Hex Appeal (17 page)

It was bad enough only the preternatural kind would notice the odd smells of some creatures. To a human being Rex would only appear to be a pretty ugly guy with hygiene problems. Just as her illusion spell wouldn't fool him, she saw his true form as well. Repulsive.

Rumors were he had a drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend, however.

Hm, maybe the girlfriend literally was dead. Now that concept she could see, no matter how gross the idea was, because she couldn't imagine a living female wanting anything to do with him. Her chest rose and fell with her deep sigh.

“What do you want, Rex?”

“You off my property.”

“It's not yours.” And that she could say with surety since she'd once had Krebs do his own computer magick and check out the boardwalk ownership the first time Rex ordered her off
his
property. The corporation name didn't sound like it belonged to a Were-pack and since she could smell that Rex didn't seem to be able to afford a good body wash, she doubted he could afford the payments on the popular piece of property.

Still, she also knew that appearances could be deceiving, which was why his grin had her mentally backpedaling. An angry Were meant teeth and claws.

“Funny thing, Rex. Until you stopped me I was on my way home. So I'll tell you what. You go do whatever you do, like maybe take a long hot shower with plenty of soap, and I'll head home. Deal?” She brought up a bright smile she didn't feel.

His eyes narrowed and when he spoke, there was a dark rumble in his voice that meant danger.

“I want those fucking slippers.
Now.
”

“You promised me time to look for Willie and that time isn't up,” she reminded him, while mentally reminding herself she had to do some serious work on finding the Wereweasel. “And even then you have no right to take them into custody. There's a council to deal with them, and you know how cranky they get if someone thinks they can usurp their job.”

“That's not a problem. I've contacted them about the matter. As far as I'm concerned, time's up, so be prepared for the Ruling Council to show up any time now. Have good day, Jazz.” With that missile he turned around and walked away.

Jazz took several deep breaths to calm her racing pulse. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.” While she wanted nothing more than to race home, she knew she had to appear calm, cool, and collected. Unfortunately, at the moment, she was none of the above. She had to act as if nothing was wrong. Which was so false it wasn't funny.

Instead, she was swiftly crossing the boardwalk's parking lot in her Happy Bunny pjs, her heart crawling up her throat, and her blood pressure at an all-time high. All in all, her morning wasn't starting out well. Not that the night before had been all that much better.

“I should give those little monsters a real scare and hand them over to the Ruling Council,” she muttered, even as she knew she wouldn't give in to Rex's demands. She was determined to keep Fluff and Puff with her until one of the members of the Ruling Council showed up at the front door with an official order stating she had to give them up and even then she'd stall the magickal authorities as long as she could. The thought was enough to have her picking up her pace.

“Don't answer the door today,” she said, barging through the back door and collapsing at the kitchen table. She flicked her fingers at the door, watching the lock engage itself.

“Right now you look like you need medical attention. I've never seen your face so red.” Krebs poured her a mug of coffee and set it in front of her. “What did you do, run all the way home? I told you to call me to pick you up.”

Jazz gulped down coffee and picked up a piece of buttered toast from Krebs's plate. “Rex went to the Ruling Council about Fluff and Puff.” She was at the point she wasn't sure whether to be mad as hell or frightened out of her wits. The Council tended to do that to her. The Witches' Council was bad enough, but the Ruling Council was even scarier, because their word was law for everyone and they didn't believe in a Court of Appeal either. For some, they were judge, jury, and executioner all in one.

Krebs got up long enough to pop more bread in the toaster. “What's so terrifying about the Ruling Council?”

“They oversee all of us. The Witches' Council takes care of only witch issues, the Protectorate enforces vampire law, and then there's the Weres, the elves, the...”

“Okay, I get the message.” Krebs held up his hand. “So this Ruling Council is in charge of everyone.”

Jazz nodded. She got up and rummaged in the refrigerator, pulling out a jar of black raspberry preserves.

“There's seven members and if a member of one group breaks the law against someone in another supernatural community it's up to the Ruling Council to pass down judgment.” She pressed her hand against her stomach.

The word for the day is queasy.

“Judgment as in...?”

She nodded. “If you're declared non-guilty you go free. If you're guilty you're destroyed within five seconds. There's no appeal process with them.”

“Whoa, you guys really don't fool around, do you?” He shook his head. “But I thought you said nothing can be done to the little guys. That they have some big bad magick that protects them.”

“They do, but the Ruling Council overrides all magick.” She sipped her coffee and racked her brain. Why was Rex pushing so hard? “If I provide you with a name, can you find out about someone?”

“Sure. Just give it to me and I'll run some searches.”

Jazz snagged pen and paper and wrote out what she remembered.

“I promise not to make fun of your next three girlfriends,” she vowed.

The look on Krebs' face had her wondering if there was something going on she wasn't aware of. If she wasn't so freaked about the slippers she would take the time to pull it out of him.
Inquiring witches wanna know.

“Six.” He knew her well.

“Four.”

“Five, including the woman I'm seeing now.”

Aha!
She knew there was something going on. “That makes six.”

“Do you want the information or not?”

Jazz knew her computer skills were limited to e-mail and online shopping. Anything more complicated required Krebs and she didn't have the time to read
Internet for Dummies.

“I won't continue to push for a pool,” she threw out.

“Four girlfriends and no whining for a pool.”

She stuck out her hand. “Deal. And I don't whine.”

Krebs sighed as he accepted it. “Something tells me you're still getting the better part of the deal.” He took the paper and stood up. “I'll see what I can come up with.”

“Thank you. Krebs. I love you.” She made kissing sounds.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He waved the paper over his head. “Just don't bug me by asking if I've found anything yet.”

Once Jazz finished her quick breakfast, she headed upstairs to interrogate the slippers.

“I want you to tell me the truth now. Did you or did you not eat Willie?” She stared into the two bunnies' eyes, desperate to see the truth written there. But she also knew her slippers were excellent liars.

Fluff chattered away with Puff adding on to it. They admitted a few minor wrongdoings that night, but nothing that required consuming a wereweasel.

Jazz sat down on the floor, tucking her legs under her. She pressed her palm against the cage bars, feeling the strong magick hum against her skin. “I swear if you're lying to me, I will give you up to Rex right this very minute and not wait for the Ruling Council to show up.”

Puff bounced up and down, his chatter high-pitched.

“Then where did the button you coughed up come from?” She listened closely to Fluff's explanation.

She raked her fingers through her hair then conjured up notebook and pen. “Okay, things I should have asked sooner, but we'll go through it now. Let's go through this all over again and I want everything. Tell me exactly where you went that night and where you found the button.” Jazz took notes of the slippers' movements and once they finished their story, she put the notebook on the bed. She went into the bathroom and took a quick shower, then dressed.

“With everything else going on I've got to say your timing sucks,” she told them. “But if I can help it, no one will take you away. You'd better hope I can find Willie before someone shows up. They don't waste much time, you know.” The slippers blew raspberries as she slipped on the stilettos, which turned a dark plum color to match her tunic style sweater draped over navy pants. She sniffed and looked down at the shoes. “Did you ladies use my Michael Kors perfume? Honestly, Delilah, you're wearing my Nars lip gloss!” For a minute she was sorely tempted to toss the perfume and makeup-stealing shoes into the back of her closet, but they did look good on her feet and felt as if she was walking on air. “I'm such a girl,” she muttered, realizing the comfort of the stilettos was good for her soul right now.

When she reached the second floor she paused by the side of the house that was left open for Krebs' work. The energetic sounds of the Beach Boys flooded the open space and an exasperated “Don't call me, I'll call you,” drifted out toward to her.

“Okay, okay.” She spun on her toes and went downstairs instead, listening to the stilettos chatter about their plan to take the tub away from the rubber duckies. “Stay out of the tub,” she ordered. “Even Fluff and Puff know better than to take them on. Those beaks aren't on them just for decoration, you know.”

As Jazz crossed the backyard, she idly visualized a pool and spa taking over one corner. Just because she promised not to continue begging for a pool didn't mean she couldn't dream about one.

“A spa and pool would be so cool, because I say so, damn it!” she whispered, flicking her fingers at the section. The air shimmered for a moment before a hewn-rock pool and spa replaced the lush green lawn. She stopped for a moment to admire her handiwork before sighing and recalling nosy neighbors that might look out their windows. “Pool and spa go away, come again some other day, because I say so, damn it!” Just as fast, the lawn was back to its green splendor and the pool and spa were history.

When Jazz entered the carriage house, she found Irma seated in the easy chair she'd gotten her now that she was free of the car when she wished, the dog sitting beside her, his massive head draped over the chair arm. A curl of smoke wafted upward.

“Krebs will not be happy if he walks in here and smells cigarette smoke,” Jazz announced. “And that he can smell.”

Irma's cigarette disappeared in the wink of an eye and she waved her hand to dissipate the smoke. “You'd think if he can't see me he couldn't smell the smoke,” she grumbled, giving Jazz a ghostly evil eye.

“If he had his way no one would smoke within a hundred miles of the Porsche he loves more than life itself.” She paused to look at the TV screen. “
What are you watching?
” She almost turned her head upside down to understand better what was on the screen. She almost shrieked when she realized just what it was.

“It's called
The Naughty Nymphs.
I thought it was a fantasy movie, but it wasn't long before I realized it wasn't, but once I started watching it I found myself unable to change the channel,” Irma explained, keeping her eyes forward, while absently stroking the dog's head. “I'm trying to figure out how the men and women can do that without damaging something. Or that.” She pointed at the screen. “How is that physically possible without hurting something important?”

“TV off,” Jazz ordered. There was no way she was watching a sex film with the ghost! “It's a good thing I pay the satellite dish bill because there's no way I'd want to explain to Krebs you were watching a pay-per-view X-rated movie.”

“I couldn't find anything to watch.”

“You have how many hundreds of channels to watch along with stacks of DVDs and you claim you have nothing to watch?”

Irma shrugged. “Well, nothing that looked interesting. Where do you intend to drag me off to today?”

“This is purely a visit.” Jazz perched herself on a nearby chair she usually sat in when she watched a movie with Irma.

“You never visit me.” Her lower lip took on a decided curl.

“I stayed up all night with you for that
Die Hard
marathon,” Jazz argued.

“That was a month ago. The only time you come out is when you're going somewhere.”

“At least I don't make you stay in the carriage house all the time.” She pulled up a stool and sat down. “Besides, I'm out here with good news.”

Irma looked skeptical. “Good news for you or good news for me?”

“So suspicious!” She waved off Irma's distrust, brilliant sparks floating off her fingertips. She looked over at a nearby table piled high with magazines and clothing catalogs. “Do you have an updated outfit in mind?”

Irma's expression switched from suspect to hope. “Do you mean...?”

Jazz nodded. “I think I have the right spell to provide you with a new wardrobe.”

Irma mentioned a woman's clothing catalog that lifted up from the table and floated toward her. Jazz took it from the chair after it settled through Irma's ghostly body.

“Page forty-three,” Irma whispered.

Jazz opened to the correct page. Her initial fear that Irma had chosen something so inappropriate she'd gag just looking at the picture was replaced with relief. The pants and coordinated knit top was in a dusty rose shade that would complement Irma's skin tones and full figure. She placed one hand over the outfit, while the other hovered over Irma's shoulder, and closed her eyes.

“New clothes and style you wish. All modern as can be. Ask and you shall have what you require from what you see. I request this be done now because I say so, damn it!”