by Livia Quinn
Oh, what to say. Probably best to stick with the truth. “I did. She was at her house this morning.”
His shoulders sank at the news. “I was afraid of that. All right, thanks.” He turned away.
Zeus’ tears! He was pitiful. “Mr. Jackson, wait. Um, I asked her if she was still living here with you and she said yes, she was just er…visiting…her old house.” Well, not exactly the truth, but close enough. “Do you mind if I ask what’s going on?”
I for sure wasn’t going to tell him Inez’ tale but before I could take a breath he launched into the enhanced version complete with a strip show.
Jerkily tugging the hem of his shirt from his pants, he ripped it open and sent buttons flying. I would have looked away but his upper torso didn’t look like I expected. He was actually rather buff for a man his age. His index finger landed on his left pec. “See that? You did that to me and ever since you zapped me, my flag is always up.”
I wished that phrase was a reference to his days as a mail carrier, but the tattoo on his chest was clearly an image of a woman’s head with rainbow streaked hair. No one had ever told me this would happen and as far as I knew he was the only one it had happened to.
“Ever since you brought me back from near death, and don’t get me wrong I owe you for that, because if I hadn’t wound up in that hospital I’d have died and never met my lovely sweet Inez, but I’m wearing her out. I’m not a bounder, and I’d never cheat on Inez. I love her, but I’m afraid my constant—”
My eyes went wide and I placed my palm up, “Got it. No need to explain. I’m just not sure what you think I can do about it.”
His eyebrows rose. “Well, Inez and I were talking…” I knew what they’d been talking about. “Inez thought maybe you could increase the juice in her…”
“Mr. Jackson! I understand what you’re asking, okay? Inez mentioned it, but as I told her, it’s not that simple. I didn’t even know the uh,” I winced, “flag thing was a side effect. And I wouldn’t know how to, well… we’re going to have to come up with another solution. Have you seen a doctor?”
He threw up his hands and stomped around, a bit like the old Jackson. “How am I supposed to make a doctor believe I can’t get my flag to go down at my age?” He had a point.
“I know but maybe he could give you something to counteract it…” like anti-Viagra? Right. “…a tranquilizer? Let me think about it. And talk to um, someone I know.” Like who?
“If you can’t help Inez, can you fix me? Put me back like I was before? I wouldn’t care if I couldn’t get it—” I flashed my palm again and he stopped. “Inez would be happier, and if Inez is happy, that’s all I want, Ms. Pomeroy. Please.”
The puppy dog look on his face had me making a false promise to fix it, for the second time today, though I had no friggin’ idea what I was going to do. I couldn’t manage my own love life, how was I supposed to fix theirs?
Chapter 28
“Thank you, thank you very much…”
Tempe
Elvis’ House of Blues sat alone at the end of the street behind a black iron fence and, as I discovered when I pushed on it, a locked gate. The colorful eighteen hundreds style Craftsman house sat in front of me just a short distance down a wide brick path. Five weathered turquoise steps set between two white spindled balustrades led to the porch, the end posts bearing stick figures of stars, no, on closer inspection I saw it was a man and woman. The trim on the elaborate spindles lining the porch and upper edge of the portico all matched the vibrant oranges and blues and yellows of the house.
My gaze rose to the double French doors, purple with orange trim, inset with some kind of opaque glass inserts and handcrafted iron bars to keep thieves out. On either side of the doors were posters painted by local artists on musical themes—a black choir, musicians performing in New Orleans at Preservation Hall, one of them, a notice of some kind. There were decorated window casings at either end of the porch facing the doors.
I pushed against the gate finding it suddenly unlocked and started up the steps feeling as if I was being observed through the windows, probably bedrooms added to the original center structure.
In two shades of blue with squiggles and stars and swirls of orange and pink, the sign above the door read “The Only House of Blues”. A unique replica maybe but the real one was in N’awlins. The SOAPS had gone down one Sunday for the Blues brunch. The food had been out of this world.
The place beckoned with its bright sunny appearance but as I stepped on the porch I felt needle pricks running down my spine and along my nerves. Menori perked up. I whipped around expecting to see someone following me so strong was the feeling, but the walkway was empty. I spotted movement out of my peripheral vision and saw the shades on the inside of the window to my right moving slightly against the pane.
“Elvis?” I called. “It’s Tempe. The only answer was a noise from behind me. I turned once again to see the first wooden step slide smoothly up under the next, and the next, disappearing one by one until there was a drop off to the brick below. Weird. Ostensibly this would be to keep me from leaving but all they had to do was answer the door. After all, I could just jump to the ground.
As if those thoughts reached the “heart” of the house, a moat filled with snapping alligators appeared where the grass and brick path had been. While the gators might not have been dragons, there were too many of them for me to consider leaving before I gained an audience. I wondered why the elaborate gesture since I’d come here asking for Elvis’ help.
“Okay. Elvis. I’m not going anywhere until you answer the door.” I spoke conversationally as if he were on the other side. There was no response except that as soon as the top step slid out of sight the railing along the front of the porch seemed to fade and the first row of boards on the porch slid toward me, quickly followed by the next row. Zeus’ polka dotted sneakers, what was happening here?
Before long I was flattened against the posters as I weighed my options while the moat grew closer to me, and the reptiles flashed their impressive teeth. Was this some kind of magical prank? I closed my eyes and called menori, letting her assess our predicament as the floor’s edge got ever narrower. The hissing increased and the gators seemed to be vying for the first bite. I was on my toes, my fingers gripping the door facing when the shades flew open and I felt the menacing stare from the darkness.
It pissed me off. I reached for the wind and curled it around me. My feet lifted as the last board slid into the front of the house. I shouted. “Elvis, come out here, right now!” making sure my voice would carry over the hissing alligators, roaring wind and the clacking of shades which were suddenly rising and falling, slamming the sill with a crack like ad-lib instruments in a percussion band.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out Elvis’ house was haunted. And it didn’t like me.
One second, there was a raucous clatter, and the next, the windows closed, the moat disappeared and the porch and steps shot straight out to their original position as if nothing had happened. The doors flew open and an out of breath Elvis stood between them dressed in his powder blue chrome studded outfit and matching boots. He whipped his dark glasses off and for just a moment his black eyes stared with surprise.
“Tempe, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. I was out back. I thought you were coming later,” he said, looking over his shoulder nervously.
“Well, if I’d known you were going to put your pet gators out to keep visitors away…” The puzzled look on Elvis’ face told me he hadn’t a clue what I was talking about. “I thought this was your house.”
“Of course it’s mine.” A door slammed at the back of the house and as soon as I entered, the front door cracked shut, making me jump. I heard Elvis mutter, “Behave,” then he cleared his throat and led me into the central parlor.
The house at some point had been converted into more of a shotgun condo, with additional units on either side as evidenced by the doors and exterior windows on both walls of the livin
g area. I was getting that creepy being watched feeling again. “Elvis…?
He put his fingers to his lips and nodded at the chair in front of me. I sighed. I’d promised Elvis I’d watch the practice for his new show and it appeared he was going to hold me to it. I sat and he turned toward a table topped with accessories and equipment, a guitar, bongo drum—who’d have thought this dealer in magical paraphernalia could actually play musical instruments. There was more to this Elvis than a mere impersonator.
He unfolded a blue rhinestone cape from the table that matched his shoes and jumpsuit and with a wide swing over his head, the cape flared out and up; time paused while it was suspended above him like a spinning wheel then it floated down over his shoulders. The pause had accomplished its goal. I was mesmerized.
One by one his limbs started a new beat. His left knee swiveled; his right foot tapped and his shoulders jumped in time like he was being poked with a live wire. Drumbeats built to a crescendo as his head shook from side to side. Then he froze, head down, finger aimed at the wall, in a classic, impossible Elvis pose.
This time the pause was longer. Just as I began to wonder if he was done, Elvis’s foot began to tap. The rhythm was joined by the throw rugs as they slapped against the bottom of the floor, the fringed edge creating a scrape…slap…scrape…slap and those infernal blinds zipping to the beat zip..flap..zip….flap..
The house was his backup.
“Uhhhh…. one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready now go cat go…” and he took off, scarcely touching the ground. He grabbed the guitar and used it to ramp up the song. “We’re gonna rock… around the clock tonight.” Blam—another feature joined the fray with doors slamming against their frames as he warbled and wobbled. I had to admit he was talented and the performance was quite entertaining.
When the music ended, I clapped enthusiastically, forgetting momentarily the circumstances of my arrival and the reason for my visit. I studied him, the slick hair, the carefully coiffed black wave that gave in to gravity and dropped down in a recognizable swoop over his forehead. The intense dark eyes, sideburns and dimples, the sneer as one end of his upper lip lifted… My mouth dropped open. Could he… no, it wasn’t possible. “Thank you, thank you very much,” his deep voice intoned.
I shivered.
The music slowed and his eyes cut to his left where three gossamer “backup” singers had appeared, apparently not of this world. “I’m caught in a trap…”
“Ooh-oo oo Oo-oh,” the three warbled, as one in a smooth alto. They shot a glare at Elvis presumably because he’d changed the words. They almost looked like witches in their black garb and pointy headpieces. But if this was a Halloween production, it wasn’t working for me.
“I can’t walk out,” his lovely voice crooned, narrowed eyes capturing mine earnestly. Imploring… “Baby, oh, baby, I’m caught in a trap, caught in a trap.”
Wait, he did have the words wrong. There was a strange raw energy to his witchy backup… the Blue Moon girls… said the wavy banner below them. I didn’t like the way they focused on me while he gyrated his pelvis. Hmm, Elvis’ pelvis.
The backups pointed at Elvis, then at me and sang, “We’rrrre evil so don’t mess around with us…” They blinked out on the final beat.
The door to the rear of the house slammed and Elvis slumped onto the wooden chair. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he didn’t care for the Blue Moon girls’ performance. He seemed…afraid? Of his backup?
But then I mentioned River’s visit, explained my problem at Harmony and asked for his help, and he became a man with purpose. “Yes, of course I can help. You just leave it to Elvis. I’ll meet you at your house tomorrow night. We’ll need someone connected to River, besides you I mean.”
“For what?”
“Oh, well, it…uh… that is, we have to counteract the bad aura your brother’s visit laid on the house. That’s odd, come to think of it.”
I looked off. I wasn’t going to tell Elvis about River’s “condition”. At first, I couldn’t think of anyone connected to River except my parents and me, then I remembered Dylan. He would most likely be available if I could find him. “I’ll work on that. What time?”
“Hmm, I have things to prepare, and we’ll have to wait until it’s dark, so let’s say…nine-thirty?”
I agreed, but thought of the night class. “Do you happen to have a set of tarot cards I can buy from you?”
A rumble from the back of the house made Elvis flinch. He glanced over his shoulder and said quickly, “Stay right there, I’ll get you a deck.” He disappeared into the back of the house for several long minutes and returned holding a black box. He placed it between my hands and pressed my fingers against it. “Don’t open it until you get to your house. The cards absorb their surroundings. We want them to be fresh and new when they’re opened, thus a truer connection.”
Hocus, pocus, I thought but nodded, sticking them in the pocket of my cargo shorts. He made me promise to have Dylan there as well. I wasn’t sure what he had in mind exactly but I felt sure Dylan and I could keep him from stealing the family jewelry. Not literally, of course. The jewels of the Pomeroy family were wishes and storm power, less material but far more valuable.
Chapter 29
“If River is fine, then I’m a two-headed, purpled toed shmoo.”
Kat
It was late and normally I would have been working at my archive job for the paper but Dylan had been sitting next to the bed staring at me ever since his bath. I spent an hour brushing his thick fur, and then after he climbed onto the bed and curled up beside me, I slept.
The wolf rocked against me, and in that half-dream state the desire to be one with him drowned out all other thoughts. I followed age-old instincts and gave in to the urge to shift. My whole being tingled, as I wavered between two worlds—mortal, and not.
In that instant the wolf’s eyes flared and a live wire of heat snapped between us. I had no clue as to what was about to happen but as soon as my long black feline form stood in front of him, my tail whipping his face, he lowered his head and whined.
My cat let out a low growl of warning as he approached but she stood her ground. I saw this as if I were across the small room and wondered at the way Cat seemed to toy with the wolf. She was not afraid; at least there was no evidence of it. I suppose after what I’d seen in Destiny over the last year, the experiences with my new friends and Dylan had built trust without me realizing it. Now mere inches apart, he sniffed, breathed in my scent, and a quick happy sound escaped him as he wagged his tail and bumped his nose with mine.
I shook my head and swatted at him testily. He yipped and grinned, or that’s what it looked like. Panting, his weight moved from paw to paw, anxiously, urgently.
Cat sat slowly, elegantly giving him leave to approach again. I felt the raspy wetness of his tongue on my ear, a nip on my feline jaw even as my growl turned to a purr. I growled again and he backed up. I leapt onto the bed, thrusting my hip against his. We were the same height. He nudged my muzzle pressing it down toward the bedspread and shifted his position so that he was standing behind me, then his chest was on my back and our instincts went on automatic as the wolf’s urge and mine to mate took over. I thrilled over joining with him at last.
Our mating didn’t last long and I was sad when he licked my whiskers and withdrew. I sank down onto the sheets in a lazy sprawl my tail slapping the bedspread and he curled next to me. Then with a deep sigh, he relaxed and once again I felt the slow rise and fall of his chest against my back. I changed and didn’t move away from him, remembering that I’d had no reservations, nothing but the instinct to mate in my thoughts until he’d bitten my neck and a wave of pleasure rolled through me. As matings went, it wasn’t all that different with a wolf, but for the first time in several years, I was at peace and fell into a contented sleep.
Katerina…
I heard my name. Was it my imagination or was his mind reaching through our connection? Perha
ps I was dreaming again.
Then an arm moved against my shoulder and a tongue licked my earlobe. I jerked my head away mumbling, “Let yourself out.” But the tongue attacked again and a nudge against my backside made me ease my eyes open. “Dylan, can’t you let me sleep? You know how to get the door open.”
A chuckle came from behind me and I flung myself over onto my back, eyes wide. Dylan, the real—oh yes—perfectly formed human Dylan, looked down at me, his darkly beautiful face split into a cocky grin, green eyes flashing with humor. “What’s the matter, don’t want a repeat?” he asked.
Tears filled my eyes as I stared at him. The crinkles around his eyes deepened, “I’m baaack. Glad to see me?”
I grabbed his face, tangling my fingers in his long black hair and kissed him, every bit of my longing and relief and happiness pouring into it. I felt his smile curve against my mouth, then he gave me a quick hard kiss and hugged me for several long seconds.
Dylan
“Dylan.” I’d been afraid to say anything, honestly, for fear it would come out as a bark but she understood. She brushed my hair back and looked deep into my eyes. The heat that passed between us arced like electricity. I wrapped my hand around her neck and took her lips with mine.
Emotion cut the kiss short and I watched her dark eyes open, her grip tightened on my shoulders, and tears slid down her exotic cheeks. This woman who had somehow believed the man was still inside the beast, aware and busting to get out, had kept the connection alive until I’d been able to make her understand. Then, my Katerina, the woman of dark secrets had let down her guard and helped me find my way back. And now she was weeping, for me.
An emotion I’d thought obsolete dislodged in my chest and I knew I would never be the same. I would no longer throw myself recklessly into undercover operations because there was no one in my life that mattered. Katerina had changed that.
