Steele City Blues: The Third Book in the Hell’s Belle Series (Hell's Belle 3)

by Karen Greco

  Power pushed through me. I spread out my arms and felt the magnetism of the earth hold me firm while the winds strengthened, threatening to lift the house up and send us to Oz, just like Dorothy. A smile cracked through my concentration. This was pure power, and it felt good.

  I jumped when a large crack of thunder shook the building. The sky opened and golf ball-sized hail slapped against the roof, threatening to bust through the tar shingles. Car alarms rang out as the ice pummeled the vulnerable vehicles on the street. A slight tremor built to a teeth-rattling 4.1 earthquake. Then, I watched as the road behind our building cracked, causing a sound like a cannon shot to explode through the neighborhood. The jagged gash danced across the sidewalk towards a home built in 1792. The rift in the asphalt caused the house to break apart, and half of it disappeared into a sinkhole.

  Oh crap.

  I closed my eyes and shifted my focus. I breathed in and out, slowing my heart rate that spiked with the surge of adrenaline. The howling winds slowed and the slam of ice on the hard surfaces subsided. What remained of the 1792 house hung at the edge of an abyss.

  My head snapped around at the sound of Gramps’ triumphant whoop. He was hanging out of the broken window, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

  "Come check out what you did!" he called out.

  I shoved my trembling hands into the back pockets of my jeans and edged my way to the window. Glancing outside, I was greeted by smashed windshields and dented car hoods. Gramps’ nicotine stained finger pointed at the empty lot on the other side of our building. A small hole poked up from the asphalt pavement and molten lava leaked out of the opening at the top.

  Gramps lit up the cigarette and took a deep inhale. "Now that is magic."

  I turned to respond with a smartass quip but gasped instead. A searing pain ripped through my skull. Vertigo kicked in and I crumbled to the floor, clutching my head. My stomach churned and I crawled towards the bathroom. But by the time I made it to the hallway, I was covered in vomit. I curled up on the floor, exhausted.

  My grandfather's firm hand pushed my head away from the puddle of puke. "Damn, child," he muttered. "Your magic is trying to kill you."

  Then everything went black.

  9

  A pair of gentle hands slipped my t-shirt over my head. The hands then inched my jeans down past my hips before lifting me into a tub of warm water. I opened my eyes. Once they adjusted to the glare from the overhead bathroom light, Frankie came into focus.

  "Hey," he said, working the bar of soap he had in his hand.

  "Hey," I murmured, cradling my still aching head in one hand. "What are you doing?"

  While the warm water lapped against my skin, it dawned on me that I was nearly naked. My bra and boy-short underpants gave the illusion of modesty, but not much.

  "You got sick, passed out," Frankie said, running the soap along my barf-crusted chest. "Do you have any recollection of what happened?"

  I nodded and closed my eyes, the pain receding a bit. "I did magic."

  "Yes, I saw," Frankie said, sounding impressed. "You managed to topple a house that withstood a few hundred years in less than a minute. Not to mention that nifty little volcanic eruption going in the empty lot out back."

  My eyes were still closed but a small smile played on my lips. "Are you saying you’re proud of me?"

  "Always," he replied, moving the soap over my shoulder.

  "Then can you explain why am I naked in the tub?"

  "Nearly naked, not naked naked," he corrected me. "What kind of friend would I be if I allowed you to fester in your own vomit?"

  "How big is the mess?"

  "Remember that Vegas strip long weekend we took to unwind after the Florida job?"

  I cringed. Vegas involved copious amounts of champagne, several Elvis impersonators and an overripe banana. "That bad?"

  "Not quite," he said. "But close." He handed me a loaded toothbrush and a plastic cup. I moved the brush over my teeth while he took the showerhead down and directed the spray away. Then he turned on the tap and waited for the water to heat up.

  "Tip your head back," he instructed when it was steaming. I spit my mouthful of toothpaste into the cup, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and leaned back. A cascade of warm water flowed over me. Once he saturated my hair, he placed the showerhead between my hands. The scent of grapefruit filled my nose as he massaged shampoo into my hair.

  "That smells much better," he said, although the sour smell of vomit still lingered in my nose. "Any idea what made you sick?"

  "No," I said. "I did the spell, Gramps puffed with pride and then boom! I thought my head was going to explode."

  "These headaches keep getting worse," Frankie said, working the shampoo into a lather.

  "I don't know if I'd say that. I haven't passed out from it since—"

  "Since you first got the wound from the twin of your father's dagger," he finished, taking the showerhead from my grip. "The witch killer."

  "What are you saying?" I asked, opening one eye to look at him. I immediately snapped it closed when the soapy water dripped into it. "Ow, that burns!"

  "Sorry," Frankie said, wiping soap from my eyes with the edge of a towel. "I wonder if that blade poisoned you somehow. It was called a witch killer, after all."

  "I don’t think the witch killer label was literal," I said, slipping deeper into the warm water so that it covered my shoulders. "According to the old man, the knife stole Marcello's witchy energy and transferred it to me. If anything, that knife made me more powerful."

  "Then maybe that's what's making you sick," he offered, turning off the faucet. "Perhaps your body can't handle it."

  "I'm fine," I lied. "Maybe I just need glasses."

  Frankie chuckled, and the scent of my conditioner filled the air. "I think you'd look good in them. In a hot-for-school-marm sort of way."

  His deft fingers massaged the product at the base of my skull and a small sigh of pleasure escaped my lips. It was silenced when Frankie's soft lips pressed against mine. I stiffened for a moment in surprise, but didn't pull away, enjoying the light caress of his tongue as it played along the edge of my mouth.

  "Wait," I mumbled, around his lips. "What are we doing?"

  "Testing the water, so to speak," he said.

  The tub water splashed a little as I lifted my hand up and pressed it against his chest. "But now?" I hesitated. "I mean, the feds have nukes pointed right at us."

  "I think that makes it the perfect time. End of the world, nothing left to lose," Frankie chided. "But I don't think they're pointed exactly at us. Nor do I think there's a finger sitting on the button. Not yet, anyway."

  "But we need to—"

  "You need to relax," he advised me softly. His eyes danced along my body while his hand continued to massage my scalp, seducing me with each caress.

  “What about my grandfather?” I asked, gripping the tub with both hands. my body giving in to him.

  His hands inched their way down my neck and along my shoulders. “He’s in the bar, scrounging up a bottle.”

  "But I...I...I...just puked," I stammered. I was running short of excuses, but wondered why I was making them to begin with.

  "You brushed your teeth," he reminded me and his mouth covered mine again.

  I eased back into the water, mind racing. I was kissing Frankie. I was kissing Frankie. Oh my god, I was kissing Frankie. And it felt really good.

  While one hand cradled my head, the other one slipped a bra strap off my shoulder and his hand found its way into the cup. I press my mouth to his with a bit more urgency as his fingers massaged my breast, teasing my nipple into a rigid peak, making my toes curl with pleasure. His fangs elongated, nicking my lip. With the taste of the warm blood oozing out of the cut, Frankie gripped my hair with more urgency. He moved his mouth to my neck, and when I stilled, so did he. Need filled me as he scraped his sharp teeth along my skin. I reached for him, my fumbling hands pulled at his shirt.

  Oh my
god, what was I doing? This was Frankie!

  Water splashed onto the floor as I pulled his body into the tub with me. I felt his impressive hardness against my pelvis through his wet jeans.

  Oh my god, this was Frankie?

  I shifted my body up against him and turned my head so my neck teased him. The craving for him to slide his fangs into my neck threatened to overwhelm me, and he did not disappoint. His fangs slipped in like razor blades, betrayed by only a slight twinge of pain, and a new wave of sensations took over me. There was no pretense between us, and that bite stripped away the barriers we used to wall off our feelings. I pushed my fingers into his back, feeling his muscles contract, and allowed myself to give in to this newfound intimacy.

  Frankie's pull on my blood combined with his pull on my body sent shivers of need through me. He unhooked my bra with one hand. I pressed my exposed breasts against him, relishing the feel of his skin against mine while my bra floated at the surface of the water. It felt good to give in to him.

  A sudden seer of blinding pain in my skull over took me. "Yo, Nina, we gotta talk." Casper's voice popped into my head. I froze, stuck in the limbo space somewhere between desire and mortification.

  "Are you all right?" Frankie asked. He pulled away from me, leaving my chest suddenly very cold and very exposed.

  "Oh sheee-iiiii-tttttt!" Casper yelled, causing me to wince in pain. "What the hell is going on up in here?"

  "What does it look like?" I muttered.

  Water splashed onto the floor again as Frankie scrambled out of the tub. "That bloody ghost."

  "Hot damn, girl!" Casper practically yelled.

  "I think we need a system," I said out loud.

  "What system?" Frankie asked before his look of confusion faded to an expression of annoyance.

  "Yeah, we need like a psychic ‘do not disturb’ sign," Casper chuckled. "Although I gotta admit, girl, I didn't think you'd ever get lucky. You're not exactly the cuddly type."

  "Shut up," I grumbled.

  "What'd I say?" Frankie asked.

  I pointed at my head. "Not you."

  "You're more of a wham bam thank you—“ Casper continued.

  "Enough!" I barked, and Frankie slipped along the soaked tile floor.

  Shivering, I watched the water pool at Frankie's feet, feeling very naked. I snatched my floating bra and pressed it against my bare breasts.

  "Could you hand me a towel please?" I asked Frankie as I rose out of the water. With my free hand, I took the one he handed me without meeting his eyes, wishing I could disappear into a sinkhole like that historic house. "Could you turn around?"

  He obliged. I stared at his slumped back while I ditched the soggy bra and wrapped the towel around me in one quick motion. Red crept up my cheeks when Frankie turned back to face me. I stepped out of the tub and stared at the puddles around my feet.

  "We need to talk," Frankie started.

  I nodded, but waved him off. "First, I need to see what Casper wants."

  "No no no! I don't want to interrupt," the ghost quipped.

  "It's a bit late for that," I muttered, sloshing through the water, trying not to slip. "I'll just leave you to dry off. I think there's a spare pair of sweatpants in the guest room."

  Frankie winced. "An American jogging suit. Brilliant."

  "You can be such a snob about your clothes," I grumped at him as I squeezed around his stiff body and through the door.

  "There's more to clothes than cargo pants, t-shirts and aviator jackets, Nina!" he shouted after me as I closed the door on him. I leaned against it to catch my breath. But Casper didn't give me a second to compose myself.

  "Girl, you want to tell me what I just walked into?" he asked.

  "You didn't walk," I said. "You kind of floated. Or appeared. Or whatever it is that you do when you jump in my damn body. You definitely did not knock."

  "So," he prodded, "how was he? He looked ample in the—"

  "I do not want to talk about this. At all."

  "Oh come off it, Nina. Dish. It's what besties do."

  "We are not besties," I corrected him.

  "Oh please," he huffed. "If we are not besties, what the hell else are we?"

  "You can't categorize what we have," I quipped.

  "You can't categorize what you and Frankie have either," he shot back. "Come on, Nina. You know you want to talk about this."

  I pressed my lips together. He wasn't wrong. Whatever was going on between me and Frankie had smoldered under the surface for a good long time. But that didn't mean I was ready to examine it in any detail. Especially not with Casper.

  "Well, I want to talk about it," he said. "And girl it felt good! You don't have to tell me. I know!"

  "Do you mean you—" I cut myself off with a full body shudder, then turned on my heel and marched to the bedroom. "What was so urgent that you barged in on me anyway?"

  "Max is on his way over," he said.

  "So what," I said, pulling on an oversized Drive by Truckers concert t-shirt over the towel before I shimmied out of it. Frankie be damned about my sartorial choices. "Max comes over all the time."

  "Not when you're getting cozy in the tub with Frankie," he said.

  I picked through a pile of clean clothes in the laundry basket for underwear. Of course the only one I found was a thong. It just kept getting better and better. "You had no way of knowing that was happening. So what's up?"

  "Max swiped ID cards for you and Frankie."

  "And you know this how?"

  He went quiet, which sent my Spidey senses tingling. "Casper, what did you do?"

  "I helped," he said so softly that I had to focus hard to hear the words.

  "How the hell could you help Max when you cannot even communicate with him?" I asked, attempting to keep the exasperation out of my voice while I tried to step into the panties without exposing my ass—or worse—to Casper.

  "I can communicate," he said, his voice raising. "We did the knock once for yes, two for no!"

  “Explain to me how that’s even possible.”

  “When I popped out of here while your grandfather was threatening me—“

  “He wasn’t threatening you.”

  “We’ll disagree on that,” Casper said. “I found Max at Bertrand’s—“

  “You really should not be at the Biltmore by yourself,” I chided, raising my voice.

  Casper ignored me. “And Bertrand showed us—“

  “Bertrand?” I roared, unable to contain my anger. “You went to Bertrand? What is wrong with you?” Jesus, this kid…

  “Take it easy,” Casper said. My stomach cramped while he danced around my body. “He didn’t like do a demon spell or anything, he just showed us a way to get the job done. I owe him nothing, I promise.”

  "Great," I said, blowing out a frustrated breath. I raked my fingers through my wet hair. They promptly got stuck in a snarl. "So then you went off without any sort of protection and the only way to communicate with him was by knocking. No trial run or anything."

  "I kicked off a bonafide haunting," he argued, and I could hear a swell of pride running beneath his defiance. "The guards were scared shitless. They didn't know what was going on."

  "You could have been killed," I said, yanking my fingers through the snarl.

  "You can't kill a dead guy," he argued. "Unless you’re Frankie."

  "Exorcised. Don't give me a hard time. You know what I mean. You could have been exorcised, which is like worse than dying."

  "The only ones that do the real exorcising are the priests," Casper argued.

  I shook my head, marveling at how, even in ghost form, he retained his sense of adolescent invincibility. It was kind of surprising considering Casper died the most gruesome death imaginable, at the hands of psycho Marcello, who was draining witches of their power just so he had enough power to off me.

  "Not true," I corrected him, adjusting my tone to be easier on him. "Regular old humans are holding their own exorcism rituals. And som
e of them actually work. And prison guards? You don't think Leila taught them a trick or two? You're a damn lucky ghost, that's all." I dropped onto the bed and pulled my knees into me, stretching the t-shirt out over them. "Let's hope that luck doesn't run out."

  Casper was quiet for a moment, a first for him.

  "So, what are you going to do?" he asked, breaking the silence.

  "I'd love to ground you or something, but I'm not your mother."

  "Not about me, about Frankie."

  "Didn't I say we weren't talking about that?" I snapped, grateful for the sharp knock on the door interrupting us. "What?" I yelled.

  "Get out here!" my grandfather shouted from behind the door. "You have a way into the prison."

  "Max must be here," Casper said. Max's arrival sure did animate him. I suspected it was a relief to be able to communicate with someone else, although given that their form of communication was a knock-knock system and not actual conversation, I wondered what that said about me.

  Casper and I left the room, and I padded barefoot down the hallway into the kitchen. I stopped short when I realized Max was not alone. Mary Jane Colton, our new boss, was standing beside him, a little too close.

  Max raised his eyebrows at my outfit, the concert t-shirt brushing against the middle of my thigh. Mary Jane didn't even try to hide her once-over, my face reddening as her eyes swept my entire length. She was dressed more casually than when we met in Bertrand's office, but her casual was a smart pair of nice-fitting slacks and a form hugging Oxford shirt. And her form, from what I could see, was perfect. She shook out her straight hair, not a wisp out of place. Even her makeup looked effortless.

  I yanked the hem of my oversized t-shirt down a bit, rubbing my calves against each other. How long had it been since I shaved? "Mary Jane," I said, pulling my soggy, unruly hair to my back so that it didn't soak through my chest. The t-shirt was a white base, after all. "I wasn't expecting you. Or Max."