by Linda Wisdom
Jazz shot a quick glance in Irma’s direction. When she last saw the ghost, Irma had been a weepy mess. Now, obviously thanks to Nick’s attention, she was downright perky.
“Wasn’t that nice of Nicky to stop by?” Irma chirped. Now that Jazz had cleansed vehicle and ghost, Irma’s gray curls were back in beauty shop order and her white-gloved hands rested lightly on her navy handbag. There was lingering sorrow in her blue eyes, but she looked loads better than she had a few hours earlier.
“Oh yeah, he’s a prince.” She held up a DVD, a large bucket of buttered popcorn, and a jumbo cup of Diet Coke. A box of Milk Duds was tucked in her jeans pocket. Irma couldn’t eat the junk food that went with the movie watching experience, but that didn’t stop Jazz from imbibing. “I thought you might like a movie.”
Jazz set her booty down on the nearby workbench, walked over to the television, and popped the DVD in.
“It’s probably not your style of film,” she warned Nick.
He smiled. “I’m sure I would like anything you’d choose.” He leaned back in the chair with his arms crossed across his chest, the gesture of a man prepared to stay for the duration.
She really wished she’d chosen a really good and soppy chick flick instead of a comedy. She and Nick had taken in their share of movies over the years. Judging by the expression in his dark eyes, he was recalling the old days when theaters offered nice, dark, and sometimes deserted, balconies.
Irma’s face lit up and she clapped her hands in delight as the screen lit up. “Arsenic and Old Lace!” she uttered with a soft sigh. “Cary Grant is one of my favorite actors. Harold never liked him. He always said John Wayne was the only actor worth watching.”
Jazz opened the driver’s door and slid inside. She pushed the bench seat all the way back in order to stretch out her legs, placed the bucket of popcorn in the middle, and held her Diet Coke in one hand. She loved her car, but she wished it came equipped with cup holders. She was tempted to reach over and give Irma a hug, something she hadn’t thought of doing in all the time Irma had been an unwanted passenger. But then, Irma hadn’t been tainted with black magick before either. But Jazz knew there was no way to touch the spirit and give her any form of physical comfort. Her hand would only go through her. But she could give the ghost her time. For a moment her gaze collided with Nick’s as he watched her with an emotion that made his eyes glow with dark lights.
Irma turned her head from side to side making sure she had both of their attentions. “I have seen that man before, but it doesn’t make sense. Of course, it was many years ago and he looked different back then.”
Jazz straightened up. “When did you see him, Irma?”
“On a poster at the Excelsior Theater in our town.” She tapped her chin with her forefinger in thought. “It advertised a movie that had something to do with night in the title.”
Jazz traded a telling glance with Nick.
“The Midnight Man,” Jazz whispered, memories swamping her of a movie about a horror actor obsessed with a minor actress in his film and how he destroyed her in the end. At the time, she had no idea that truth would so closely mirror fiction.
“Yes.” Irma shuddered. “It was a very frightening poster. I didn’t like frightening movies and Harold thought they were a waste of money. My land, that was ages ago.”
Jazz had to force her lips to move. “1932.” Even more difficult was keeping emotion from her voice.
“Then I couldn’t have seen Clive Reeves today,” Irma argued. “He died a long time ago. Some say that was why his movie did so well—because it was his last.” Since she had swung her attention toward Nick she missed Jazz’s instinctive flinch. “But he wasn’t a ghost, was he?”
“No, Irma, he wasn’t,” Nick said.
Eleven
A cigarette appeared between Irma’s fingers and just as quickly disappeared. Her usual Tangee-colored lips appeared bare. “Then he is some kind of monster, and that was how he did something horrible to me.”
Jazz didn’t make a snarky comment about anything being done to Irma as she would have in the past.
Irma took a deep breath. “Please tell me you two are going to do something about this creature. That you will destroy him.” She swung her gaze toward Jazz. “That’s what you do. You get rid of disgusting things for people. Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.” Her voice rose a few notches. “He made me feel dirty and I hurt inside. And I know it won’t go away soon.”
If Jazz didn’t know better, she’d swear Irma’s blood pressure was shooting through the roof. “I eliminate curses. I’m not allowed to take a life.” She forced down the old memory that burned through her like acid.
“And he is a curse! Make him go away before he does something else!”
Jazz gave her cup of Diet Coke a magickal push so it landed safely on the workbench.
“We plan to take care of him, Irma,” Nick said quietly. “Clive will never come near you again.”
Irma’s gaze swept from one to the other. “So he is that actor that everyone thought died in 1932. Is he a vampire or a werewolf or just a mad scientist who thinks he can live forever? Because if he’s still alive now, he can’t be human, and there is no way he is anything like me.” She looked incensed at the idea Clive Reeves could be a ghost.
Jazz dry scrubbed her face with her hands. “Let’s just say he’s something we’re not entirely sure about since Nick’s intel isn’t what it claims to be.” She kept her own stress level under control as she glared at Nick. Considering the day she’d had it wasn’t easy.
“Then you both intend to do something about destroying him.”
“That’s the plan.” Jazz hoped she sounded more positive than she felt. That afternoon Clive Reeves had revealed magickal talents she hadn’t expected. Talents she feared even she and Nick couldn’t best.
“I want to help.” Sorrow etched new lines in Irma’s face. Jazz had no idea ghosts could still age, but at the moment, Irma looked a good ten years older. Her lips tightened with resolve. “I want to see him suffer.” She rushed on before Jazz could reply. “But I need to leave this car to do it.” She pounded her thigh. Her fist went through her body and the car seat, but her fury made up for the lack of substance in her gesture. Jazz found no humor in the action when she saw the anger and pain that accompanied it. “Please, find a spell for me to leave this vehicle! I want to be with you when you destroy that evil creature!”
Jazz was speechless. Irma had been petulant, even downright sarcastic, but never had she heard the woman plead, much less with such passion. She doubted anyone could understand Irma’s need for justice as she did. She only wished she could grant the ghost her request.
“I’ve never been able to find a spell to release you from the car, Irma,” she said gently. “I don’t think you need a spell to leave the car, just your own determination. You need to let go of the past, forgive Harold, and in your own way, move on. That may be the only way you can leave the car.”
Tears streaked through the layers of Coty powder and rouge Jazz knew Irma was never seen without, while the floral woodsy fragrance of Evening in Paris wrapped around them.
Irma appeared to take several deep breaths, not easy when you’ve been dead for more than fifty years, and then she turned back to watching the movie. Her voice was raspy with tears when she finally spoke. “Perhaps you’re right.”
Irma remained quiet throughout the film, although she smiled a few times.
When the movie finished, Jazz and Nick left the carriage house. Jazz looked up at the sky. Nick followed her gaze.
“Remember that night we drove up into the hills to sit on the Hollywood sign?”
She smiled at the memory. “Back then it said Hollywoodland. We sat on top of every letter just because it seemed like the thing to do. I thought I would have a glamorous film career, and instead I couldn’t get further than credits like ‘second chorus girl’ or ‘red-haired girl.’” She grimaced.
&nb
sp; Nick’s shoulder bumped companionably against hers. “That was only because you couldn’t act worth a damn regardless of whether it was silent movies or talkies.”
“I was not that bad!” she protested, swatting at him.
“A Raggedy Ann doll would have done a better job.” He grinned.
“You were just jealous because they thought Bela Lugosi made a better vampire than you.”
“My accent was better, but he had the cape.”
“Yes, but you had the actual fangs. You should have shown them off. You might have been the cult figure instead of him. And at least you didn’t have to avoid casting directors who expected more than a reading.” Jazz’s laughter stilled as quickly as it began. Recalling what happened to one member of the film community by her own hand tended to dampen the mood.
It also reminded her why she had heaped more mental abuse on Nick’s head. She had thought he would rescue her. That he would destroy a mortal monster that was just as bad as the immortals he hunted down. But Nick didn’t show up like a fanged knight on a white horse. Instead, Jazz was left to fend for herself as she had so many times before.
And just like so many times in the past he had pulled her in on whatever case he was working on, let her feel the magnetism that was his alone. She wanted to hate him, but she never could. And she hated herself for being such a wuss where Nick was concerned.
Why couldn’t she have fallen for a nice were-wolf? If she dated a were she could take him with her to Moonstone Lake, and he could roam the woods hunting rabbits while she performed the monthly ceremony. They both would have enjoyed the full moon.
She glanced at the house and saw lights burning on the second floor. Since the Beach Boys were rocking the place, she guessed Krebs was working on something that needed more upbeat background music.
Recalling the past wasn’t a good idea. Like Irma, she took several deep breaths to bring her back to the present.
“I need to find out how he managed what he did today,” she said, reverting back to her cooler, and saner, self. “I know of a place that might have the answers we need. I’ll go there in the morning.”
Nick glanced at her sharply, but she refused to look at him. The fact that she was going during the daylight hours meant she didn’t want him accompanying her.
Before Jazz could blink, he stood in front of her.
“This is a joint venture,” he said harshly. “And if he can do astral projection, from now on where you go, I go.”
“Not where I’m going—just because you still wear that mantle of the Protectorate.” She waved him off when he started to speak. “Don’t tell me again you left them, Nick. You will always be one of them. They might as well have put their brand on your ass.”
If he wouldn’t have risked slashing his mouth with his fangs, he would have ground his teeth. “Then wait until after sundown.”
“I just told you. Where I’m going tomorrow you are definitely not welcome.” She moved to step around him, but he easily blocked her in.
“Why do you always have to make things so difficult?”
She prided herself on not backing down, on meeting his gaze full on. And she hated herself for wanting to lift her hand and press it against his cheek. She knew she would find the slightly rough skin cool to the touch. She used to tell him she had enough warmth for the two of them. “Fine, if you want to try to get in and get your ass singed for even trying to cross the threshold, so be it. Because I’m going to The Library and you, of all people, know that vampires are not welcome there. Rumor has it The Librarian has turned your kind into bookends placed all around the reading room. Do you honestly want to chance that?”
Nick winced. He knew all too well she spoke the truth. Jazz throwing witchflame at him was minor compared to what could happen to him at that place. Any place that catered to the wizard and witch trade pretty much effectively posted Vampires Need Not Enter over their doors.
“Do you think you will learn anything there?”
“There is a section that might have the right information if I’m allowed into it. Unfortunately, The Librarian and I never got along well and there is no way I can go into that room without his permission.” She looked him square in the face. “I want the past to die a vicious horrible death. I want blood to flow and pieces of that monster to be scattered to the four winds.” As she spoke, an icy wind wound its way around the couple, touching Jazz’s exposed skin with arctic fingers. She didn’t flinch from the harsh chill that she knew came from the Witches’ High Council. It was a warning she would heed their admonition or face their ire.
Jazz was smart enough to back down.
She looked up into Nick’s face, noting how the moonlight slashed across his sea-green eyes. Eyes that echoed the shades of green found in the Emerald Sea.
He felt the last threads of her retreat even if she didn’t move a muscle. And whatever he saw in her face had nothing to do with him. Anger coiled deep inside.
“What do you think of when you look at me, Jazz?” he asked. “Who do you see?”
She felt the pain like the flick of a knife across her flesh. In all the years she had known Nick he had never asked her that. It was as if he never wanted to know there might have been another.
She dug deep within her, finding the strength she needed to keep the truth buried so deep she hoped even she would never find it. Once she found it she forced herself to meet his gaze. She wanted there to be no doubt in his mind about what she was about to say.
“Nothing. I see and feel nothing.”
“Liar,” he murmured, with a faint smile touching his lips. “We share too much of a past, Griet.” She really hated it when he used her birth name. “Over the centuries we have shared many adventures. So many nights we have shared our bodies.” His voice lowered to a sensual purr that flowed over her nerve endings like tiny electrical currents. “I remember nights when we were so eager for each other we didn’t wait even to find a bed. Remember that night in Venice when we stopped on that deserted bridge and I lifted your skirt and pulled you back against me.” His eyes glowed with black light. “When I touched you I found you so wet for me my cock slid in easily, and you felt so good. We wanted each other so much it only took you seconds to orgasm.”
She inhaled the musk of his skin and fought the memories that brought further heat trailing along her nerve endings.
“I’d had too much wine that night.”
He ignored her fib. “Be honest with yourself. It was the hunger that constantly flowed between us. We’ve never been able to ignore each other long. Even now our bodies call to each other because they know they belong together.” He moved closer until the soft cotton of his t-shirt brushed against her chest.
Jazz felt her nipples tighten and the ache below intensify, moisture pooling in her panties at the memory of what pleasure Nick could give her.
“Why do you deny us, Jazz?” he whispered, allowing the darkness to slide along his voice in a way that she knew would send most women to their knees if not flat on their backs. She was determined to not be one of those women.
“Because this is not the time.” She injected steel into her voice just as she injected it into her spine. She stepped around him. Before she could move away from him, he took her arm and spun her toward him. “Don’t! Just don’t!” She slid out of his grasp and held her hands up to ward him off. If magick had sparked her palms he would have been tempted to push her, but there was nothing. This time it was Jazz, the woman, who rejected him, not Jazz, the witch. She kept shaking her head. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything at The Library.”
“You’ll come to my office,” he pressed.
“I’ll come to your office,” she replied, continuing on to the house.
She was relieved he didn’t again try to detain her as she entered the house through the rear door.
Seeing Nick treat Irma with such gentleness disarmed her just as his gentle teasing a few moments before touched her.
As she opened
the back door, she heard the sigh of the wind and she knew Nick was gone.
Jazz stopped long enough to snag a glass of wine before climbing to her third floor retreat. She ignored the elegant scroll on the wall that proclaimed You’ve Got Mail.
She undressed, changing into a teal long sleeved v-neck knit top and teal and purple print pajama pants.
Jazz looked at the wall and knew she couldn’t ignore the message much longer.
“Message open.”
The announcement faded away and other letters appeared.
Please tell me you had a wild exciting evening out clubbing or something because my evening here is enough to put me into the same coma a couple of my patients are in. Write me the minute you get in.
Jazz smiled, knowing who sent the message even if it was unsigned. There was only one witch sister who always sensed when she felt unsettled and needed to talk.
“Message to Lili. Not as exciting as you would like,” she said, watching the letters form across the wall. “I was thinking back to when we lived in Boston.”
And here I was hoping to hear something fun. So which time in Boston are you thinking about?
Jazz, who always appeared so tough and resilient to her friends, wanted to sink to the floor and cry like a small child. Instead, she dropped in a boneless heap on the black and white toile print chaise and fell back against the red plump pillows.
She didn’t want to say the words. If she did, the memories would flood her. But if she didn’t, they’d fester like an untreated wound.
“Leroy Biggs of Cotton Holler, West Virginia. A proud member of the West Virginia 15th Infantry,” she whispered, watching the name form on the wall. Instead of the letters remaining a deep gold color like the rest of the sentence, they turned black, the color of mourning.
As far as I know the last time you said his name was the night we saw Gone with the Wind in Boston.
“He told me he planned to go back to West Virginia and marry Annie. He couldn’t even write her a letter to tell her he loved her because she couldn’t read and he didn’t want the town preacher to read something so personal. He lost a leg and half his chest in that battle. At the end he was choking on his own blood and all I could do was sit there with him and watch him die.”