—interrogated a murdered man for information … was that the action of someone trying to help me, or someone trying to cover his own guilt?

  Oh God, God, God …

  Deep breaths, Holly. Give him a chance to explain. You can’t believe this, you can’t just think he would do something like this. You know him.

  Did I? I’d seen Andy grow more and more frustrated over the past few weeks, feeling useless to contribute toward our money problems. Feeling less of a man for not finding his chosen employment in this vastly changed world. He was used to simpler times, direct actions, clear rules.

  I suddenly knew … knew, with a sick wave of despair. He was guilty. Guilty of making the shell of the dead girl, at least. It sickened me, but I could believe that. He hadn’t resurrected her, though. I knew him better than that he’d coldly looked on as she was tortured, mutilated, killed.

  Still, there was something bitterly disappointing about this … not just that he’d taken money from a serial killer, but that …

  That he hadn’t trusted me enough to confess it.

  Oh God.

  I dropped the phone on the table, leaped out of the bathroom, and pulled on clothes as fast as I could. I was shaking and panting with panic, because I knew, knew that he’d lied to me. It wasn’t just asking questions, not anymore.

  Andy was out there tracking down a killer, and he was probably closer than anybody knew. Close enough to be in real danger.

  I dialed his cell phone. It rang, and rang, then finally he picked up and said, “Bad time, Holly.” He was panting, and I could tell he was running

  “Where are you?”

  “Can’t tell you.”

  “Andy, please—I know. I know you made the shell. I know you’re taking this personally. But you need help. This man—he’s not like anything you’ve come up against before.”

  “Dammit!” He spat it into the phone, then heaved a big sigh, and said, “Not you, Holly, I’m sorry, but he made it to his car. Son of a bitch. I had him. I had him.”

  “Did you see a license plate?”

  “No. Couldn’t even make out the car real clear; all them things look alike to me anyway. Was blue, that’s all I can tell you.” His breathing eased a little, and he said, in a much different tone, “Holly Anne, I never meant to lie to you. Not for a second. I just couldn’t tell you. Not that. I let you down. I let that gal down, and if I could take it back, I would.”

  “The killer didn’t hire you.”

  “No. Money and job came by courier. Courier’s the man I found dead. He couldn’t tell me nothing.”

  “So who were you following?”

  “Got a tip about the witch,” Andy said. “He drove off afore the killer went for his car. I got the name of the witch; he ain’t getting away. Killer’s still a mystery, and I damn sure want to solve it.”

  I heard him starting up an engine. “Andy, did you take my car?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry about that. Needed to move fast. Look, I may still be able to pick up his trail. We’ll talk about all this later, and I’ll explain proper.”

  “Andy, it’s serious, what you did. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Dead girl brought back to torture and murder? I know it is.” He sounded grim and quietly heartsick. “Ain’t the first time I made a mistake, but this one hurts. Hurts bad.”

  “You didn’t make any others…?”

  There was a short silence, then he said, “Gotta go, Holly Anne. Please forgive me.”

  And then he hung up, without telling me where he was, or what he was planning to do.

  * * *

  It was a long couple of hours before the phone rang again. I grabbed it up in relief, but it wasn’t Andy, after all.

  “Got another crime scene and another dead-again,” said Detective Prieto. He sounded tired and harassed. “Get a piece of paper. I’ll wait here for you.”

  My heart was pounding painfully. “Is Andy—?”

  “Is Andy what?” he snapped back. “Ain’t seen him, and do me a favor, don’t bring him. The son of a bitch creeps me out.”

  Oh, thank God. It wasn’t Andy he’d found, then, which had been my instant and horrifying fear. “I—I don’t have a car.”

  “Well, take a taxi, then, but don’t expect the city to be picking up the tab. Hurry it up if you’re coming. I can’t keep this place secure for long.” He read me the address, which I wrote down, then called a taxi for pickup.

  I tried calling Andy’s phone, but it went straight to voice mail. The sound of his recorded voice, so awkward and uncomfortable with this newfangled messaging, made my heart break all over again.

  He’d already broken it in two by lying to me, even if it was a lie of omission, and now, there was the horrifying possibility that he’d created more bodies to be filled with sleeping souls. More girls to wake to torture and death.

  No wonder he didn’t want to talk to me. He had to stop it. I knew that he wouldn’t let go until he’d accomplished that, at any cost.

  The taxi honked about five minutes later, and I felt sick as I opened the cabinet to retrieve my go-bag … and found it missing. I’d left it in the car, which Andy was driving. Not that I had the heart, or the stomach, to try to resurrect one of these poor, tortured souls, but it was habit to have it with me. A bit of constancy and comfort that I’d have to do without.

  I gave him the address, and the taxi driver struggled with GPS coordinates until he finally said, “Lady, that’s some kind of park. You sure—?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”

  He shrugged and put the car in gear. Just another twenty-dollar fare to him.

  * * *

  Unlike the first crime scene, this time there was no uniformed police presence, no warning tape. Just Prieto’s big brown car, a shining dark blue one beside it, and an empty parking lot with a thin line of trees at the back of it.

  There was one lonely crime scene technician photographing the scene: Greg. I waved at him, and he looked over and nodded. He waved back before continuing to snap pictures.

  Prieto looked me over as the cab that had brought me drove away. “Here I thought you and Toland were joined at the hip. That’s two times you’ve shown up without him.”

  I avoided the whole topic of Andy Toland because it hurt too deeply. “Where are the other crime scene guys?”

  “I didn’t call them in. Legally, the w
orst we got here is illegal disposal of a body, and nobody wants to waste crime scene dollars on this thing, not in a budget-cutting economy. Hey, Greg, hang back for a minute. I want her to get the full impact of what her damn witch friends did.”

  Greg stepped back and waited, watching me curiously as I walked forward. I immediately identified her: the second victim. Her dark eyes were open, staring up at the clouds as they passed overhead; they had filmed over but hadn’t dried out completely. Her full lips were parted. She had a look on her face I couldn’t quite define—surprise, and something horribly close to relief.

  She’d been happy to die, at the end. Happy the suffering was over.

  I thought about the cash sitting in the bureau drawer at home, waiting for a trip to the bank, and shivered; that was blood money—no, worse than that. I could never bring myself to touch it again.

  “This dump site wasn’t on the original case files. It’s new. He’s changed it up to reduce his risk, which means we’re screwed halfway to hell on stopping him unless you and the undead boyfriend run down that resurrection witch.”

  “Andy has a name for you. He may have information about the killer, too.” I said. Standing there, staring at the torn evidence of another girl’s horrible, violating death made me angry at Andy, really and painfully furious. He could have confessed. Should have confessed. If he’d made the shells, he could have told me and Prieto about it, and immediately handed over the courier who’d paid him; that would have made it at least partly right again. I knew why he’d tried to go it alone … it was in Andy’s Old West nature. But it was wrong this time.

  No. This … this was beyond wrong. There was no mending it.

  “Holly?”

  Prieto’s voice was quiet, and unlike his usual dismissive tone. It honestly seemed … compassionate. I looked up to see him standing on the other side of the body, watching me. Behind him, the tech was staring, too. After a few seconds, he went back to work, but Prieto’s focus remained.

  “Something you want to talk about?” he asked. “I can tell by the look on your face that you’re hurting.”

  I shook my head. I did want to tell him, I wanted to blurt it out and be free of the dreadful pressure of this secret, but I couldn’t. Instead, I dialed Andy’s phone again. Got voice mail.