Hex Appeal (14 page)

“He can like me just as well from a distance.” Jazz frowned at the dog before turning back to Irma. “How about it? Do you want to do some spy work?”

Irma's faded eyes lit up. “What do I have to do?”

Jazz leaned against the door and thought for a moment. “Be my eyes. Be my ears. Find out what's behind the walls and return without fear.”

“That's a spell?” Irma's voice drifted off as Jazz snapped her fingers in front of her and she disappeared from the seat, the dog following her a second later.

“Now why couldn't she do that when I wanted her to?” she muttered. “Ugh! Bad dog! Bad! He couldn't do that before he left the car!” She cupped her hands over her nose. “How can a dead dog have such terrible breath and gas problems?”

Within ten minutes Jazz was wishing she'd stopped at Starbucks. Then she remembered that sipping her favorite latte would mean the urgent need for a bathroom.

After twenty minutes, she was impatiently tapping her nails against the steering wheel in time to the music coming from the radio.

“What are you doing in there?” She huffed a sigh.

“What a beautiful house!” Irma appeared as quickly as she had disappeared.

“
Ack!
” Jazz jumped. “I should have hung a bell around your neck.”

Jazz glanced at the dog who looked entirely too happy. “I gather he was able to find some new friends?”

Irma scrunched up her nose. “I think her name was Willa.”

It took a second for Jazz to comprehend. “You mean he—”

Irma nodded. “You wouldn't think it was possible, but he found a way.” She patted the dog's head.

“So anyone looking outside would see one of their guard dogs humped by something they can't see?”

“Exactly. Now, don't you want to know what I found?”

“So you did find something?”

“Besides glorious furnishings out of a Jean Harlow movie that I wouldn't mind having for my room once you have it set up for me, I found a lot.”

“Spill.”

Jazz's grin grew wider by the second as Irma gave her a detailed report of the secretive house.

“Tonight is going to be soooo fun.”

“So you're telling me you found something in less than a day?” Nick asked that evening when Jazz breezed into the office wearing an emerald silk babydoll top, black narrow-legged pants, and a cloud of Michael Kors. Her croc stilettos had turned themselves into sexy green slides and her hair was piled high in loose curls that put her close to Nick's six-foot height. He watched the moonstone drop earrings caress her cheek and thought about doing the same.

“What can I say? I'm good at what I do.” She dropped into the client's chair. She held up one hand, palm up. “My fee?”

“Once I know what you came up with.” Nick's head snapped upward. “Our client is early.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Jazz stood up and moved to Nick's chair then stood up again. “No, you sit here and I'll take my usual spot.” She perched on a corner of his desk.

“How good is your information?”

“So good that I'm probably going to royally piss off your client.”

“What?” Nick's head swung from Jazz to the door as it opened and Esme walked in. Her warm smile for Nick dimmed when she saw Jazz.

“Nick,” she murmured. “Ms. Tremaine,” was uttered in a much cooler tone.

“Esme.” Jazz's smile worried Nick.

“Were you able to see my daughter?”

“How old are you, Esme?” Jazz asked.

The vampire stiffened. “That is a very rude question.”

“Oh please,” she waved her off. “I'm 719 years old. Do you see me acting coy about it?”

Esme crossed one silken clad leg over the other, hiking her already short skirt up another few inches. A faint hit of displeasure tightened her lips when she realized Nick didn't notice.

“I don't see what my age has to do with this. All I hired you to do was find me a way in to see my daughter. Is this normal with your office?” She turned to Nick.

“Fine.” Jazz ignored the snub. “Then tell me this. How does a vampire who's obviously using a shielding charm so no one can find out the truth about her have a living breathing daughter? Because...fiddledeedum, fiddledeedee, give me what I need to see.” She snapped her fingers; Esme yelped as something crawled up under her silk top. “Aha.” Jazz leaned forward and plucked up what appeared to be a scarab. She placed it on Nick's desk and slammed his paperweight on it. Multi-colored sparks flew around and magick shifted in the air. “There, that's better.”

“Nothing like another dent in my desk,” Nick muttered before turning to Esme. It only took a slight push of his power against her. “You implied you had been turned only a couple of years ago.”

“I'd guess more like a couple hundred years,” Jazz interjected a little too happily. “Which means either you have a child who you happened to turn...”

“Which has been illegal among our kind since 1735,” Nick added.

“Or...” Jazz paused, “the child you claim is yours isn't. And since the sweet little girl in that house is living and breathing and barely six years old, I'm going for she's not yours.”

“She is!” Esme's fury erupted. “She is the last of my line and I will
not
allow
them
to raise her.”

“Who are ‘them,' Esme?” Nick asked gently.

Jazz remained quiet, allowing Nick to do what he did best. She likened it to her being the bad cop and his being the good cop. She made a mental note to do this duet again.

Esme's beautiful features turned ugly. “
His
family. They have my line prisoner since I was first turned because that was the only way they could control the money and control me.” She leaned forward. “The child in that house is my descendant, daughter of my daughter and so on. Each generation has been raised to marry a man in their family. And in each generation that girl dies within six months of the birth of a daughter with her trust fund going to her husband, therefore, his family. The trust fund for the baby is now under the control of her father.” Her dark eyes flared with fire. “They have used powerful magick to bar me from the premises. The girl is tutored at home and is watched over carefully. I refuse to see this girl meet the same end.”

“And you can prove this?” Jazz asked, still skeptical even if she could sense the truth in the female's voice and manner.

Esme's fingers trembled as she reached inside her small silk clutch handbag. Jazz's attention was briefly diverted from the subject as she wondered where the vamp had found the exquisite bag. “I can prove the Hastings wives all died before their first anniversary. I just can't prove it was murder. With their money, due to
my
family's wealth years ago, and the social connections they have fostered over time, they have been able to cover it up each time. The little girl in that house is named Ashley. I don't want to read her obituary twenty years from now.”

I believe her.
Jazz knew Nick could easily read her thoughts. While she didn't normally like his invading her mind, this was a time it was necessary.

So do I, but I don't see what we can do about it.

Your all-precious Protectorate?

They only deal with vampire problems. The family members are mortal.

Mortal with powerful magick. I felt those wards a block away.

“What is it?” Esme spoke sharply, looking from one to the other.

Nick nodded at Jazz, indicating she speak.

“Tell me something, Esme. Why did you marry a wizard all those years ago?”

“I—” She lowered her head, seeming to choose her words. “I didn't know he was a wizard at the time. I was mortal then and all I knew was that he was handsome, charming, and he loved me.” She plucked at the delicate silk bag resting in her lap. “My father saw it as an advantageous match and I was envied by all my friends.”

“So when did you learn he wasn't what you thought he was?” Nick asked.

“I knew he wasn't what he appeared to everyone, but I had no idea magick existed. Then one night we gave a ball and a handsome stranger attended. One who flattered me, hung on my every word, and made me feel beautiful,” she said wistfully. “I had no idea he was a vampire and I was to be his next victim. Vincent rescued me from my crypt that first night I arose and he vowed to teach me what I needed to know to safely exist as a vampire. I wanted to return to my family, but he said it wasn't possible. I refused to listen. I wanted to see my daughter and I went to my family home. Frederick, my husband, thought at first I was a ghost and threw magick at me. When he realized I was of the undead he showed his true self. He needed money and my family had a considerable fortune. He warded the family properties against me to ensure I never approached them again. I remained nearby only to learn that my daughter grew up to marry a distant cousin and not long after her daughter was born she died in a riding accident.” Her lips twisted. “It was no accident.”

“Is there a reason why only daughters have been born?” Jazz asked curiously.

Esme shook her head. “It is only speculation on my part. Due to an eccentric aunt centuries ago who felt women should control their lives, the major part of the fortune was passed down through the women in the family and not the men. They could direct the funds if the girl is underage, but once she is of age, the money is hers. When she marries, it does not pass into the husband's hands unless she dies and there is a daughter.”

“Was a solicitor used for all the paperwork?” Nick asked.

Esme nodded. “Frederick's family firm. His father and mine were classmates at University.”

“So Frederick's descendants have played fast and loose with your money all these years?”

“What I have learned about Frederick's family over the years is that they value the power money gives them more than anything else. But in the last 150 years my family's fortune has been steadily dwindling as they have found ways to tap into the principal. I fear if they manage to control my latest descendant's marriage and ultimate death, the fortune will be completely gone. As will my family.”

“Unless this girl produces a daughter. Which considering what you're saying it sounds like they use magick to ensure a daughter is born in each generation,” Jazz mused.

Esme nodded. Her earlier hostility toward Jazz appeared to have subsided. “After I married I was given a special tea to drink every evening. It wasn't until after I...” she closed her eyes, “I became a Daughter of the Night, Vincent assisted me in obtaining a sample of the tea. The leaves were infused with magick to produce daughters only.”

Nick glanced at Jazz.

“What?” She held up her hands. “Don't look to me for answers. I'm not the herbalist expert.”

“But you can find out.”

She mentally sifted through names as to who would know or give her a direction to look. “I'll see what I can learn.”

She was definitely upping her consultant fee.

***

Jazz looked out the window but only saw the rain sliding down the windows.

“What a perfect night to stay in,” she murmured, taking two large mugs of hot chocolate out of the microwave and handing one to Krebs. She popped in a bag of microwave popcorn and set the timer.

“I've got the DVDs alternated between your choices and mine,” he told her, spooning a large dollop of marshmallow crème on top then added to hers. He picked up both mugs.

“I'll be in as soon as the popcorn is ready.” She dug out a box of cinnamon red-hot candies and added it to the stash of chocolate and the empty bowl waiting for the popcorn. She was looking forward to a night of hot cocoa, popcorn, candy, and tacky movies. “Which movie is first?”

“
The Thing from another World,
” Krebs called back.

“Perfect.” She was tempted to ignore the phone as it pealed a demanding ring, but it just wasn't in her. All Caller ID told her was that it was a wireless caller. “You better not be Dweezil,” she warned.

“Not even close,” Nick said tersely. “I think we have a situation.”

“A situation as in...?”

“As in Esme. I'm on my way over to pick you up.”

Jazz stared at the microwave that just beeped. “It's raining.”

“As opposed to the Wicked Witch of the West, you don't melt.”

“And it's cold out there.” She pulled the bag out and poured freshly popped popcorn in the bowl. “We have movies. Wouldn't you rather come over and watch
The Thing from Another World
with us?”

“Definitely, but this is more important. You've got four minutes, Jazz.” He hung up.

“Damn it!” She took a deep cleansing breath. “Krebs, I guess you're on your own tonight.” She dropped off the snacks and headed upstairs. She knew if she wasn't ready on time Nick would drag her outside in her favorite Happy Bunny pjs.

***

“When are you going to tell me what's going on?” she asked, gratefully accepting the Venti
mocha latte Nick handed her the second her butt was planted in the passenger seat of his Jeep Wrangler. At least the man knew what would help in the way of bribery. “I hope this thing doesn't leak.”

“Hasn't yet. Make sure the lights are in our favor and no cops can sense me.” He pressed harder on the accelerator.

Jazz's stomach tightened. She didn't know a thing and it already didn't sound good. “What is going on with Esme?”

“There was a message on my voice mail from her. She said she found a way to get onto the property and intended to make things right.” He hit the freeway on-ramp well over the speed limit.

Jazz gripped her cup in one hand and hung on to the strap over the door with the other. Her lips moved silently, the words weaving spells that kept them safe and off the California Highway Patrol's radar—she didn't intend to end up a splat on the road.

Nick pulled through the open gates to the Fielding family home and skidded to a stop in front of the front door. He killed the engine.

“Can we go home now?” Jazz asked. “I left my stomach about ten miles back.”

“Come on.” He climbed out, oblivious to the pouring rain.

She yelped as the cold rain soaked her within seconds of exiting the Jeep. “Rain go bye-bye, keep me dry,” she muttered. The bubble overhead stopped the rain except for still drenching her feet. “The door's open,” she said unnecessarily, as they headed up the steps.

“Yeah.” His black leather duster swirled around his calves as he moved past the threshold.

“Wait a minute!” She ran after him with the intention of asking how he could enter without invitation. The moment she stepped inside she had her answer.

An invitation wasn't needed if the master of the house was no longer living.

“Esme!” Nick's roar echoed off the high-ceilinged entryway as he strode across the tile floor.

Jazz didn't spare a look at the Monet gracing one wall or the Lalique vase centered on a small table. All she noticed was the smell of death and baneful magick tainting the air so strongly she could barely breathe. She feared what she would find in the room Nick entered, but she didn't consider herself a coward.

“What in Hades have you done?”

She flinched at the fury in Nick's voice. “At least he's not yelling at me,” she muttered, picking up her pace.

When she reached the drawing room she realized Nick was actually keeping his temper at a low simmer compared to what it could be.

“Oh no.” She found her legs couldn't support her as she slowly lowered her body to the floor in a kneeling position. “No.” If the smell of death and magick was strong in the entryway, here it was suffocating. She choked on the stench and the magickal residue coating the walls.

Six bodies littered the antique Persian carpet with blood splattered everywhere. Not one face was recognizable because each was torn off.

Jazz was afraid to swallow for fear she'd throw up instead. But the dead bodies weren't bad enough. The sight of Esme seated on a nearby love seat with a tiny girl's limp body in her lap was downright chilling. Blood coated her silk pants and top with tiny drops even marring her exquisite features, but by the faint smile on her face she didn't care. Nick stood over her, the look of a dark avenging angel.