Hell's Belle

by Marie Castle

  The kitchen lights were dimmed, but moonlight shone through the windows, giving the room a warm glow. I offered Jacq a chair and busied myself with heating water for tea. Between my sweaty clothes and the A/C, I had goose bumps. While I worked, I turned my back, hiding my peaked nipples, uncomfortable with how attractive I found the other woman. The phers’ effects would ease in a few hours. Until then, I’d deal with it.

  Using a window’s mirrored reflection, I watched Jacq stretch out long legs and lean back in a chair that allowed her to view the door, windows…and me. Thumbs tucked into her pockets, she stared boldly at my back. There were dark circles under her eyes. Perhaps I wasn’t the only one who’d been having trouble sleeping. The possible similarity intrigued me.

  “Will your partner be joining us?” Jacq asked quietly, her expression almost brooding.

  I raised an eyebrow, wasting the look on the teakettle. Few knew that Mynx had finally accepted a full partnership in the business. And I’d never mentioned her during my meeting with Fera.

  “No, but she’ll help out if we run into more than we can handle.” Jacq’s eyebrows drew down, a frown forming at the corners of her mouth. Should I be offended or amused? I went with the latter, lightly saying, “Don’t worry. I’m sure we can handle ourselves.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Jacq smiled, laughing softly.

  Something twisted in my gut, and I looked away, pulling down mugs, assembling a tea tray. Damn phers.

  Her amusement disappeared. “But your partner may be our only help. I meant it when I said I wasn’t here officially. I owe Jo a favor, and she’s collecting.” As I twisted, looking over my shoulder, my confusion evident, Jacq explained, “Guild Master Josephine Fera. Sheriff?” I nodded, understanding. “Neither of us, you and I, is officially on this case, because there is no case, or at least none on record. The Council wishes to keep this from the police and media. If we need help, it won’t come from them.”

  I bit back a sarcastic comment. I knew the Council wouldn’t bail me out. Why should it surprise me that they’d leave their own to flounder? Jacq seemed nice enough. No matter how tempting, I wasn’t going to take my frustration out on her. Besides, we needed to focus on what we could do and not what we couldn’t. It was late. We had details to discuss. Then I had a Council operative to shoo out the door. Before I could get us to the night’s business, Jacq surprised me.

  I could feel her eyes on my skin as she asked, “How did you hurt your arm?”

  I looked down at the white bandage covering my nearly healed stitches. “A dead accountant with a hellish curve ball didn’t want to go home to his mommy.” I received another puzzled look. The old adage was correct—truth really was stranger than fiction. We had several minutes while the tea was steeping. “I need to run upstairs for a few.” Pointing up, I turned around and leaned against the counter, facing her. The steaming kettle had warmed me, but it wasn’t the reason for the flush in my cheeks. I still felt too grungy for entertaining guests. But more, I needed a minute alone.

  Jacq gave me a slow smile, her eyes sweeping my body. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was checking me out. My shivers returned. I resisted the urge to hug myself.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t steal the silver.” Her mouth joked, but her gray eyes said different. She’d seen my distrust.

  Brushing aside the strange sadness that realization evoked, I laughed, passing her on my way out. As I headed through the archway, I tossed over my shoulder, “Oh, I know, Detective. Though I believe you’ve forgotten where you are. Here the tea service is iron, the cutlery is steel, and the money is green. The only silver you’re likely to find will be catfish scales.” The echo of her soft laughter was still ringing in my ears as I bounded up the stairs, unsure if I was in more of a hurry to leave or to return.

  As the shower heated, I used the bathroom’s full-length mirror to look at my body. Had it truly been years since I’d taken more than a cursory glance? I’d been so busy—and if I was being honest, so numb to my own needs—that, with the exception of a few scattered dates, I hadn’t cared about what I might present to the outside world. Oh, I cared about how people saw me when it related to my work. I’d dressed for battle, to intimidate, or to appear professional. But I hadn’t wondered if someone found me attractive unless it was necessary for a run. Then I’d intentionally set out to do what needed to be done, promptly reverting back to simply being Cate once the mission was over. That sexy and beautiful woman who’d gone undercover had never been me but an artifice created through makeup, magic and the right clothes. I’d never presented my real face and body. And over the last few years, I’d never wondered if anyone found the real me as tempting as the illusion. Was it the phers or the woman downstairs that made tonight different?

  Well, the real Cate Delacy was staring back at me. No artifice. No magic. Completely nude and unhidden from my prying eyes. I watched as the woman in the mirror ran her hands down her body. It wasn’t a bad physique. Lean, but rounded at the butt and hips. Her breasts, cupped by slightly darker hands, were firm. Light blue eyes stared out of a face that seemed almost too sharp. Hands moved down to trace scars. One across a belly that was nearly too flat. Another that zigzagged across the left upper thigh. The pristine white bandage, contrasting so nicely with the darker skin, hid another scar soon to be added to the total. The reflected woman was in great shape, but she needed the few pounds lost during the last three years.

  Was this the same face I’d had downstairs? Her cheeks were flushed, her nipples sharp from arousal. Was this brooding, hungry look present in her eyes when clothes covered her curves? Part of it could be the phers. Part of it could be the strange and novel attraction to a woman. But if I was honest with myself, I’d been like this—hungry—for a long time. Tonight’s events hadn’t started the fire. They’d merely fanned the flames. Maybe Mynx was right. Maybe I should’ve given in to my body’s needs long ago.

  The woman in the mirror shook her head, lips curving into an amused smile. We were in agreement. I’d never been able to separate intimacy, sex and love. It was too late to start now.

  I looked again at that woman who was me but no longer recognizable. Her arms were toned from martial arts, sword drills, and occasionally kayaking the local creeks. The same was true for her legs. Each scar, a badge of honor. Her loose black hair began to curl wildly in the shower’s humidity. I was happy with this body. She was strong, capable. Sexy, if she chose, which was good. This was my body for the next hundred and twenty years or so, assuming I lived to be a ripe old witch. But even with all those years to come, I didn’t have time for this tonight.

  Her hands again moved, traveling between her breasts, barely grazing her cleavage, moving over the tight abdomen, then along the inner edges of her thighs. Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately), I was in control tonight. The hands stopped, just short of their destination. The woman disappeared as the mirror fogged over, and I turned to enter the shower.

  As I moved under the stinging spray, my mind kept returning to the mirrored woman’s last glimpse and the amused smile lingering on her face. Like after Jup’s warning, I had questions. Really they were the same questions with only a change of subject. My mind flashed again to that smile and her bright hungry eyes. What was it that the woman in the mirror knew that I didn’t? And how much was it going to cost me to find out?

  I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like either answer.

  I quickly rinsed off, changed into my favorite pair of frayed holey jeans and sage-green hoodie, and brushed my hair before knotting it into a chignon. I might not make the cover of VQ, the Vamp’s fashion mag, but at least I smelled better.

  There was something very disarming about Jacqueline Slone. But disarming didn’t mean unarmed. I strapped a small knife above my right ankle. My libido might be on a pher-induced roller coaster, but that didn’t make me stupid. Jacq didn’t appear armed. But then, I’d taken a thorough look and never determined where she’d pulled that badge from.r />
  On my way downstairs I stopped in my aunt’s study for a copy of the case file and the medallion I’d taken off Bob’s body. The kitchen was empty when I returned. Jacq had removed the tea ball from the kettle before it could become overly strong. Considerate, considering I’d deserted her for far longer than planned. I put the file and medallion on the tray and went in search of my errant guest.

  My bare feet made little noise as I padded into our family den. I found Jacq there, standing by my Grams’ old black piano, staring at the family photos spread across its top. She had picked up the cat. Hex purred contentedly as Jacq absentmindedly stroked her fur. Apparently even feline vessels of unholy power found this woman attractive. Jacq focused on a photo of me and my mom taken when I was five, her expression inscrutable. She gestured to the piano. “Do you play?”

  “Very little, but my mother played beautifully.” The words simply slipped out. I looked away, using the distraction of setting the tray on the scarred trunk we used as a coffee table to clear the sudden lump from my throat. I stood, my own mask firmly in place, saying lightly, “I see you’ve met Hexamina, Satan incarnate, evil sorceress, and all around bad kitty.” I gestured to the cat, who was enjoying herself a little too much, before signaling Jacq to sit.

  Jacq placed the cat on the floor. “She seems nice.”

  Aunt Helena would’ve found my snort of derision most unladylike but Jacq merely smiled. People thought we Delacys were joking when we commented about Hex being a vessel of unholy power, a hell-cat, evil spawn, etc. Eventually Jacqueline Slone would find out for herself. If she was lucky, all her limbs would still be attached after the epiphany.

  We had an old cream-striped couch and two brown leather armchairs cozied around the brick fireplace. What the pieces lacked in beauty they more than made up with comfort. The only thing from this decade was the flat screen hanging over the fireplace and the nearby sound system. It was too hot a night for a fire, but the recessed lighting and café latte walls kept the atmosphere warm.

  Jacq sat on the couch with one leg out along it and the other, crooked at the knee, resting on the couch cushions. I pulled a chair a little closer and sat.

  While we drank orange spice tea I filled her in on everything from my fight with Bob to the five girls’ disappearances and deaths. Viewing the photos, she wore a hardened cop’s mask of cold professionalism.

  I was surprised when she pointed at the rift bearers, saying, “That explains why Fera picked a guardian for this.”

  The fact that we were guardians was a closely kept secret. Jacq knew, too? Who else in the Council knew? And was it the result of my recent advertising? Now was not the time to ask. This woman had the type of poker face only someone who’d lived centuries could perfect. But I’d eventually learn to read her. And then I’d ask the questions battering at the locked doors in my mind.

  Finally, we came to the black medallion. Brow creased, Jacq silently traced the gold and silver engravings, lost in thought. “This,” she pointed to what looked like an ancient temple with a large moon hanging low over it, “could be for an Elite house. This one,” she turned the medallion and ran her thumb across the other side’s sun symbol, “looks familiar. It also represents an Elite house, but I cannot place it.”

  Only demon nobles were considered Elite. That meant it bore the symbols of two highborn demon families. There were several small magical surges as she checked the metal for residue. I knew what she would find.

  “It could be a talisman,” Jacq said. “They’re homing beacons to help the Elite focus during gate travel. For more than that, you’ll have to take it to a Demonology expert.”

  A talisman? That fit but didn’t explain why it had been in Sarkoph’s possession. “Thank you. Unfortunately, my Aunt Helena is stumped and she’s an expert in most things demonic.” I met Jacq’s eyes over my tea, noticing little flecks of dark blue, nearly black, in the gray. After a moment, I realized I was staring, and the object of my fixed attention had noticed. Jacq met my gaze with a slight half-smile.

  I busied myself refilling our empty teacups, continuing my explanation, “My aunt did email photos to a few colleagues. Maybe they can provide more information. I was just hoping for faster answers. Guess I’ll have to practice patience.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t offer more.” Jacq gave me a full-blown smile.

  For the second time today, I nearly choked on my drink. It wasn’t right that this woman should look so good and have a dimple in one cheek. I barely avoided shooting an embarrassing stream of hot tea out my nose. Fortunately, when she leaned forward to return the medallion, the only liquid in my mouth was a healthy amount of drool. I caught a peek of cleavage and shifted uncomfortably in my chair, moving my eyes to where Jacq’s hand rested on mine before we both pulled away. My skin zinged where our hands had brushed. Was it magic, chemistry, or both? I hurried to finish my explanation, hoping she’d attribute my once again flushed skin to a fresh infusion of hot tea.

  I said, “Oh, but you have. We hadn’t considered the possibility. Maybe we’ll know more when someone replies to my aunt’s email. Until then, there’s not much hope of solving this mystery.” I tapped the metal still warm from her body. It felt nice resting in my palm, and I curled my fingers around it. I smiled into gray eyes, darkened nearly to black. “At least, not without catching a demon and tickle-torturing the information out of him.” I tried for a moment of levity but had an ominous feeling as the words left my mouth. “And there never seems to be one of those around when you need ’em.”

  Chapter Five

  “I thought it was true love? How could he go back to her?”

  “Really, my dear, you’re just an A-plus. Did you truly think he’d leave his O-neg wife for you?”

  —As the Blood Turns, Nighttime’s most popular Soap Opera

  Day Four

  “Mr. Richmond, please…” I passed the distraught man seated across from my old cherry desk a tissue. “Tell me how I can help.” I kept my voice low, soothing, pushing my exhaustion away. It had been another long night. Due to the late hour, Jacq had made a good argument for crashing on our couch rather than make the drive back to her home near NOLA. She didn’t seem the type to slit our throats in the night, so I’d been persuaded.

  The pher-induced lust had left me achy, needy, and confused as hell. My sleep had been fitful…especially knowing the accidental object of my desire was just downstairs. I’d really needed sleep and knew, from years of going to bed alone, a quick cure. But I’d made no move to satisfy my body’s demands, that sort of pleasure seeming hollow. Thankfully, the pher level had dropped during the night. And although I had a headache from lack of sleep, my body was almost my own again. I wasn’t reacting to the middle-aged Mr. Richmond, which boded well for my next meeting with the tempting Jacqueline Slone. I brought my thoughts back to Mr. Richmond, who was trying to quietly blow his nose.

  He tucked the tissue away, focusing his red-rimmed eyes on me. His voice seemed calmer as he said, “My daughter Isabella called me last night.” He passed me a picture of a pretty young brunette with her father’s hazel eyes then clenched his hands. “She was upset. I didn’t understand what she was saying. I told her to calm down and explain.” His words were tumbling out. “Maybe if I’d just left then for Hattiesburg…” He shook his head as if forcing those thoughts away. “She said there wasn’t enough time, asked me to pack. She was coming home. We’d leave together. She was so…scared.” His voice slowed.

  We both waited while his breath shuddered in and out. Finally he said, “I told her I would come get her, to wait there, but she kept saying she had to leave right then.”

  Mr. Richmond looked at his hands. My heart ached for him already, and we weren’t through the entire story. I watched his hands clench and unclench.

  “So I waited, but Isabella never made it home.”

  Just then, Mynx walked in with a tray loaded with my aunt’s brown sugar pound cake and two steaming cups. Most people would cons
ider ten in the morning too early for something so rich, but our family was a big believer in the Southern tradition of soothing grief (and every other ailment) with food. Fortunately, witches had high metabolisms. Mynx sat the tray down on a side table as I said, “Mr. Richmond, I’d like to introduce you to my distant cousin and business partner, Mynx Delacy.” They’d met when he’d barged into our offices, but no formal introduction had been made. Mynx smiled slightly. Maybe it was from calling her a cousin when she was actually my ancestor’s cat familiar…or maybe because I’d finally convinced her to take the more-than-deserved title of partner. Goddess knows we wouldn’t make it around here without her. Now we just needed a new secretary.

  As testament to his extreme distress, Mr. Richmond stared into his coffee, not sparing Mynx’s gorgeous body a second glance. Mynx silently left, hopefully to go keep Jacq out of trouble. Our clients’ cases were confidential. The last thing I needed was the law present. It didn’t matter that she was out of uniform. A po-po could hide in a clown suit and the people in this area would still see a cop with a red nose and big shoes.

  I picked up my tea, sipping my favorite spiced chai. We sat in silence while Mr. Richmond gathered his thoughts. I wanted to reassure him that there was nothing he could’ve done differently. Rushing to Hattiesburg wouldn’t have halted his daughter’s disappearance. But platitudes would have to wait. We hadn’t reached the point where he’d trust my judgment. Plus, I had the sinking feeling that I needed to hear the rest of this tale.

  Fera’s case had been on my mind all morning. Nicodemus hadn’t yet opened a gate, so he must need something. More power and another victim were the obvious answer. I’d been on the phone with my local contact at the PD to see if any girls were missing when Mynx had announced Mr. Richmond’s arrival. There were no scheduled appointments for today, which was why my loosely knotted hair was still damp against my shirt. But when the panic-stricken father had told Mynx his daughter was missing, she’d shuffled him into my office. I was looking for a girl to go missing, and he had one. Mynx, like all the Delacys, didn’t believe in coincidences.