by Lexi Blake
“I was going to call you because a doctor isn’t going to know what to do with this. I found this in your dad’s pocket. If this is what I think it is, it could explain why he’s acting so weird.” She held up a small bag, about the size of a human hand. It was made of canvas, and I could guess what was inside. It was what anyone in the know would call a hex bag, or a gris-gris bag, depending on what part of the magical world you happened to be in. A hex bag accompanied a spell a witch was really serious about. It kept the spell active as long as it remained close to the object of the spell. It was filled with lots of gross stuff like bloody bones and hair and herbs you probably wouldn’t want on your Sunday dinner.
I took it from Christine and tossed it to Sarah. A disturbing sensation tingled against my palm for the single moment it was in my hand. Sarah caught it and immediately took inventory. While Sarah was studying the contents of the bag, I looked Christine over with renewed respect. She must have something if Dad trusted her enough to start to educate her in the arcane ways.
“He won’t come out of his room.” Christine looked toward his bedroom door. “He wouldn’t let me in. He said he was sick, but he won’t let me call a doctor or even unlock the door so I can take his temperature. The truth is, he sounds a little crazy. He keeps talking about demon kind and protecting his own. His own what?”
Sarah poked through the contents of the bag with her finger. “It’s standard stuff. I’m betting this is either his hair or more likely yours. Nope. It looks like both.”
“Mine?”
Spells tend to work best if you have something of the person you are working the spell on. The absolute best “possession” a witch can work with is DNA. There is nothing more personal than DNA, and we drop pieces of ourselves all the time. I would love to think that I would remember if someone had come up and yanked a chunk of hair out, but more than likely all the witch would need to do is follow me for a few hours to get what she needed. I’d gotten a haircut just the day before.
Sarah held it up to the light. “Well, this one is your color, and the length is right. I really think it’s yours. There’s also some gray hairs in here. Those would be your dad’s.”
The twitch in my hands was getting worse, and I felt tears starting to prick behind my eyes. I was close to losing control, and I didn’t like the feeling one bit. If I could just make sure the money was all right, then all of this would be over. I just had to find it. I had to protect it and make sure it was never stolen from me again.
“Are you all right?” Neil stood behind Sarah. He’d been quiet the whole time, as though he wasn’t sure exactly what to do.
“No, I’m not fine. He has my money,” I screamed, and I was surprised at that since I hadn’t really meant to say that, much less scream at Neil. The closer I got to my father, the worse I started to feel.
I needed to see the money, to feel it in my hands and then everything would be fine. A little voice was starting in my head. It was saying get the money or die. If I didn’t get that money, the people I loved would be in grave danger.
I turned from Neil and Sarah and Christine and headed straight for my father’s bedroom door. On my way, I managed to retrieve the gleaming Ruger from my shoulder holster. The weight of it in my hand felt like the caress of a security blanket.
Once my father understood that I was serious, he would give me the money and everything would be fine. If he chose to be unreasonable, I would just kill my father and then I would have the money. It was as simple as that. I didn’t stop and worry that I’d just decided to kill my father. It made sense in my increasingly chaotic mind.
I picked up speed halfway down the hall. Unlike many of the other doors in the house, I happened to know that my father’s bedroom door wasn’t reinforced with metal. It was a simple wooden door that had come with the house and he’d never quite gotten around to replacing it. In other words, it was vulnerable. The thing about doors that not many people realize is that a door is the equivalent of a board balanced on two cinderblocks. If you hit any wooden door in the right place with the right amount of force, then locks don’t mean a damn thing. You can have deadbolts, chains, whatever piece of metal makes you feel better, and it won’t matter because the person who really wants to get in has physics on their side.
And it was on my side this time because I really, really wanted to get through that door. I hit the door at a sprint, my shoulder leading the way, and threw my body at the dead center of that three-inch block of wood. I didn’t even think about the pain as the door cracked inward. Unfortunately, it isn’t like in the movies. The door doesn’t really explode unless someone puts supernatural strength behind it. It kind of cracks on the first go. It usually requires a couple of blows to make a hole the size of the human body. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the time for a second go because a bullet doesn’t need a hole. It tends to make one quite nicely without any help.
Dad had a gun of his own.
I felt the bullet whiz by my head at almost the same time I heard the gun go off. I suppose it was good fortune that I’d been thrown off by the force of hitting the door or the bullet might have landed squarely in my head. I didn’t have a lot of time to think since my impulse was to get my ass back up off the ground and get through that damn door and get my money. In spite of the crazy voices in my head, I had the good sense to at least provide myself with a little cover fire. I managed to get one shot through the broken door as a warning before I was tackled by 150 pounds of stronger-than-he-looked werewolf.
Neil pounced, throwing me to the ground and disarming me with startling ease. The Ruger shot across the floor and away from me. Before I could breathe, he wrapped his arms around me and was rolling away from the door. He held me tight and tried to cover my body with his.
I kicked, screamed, and to my eventual shame, pulled hair. I wasn’t thinking. I merely reacted. He stood between me and my money, and it didn’t matter that he was my friend. I needed to get to my money and then punish the man who had taken it from me. Anyone in my way was just collateral damage.
“Zoey, stop it.” Neil tried to maneuver me away. “Something’s wrong. He’s trying to shoot you.”
I didn’t listen. I just thrashed harder.
There was another blast from the bedroom, and Neil pinned me down with a snarl. His eyes were distinctly wolf-like, but I wasn’t fazed. I continued to struggle to absolutely no avail. He was too strong. I hated him. A wealth of rage threatened to spill over from someplace deep inside me. If I could have killed Neil in that moment, I would surely have done it, and I would have reveled in it. I wanted his blood on my hands. The scream that came from my throat was barely human.
“Blasted demon, trying to kill me girl!” I heard my father shouting, his accent stronger than I’d ever heard it. There was another crack, and then the door started splintering outward as he kicked his way out.
“I’ll kill ya first, I swear!” Dad struggled to get through what was left of the door.
Neil turned slightly. I think he was trying to see which demon my father was talking about, and I took advantage. I needed to get away. I did the only thing I could. It was a feminine instinct that nature bred in every one of us—to hurt the male where it would do the most damage. I brought my knee up as hard as I could as I pressed my hands into Neil’s shoulders.
Neil stiffened above me, and it was as if all the air left his lungs as he slid to one side. I scooted out from under him and went straight for my gun, glistening like a beacon just out of reach.
“There ya are, black-souled demon.” My father looked directly at me. It barely registered through my own shouting inner voices that something was wrong. He pointed his gun straight at me, and I felt a fierce satisfaction as I swung around and pointed the Ruger at his chest. I was starting to pull the trigger when Neil hit me again. He managed to roll us away again as the bullets flew.
“This time, you stay down.” He growled as he pulled back a fist and everything turned a blissful black.
&n
bsp; * * * *
“How do you know she’s not going to try to kill me again when she wakes up?”
I heard Neil’s voice from a distance as I started to come out of the warm, dark place I’d been in. I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave that place but consciousness seemed to be inevitable at this point.
“She’s fine now,” Sarah was saying in her most placating voice.
“Well, I should be glad I didn’t want to have kids because I think that option is gone now.” Neil sounded bitter at the prospect. “I have really great genes, you know. It’s a shame.”
Reality hit with the force of a sledgehammer. Everything that happened rushed back in, and I couldn’t stop the moan that came with the realization that I tried to kill my father. I held a gun in my hand and pulled the trigger and prayed that the bullet found his heart. I fought Neil like a wildcat, not caring when I hurt him. I put us all at risk for that money, and now I couldn’t think of why I would do such a thing. I moaned again, though this time not because of the guilt. I also had a massive headache.
“Here.” Christine pressed a mug into my hand. “It’s chamomile, wintergreen, and peppermint mixed with arrowroot powder.”
I took a deep drink and nearly choked. “That’s vodka.”
Christine smiled and held out her palm. “Yes, it is. But this isn’t.”
She blew a thick powder in my face. It hit me everywhere. I coughed and cried as it hit my lungs and eyes. It burned. “Damn it! What the hell was that for?”
Christine slapped her hands together, brushing the rest of the dust off. “It clears the hex. The herbs and the arrowroot purify the space. We burned the hex bags once we figured out there were two of them controlling both you and Harry. Then I started making the arrowroot spell just in case the hex was hanging around. I’m studying to be a witch.”
“Yes, she is. Christine has been so helpful.” There was a fine tone of irritation that let me know Sarah wasn’t happy to share with another witch.
I brushed what I could of the powder off my face. “So what’s the vodka for?”
“Oh, that’s for the guilt,” Christine explained. “I find every time I try to kill someone, I feel really crappy about it, but after a couple of vodkas, I’m okay with it. You have to learn to accept and love yourself. We’re all just human, after all.”
I thrust the mug out. “Yeah, I think I need more.”
Christine happily trotted off in search of another bottle of Ciroc.
Sarah put a cold rag on my forehead. “She’s insane, you know. She’s a decent witch, but she’s bonkers. I have no idea what your dad is thinking.”
The cold felt wonderful against my throbbing forehead. The enormity of the situation was finally hitting me. I grabbed Sarah’s hand. “Is my dad all right? I didn’t manage to hit him, did I?”
“He’s perfectly well. There’s not a scratch on him. He’s just sleeping off the spell,” Sarah said. “He was under it a lot longer than you were, so the effects were a bit more profound.”
I looked at Neil, who was frowning at me. My dad wasn’t the only one who had been endangered by my brief lapse into psychosis. “Hey, buddy, are you all right? I’m really sorry about the whole maiming you thing. If you think about it, it’s one of those stories we’ll be laughing about years from now, won’t we?”
“I am never laughing about that.” Neil frowned and crossed his legs pointedly. “The only reason I’m still speaking to you is because you were under some crazy hex, and I have been informed that you were not yourself. If I have a proper apology, I just might be able to forgive the loss of my manhood. Well, there’s also this blazer at the vintage store that might make me feel better. I’ve been told it brings out the Justin Timberlake in my eyes.”
Sarah stopped and looked at him, her mouth slightly agape. “Seriously? Dude, that hex bag was in your jacket. You were the target. She took the poison for you. It was supposed to be you going all postal on us.”
That made me sit up. The importance of the witchcraft eluded me until this moment. This wasn’t some random thing. There was a purpose behind the plan, and I only had one thing worth stealing. “Oh, god, the money is gone, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Sarah affirmed quietly.
“Why use witchcraft? Why not just break in and rip the door off the safe and take the cash? This seems a convoluted route to take.” I tried to process the enormity of what had happened. I looked out the window. The sun was low. The afternoon was turning into evening. Daniel would be looking for me soon. My stomach knotted at the thought of having to explain this to him.
Sarah held a hand up as though taking blame on herself. “Remember when I put the wards on your bedroom? One of the wards on the bedroom is to keep out anyone with ill intent. It keeps out bad guys and also guys who just want to…you know…some guy who’s going to treat you like crap. I’ve found it keeps out the ones who just want to use you for sex.”
“Tell me you did not do that to my apartment.” Neil gasped, horrified at the thought.
“Of course not, sweetie. You wouldn’t be able to enter your own bedroom.” She turned back to me. “I thought it would help when you started dating again. If you ever started dating again, which you have. So you see, the person or thing that would have stolen the money wouldn’t be able to get past the ward. So they put a hex on Harry to make him believe he needed to take the money to a safer place in order to protect you. His intentions, while magically brought about, were pure, and therefore he could enter. It would be easy for whoever cast the spell to convince Harry to give over the money in exchange for something he would then think of as the money and be willing to die to protect.”
“Which he almost did.” I’d come so close to killing him. “So Dad was holed up in his room protecting the money that wasn’t the money?”
“It was a bag of bird seed,” Neil said.
“Why put another hex on Neil?” If Neil had been cursed instead of me, the results would have been dramatically different. Neil could easily handle both me and Dad without having to hurt either one of us. If Sarah and I had been left to deal with a rampaging werewolf and a crazy Irishman with an arsenal, someone would have died.
Sarah shrugged. “I guess it was a failsafe. If it didn’t work on Harry, then Neil would have done it. Or the witch was afraid Harry might be able to identify her and she…or I guess it could be a he…was worried about reprisal.”
“He or she should be.” If I ever found the person who had done this, I would have a bone to pick. “I don’t suppose he remembers anything, does he?”
Sarah shook her head. “Not a thing. Whoever it was, she was good at her job. It was just chance, really, that saved us.”
I took a deep, steadying breath and wondered where my other vodka had gotten to. I was still a bit shaky from the effects of the hex. I could still feel faint echoes of the insanity that had threatened to overtake me. Too often we discount the power of the witch in our world. When you’re surrounded by werewolves and vampires, a little witch growing her herbs and casting her spells seems harmless. It’s easy to forget that a spell can make you turn on those you love, and even yourself. A werewolf can tear you apart, but a spell can make you tear yourself apart and smile while you do it.
I sat back in the chair. The money was gone and with it any thought of pulling out of the job. I couldn’t give the money back, so to renege on the contract was to break it, and then Halfer owned at the very least me and Daniel. Daniel’s life might be unnaturally long, but I suspected he could meet with an untimely accident if the demon wanted him to. I suddenly felt like a rat in a maze, and someone had set it on fire behind me. The only way out was through, and to get through, I needed some information.
“I need my cell.” I needed to do something about the situation, and there was only one person who could help. I had to hope he’d found that name. “I need to call Albert.”
Neil smiled finally. “No need. Dev’s already here. He called earlier and said something about some
information. He wouldn’t give it to me, though. He said someone was coming by to deliver it in person.” He looked back at the study door. “She’s awake. You can come in now.”
The door to the study swung open, and Dev walked in. He looked perfect in his dark suit and sunglasses. He pulled the aviators off his face and looked straight into me with his unnaturally green eyes. They seemed to glow with some inner fire, and for a moment, I was lost in them. If I’d thought that last night was just the aftereffects of his spell, I was wrong because I felt his pull and knew it had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with him.
He strode to the center of the room and stood before me. I was acutely aware of the state of my person. I was still wearing the dress I wore the night before, stained and ripped and wrinkled. I’d washed off my makeup, but had failed to apply more. And then there was the arrowroot concoction I could still feel clinging to me. I looked ridiculous, and he was a god. I wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to go.
“I need you to tell me the truth, Zoey.” His voice was raw. He looked through me like the answer I gave him would determine our relationship. “Let me warn you, I will know if you’re lying. Are you planning to steal a faery object?”
My heart started to beat quickly. I wanted to lie. I didn’t want him to look at me with contempt and anger. I wanted him to like me, maybe love me. I felt tears pooling, but they had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with regret as I answered. “Yes.”
“Good,” he said, his voice hard and bitter. “I want in.”
Chapter Eleven
Two hours later, Dev entered the kitchen with a hesitancy that told me he wasn’t certain of his welcome.
He stopped a few feet away, his hand on the counter. “You won’t regret letting me in, Zoey.”
He was right to be concerned. I wasn’t particularly happy to see him. I also wasn’t particularly surprised. He’d let me know that he wasn’t going anywhere until I acquiesced to his demands. I have to admit I had a couple of little fantasies the night before where he tied me up until I gave him what he wanted, but not once had what he wanted been a career in crime. I tried to explain the problem to him, but he wouldn’t listen. No amount of tough talk would get through to him. It appeared this situation rubbed some raw wound in Dev, and he wouldn’t listen to reason.
