50 Ways to Hex Your Lover

by Linda Wisdom

“Don’t worry, he knows what they are.” Jazz blew her nose, tossed the tissue into the trash and pulled a fresh one out of her sleeve. “Nick, Krebs. Krebs, Nick.”

  “Hi.” Krebs remembered his manners before turning to Jazz. “I thought you were going to keep them locked up.”

  “Yeah, like that can happen.”

  Krebs started for the slippers who promptly snarled their version of “back off.”

  “Do you know what this is?” He held up a tiny scrap of black cotton while keeping his distance.

  “It’s a trifle small to be a handkerchief and I have this bad feeling you’re going to tell me what it used to be and I won’t like what I hear.” She looked down at her feet. “What did you do?”

  One of the slippers flashed a toothy grin and cooed up at her while its mate released a discreet burp. Ears rotated like an antenna, then the head whipped around. The bunny reached out and snatched up a piece of licorice root that had dropped to the floor while his buddy growled and promptly grabbed the other end, setting up a game of tug of war with the root. Killer bunny growls and snaps filled the room as they battled for control of the herb, their antics throwing Jazz off balance.

  “Bad bunnies.” She turned toward her roommate. “Krebs, the veins are sticking out on your neck. You’ll give yourself a stroke if you don’t calm down,” she advised.

  “This…” he took a deep breath, “this was my Grateful Dead t-shirt. The one Jerry Garcia signed after their ’72 European tour.” He glared at the unrepentant slippers who chewed on their now individual pieces of the licorice root. “Do you know how much I paid for this shirt on eBay?”

  “And here I thought it was bad when they ate my favorite boots,” Nick murmured.

  “They ate my rubber ducky slippers because they felt they should be my only slippers,” Jazz said.

  Krebs continued breathing heavily through his nose. “I have a shredder and I know how to use it,” he threatened Fluff and Puff. Entirely unrepentant and unperturbed, one merely yawned while the other blew him a raspberry.

  Jazz barely grabbed her tissue in time for her sneeze. The blender whirred merrily before the top flew off and landed on the counter.

  “I will talk to them,” she promised. “Again.” She held up her hand for silence as he opened his mouth. “Give me a break, Krebs. You know very well they can’t be punished because they have that crazy protective shield around them that protects them from being harmed. Plus, even if I tried to punish them, they would only take it out on you. Do you really want to chance losing half your computer equipment or at the least the contents of your closet?”

  He glared again at the slippers. “The Dead will be avenged.”

  “Just go to Vegas and enjoy yourself,” she urged.

  Krebs shot Nick a curious look. “Are you sure?”

  Nick smiled at the idea of the human protecting Jazz against a vampire even if said human didn’t know he was one. He liked it even more that Krebs’s protective gesture was more that of a brother than a lover.

  She nodded. “I have a cold. Do you really want to be around me?” Her next sneeze activated the garbage disposal and easily made his mind up for him.

  Krebs glanced at Nick again. “No offense, but exactly who are you?”

  “Someone who’s looking for a curse eliminator,” Jazz told him. “Drive safely, have a good trip, win at the craps tables, and find yourself a hot blonde to share your winnings with.”

  Krebs disappeared long enough to get a small suitcase, muttered a good-bye and left after shooting a murderous look at the happily shameless slippers who had finished their licorice root and were looking around for something else to nibble.

  “Some things never change,” Nick commented, getting up to refill his cup. When the nearest slipper snarled at him, Nick flashed a hint of fang. The slipper wisely backed off.

  Jazz set the mug on the table then moved the second pot over there. Fresh thyme and peppermint scented the air as she picked up a towel and draped it over her head, leaning over the pot, and inhaling the nose-clearing steam. She sniffed loudly.

  “I may not be a healer like Lilibet,” she released a sigh, mentioning one of her witch sisters, “but I know my herbs. So why can’t I cure a simple cold?”

  Nick smiled. “It’s still safer than when you go through PMS.”

  She shuddered. Her nasal tones were muffled under the towel. “Those times are scary even to me. The last time I had PMS a roast chicken popped out of the oven and danced the Macarena. Krebs had walked in just as the chicken started dancing. By then he was pretty much used to anything and only asked if the chicken shouldn’t be doing the Chicken Dance instead.” She peeked out from under the towel for a second. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, just as he had hoped. “But you didn’t come here to watch the house overreact to my sneezes, did you? I know I told you to come back tonight, but why are we bothering with this? You’ll tell me your problem and I’ll tell you there is no way I can help you. End of story.” She breathed in deeply, allowing the steam to make its way through her sinuses.

  “Clive Reeves.” She froze at the mention of the name. If she looked pale before, she now looked the color of new fallen snow. “You know vampires are disappearing and I know that Reeves has something to do with it. But I need a strong witch’s magick to help me get onto his property without him knowing it’s me. I tried to get onto the grounds not long ago and was rebuffed. He obviously set up a ward specifically to keep me out of there.” He could see the hint of old pain in her moss-colored eyes and hated that he was the one to cause it. He resisted the urge to reach across the table and cover her hand with his. He doubted she would appreciate his sympathetic gesture.

  “I have been hearing that name way too often lately.” It took an effort of will, but Jazz managed to keep her voice steady. She paused for a long moment, measuring her thoughts, her reactions, the extent of her cold, and her unwanted past against Nick here and now. “Look, Nick,” she said finally, “Clive Reeves is dead and there are no rumors that his son has gone over to the Dark Side like his father did.” Her gaze on him suddenly narrowed and sharpened through her cold fog. “Come to think of it why do you think Junior has something to do with the disappearances? And why would he set up a ward to keep you out?”

  “Because of what happened in 1932.”

  Her hands trembled so badly she had to set the towel to one side. She looked up from her herbal steam, showing a rare vulnerability that worried him. She didn’t believe in revealing weakness to anyone. Not even to the one who knew her best.

  “Clive wanted to be like us,” Nick pressed. “He wanted power and he wanted immortality. He wanted to be the characters he played in his films. When he discovered what you and I were, he sought to find a way to gain what we have.”

  “That wasn’t all he sought,” she muttered.

  “Jazz….” She waved off whatever he was about to say.

  “All he had to do was ask for a vamp hickey.” She pushed her mug and the pot to one side, rested her clasped hands on the table and closed her eyes. Nick remained silent watching her gear up for the coming conversation. When she opened her eyes, they were so dark they looked black. “Tell me why you think Clive Reeves Jr. has something to do with the disappearances.”

  “I believe that there is no Clive Reeves Jr.,” he stated and waited for her reaction. She stared at him in disbelief. “Somehow at the moment of his death,” Jazz’s lips moved in a silent curse as he continued, “Reeves managed to transfer his life force into his son’s body. The man everyone thinks is the son is actually the father. He hasn’t left the estate grounds, much less the mansion, in decades. It’s thought his magick is more powerful there and he feels vulnerable away from his base of operations, so to speak. He has slaves to provide him with anything he needs and a selection of vampires for everything else.” His lips twisted in displeasure.

  “That isn’t possible.” She shook her head to further underscore her denial.

  �
�It’s more than possible if you use the right spell.”

  “Do you realize what you’re saying? If that’s the case then he used…,” Jazz took a deep breath and leaned across the table as if afraid of being over-heard, “the man used the black arts to accomplish the unthinkable. No one dabbles there unless they wish to lose all that makes them who, and what, they are. It makes them unclean.” She hissed out the last sentence with distaste turning her lips into a sneer.

  “And it can make them very powerful,” he pointed out.

  Jazz looked away. “He couldn’t have accomplished such a thing. He was dead. I literally buried that piece of the bottle into his heart. The blood spilled everywhere.” She shuddered at the memory. “There was no pulse. The only reason I even touched him was to assure myself that he was dead! Yes, I know I was in and out of consciousness afterwards, but there was no way I could have been mistaken.” She rubbed her temples with her fingertips.

  Nick understood her anguish. It had gone against her code to kill another. The act had even damaged a part of her. By all rights, Clive Reeves was the weaker one—a mortal. Except somehow he had managed to overpower, assault, and almost kill Jazz before she managed to defend herself. By the time Nick arrived, Reeves’ dead body lay sprawled on the floor and a weak and blood-covered Jazz was trying to crawl out of the room. The only reason the Witches’ High Council hadn’t sentenced her to death back then was that she had been forced to defend herself against dark magick. They ruled she acted in self-defense and should not be punished for the deed.

  He wondered if the Council chose that road since they knew Jazz would punish herself harshly enough. After all, living with blood on your hands was more difficult than being granted a swift death. He knew that more than anyone.

  “It was a known fact back then that Clive was searching for anyone who dealt in the darker side of the occult,” she continued. “He was convinced that with the right kind of help he could live forever. As you said he wanted to be his characters for real. Some mortals echoed his beliefs and latched on to him in hopes his power would become theirs. Others treated it like a joke or a game or even thought he’d lost his mind. Clive sought out anyone with a hint of magick in hopes they could grant his wish. It seems it happened after all.” Her voice quivered with old pain that still hadn’t been wiped away.

  Many times Nick thought of that time and regretted not giving in to his darker side that night and obliterating the man because he had almost destroyed this magnificent woman’s spirit. It would have been so easy. He could have carried the body up into the hills and let the wild coyotes and bobcats take care of Reeves. Instead, like Jazz, he thought it was all over. Clive Reeves’ widow took her baby son to Europe to escape the scandal, and Jazz took off for parts unknown before Nick could see or talk to her again. He didn’t run into her again for almost forty years. It was only because of a vague rumor surfacing that Clive Reeves wasn’t who he was purported to be that Nick returned to L.A. The man who claimed to be Clive Reeves’ son returned to Hollywood to build a new film empire focusing on stylish horror films that catered to the cult market. Clive Reeves Jr. was also well known for flamboyant parties, where the preternatural were more than welcome. That was when Nick first heard that party-going vampires may have gone in as guests, but not all of the guests left.

  He knew Jazz would fight him when he asked for her help, but if he wanted to conquer Reeves he needed her help. He hoped that her desire for vengeance would outweigh old fears. He only had to look at the pain on her face to know she still hadn’t moved past that time. He wanted to see her work on closing up old festering wounds. He waited quietly watching her mull over his words. The only sound in the room was the soft chatter between Fluff and Puff.

  Jazz sneezed loudly. The bright red poppies on the dishtowel suddenly burst into full bloom—for real. She wiped her nose with a tissue retrieved from the never-ending supply stashed in her sleeve.

  “I don’t like hearing this, Nick. That monster’s not supposed to be alive and walking around all these years as if nothing ever happened. He’s supposed to be dust in his crypt in a mausoleum at Hollywood Memorial Park. Do you know that the night of the funeral I almost went to the cemetery and scattered salt around the entire burial chamber? I didn’t want there to be any chance he would try to rise again, let alone be able to …,” she muttered in a broken voice. “And now I find out he’s not even in there and he’s out inflicting pain on a new generation of suckers.” As she realized her unintended insult, she muttered, “Sorry. You know what I mean.”

  Nick nodded. “The worst part is we don’t know if it will stop there. If he feels killing vampires no longer works toward whatever goal he’s seeking, he will look further into the magick community. He has to know you’re living here and that you’re more powerful now than you were seventy-five years ago. Not to mention payback.” She winced at his reference to her killing Reeves. Or thinking she did.

  She pulled the pot back in front of her and picked up the towel. “I hate you.” Any heat in her words was neutralized by the atomic power sneeze that overtook her. Water from the pot sprayed outward and over Nick’s face. He growled his displeasure as he wiped the hot scented water off his cheek. A tiny smile tipped her lips. “You should be grateful I left out the holy water this time.”

  Jazz should have known that Nick wouldn’t let her comment go. If her head hadn’t felt so stuffed up she would have known what was coming next.

  What she called his Cossack soul came out as he got up and walked around the table, pulling her up into his arms and capturing her mouth. She was swept up into the darkness that surrounded him and only felt the hard muscles of a man in perfect physical condition.

  Some things can’t be ignored. You can only conquer your past if you choose to face it.

  But she didn’t choose to face it. Not here and not now. Not like this and not with him. Furious, she practically threw herself backward. She grabbed hold of the table’s edge so she wouldn’t fall down. “Don’t ever do that again!” she shouted. “You know I hate you bouncing around inside my head! Why can’t you take it slow for once? Just give me a chance to take all of this in. You’ve told me shit I so didn’t expect to hear. So let me think it over and I’ll stop by your office tomorrow night if I feel up to it.” She pulled another tissue out of her sleeve for emphasis.

  Nick inclined his head. “I think you’re already feeling better.” And like that he was gone. Jazz frowned at his words until she realized that her head didn’t feel as stuffy as it did before nor was her nose still running like an open faucet.

  “Who knew all it took to cure the common cold was a vampire’s kiss?” she muttered.

  Her attempt at humor fell flat as she thought of the task in front of her. She may have told Nick she’d discuss it further the next evening but both of them knew that in the end she’d agree to help. It was proof she’d lost her mind. Only an idiot witch would be willing to face the man who’d been heavily featured in her nightmares for the past seventy-odd years. Except it wasn’t the horror of his raping her or beating her to a bloody pulp that haunted her nights when her subconscious took over. It was the image of her picking up a chunk of glass from a broken champagne bottle and plunging it into his heart that fueled her nightmares. She’d been so weak after the attack she couldn’t even call on her magick. All she could do was crawl across the blood-slick floor, palm the shard, and when Reeves went after her, confident she wouldn’t fight him any longer, bury it in his chest to the point his heart exploded. So if she had killed him that night, how, at the point of his death, had he managed to transfer his spirit to his son’s body?

  She only knew the bare basics of the kind of magick that was required for such an evil deed. It wasn’t a subject they cared to teach at the Witches’ Academy except to warn the witchlings that baneful magick was forbidden. She knew that utilizing such power took one’s soul and all of one’s humanity. The thought was repugnant.

  But it also meant that beca
use of what Clive Reeves had done in the past, Jazz would have to enter the devil’s lair once again. Every ounce of what she was demanded it.

  Seven

  Jazz tossed the tightly closed bright orange plastic bag marked Hazardous Waste behind her and slid into the driver’s seat. With her cold gone and feeling more like herself, she woke up ready to do what she’d hoped to do the day before.

  “Whatever you have in there smells disgusting,” Irma groused. The cigarette between her fingers disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “Just for once can I choose where we go?”

  “What does it matter where we go? You can’t even leave the car.” Jazz zipped out of the carriage house garage and sped down the road. She would be happier when the bag was in Dweezil’s possession and out of hers. After that, she intended to spend the day gearing up for her visit to Nick’s office tonight. She vowed to keep the conversation strictly business and herself out of his reach. Not that she could remain out of his reach for long when he could stand next to her before she could blink. All she had to do was make sure he didn’t kiss her. She usually gave in when he did that. And giving in on anything to do with Clive Reeves would not be good.

  “One of the local cable channels aired a commercial for a drive-in theater that airs classic films every weekend,” Irma informed her. “If we go there I could see a film on the big screen again. They’re having a Humphrey Bogart film festival this weekend and showing Robert Mitchum the following weekend. I always thought they were two sexy men,” she said with relish.

  “I know the theater you are talking about and it’s all the way out in the Valley. No way am I going out there.” Jazz knew she should feel guilty that she didn’t do anything special for Irma, but more often than not the woman was irritating as hell. She’d never asked the ghost to keep her company all these years, and she resented her bickering attitude. However, while Irma hadn’t realized what she was doing when she cursed herself into the car, Jazz had known what she was getting herself into when she agreed to take the T-bird and its snarky baggage. All because she knew how sexy she looked behind the wheel. Remorse snuck in and suggested there was no reason why Jazz couldn’t pick up The African Queen, The Maltese Falcon, and some Robert Mitchum films at Blockbuster as a peace offering.