50 Ways to Hex Your Lover

by Linda Wisdom

  Jazz didn’t blame her. She wasn’t feeling too brave at the moment either. Not that she’d admit it. She had a sick feeling this was one time she would have to rely on her wits more than her gifts.

  “Good afternoon.” The man flashed a smile that looked about as threatening as a glass of milk but under the surface a promise of something dire lurked. If she read auras, she knew she’d see something as dark as the clothing he wore. Dressed in black slacks and a black polo shirt with an embroidered emblem over his heart that would not be found at Ralph Lauren or La Coste, he looked like any other man. With a full head of salt-and-pepper hair professionally styled and his dark tan, he would be the kind of wealthy retirement-aged man found on any country club golf course. Jazz sincerely doubted he’d been walking the links for the last seventy-some years. “Nice little car you have here,” he said, flashing her a warm smile that chilled her to the bone.

  Fine, she could play the game he started. “I like it.” After all this time, she could role-play with the best of them. Today, she was your typical single working girl enjoying a leisurely afternoon at the mall where 40 percent off was any red-blooded woman’s, and witch’s, siren’s call. As much as it galled her, she had no choice but to follow his lead. One misstep could lead to her downfall. She’d played that game once and lost. Never again.

  She kept her eyes on an ornate gold ring on his right hand as he trailed his fingers along the T-Bird’s rear bumper. A fine mist the dark rainbow color of fresh oil rested briefly in the air before it settled on the shining metal. His concentration was centered on the car and he acted as if Irma wasn’t there. While humans couldn’t see the ghost, Jazz knew the man standing before her was very aware of Irma’s presence. If she wasn’t mistaken he was even feeding on the spirit’s distress as if it were a sumptuous banquet. Once more, she tamped down the fury rising up within her. This was not a time to give in to her temper. It was a time she needed to think way long before she spoke.

  “You’ve kept her in beautiful condition. Any chance you would care to sell her?” He cocked an eyebrow and kept the easy-going smile on his lips. To an outsider, he would still have appeared as nothing more dangerous than an admirer of classic cars. To Jazz, he was about as bad as you could get. “I’m prepared to offer a very good price for this beauty.”

  The sound of Irma’s emotional pain tore through Jazz’s body like a cold sharp knife.

  “No, I would not.” Acting polite tasted harsh on her tongue, but she was determined not to do anything to create a problem. She wasn’t sure if the gooey barrier she’d stepped through blocked anyone from seeing them, but knowing the creature she faced, she was certain it would offer an illusion for mortals. She hoped any innocent who might not sense the darkness and happened to walk by would see nothing more than two people having a polite conversation. Yet, she was positive one wrong word could spiral things downhill fast, and she couldn’t afford collateral damage among humans who had no idea what stood there contaminating this dimension. “The car holds sentimental value.”

  He kept his eyes, a flat black color, centered on her face. She kept her features impassive even as she felt something tiny crawl across her skin, mapping it, looking for a spot to burrow in. Gauging her true feelings. Anger and hatred drifted up inside her, but she tamped them down before they erupted and mentally turned the microscopic being to a magickal crispy critter. If it continued on she would do something to it. “So you enjoy things from the past?” He remained by the rear bumper, with one hand resting against the metal. The back continued to shimmer with the same rainbow black shade of oil as it flowed across the sides of the car.

  “I value some things.” She refused to take her eyes off him. That would indicate fear, not to mention that taking your eyes off a cobra was a very good way to get bitten. What stood in front of her would make a cobra bite seem no more dangerous than a paper cut. She knew the creature masquerading as a man was about as dangerous as they came. Her fingers itched to bring up a large quantity of witchflame, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good because what stood before her was nothing more than a malevolent illusion bent on infusing her with terror. “Now if you don’t mind I have an appointment to keep and I’m running late.”

  He didn’t move off right away but kept watching her, his gaze dark and probing. Jazz felt as if his stare burrowed down to find and touch a part of her that she’d kept tucked deep inside. A violation she abhorred with all her being.

  “You’re supposed to be dead,” she said in a low even voice. “I picked up that broken bottle and I plunged it into your heart. How did you survive that killing blow?”

  His smile never wavered as he glanced down at the car, and then at her, speaking as if he hadn’t heard her question. “Yes, very lovely indeed. I would be interested if you ever plan on selling your car.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and held it out. She didn’t move to take it. He shrugged and left it on the car. “Good day.”

  He walked past her, the ringing sound of his footsteps soon growing faint until he disappeared from sight.

  Jazz stared long and hard at the rectangular calling card lying on the car. Letters the color of blood spelled out a name she had heard all too often lately: Clive Reeves. A narrow coil of smoke swirled upward and the card disappeared without leaving any damage to the car’s surface. Unfortunately, the oily substance that had covered the rear of the T-bird now covered the entire surface and wouldn’t be as easy to remove. While she knew no mortal being could see the damage done to her vehicle, she not only saw it, she felt it all the way to her bones.

  “I feel so dirty,” Irma whimpered from her spot in the front seat.

  Jazz bent over and vomited in front of the car next to hers. Moving away, she braced her back against the wall and slid down until she sat on the concrete floor. She pulled in a ragged breath.

  “I killed him once. No prob in killing him again. And this time I’ll make it stick.”

  That evening, Nick followed the sound of bells to the back yard. When he rounded the corner of the house he noticed the spotlights set above the carriage house door, which were illuminating the scene before him. Krebs, beer bottle in hand, slouched in a chair on the edge of the lawn watching Jazz pass a wet cloth over the side of her car, which was parked in the driveway in front of the carriage house. What appeared to be some sort of dark viscous oil slowly disappeared from the vehicle’s surface and transferred itself to the cloth she wielded with such fury it could have been a weapon. Temple bells sounded from a small boom box sitting on the ground by Krebs’ chair. Nick sensed the music playing was not the man’s choice.

  “Light covers dark, so it will never return,” she murmured as she ran the cloth over the metal. “Light gives us life.”

  Jazz’s movements were slow and graceful, that of a dancer as her lips moved, uttering words in a long forgotten language. The sound of her words cast a golden glow over the car and the temple bells created a musical counterpoint to her actions and the fury that transferred to shimmering shades of red, gold, and purple around her. The rich scent of cedar drifted through the air even though he knew there were no cedar trees in the area. Nick realized the scent came from Jazz. She was using water charged with cedar and oils. A large cauldron rested nearby with an unlit white sage smudge stick propped inside; a large quartz crystal lay close beside the pot. Several other crystals were placed around the car. He knew the broom propped near the carriage house door was not there for decoration. It was an important part of Jazz’s ritual. She was casting a cleansing spell. She was invoking a strong magick—cleansing the car of something so dark he could sense it like a putrid substance.

  He had a very bad feeling he knew where the foul substance came from and it was not good. He stepped closer while remaining out of the circle Jazz had cast around herself and the car.

  “What happened?”

  Jazz spun on her bare heels. Her tank top and denim capris were soaked from the charged water and sweat. The look on her face bod
ed ill for anyone who stood in her path. Right now, Nick was that obstacle. Nothing like a six-foot plus target to get a witch’s back up.

  “You bastard, you told me he couldn’t leave his estate. You said he hadn’t left the mansion in years! But you didn’t tell me he had mastered astral projection!” Her accusation sliced through him like a well-honed blade. It didn’t take magick for the wet cloth in her hand to score a direct hit against Nick’s chest—just Jazz throwing it at him like a fast-pitch baseball the way she’d throw a fireball. The moment the fast-moving cloth broke the circle, she had it sealed again. The cloth slid down his front, landing on the ground with a wet plop. She glared at the cloth, turning it to ash within seconds.

  Her words rocked him back on his heels. Jazz zapping a wet cloth to powder was nothing new. The information that she had obviously run into Clive Reeves was. He hadn’t expected the man to confront her openly.

  “I didn’t know.” His stunned gaze whipped from her angry features to Irma huddled in the passenger seat, tears streaming down her paler-than-usual features.

  Jazz glared at him again and then spun around, sending a fireball straight at the smudge stick. It flamed to life, sending out the scent of white sage.

  Nick had a sick feeling that the fireball could just as easily have ended up flying right at him. “Oookay.” He turned back to Jazz, ready to face her wrath. He understood her anger, and he was willing to absorb it and take full blame for what had happened. He accepted that Clive Reeves’ confronting her outside his estate was his fault and his alone because he hadn’t ended this disaster back then. “There’s never been any intel that he had the ability to leave his body. No one has reported him leaving the mansion grounds in decades. He even built his offices and studio up there since the property is so extensive.”

  Jazz’s eyes glowed a dark green that seemed to take on a life of their own and snapped with more than their usual share of witchy temper. They looked as if they could invoke a dangerous spell on their own. “Guess again, Fang Boy. Your intel is wrong, because he sure as Fates was standing by my car two hours ago.” She swept her hand backwards toward the T-bird.

  Nick stared at the vehicle, still seeing faint traces of the black and foul substance smeared across the usually immaculate aqua and white exterior. He knew Jazz never went anywhere without powerful wards protecting her car, but it was clear that even they hadn’t been enough to defend the vehicle from this particular evil. No wonder she was seriously pissed and looked ready to zap him into powder right along with the befouled cloth.

  “What happened, exactly?” he asked again.

  Jazz returned to casting her cleansing spell. She picked up another cloth and soaked it with the charged water, running it over the metal surface.

  “I was at the mall. When I got back to the car I found some sort of strange thick barrier in front of it. It felt like some weird, really…,” she reached for an adequate description, failed to locate one, and so used what came to mind, “revolting goo as I passed through it. He was standing by the car.” Her words were jerky with emotion while her movements remained graceful. “He tried to act as if he was some stranger interested in classic cars. He stood there smiling and friendly as if….” Again speech failed. “While all I wanted to do was….” She crushed the wet cloth in her fist. She shook off her thoughts and returned to her task.

  Jazz picked up a large quartz crystal that lay near the cauldron and dunked it in the charged water before walking to the car and placing it in Irma’s lap. “For you.”

  “What?” Irma yelped as the crystal promptly fell through her to rest comfortably on the seat.

  “It will help calm you,” Jazz explained.

  “I can’t even hold it!” Irma looked down at the crystal that she was “sitting” on.

  “Even if it’s under your ass it can still calm you,” Jazz snapped, going over to pick up her broom.

  Nick watched her end the spell by sweeping round the car, casting out the last of the evil.

  “Let this be gone and never return. Let this be gone to where it will forever burn,” she muttered. “Because I say so, damn it!” Jazz’s form of “so mote it be” was more direct, and Nick had to admit it suited her.

  The darkness melted away.

  Even though the evil was now cleansed from the car, Irma still looked traumatized.

  Nick remained in his spot watching Jazz open the circle, clear away her tools, and turn off the boom box.

  “I need to relay this sighting to the Protectorate. The Elders need to know what happened to you and Irma.”

  She straightened up, “You will relay them nothing. They haven’t done a thing for you in the past, why bother with them now?” She caught his expression. “Give me a break, Nick! They’ve led you around by the fangs for the past thousand years.”

  “Fangs?” Krebs muttered, looking from one to the other. “Who has fangs? He has fangs?”

  “The Protectorate and their damn Elders have their own agenda, which has nothing to do with you and definitely has nothing to do with me,” she went on, ignoring Krebs.

  “It has everything to do with us. They asked us to help deal with Clive,” Nick pointed out. “You know what they are like. If they didn’t think we could do the job, they wouldn’t have requested our help.”

  Her smile wasn’t the least bit pretty. For a moment, thunder rumbled overhead. “The only reason the Elders thought it was a good idea for me to help you is because they hope if there are any casualties, it will be me instead of you. You’re more valuable to them than I am. You may have left the Protectorate, but they still consider you one of their own.” She stalked toward him. An angry witch was a dangerous witch. Right now Jazz was practically nuclear.

  “Uh, guys,” Krebs ventured, but he knew enough to stay out of the danger zone. He’d seen displays of Jazz’s temper before. “FYI, we’re not totally alone around here. Let’s think about the neighbors who might look out their windows or over the fence. We don’t want them seeing anything that would prompt them to call the cops, or worse, get us kicked out of the neighborhood, do we?”

  Nick stood his ground as the air swirled around them, kicking up tiny dust devils. When what felt like icy daggers hit his skin he hissed in pain and flashed his fangs.

  “Holy shit!” Krebs practically climbed up the back of his chair until it fell over, pitching him backwards. He scrambled to his feet and quickly scrambled backwards on all fours.

  Jazz glanced at him and realized how far she’d almost gone. She walked around in a tight circle, her arms wrapped around her middle as she pulled in deep breaths to calm down and push her anger away. The colors that reflected her fury slowly subsided.

  Nick, likewise, took the time to cool down. “I apologize.” He bowed deeply to a shaken Krebs.

  “It was just that I—hell.” He ran his hand over his hair. He held his hands up, palms out toward them. “You know what? I’m going inside now and pour myself a really big drink. Maybe I’ll just drink straight out of the bottle. All I ask is that you do me a favor and don’t blow anything up.” He backed his way toward the house.

  Nick ducked his head, releasing a soft sigh. “He didn’t know?”

  “He didn’t know.” Jazz took several deep breaths, calming the snarling beast within her. “It’s not exactly something you bring up in a conversation. “Oh, by the way, Krebs, Nick, that guy who’s come around? He’s a non-living, non-breathing vampire. Krebs deals with vamps in his website building business, but all his work is done over the phone or online. I begged him to do it that way for his own protection, and he thinks he’s humoring me by honoring my request. Sometimes, I think he feels they’re like some underground club, wannabes and not the real thing.”

  “And definitely not the same as facing one.” He gazed at Irma, huddled in her seat. “You’re sure it was Clive?”

  “Just because he didn’t look the way he did before and it’s been more than seventy years doesn’t mean I can’t recognize the devi
l.” Her face tightened with inner pain. “Do me a favor and just please, go away. I am not in the mood to discuss strategy right now. I do not want to discuss intel or what needs to be done next or even what an asshole you still are.”

  Nick wanted to tell her they needed to do just that, but he mentally agreed this wasn’t the time. Plus, he wanted to make a few calls. He inclined his head in a brief nod.

  “I will contact you later.” As he walked away he saw Jazz in his mind’s eye. Anger and fear warred in her eyes and her skin was as pale as parchment. Once, he would have remained and done his best to comfort her. Now, he knew it was best if he left and allowed her to cool down on her own, no matter how badly he wanted to stay.

  No woman ever made him feel as alive, well, as alive as he could be, the way Jazz did.

  Jazz didn’t think anything unusual when she heard the faint sound of voices coming from the carriage house as she crossed the back lawn. Since she didn’t require sleep, Irma spent many a night watching television, and Jazz kept her well supplied with DVDs. Except… she picked up the pace and used the door at the side of the building. Two heads swiveled to face her. One was gray-haired, the other dark. It was the dark-haired one that captured her attention.

  “What are you doing here?” Okay, her less than polite greeting would boot her right out of Miss Manners’ class, but she had come out here to comfort Irma, since she figured the woman was still upset over the day’s events. Considering this was pretty much the worst magickal situation Irma had ever had to deal with, Jazz felt she should come out to make sure she was all right. Except right now, she felt something that suspiciously felt like jealousy.

  Nick rose from the chair he’d set next to the car’s passenger door. “I thought I would come by and see Irma. I wanted to make sure she was all right.”