by Kat Turner
“Occupied.” Brian hopped up from his perch, but he was too late.
A blond bird in a sheer dress leaving little to the imagination backed in to the bathroom, pulling a masked man behind her. They froze when they spotted Brian, the guy undoing his pants as the woman slid the mask to the top of her man’s head.
Time to seize an opportunity.
Brian pushed up his sleeve, revealing the high-tech watch Tilly had bought him for his fiftieth birthday the other week. His cheeky daughter had meant it as a gag gift, because surely her stogy old man couldn’t wield the latest technology. Lucky for him, his precious baby got this one wrong.
He scrolled through apps, found the one he needed, and snapped a photo of the stunned couple, flash reflecting off the bloke’s mirror mask. While the woman cursed, Brian dashed to the door, turned a lock, and stood in front.
“Is this your wife?” Brian asked the man, pointing to the blonde.
The man stammered sheepish nonsense. His date folded slim arms over a chest augmented to cartoonish proportions.
When she moved, Brian caught a glimpse of a vertical scar beneath the see-through fabric of her clothing. The mark began below the dip of her collarbone and stopped at what looked like a brand right above her bikini line. Some kind of sigil or rune, a cluster of swirls and triangles rendered in puffy, raised flesh.
He needed to escape, pronto. This place was not safe, not alright. Brian hung on to his cool. “I’m sure your wife’s divorce lawyer or private detective would love to see this photo. The settlement and alimony payments you’d have to cough up would make a whole lot of people rich and you poor. Mask, please.”
A string of expletives flew from the man’s mouth, but he handed his mask to Brian.
“Thanks.” Brian tugged off his skull mask and slid malleable plastic under his suit jacket, tucking the wad of material beneath his arm. He donned the other man’s disguise. “You lost your costume, and you never saw me. If I find out you tattled, I leak the picture. Now both of you stay in here until half-past.”
The couple nodded in unison.
Brian left the restroom in a casual stroll. Stationed at the entrance, the doorman fumbled to remove a woman’s bulky coat. Brian whisked to the cubbyhole and fished his things from a woven basket.
While the butler slid a fur off an Internet model’s shoulders, her masked escort looking on, Brian passed the trio and slapped the servant on the arm. “Great party, but I have an emergency.”
He left the house and ducked into the shadows flanking the property, calling upon a keen sense of direction earned from distance running to find his way back to the dirt trail leading to the main highway.
Walking along the side of a road, Brian removed his mask and checked his phone. Two signal bars. He powered through reluctance and fired off a text to Helen.
You’re right. We need to talk. Can you meet me in Denver in two days? I’ll cover airfare.
Nine
Denver’s skyline, jagged gray teeth stuck in a pale maw of morning sunlight, loomed on the horizon. Even the drab buildings took on a veneer of menace, like the inside of a monster’s mouth. While her taxi closed in on the city, Helen shook a restless leg. Jitters flew through her system, her sense of responsibility as heavy as lead.
She had to untangle Brian from the hex during her weekend visit. And armed with the grimoire, her crystals, and whatever new info he could offer, she would fight like a boss to get him out from underneath this curse.
During their brief phone call, Nerissa confirmed Helen’s suspicion. The old witch couldn’t diagnose the problem or offer assistance on how to solve it until she saw the stones up close and performed an energy assessment.
Meaning the name of the Denver game was get the transparent talisman into her hot little hands ASAP and ferry the crystal back to Minneapolis. Nabbing the cursed one would be better.
Helen’s ride pulled up behind a black Humvee limo idling out front of the Ritz Carlton hotel. On the sidewalk, a wedding party, the bride an exuberant poof of white frosting, posed for photos. Through her backseat window pane, Helen observed their happiness with clinical detachment. Romance was the furthest thing from her addled mind.
She texted Lisa: Wish me luck.
Her phone dinged a second later. Lisa: Good luck. What are you going to tell Brian?
The pair still stood on shaky ground friendship-wise, but at least they were speaking.
Mainlining the positivity gleaned from Lisa’s text, Helen paid the driver and hopped out of a backseat perfumed with saccharine strawberry air freshener. Wind nipped her nose, dashing hair in her face along with misty blasts of drizzle. But the dreary day couldn’t dampen her rising spirits.
Thanks to Stacy, her mom, and a bunch of people the rocker chick brought to L&E from her bartending job, the studio was doing better. Much better. If the influx of new students hung on to their memberships for a few months, Helen and Lisa could get the mortgage current by Christmas. Despite the brisk breezes penetrating her fleece jacket, Helen warmed. She’d done something right for a change, and through the use of smarts and legitimate business savvy for that matter. Maybe Nerissa had the right idea with her talk of Helen using inner strengths.
She sucked in a breath of frigid air and typed a reply. No time to soul search or get ahead of herself.
Helen: Try to convince him that the vision was real, and that he needs to get away from this Joe dude and find that crystal.
Lisa: You got this. Gotta run, off to sub your classes! Wish I could do all of those arm balances as well as you. Hope I don’t splat on the floor and break my nose, LOL.
Helen: Go forth and kick ass. And thank you for understanding.
Lisa hadn’t climbed aboard the witch, magic, and vision train, not yet, but she was humoring Helen and being a good sport. So progress.
The driver plopped her suitcase on the curb, slammed the door, and took off with a squeal of tires. Okay. Go time. Head up, shoulders back.
Wheels of her rolling bag squeaking behind her, she strode through the hotel’s sleek, minimalist lobby while calling upon every ounce of confidence in her arsenal. Real strength came from a place of integrity, personal conviction, and honesty. And honesty was her best bet for getting Brian to open up and to help them undo the hex.
A quick elevator ride deposited her on his floor, fancy as the rest of the hotel with sumptuous carpet in a rich shade of burnt sienna and impressionistic landscape paintings beautifying the walls. She rechecked her text for his room number and made haste to his door.
He’d agreed to see her, and she needed to take this shot. Do right by him.
Helen knocked, and the sound of his footsteps ignited a rush of nerves. Brian had put her up in a different room in his hotel so she wouldn’t have to run around. A small act of consideration rich with kindness. Though the devil allegedly resided in the details, Helen found an angel in the nuances of Brian’s actions.
He swung the door wide, greeting her with a businesslike nod. In a black hoodie and worn jeans ending at bare feet, he emitted a downplayed sort of eroticism. Must have been the subtle intimacy of bare feet. Long, high arches tapered into graceful toes. Made her wonder if the rest of him was like his feet. Well-proportioned, nice length.
She coughed a fake cough, blasting the fantasy out of her mind. This was a serious work visit, not a social call or hookup. “Good to see you.”
“You too. Come in.” Caution in his tone put distance between them. He touched her waist as she walked past, pulling away like he had to guard himself against more contact. She killed the urge to hug Brian. They weren’t on comfy-cozy terms.
Helen propped her bag in a corner, taking the initiative of putting the luggage somewhere in order to bypass mention of a bedroom.
With a panoramic glance, she took in a swank suite more akin to a penthouse apartment than a hotel room. A plush sofa, glass table set with a vase of black calla lilies, and overstuffed chairs dressed a living room overlooking downtown Den
ver. A few guitar cases and small amps sat piled in a corner. Dang. She had to admit the fancy digs and sprawling view caused her chest to swell with excitement.
“Nice place,” she said.
Had he already brought a woman to his sexy, anonymous, tour-stop bachelor pad? Called upon the services of a random groupie to sate his male urges? The thought lit a flare of envy. But she didn’t smell perfume or other residual traces of femininity, neutralizing the baseless jealously. Yeesh. Why did she even care?
Brian cracked a smile, dimples denting both cheeks. “Thanks. You can help me trash it later, but I get to throw the television out the window.”
Helen twiddled her fingers like a cartoon villain. She had to admit, a man who could deploy observational humor with aplomb took her down like kryptonite. “Is TV defenestration the apex of the rock star hotel room freak-out?”
Brian shook his head and stepped closer. His sea eyes drowned her, mesmerizing in their searching desire. The look in his stare heightened her awareness of his scent, musk blended with shower freshness.
“Oh. No. That’s beginning of the night shenanigans. When I hit my peak I’m driving a Mercedes into the pool and snorting kitty litter mixed with what’s left of the blow.”
“I see. What happens after two a.m.? Gluing the furniture to the ceiling? Stealing a groupie’s pet monkey and lighting its tail on fire?” She eyed his fit, lean body. Good thing she had willpower in spades. Yeah. She did. She had lots, tons.
Helen was here to work on a supernatural conundrum, not to seduce or be seduced. She repeated the reminder twice in her mind.
His gaze fell to her lips. “Who knows. By then I’m rolling so hard on my bath salts that I’m a proper disaster.”
“Busted.” Wetness flowed from her core and into her panties. She couldn’t remember the last man with whom she’d enjoyed witty repartee. The sparkly pleasure of sparring with a guy she liked was as refreshing as an oasis in a desert. “If you were a true bath salts zombie, you’d know that one geeks out or tweaks out on bath salts.”
The point of his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth, he looked her up and down.
“Ah, well, perhaps it was meow-meow I was hooked on.” His voice came out hoarse, a sandpaper scratch roughing up that polished accent.
A current of desire flowed from her nipples to her clit as if a wire connected her sensitive parts. Did he talk dirty during sex? Moan words or phrases in that voice of his?
Helen barked an awkward monster of a cough-laugh before her lust took over and she did something dumb, like vault to her tiptoes and plant a kiss on his lips. “We should debrief.”
Did Brian wear boxers or briefs? She’d like to slide either type of underwear down his narrow hips and sculpted legs. Ack, even her attempt to change the subject to buzzkill matters came out sounding like an innuendo and got her hot.
“Yes, well.” Brian chuckled. The apples of his cheeks pinked. “I suppose so.”
Masking her urges with a no-nonsense façade, Helen dragged her suitcase over to the couch and sat. She pulled out the grimoire and velvet bag of crystals.
Brian settled on the cushion next to her, close enough that his proximity caused butterflies to take flight in her belly. But no way would she let stubborn attraction lead her astray, or heaven forbid fall into bed with the man. Sex was too complicated. But what would sex be like with Brian? Methodical? Romantic? Filthy? Would he make her come?
Before she could quash naughty thoughts, the cloud of hex smoke burst in Helen’s core.
Tendrils coiled through her midsection, forming a tempest. Dread clomping in like the horsemen of the apocalypse, she laid a hand over her stomach and tried to guess what awakened the bad energy.
“Are you alright?” Brian touched her knee, withdrawing his hand seconds later. “Ouch. Shite.”
“What?” Muzzy fog filled Helen’s head. The pressure in her center loosened, pushing out of the front of her head in an ashy white plume. Bending the air with wobbles like heat waves, the emission slithered to the front of the room, flattened itself, and slipped through the crack separating door and floor.
Brian clenched his wrist, flexing his fingers. “I’ve been getting these pains. I assumed carpal tunnel at first, degenerative issues from playing guitar for so long, but I had a flare when I touched your crystal on the bus. And again just now.”
Five and five made ten. “The curse feeds off something in me, charges up and then goes off seeking the crystal. Whoever has the crystal is working this to their advantage. This entity is getting more powerful.”
Brian scowled, his gaze sliding to her big book of esoteric weirdness. “Entity? Curse?”
She sighed and geared up to barf out the truth. “Yeah. I accidentally cast a curse.”
“What? Why? What type of curse?”
“It was a byproduct of choosing my path as a witch. I wasn’t suited to the type of power I took, and the universe generated a hex to punish me.”
Brian fluttered his eyelashes, face bending into a grimace. “Why is this curse after me? You see how bolloxed up this is?”
“I do. Could be the curse needed someone to attach to, and you were the first person I paid sustained attention to that day. But now I think it’s more. I think whatever entity this curse is associated with, you’re already on the radar. Primed. Someone in your inner circle is messing around with the same type of magic I have, which helped the curse to identify you. There are people controlling the entity, encouraging demonic manifestation. So you made an easy target.”
Brian looked through Helen, not at her, his mind seeming to drift to a memory or thought horrible in nature. “They’re cutting people and taking out their organs.”
Shock came at her so hard that she got heartburn and saw double. “Who’s cutting people?”
He dug a thumb and a forefinger into the inner corners of his eyes. “Some secret society, I don’t know. But there’s multiple witnesses. The victims should die from the procedures, but they don’t. Which makes me wonder what they’re doing besides cutting and surgery.”
“On your bus, you alluded to other odd happenings. Tell me anything you can.” She could cross-reference Brian’s account with the grimoire and consult Nerissa. The incident with the clone in the mirror was a loose end, a weak flank, but telling Brian wouldn’t help.
Before casting a spell to undo damage, she ought to do her best to make sure she was as powerful as possible. In control of her magic.
“Joe got into mysticism a few weeks ago. I dismissed it at first as Hollywood nonsense, another pyramid scheme to separate fools from their money. But then he tells me about some ritual he went to, a workshop where he learned remote viewing. And you know what? He described, in perfect detail, what I was doing the other day on a different side of town. The implication, the implicit threat, was that he’s using this newfound power to spy on me. That’ll make you paranoid, right? That’s when I started suspecting him, but I tried my best to disregard my feelings. And shame on me. I wanted to use him for my own selfish gain. So I downplayed his dealings and went on like normal.”
“I get why you went into denial. This stuff isn’t easy to accept at first, and we’re hardwired to rationalize. Do you know of anyone besides Joe who might be in this cabal?”
Brian laughed, a dry grunt. “Oh yes. An entire nest of them. Got dragged to this weird party the other day. I was leaving when I texted you. They held a gathering in the middle of nowhere. Joe led me there, of course, and he seemed more piqued and wired than usual. But also scared and furtive. So I’m already unsettled, and when we arrive all of the men are wearing masks.”
Vertigo sucked Helen’s perception in and out in blurry contractions. The content of her vision bombarded her memory. She couldn’t pinpoint how her clone fit in, but now she had evidence verifying the significance of masks.
“What did the masks look like?” She supposed she asked out of some sense of false hope, denial. Because she knew what he’d say, like she s
ometimes knew what song would play on the radio a moment before a tune started.
“Mirrored slabs.” He drew the syllables out it a flat cadence laced with bitterness. “Except mine. Mine was a skull. There was a woman there with a long scar and a brand on her body, too. I left before I saw anything more disturbing. Got the hell out of that box of rabies.”
Poor Brian, having to endure such hell. She rested a palm over his knuckles, squeezing support into him. “That’s horrible. And you did the right thing by leaving.”
He gave a wan smile. Puffy red pads lined the undersides of his lids, the physical evidence of his distress slicing through her. The incident clearly upset him. Apt response.
“There was a time, around a year ago, where I thought I could trust Joe. He was so, so good at pretending to be my friend, my advocate, a rare champion among the social climbers. He’d talk me up, praise me, and I always felt proper chuffed when he was around. A manipulation tactic, but my ego didn’t let me see it for what it was.”
She nodded, listening, a bath toy adrift in the ocean of Brian’s confession. And she needed to channel Poseidon’s strength and stop these assholes before they made their next move. “But then he showed you who he really was.”
Pain shone behind Brian’s eyes in a stark gleam. “Yeah. I’m grateful for all I have, but there’s this cost. I’m careful, I’m cautious, I act smart. And then I feel safe, okay, and I let my guard down. I go, ‘this one’s good people. A friend, not a ghoul. I’m not alone.’ And that’s the second they strike. They plunge the knife in every time. And you’re back at square one. Alone in the darkness. Where nobody cares.” He pursed his lips.
Deep inside Helen, a balloon burst and filled her chest with compassion. She placed her hand over Brian’s sternum. His heart thumped beneath soft cotton and the press of her palm.
“I care.” She slid the hand from his chest to his cheek, finding his lived-in skin firm but not baby-soft. A single bead of warm water slipped from his eye and wetted her finger pad. Right then, her heart shattered into a billion shards. “I’ll protect you.”