50 Ways to Hex Your Lover

by Linda Wisdom

“You drive like a maniac,” the older woman muttered. “Am I allowed to know where we’re going today or do I have to guess?”

  “Errands. It’s turning into a gorgeous day, so why not sit back, be quiet, and enjoy the ride.” Jazz sped up as they passed the palm tree-lined road that led to the beach and the boardwalk. In the bright daylight, the tall Ferris wheel looked drab—almost shabby—without its bright lights and tinny music adding to the mystique.

  Tourist shops were likewise quieter with many of the store owners and employees standing outside to enjoy the last of the morning calm. Jazz honked and waved to those she knew. With one hand on the wheel, she was able to sip her coffee to keep her caffeine buzz intact. Irma’s obeying Jazz’s suggestion of silence lasted until Jazz made a quick stop at a local fast food restaurant for a breakfast burrito.

  “You should think of eating something healthier than that thing you’re eating. I cooked my Harold a hearty breakfast every morning,” Irma said. “Three eggs over easy, bacon or sausage, country fried potatoes, and my buttermilk biscuits with preserves I put up myself. He wouldn’t have dreamed of going to one of those places for a meal that doesn’t look fit for a dog.”

  Not for the world would Jazz admit that her mouth was watering at the idea of a full country-style breakfast. For that alone she was tempted to try, one more time, to charm Irma out of the car—as long as she could manage to get her into the kitchen.

  “I’m amazed good ole Harold didn’t die of a heart attack from all the cholesterol he shoveled into his mouth every day. I bet you fried everything in lard and real butter, too.” She finished the last of her breakfast burrito and daintily licked her fingers clean.

  “What I should have done after finding out he was doing the dirty deed with Lorraine Bigelow was put rat poison in his biscuits instead of killing myself in his precious car.” Irma uttered an unladylike growl.

  For a moment, brief as it was, Jazz thought of offering the woman a bit of comfort. Sure, Irma drove her crazy, but if she hadn’t killed herself in Harold’s car and remained a curse inside the vehicle, Jazz wouldn’t have been the lucky recipient of the T-Bird. Driving it fast was almost as good as great sex. Almost.

  “Although, my doing that meant he didn’t want to drive that tart around in the car,” Irma finished with a self-satisfied smile. “And even if you drive like a maniac, I have been able to see a lot of the country.”

  So much for thinking the woman was mourning her old life. But she couldn’t miss that hint of sadness crossing Irma’s face.

  “And now I suppose we’re going to see that ugly man who has all those nasty dwarves working for him,” Irma sniffed.

  Jazz swallowed a sigh. The moment was gone.

  Jazz drove past various auto body and repair shops in the commercial district until she reached one small business complex and pulled into the driveway. A long low-lying building was tucked into the back with several garage doors pulled up and various limousines and town cars being washed and detailed for the day’s work. The sign over the office declared it to be All Creatures Limo Service. Jazz parked the T-Bird in one of several slots marked Visitor and climbed out.

  “No honking the horn or flashing the lights because you get bored,” she warned Irma. “Dweezil’s threatened to blow up the car if you throw a tantrum out here. He said you freak out the customers when you do that.”

  “The man who looks like an olive claims I freak people out?” She gestured to a troll that exited the office. “Oh yes, I’m the odd one here.”

  Jazz swallowed her laughter. The last thing she needed to do was encourage the irascible ghost.

  “And why would I want to draw attention to myself? That hideous man would only send over those creatures to commit disgusting acts on my body,” Irma sniffed, nodding her head toward the tiny men swarming over the cars being readied for the day’s work. “Lord knows what perversions they would think of. At least if we have to come here at night I know that Nicky would come and protect me.”

  Jazz ignored the skittering sensation in her stomach at the name said out loud. “If they try anything I promise to protect you as well as he would. Plus, vampires and dwarves don’t get along very well, so I don’t think Nikolai would care to come by here.” She knew that to be fact, not rumor. “Maybe it’s my imagination, but I don’t think they want to deal with you any more than you want to deal with them.” She watched the cleaning crew scurry around like busy three-foot-tall imps. Every once in awhile, one of them would pause and stare at the T-Bird and then turn to a co-worker and say something, prompting more stares. Jazz didn’t experience any warm and fuzzy feelings coming from any of them. She reached for her door. “Oh yeah, you’re safe.”

  Jazz winced when she walked into the office and was immediately assaulted by the pounding beat and explicit lyrics of Lucky Cock’s Linger Ficken’Good.

  “Fates preserve me,” she muttered, wishing for a soundproof bubble. She was tempted to silence the stereo system, but Dweezil in a snit at the loss of his precious music wasn’t a pleasant sight.

  “Hi, Jazz!” said the Barbie doll come-to-life seated behind the counter. Shiny golden blonde hair was swept up into a slightly messy ponytail that looked cute rather than unkempt. It made a perfect frame for the delicate heart shaped face and big Dresden blue eyes. In keeping with the image was the baby pink tank top tucked neatly into a pair of immaculate white linen pants that didn’t show one wrinkle. Gold stud earrings decorated the Barbie’s equally delicate, but faintly pointed, ears. If it wasn’t for that barely-seen point on the tip of her ears and the shift of otherworldly colors in her blue eyes, Jazz would have thought the young woman was pure human. Except what human would knowingly work here?

  “Hi, Mindy. Is Dweezil back there?” Jazz nodded toward the rear office.

  The woman nodded, “But he’s on the phone right now. Do you want to wait?”

  Jazz wished she could just ask Mindy to mail the money to her—except that Dweezil tended to “forget” to pay his people unless they came by in person to collect. Jazz’s resume might be lengthy, but it didn’t list the usual 9-to-5 jobs that many employers liked to see. Plus Dweezil paid well and he also, quite desirably to someone who liked to stay off the income tax radar, paid in cash. So Jazz avoided headaches by showing up for her pay. And while Dweezil made her crazy, his antics also entertained her. Even after all these centuries wandering the world, Dweezil was in a category all by himself. At least, she hoped so—she hated to think there were more Dweezils running around somewhere.

  “Nah, too easy for him to try to sneak out the back door. I’ll just go in and wait.” She headed for the closed door.

  “What do you mean that car wasn’t clean? My fuckin’ cars are cleaner than your arse!” The growl that greeted Jazz was as pleasing to the ear as fingernails on a chalkboard. The faint burnt almond scent that always clung to Dweezil’s leathery olive-green skin stung her nostrils. That was another reason why she tried not to piss him off. The angrier he grew, the more burnt-almond stench came off his skin. “You’re sayin’ my people don’t clean the cars so you can get out of paying the bill. You don’t pay the bill, you never use one of my fuckin’ cars again. You got it?” The sound of cracking plastic indicated the call was finished.

  Jazz dropped into the leather chair placed in front of the L-shaped mahogany desk meant to impress and intimidate anyone who ventured into the inner sanctum. A wide variety of vintage sex toys graced a floor-to-ceiling cabinet and erotic artwork lined the walls. Jazz hadn’t been daunted the first time she’d seen the collection, although she wondered about the bedlike antique vibrator a woman had to lie on in order to use. She wasn’t curious enough to try it though. Dweezil had offered to loan her the device as long as he could watch. She wasted no time turning down his oh-so-generous suggestion.

  She returned his glare with a sunny smile.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” Dweezil’s voice was a combination of growl, rusty cough, and ground glass. He dropped
the broken phone into the wastebasket and pulled out a replacement from the bottom drawer. Several phones lay there in wait for his next tantrum.

  “You really need to work on your interpersonal skills, D.”

  “Why should I change what works for me?” he growled.

  “Yeah, why bring in more business when you can so easily drive it away with your charming personality?”

  The skeletal creature known as Dweezil—whose last name was unutterable by any human tongue—was a good seven feet tall and immaculately attired in a charcoal Armani suit. When she called him olive-skinned, she did not mean someone of Mediterranean heritage, but a preternatural creature with skin the color of a ripe green olive. While it was a good look for the fruit, it wasn’t all that good for anything remotely humanoid. An unruly thatch of mud brown hair flew every which way on top of his football-shaped head. As if he wasn’t ugly enough with the thin skin stretching over his bones—at least she thought they were bones—the overbite of yellowish-green teeth didn’t add a thing to his lack of looks. His black eyes snapped at her, showing his usual ill humor.

  Even though Jazz had worked for Dweezil for almost five years, she still hadn’t been able to figure out his lineage. He was too short to be a giant, not ugly enough to be a troll, and most definitely not a goblin. She settled for seeing him as a combination of all three. She had heard rumors he paid his tailor extra to make sure his third arm was well hidden from the world. Gossip also hinted there was a second dick hiding somewhere in there too. Confirming the rumors wasn’t anywhere close to the top of her to-do list.

  “Damn vampires. First they complain my cars aren’t clean, and then they demand some kind of protection ’cause so many of ’em have gone missing. Like that’s my problem?” he grumbled. “Everyone knows they’re not missing. They took some kind of weird cure and became mortal again. They’re all probably at the beach working on their tans. Plus, they want any kind of protection, they’re gonna have to pay for it, and it won’t come cheap either.” He looked up with his usual glare. “So what’re you here for?” The burnt-almond scent became stronger. He smelled like he wasn’t happy with the way the day was going and she was about to make it worse. Dweezil could make Ebenezer Scrooge look like a philanthropist.

  “It’s the end of the month.” She lifted her eyebrows. When he didn’t move, she abandoned the cute smile. “Pay day.”

  The staring contest lasted all of fifty seconds. Dweezil dropped his gaze first. He mumbled a few choice curses as he reached inside a desk drawer and retrieved a long white envelope. He held it between the two fingers that topped his left hand and tossed it across the desk.

  Jazz picked it up and quietly made sure it was the amount he owed her. She tucked the envelope into her jacket’s hidden inner pocket.

  “Got a job for you for tomorrow night.”

  Her first thought was of a man with dark brown hair and eyes the color of the sea. Except she knew for a fact he already knew how to drive and was smart enough to not request her services as a driver. “I’m off tomorrow night.”

  “He asked for you specifically. And he’ll pay extra just to have you.” He wiggled his caterpillar eyebrows at her. For all she knew the hairy appendages over his eyes were fashioned from real insect fuzz. Something else she never cared to investigate.

  “Just to have me? Eeuuww factor, Dweezil!” Jazz mimicked gagging.

  “I’ll pay you double your fee,” he tempted.

  “Hot date, hot man, ocean view, candlelight, fine dining,” she fibbed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out on an actual date. As for sex … well, that was another subject better left in the land of Not In This Lifetime.

  Dweezil attempted to display a smile on his bony face. His expression was guaranteed to scare the dead. Jazz swore she felt worms crawl up her flesh when he smiled.

  He threw his arms in the air. Something shifted under his jacket. “All right, I’ll pay you triple.”

  Jazz’s mind raced at the idea of a triple fee. It could only mean this client was very special. Which meant it was someone who Dweezil didn’t want to piss off and who was willing to pay him a lot of money. This sent all her senses on full alert.

  “Who’s the client, D?”

  “He’s a very well-connected member of our community,” he said so quickly Jazz was sure he had rehearsed the speech in anticipation of her refusal. “He also likes that you can conjure up a strong protection spell if he requires one while he’s out.”

  “Who, D?” Her voice hardened just a fraction. “And, for the record, those protection spells are extra and I get 100 percent of that extra.”

  “The job is for all evening, so we’re talking a lot of money. It’s not like he’s demanding you go topless or something. But it wouldn’t hurt, ya know. Get you bigger tips.” He chortled at his twisted sense of humor. Jazz didn’t join in.

  “D.” A scattering of purple, black, and gold sparks sprinkled down around her. A sign she was so not happy!

  Dweezil muttered a few words that Jazz guessed were curses in his language. He had already learned the hard way not to direct any at her. The one time he had it had taken him three weeks to pick all the maggots out of his flesh. An equal amount of time was added to her banishment. It had been worth it.

  Just like the time the Witches Council added on for what you did to Nikolai, muttered that pesky gargoyle, sometimes doubling as her conscience, residing inside her head. He wants your help. So give it already! She wasted no time mentally stuffing a wad of cotton in its vile mouth.

  “All you have to do is drive him to his favorite club and back to his house,” he muttered. “No biggie.”

  “No.”

  He slammed his hands on the desk surface, causing a jade dildo to roll around on the polished wood. “You agreed to drive him for a triple fee!”

  Now she knew she didn’t need to hear the name to know exactly who the special client was, and as far as she was concerned, even a triple fee wasn’t enough.

  “I didn’t agree to anything. Besides, he’s disgusting! Find someone else.” She instantly dismissed his demand.

  “Tyge Foulshadow pays in gold bars!” There was nothing Dweezil loved more than money, but a client who paid in gold bars earned a special status in his avaricious little mind. He made Star Trek’s greedy Ferengi look like spendthrifts. “Do you know how hard it is to get clients who pay in gold? Just about fuckin’ impossible!”

  “His farts are noxious! Literally!”

  “Which is why it’s good that you’re one of the few who can survive them,” Dweezil happily pointed out, his hands lifted upward as if to say See what a good deal this is for both of us?

  “I can never get that disgusting stench out of my clothes! I have to throw them away because I couldn’t dare give them to a charity. And I can’t burn them because the smoke is revolting. Only the Fates know what the clothes are doing to the landfills!”

  “His tip alone will cover a replacement wardrobe.” He paused. “I can’t tell him you’re turning him down, Jazz. He only wants you to drive him. Master Foul-shadow doesn’t take rejection lightly.”

  Jazz narrowed her eyes at the hint of vulnerability edged with fear written on Dweezil’s face. She did not think anything could deflate her employer’s mega-confidence, but the thought of losing Tyge Foulshadow’s business seemed to. It was interesting to watch avarice compete with fear on his repulsive face. She wondered just why fear, though. What did Tyge have on him? She knew Dweezil was greedy, but was he so greedy he’d push her into taking a job he knew she didn’t want?

  “Then you have to foot the bill for my clothes,” she stated.

  “I’m already paying you a triple fee and he always tips well.”

  She stood up. “Try Vasal. He’ll do anything for money. Put a red wig and high heels on him and maybe Foulshadow will think he’s me.”

  Dweezil jumped to his feet. “All right, I’ll pay for your fuckin’ clothes! But you’re cutting into my profi
t.” He adopted the stance of a man teetering on the threshold of poverty. “It’s no thanks to bi—,” he quickly backpedaled as more sparks flared up around Jazz, “drivers like you who take advantage of my generosity.”

  Jazz knew better. She was positive that if her employer offered to pay her a triple fee the client would be charged much more than Dweezil’s usual percentage.

  “I am so out of here.” She didn’t need any more time added to her banishment, which would happen if she stuck around much longer. The idea of maggots once again covering Dweezil was growing more appealing by the minute. But that extra sixty days because of Nikolai still left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  “Pick Master Foulshadow up at ten tomorrow night,” Dweezil called after her. “And wear something sexy. Show off the assets. If you’re going to be paid triple, you might as well earn it.”

  Jazz walked out, waving her extended middle finger over her head.

  “You must show me respect! I still pay your salary!” he shouted after her. The sound of his agitation shattered a glass sculpture sitting on the reception desk. Mindy didn’t flinch as she calmly picked up a brush and dustpan to sweep up the shards. If Dweezil didn’t throw a tantrum at least once a day, those around him figured he was at death’s door.

  Jazz muttered a few of her own curses as she headed for her car.

  “Those disgusting little men were staring at me,” Irma sniffed as Jazz started up the T-Bird. “I just know they were imagining me with my clothes off.”

  “One, they’re too busy to stop and stare at you. Two, there is no way in hell they’d think you were Snow White, with or without clothes.” If she was lucky, her appointment at the sorority house would be long and involved and she would have an excellent reason why she didn’t make it to the grocery store and why she was serving pizza for dinner.

  Four

  What are those strange-looking letters on the house?” Irma asked. She squinted up at the two-story house they were parked in front of. Jazz wondered if there was a pair of glasses tucked away in that handbag that usually rested in Irma’s lap.