Hex Appeal (18 page)

“Oh my!” Irma twittered, as a shower of sparks rained down then swirled around her in a multi-colored tornado. The dog barked and backed off quickly, his head down and hind end up as if thinking it was playtime. “What's happening to me?” Irma shouted.

“I hope you're getting new clothes,” Jazz muttered, now fearing the ghost would appear to her naked and that was a sight she so didn't want!

“You
hope?
Do you mean you don't know for sure that this will work?”

“No spell is perfect!” Jazz started to worry as she realized the sparkling tornado didn't dissipate as quickly as she thought it would. She suddenly had a vision of Irma trapped eternally in the magickal tornado and she would be the cause of it. The ghost would never let her forget it either. “Oh boy, this isn't good at all.”

The tornado seemed to whip faster around the chair. “No, it's not!
Help!
I'm getting dizzy!”

“Quiet!” Jazz ordered the dog that now raced around the carriage house barking his head off. He skidded to a stop and plopped his butt down on the floor. He stared at the tornado with a fascination only a canine could show.

“I feel all tingly,” a voice erupted from the tornado that was finally slowing down and sliding off until it disappeared altogether. Irma still sat in her chair, but the navy print dress, white gloves, and straw hat were now replaced with the pants and top from the catalog. And her gray hair had been restyled in a short stylish cut. Her Tangee lipstick was gone and a rose lip color was in its place while a more natural looking blush highlighted her wrinkled cheeks.

“Wow, I do good work!” Jazz crowed, conjuring up a full-length mirror. With the magick infused in the glass Irma easily saw her new image.

“This is what I look like now?” Irma asked, stood up, and turned this way and that to get a better look at herself.

“You're looking at a new millennium, Irma.” Jazz couldn't stop grinning. “From now on all you have to do is see the image of an outfit and you can wish it on yourself. The only thing I ask is that you don't start wearing spandex or too many sequins. Actually, no sequins at all.”

“What about the holidays? Everyone wears sequins that time of year.”

Jazz had a feeling if she didn't give in now she'd be haggling all day. “As long as you're not covered with them.”

Irma's smile was ear to ear and if Jazz wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of tears in her eyes. Nah, she had to be mistaken.

“Thank you. I was very tired of that same old outfit. I felt as if I was still living in
Father Knows Best.
” She named a popular television show from the early 1950s. She walked toward Jazz with her arms outstretched.

“Boundaries!” Jazz squeaked, backing up. There was nothing ickier than a ghost walking right through a body.

Irma dropped her arms. “I forgot. Your body doesn't feel very good to me either when I walk through you,” she admitted. “But I'm still so grateful you did this for me.”

“You're welcome.” Jazz smiled back. She looked at the dog that appeared to be more morose than usual. Considering his mastiff face looked mournful most of the time, it wasn't easy to tell when he was happy. Except the slobber factor was more extensive. A flick of her fingers provided a bright red collar around his neck complete with ghostie dog license hanging from it. He perked up at the feel of his new finery and barked a thank you. “Just don't drool anymore in the car. Or on my clothes. Or in the carriage house.” Even as she spoke, she saw strings of ghost doggie dribble slowly drip to the floor and immediately wrote off her plea as a lost cause.

She looked at Irma who was now busily studying the magazines. “Uh, don't switch your wardrobe too often,” she warned. “This is all new to me and I'd hate to think you'd end up with ten different outfits on at the same time.”

“It's just nice to have a change.” Irma ran her hand over her hair. “Although I do wish you'd done something with all these lines and wrinkles. Can you work on a spell for that now that you have the clothes figured out? And what about coloring my hair. Not a trashy red like yours. Perhaps a tasteful ash blond or warm brown.” She returned to her magazines. “Do you think Botox would work on a ghost?”

Jazz sighed. “The woman never stops.”

“Way to go, my favorite son!” Jazz shouted, huggingher sweaty and dirty son. A tiny girl with a copper red ponytail that matched her mother's, wearing dark green shorts and a print sleeveless top, stood by Jazz's leg. “You kicked the winning goal!”

“Mom!” He wiggled free, looking about as embarrassed as a ten-year-old boy could look. “Besides, I'm your only son.”

“Oh yeah, that's right. Twenty-two hours of labor will do that to you,” she teased, resisting finger combing his hair back from his forehead. Moms of sons could get away with only so much and her baby boy was at the age where public displays of affection were a death sentence.

“Way to go, sport!” The man beside her was tall, blond-haired, and gorgeous. He wore an artfully faded plum colored polo shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. He picked up the boy who resembled him all the way down to the broad grin and spun him in a circle. “You take after your old man.”

“The coach said we're all going out for pizza, okay?” He looked from one to the other.

“Go and have fun.” He pulled his wallet out and handed him a few bills. “Just don't OD on the arcade games, okay?”

“Thanks! Love you both!” He ran off to join his teammates.

“Mommy! I wanna go too,” the little girl whined, hugging Jazz's leg so tight it was amazing she didn't cut off the circulation.

Jazz looked down and smiled at the daughter who was her very own mirror image. “Sorry, sweetie, but this is your brother's day. How about you, me, and Daddy go out for our own special dinner, how is that?”

At that moment a pair of warm arms encircled her from behind and pulled her back against a body that smelled warm and inviting. She melted back into his embrace.

“Are you sure there's not someone we can fob her off on? Think what kind of dinner we could have with no kids around for a few hours?” he whispered in her ear.

“A dinner that wouldn't include food, I'm sure,” she murmured, feeling that familiar tingle deep within her body.

He rested his chin on top of her head. “I might feed you...eventually. Thank you for two fantastic children, my love.”

She followed the direction of his gaze, watching Kirk climb into an Explorer with his best friend, Ryan, right behind him. She and Ryan's mother joked the two boys may as well be twins since they were never far from each other. While four-year-old Melissa “Missy” was already promising to be a handful.

Jazz quickly thought back over the last twelve years. Who knew life could be so fulfilling? She had a wonderful husband who could alternately make her laugh with joy and scream with pleasure. She had two children who made each day a joy to wake up to. She had everything a woman could want for a perfect life.

Just then a shadow seemed to pass over the trio as if a cloud drifted across the sun. She turned her head and looked toward the edge of the soccer field where a stand of trees edged the park. A tall figure stood there, leaving no doubt in her mind that his attention was focused on them. Even at this distance she could feel his eyes on her, dark, intense, and with a passion that robbed her of her very breath.

Jazz couldn't see his face from that distance, but deep inside she knew what he looked like as if he stood right in front of her. He had hair the color of her morning coffee, eyes the greens and grays of a storm-swept sea, and the heart of a warrior. He was a man who loved with the fervor of one who knew that love was meant to be cherished like a rare treasure. She could feel her heartbeat increase and her skin turn warm as if he physically touched her.

“Hey, you okay?” Her husband's voice pulled her from the stranger's influence.

She shook off the spell and tipped her head back, offering him a bright smile. “I'm fine.”

They walked back to the minivan that any busy mom needed when she had two kids and everything from soccer to ballet lessons. Her husband draped his arm across her shoulders while Missy skipped along beside them, chattering about where she wanted to go for dinner, which alternated between McDonalds, her favorite Chinese restaurant, and IHOP. Jazz could only resist the pull to look over her shoulder for so long. When she finally did turn her head the figure was gone and she experienced a sense of loss she couldn't explain.

You don't need him any longer,
a husky feminine voice whispered in her ear. Look at the wonderful life you have. You're much better off this way and you know that, don't you? As a mortal, you have much more than you ever did before. You can have all this and more, if you wish for it.

As if the words were a wake-up call, Jazz struggled to open her eyes then wished she hadn't.

“Ow!” She pressed her fingertips to her forehead in hopes of pushing the headache right out of her skull. Jazz didn't get too many headaches, maybe every twenty years or so; but when she did get them they were doozies and this one was off the charts. She sat up, gingerly rubbing her temples. “Oh for Fates' sake, it was only a dream about being mortal. There's no reason for me to wake up feeling as if I was one,” she muttered with an irritable sniff as she crawled out of bed.

As she passed the cage, Fluff and Puff growled and snapped at her while the stilettos squeaked in fear and backed away from her.

“Hey!” She hopped out of the slippers' biting range, wondering why she couldn't understand their angry chatter. “Knock it off! You know you won't be released until I can prove you didn't kill Willie.” She stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower faucets. She knew the medicine cabinet wouldn't yield any aspirin, so she'd beg some from Krebs after she drowned herself under a spray of hot water. “Oh, this is bad.” She made the mistake of looking at herself in the mirror. There was nothing like ruining her morning with puffy reddened eyes and blotchy skin to go with the killer headache. Not a good way to start a day and even worse when she'd planned a shopping trip. Victoria's Secret's big semi-annual sale began today and she planned to be there when they opened their doors. There was nothing like big discounts and sexy lingerie to perk a witch up.

Jazz's head hadn't stopped pounding by the time she dressed and applied makeup since her illusion spell seemed to be on the fritz.

“Do you have any aspirin?” she asked Krebs when she stumbled into the kitchen.

“Aspirin? Don't you have a witchy remedy for headaches?” He didn't take his eyes off his BlackBerry as he worked his own form of magick on the keypad.

“Nothing that works for this one.” She opened the cabinet by the sink and pulled out a bottle. She tossed a couple of tablets back with a chaser of coffee and pulled a microwaveable breakfast of eggs and pancakes out of the freezer. “Anything we need while I'm out?”

“Nothing I can think of.” He returned to his texting.

“I'll pick up something for dinner.” The microwave dinged and she pulled her meal out. She forked the eggs into one of the pancakes, folded it, and ate it like a taco.

“You do remember you have something like twenty computers upstairs with much bigger screens than that one?” She stood at the counter eating her breakfast and watched his fingers fly across the BlackBerry's keys.

“I'm texting a guy back East.”

“Oh yeah, that makes a lot of sense.” She swallowed more coffee.

Krebs paused and looked up, this time really seeing her. “Did you have a nightmare last night?”

Jazz froze with the folded pancake halfway to her mouth. Her thoughts ran a mile a second as she tried to relive her night.

“It wasn't a nightmare as in dreaming monsters were trying to eat me or tear me apart. The dream I had was almost nice. It was more what my life would be like if I was mortal with the husband, two kids, and a minivan. Not a scary moment there. But then I wasn't wearing shorts, so I don't know if I had any cellulite.” She ignored the memory of the shadowy male figure standing among the trees and reached for her coffee mug and polished off the contents before refilling it. “All that happened was that I woke up with a killer headache.” She glanced at the brightly colored coffeepot-shaped clock on the wall. “Off to the mall. Victoria's Secret waits for no one.”

“Don't forget to leave something in the stores for others,” he advised.

“I'll try to restrain myself.” She let herself out the back door and headed for the carriage house. “Irma, where are you?” She walked in and noticed the interior was silent with no sign of the irascible ghost or her ghost dog companion. Jazz couldn't even find a hint of ectoplasmic drool or doggy poo on the garage floor. Not that she was complaining, but it wasn't like Irma to wander far from the carriage house even if there were days her newfound freedom went to her head. “I'm going to the mall and if you're not here in two minutes, I'm leaving without you!” When she didn't receive an answer she shrugged her shoulders and climbed in her car.

As Jazz backed the classic T-Bird out of the carriage house, she realized this was the first time in more than fifty years she was alone in the car. There was no argument over radio stations, the smell of cigarette smoke in the air, or someone telling her she was driving too fast. And no ghostly dog hanging his head over her shoulder.

She should have enjoyed the drive, but even with the radio playing it seemed too quiet. She planned to leave later in the day for Moonstone Lake for the full moon ceremony. She wondered if Irma wouldn't be accompanying her this time and what had the ghost in such a snit she was avoiding Jazz.

Jazz parked the car outside of Nordstrom and left for the store entrance. She was still feeling more than a little wonky from the dream trickling through her mind every so often and hadn't thought to cast the illusion spell over the car. And she still couldn't figure out why the slippers and stilettos acted so odd toward her.

“Sure, Jazz, as if they haven't acted strangely before,” she muttered, pushing the heavy glass door and entering the kingdom that offered her idea of therapy.

When Jazz left the mall several hours later she was loaded down with bags and nursing some tired credit cards. She juggled the bags as she used her cell phone to call a local pizza place to arrange a delivery to the house. She knew she'd be home in plenty of time to accept her mushroom and beef pizza and Krebs's Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza. The fact that her son in her dream was going out for pizza hadn't eluded her thoughts.

“I should zap all of you to the car,” she muttered, quickly grabbing a heavy bag as it started to slip from her fingers. She started to move forward only to find her path blocked. Since the section of the parking garage was a bit dim, she could only see the outline of a man's body covered by a hooded sweatshirt and baggy jeans that looked as if they hadn't been washed in months. The
eau de
trashcan preceding him confirmed it.

“Gimme your wallet.” His face was pockmarked with acne scars, and eyes cold and dark as he showed her a wicked-sharp knife. He looked her up and down, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. For a mortal he showed a distinct lack of humanity.

Here she'd had a beautiful day shopping and this jerk was trying to ruin it! Not if she had anything to say about it. “Bad timing, slick. See all these bags? I just left the mall and I left it broke. You should have tried to rob me before I went in.”

He sneered and poked the knife at her. “I said gimme your wallet, bitch.”

“Bitch? Big mistake, scumsucker.” She dropped the bags and threw out her hands. Except instead of the expected whoosh of a fireball or even nasty sparks, there was nothing. “Big bad boy turn into a toy, because I say so, damn it!” Again, there was nothing. Not even a tiny fizzle. A cold lump settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Very funny.” He lunged forward, the knife almost sticking her in the stomach with the wicked point.

“Hey! This is so not good!” She danced to one side, wildly looking around for some help, but couldn't see a soul. She threw the bookstore bag at him figuring the weight of the magazines and paperback books she'd indulged in would take him down, but he easily dodged the flying bag that burst on contact with the ground and scattered her purchases everywhere. When she tried to conjure up a fireball nothing happened. “What in Fates' sake is going on?”

Before Jazz could react, the man lunged forward and grabbed her shoulder bag and pulled it away, almost dislocating her shoulder in the process. Pain shot through her shoulder as she again tried to fight him with magick, but nothing happened. She felt a brief sense of victory when she managed to score his skin with her nails.

“Bitch!” Before she could escape, the back of his hand connected with her face with stunning force. As she fell to the ground he hopped forward and kicked her in the stomach while his fists and feet rained down on her head and body.

Lights out
was her last thought, as everything turned black.

***

Jazz's first thought was that her latest nightmare surrounded her with pain that had invaded every cell in her body. Her second thought was that this pain was way too real to be a nightmare.

“Jazz?” The male voice was familiar and music to her ears.

Jazz moaned as she tried to open her eyes but discovered they would only part a bare slit because it hurt too much.

“Hey you,” Krebs whispered with a relieved smile on his lips.

“What happened?” She almost cried as she listened to her garbled words. Oh yeah, the pain was mega-real as it streaked across her face.

“You were mugged, babe.” He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. He wore a wrinkled gray T-shirt and jeans and his hair stuck out in all directions as if he'd used a lawn mower on it. The scariest part was the look of fear in his eyes. “Hey.” His voice softened as he carefully brushed her hair from her forehead. “Did someone with bad
mojo
go up against you and you lost the battle?”