Hollyweird

  Missy shoved me on my tush and started grabbing Louboutin heels, Kate Spade purses, and Vera Wang jewelry.

  I squirmed my way between them and snagged a ruby Nam Cho cross necklace.

  Des swiped to take it from me. “I saw it first!” she snapped.

  “I don’t think so.” I shoved the necklace into my pocket and bent to see what else I wanted from the trunk. Splendors of suede, diamonds, rhinestones, and gold winked up at me and I wanted them all. I snaked a Betsey Johnson bag right out under from Des while she squabbled with Missy over a pair of Jimmy Choos. A tug of war ensued over the butter-soft leather boots.

  “Give it to me,” Missy growled while she brandished a spike-heeled Badgley Mischka in her other hand, “or I’ll poke your eyes out with this.”

  “The boots are mine!” Des argued. “And I’ll break your legs so you can’t walk in any shoes,” she threatened as she pulled on the boot between them.

  A funny feeling feathered through my tummy as I listened to them fight, but while they were ready to shed blood over the Choos, I was able to scavenge for what I wanted. I stuffed my pockets full of rings, stacked my wrists with bracelets, and threw necklace after necklace over my head like lassos.

  Des had just cocked back her fist when the front door flew open and Jameson came skidding in with two laptop cases, Taco Bell bags, stacks of magazines, and Starbucks.

  “What the hell?” he shouted as he dropped everything in the corner. “I could hear you guys yelling from down the hall. What’s going on?”

  “This”—Des gave the boot a hard yank while Missy was distracted—“is mine.” She waved the boot triumphantly. “Bigfoot couldn’t fit into these even if she had her little toes amputated.”

  “Where did this come from?” Jameson asked as he slammed the door. “I told you not to let anyone in.”

  “We didn’t,” I said, gathering a hobo bag and wallet into my already full arms and standing to face him. “We hid in the bathroom and Armond unlocked the door and wheeled this stuff in. It’s a gift for us.”

  Jameson crossed his arms over his chest and gave us an imperious look. “And you don’t see anything wrong with this?”

  “I, no,” I stammered. “Only that there’s not enough Michael Kors.”

  Jameson wiped a hand over his face while I ducked back down to the trunk. “Aly,” he snapped.

  I rose, swatting away Missy’s hand when she tried to pry a Dooney & Bourke out of my arms, and faced him.

  “What?” I asked, more than annoyed that everyone was trying to take my stuff.

  Jameson gave an exasperated sigh and looked heavenward before asking me, “Don’t you think you’re being a little greedy ?”

  “No,” I replied, shocked at his unfounded accusation. “I got them first. They’re rightfully mine.”

  “No, you’re hogging all the jewelry,” Des accused me.

  “Yeah,” Missy agreed. “Hand some over.”

  “Clever,” Jameson murmured, as if he were giving someone props. “Very clever.”

  “What’s clever?” I asked as I scooted away from the girls, protecting my property. My arms might be full, but I’d kick if I had to keep them away.

  Jameson intercepted the girls and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Look at me, Aly. Snap out of it. You’re ensnared in Greed.”

  Greed? No, I just wanted all these pretty clothes, shoes, and jewelry. Who wouldn’t? Seriously, no one could resist this kind of temptation …

  Temptation.

  Greed.

  Oh, maaaaan.

  I dropped my stockpile on the floor.

  “Not again,” I said, and hung my head in shame.

  Jameson chuckled and swept the hair from my face. “Like I said, he was very clever. Had I shown up a few minutes later, I might’ve found a blood bath.”

  I looked over at Des, who still clutched the Choo to her chest. “Des, we’ve been had—by Gucci, Ralph, Ed, Elie, and Diesel. G.R.E.E.D.”

  “No,” she cried as the spell broke and the avarice left her eyes. “Not fair.”

  “Drop the Choo shoe,” I said.

  Shaking her head, she hugged it tighter. “Can’t I just keep these?”

  “No.” I tugged the boot from her hands. “That would be a big mistake.”

  “What are you talking about?” Missy asked. “Armond said this was all for us.”

  “Uh,” I stammered, not sure what to tell my sister.

  “They were delivered to the wrong room,” Jameson quickly lied.

  “What?” Missy gasped. “How do you know?”

  “He saw me on my way up and told me.”

  “I swear,” Missy sniped, “the absolute incompetency at this hotel is astounding. I think we should keep everything for that reason alone.”

  Jameson made a discreet call to Armond while Missy paced the living room in time with her rantings and ravings. The fallen angel then carefully put all the clothes and accessories back in place.

  “Aly,” he said, “why don’t you guys go into the library, set up the laptop, and cool down with the Frappuccinos I brought?”

  I nodded, realizing he probably heard Armond on his way up and didn’t want Missy chewing the poor man out. Her Greed hadn’t completely dissipated yet.

  “Come on, guys,” I said, as I scooped up the bags and drinks from the corner. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to cool down.”

  Missy snagged her drink from the cardboard holder and swept ahead of us.

  Des snorted. “Yeah, things got a little heated.”

  “Under-state-ment,” I sing-songed.

  “Are we easily suckered, or what?” Des asked with disgust.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. Mortified. “I just want to stop Dakota before he can trick us again.”

  “Hear, hear,” Des agreed. “Let’s go mess with Mephistopheles.”

  Jameson

  “While this has been entertaining and educational, in a disturbing way”—I slammed my laptop shut—“we’re wasting time!”

  Aly and Des flinched. They were perched on the end of a silver couch, huddled around their own laptop which was set up on the chrome and glass coffee table.

  I shoved away from the mahogany desk across from them and stood up. Tension coiled in my stomach like a cobra ready to strike. “We should be out there,” I said, jabbing a finger toward the window and the deceptive beauty of the Hollywood Hills.

  “Doing what?” Aly asked. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were wary.

  I scrubbed my hands over my face before snapping, “Anything. Everything. For God’s sake.” I nodded toward Missy, who was sitting on the floor surrounded by tabloid magazines. “She’s sitting on the floor painting her toenails.”

  “Hey!” Missy glared at me as she smoothed the brush against the side of the bottle to remove the excess lacquer. “It’s called multi-tasking and I’m perfectly capable of painting my toesies and reading magazines. I do it all the time, thankyouverymuch.”

  I resisted the urge to make a blonde joke and instead paced in front of the desk. “We’ve been at this for two hours. Just tell me what Perez Hilton or Ted Casablanca can tell us other than who is gay, who is coming out, and who will stay in the closet ’til the day they die?”

  “Oooh, oooh,” Des said as she bounced on her seat and held her hand up like a child waiting to be called on in class. “I totally know the answer to that last question.”

  “Des,” Aly chided.

  Ignoring Des, I continued my rant. “Something big is going down with Dakota and it calls for action. This”—I waved my hand around, indicating empty frap cups and crumpled straw wrappers, plastic to-go containers and paper wrappers, stacks of Us, People, The National Enquirer, In Touch, OK! and Missy’s neon green OPI nail polish—“is about as inactive as we can get.”

  “What do you suggest we do?” Aly asked as she chewed on her straw. “We all agreed it made sense to see what the paparazzi could tell us.”

  “A
nd what have we learned?” I asked in mounting frustration. “That sex addiction is the ‘in’ celebrity affliction.”

  “That’s soooo five minutes ago,” Missy said with a dismissive shake of her head. “Now it’s all about BDD.”

  I gave her a blank stare, partly because I didn’t know what the hell BDD was and partly because that wasn’t the point of this conversation.

  “Body Dismorphic Disorder,” she said knowingly. “Heidi Montag made it en vogue when she had those ten surgeries in one day”—she cupped her hands in front of her breasts—“and blew her ta-tas up to triple Ds. That Barbie’s majorly addicted. If she’s not careful she’ll look like Donatella Versace or, even worse, Jocelyn Wildenstein.” Shuddering, she said, “The Lion Lady gives me the willies.”

  In that moment I imagined steam erupting from my ears like a cartoon character. I opened my mouth to—

  “We can do things your way, Jameson,” Aly quickly cut in. “But let’s talk this out first. Make sure we’re not missing anything before we start stalking Dakota and digging through his trash.” She looked at her sister and Desi. “We’ve read a lot about Dakota. Let’s look at what we know. Personal problems—”

  I snorted. “He’s got lots of those.”

  “The company he keeps,” she continued. “Investments, jobs, habits.”

  “Like shopping,” Missy said as she put a second coat of nail polish on her last toe.

  “What do you mean?” Des asked.

  “The guy is a serious shopper,” Missy said, screwing the brush back into the bottle and setting it on the coffee table.

  “Imagine that,” I snarked. “A rich celebrity who likes to shop.”

  Missy leaned back on her hands, her legs extended, toes separated by toilet paper woven in between them. “All right, wise guy,” she snarled, clearly fed up with my ill temper. “Other than Speidi spending forty grand on crystals, which so didn’t help that psycho, how many celebs do you know who regularly shop at woo woo stores?”

  “Crystals? Woo woo?” I asked in exasperation. Was this going to be as out there as BDD?

  “Miss, are you saying Dakota shops at occult stores?” Aly asked, a hint of excitement in her voice.

  “That’s the word I couldn’t remember,” Missy said, smacking her forehead. “Occult.”

  “How do you know they’re occult shops?” Des asked, her eyes alight with interest.

  “The names, for one.” Missy lay down and tucked her arms behind her head. “Mystic Marketplace and Witchful Thinking. Sounds New Agey to me. I’m surprised no one has made the connection before.” She closed her eyes and yawned. “I found at least six photos of him going out of or into those kinds of meta … hmm, meta … ”

  “Metaphysical,” Aly supplied.

  Missy snapped her fingers, still not opening her eyes. “Right. Metaphysical stores.” Yawn. “Anyhow, you’d think someone would notice that the star of a paranormal show has a habit of visiting woo woo shops, but usually the taglines are just something jokey like ‘Paranormal PI star shopping for love potion?’ If he’s going that often, I’d say he’s practicing something.”

  “And he ain’t a practicing Wiccan,” Des said as she twisted the bead on her eyebrow piercing.

  “Do the mags say what he bought?” I asked, admittedly intrigued.

  Missy didn’t answer. She might’ve just given us the big break we needed and here she was, about to sack out on the floor.

  Aly stretched her leg out under the coffee table and used her toes to nudge her sleepy sister in the ribs. “Missy.” Poke. Poke. “Did any of them say what he bought?”

  “Uh uh.”

  “We need the names of those stores,” I said.

  “Awl wight hewe,” Missy said in a sleepy, slurred voice as she rolled on her side and patted a stack of six magazines she’d placed apart from the rest.

  Tugging the magazines out from under her, I returned to the desk and wrote the names down on a lined steno notepad. Tapping the paper, I looked at Aly and Des.

  “What are you thinking?” Aly asked.

  “One,” I said, with a sheepish smile, “that I owe you an apology for being such a—”

  “Mitch,” Des supplied with a smug grin before sticking her pierced tongue out at me.

  Mitch? Ah, yeah, man bitch.

  “Right,” I agreed. “And two, she—” I looked down at where Missy snored like a bear cub in deep hibernation.

  “Is clumsily brilliant,” Aly said with a proud smile.

  I nodded. That perfectly summed up the lead Missy had given us. “We need to find out what he bought at these places.”

  “Right on!” Des leapt from the couch. “Let’s go.”

  I chuckled, knowing we’d have a hard time getting her out of the stores we had to visit.

  “I hate to wake her,” Aly said as she gently shook her sister’s shoulder. “It’s been a crazy day for all of us, but she’s still recouping from her hangover.”

  “She can sleep in the car,” I said. “I’d love to let her stay here, but it’s better if we stick together.”

  “This is so juicy,” Des said as she plopped herself on the corner of the desk and rubbed her hands together in uncontained glee. “He’s gotta be shopping for a spell or looking for a special relic.”

  “You think it’s one of those?” I asked, leaning back in the office chair.

  “Well, sure,” she said with a shrug. “Obviously he’s looking to create a specific outcome, so he’s got to perform a spell or a ritual, which usually involves some kind of relic. Some relics are supposed to hold true power and some are more symbolic, like bread and grape juice for the Eucharist.”

  “Isn’t casting a spell the same as doing a ritual?”

  “Absolutely. But not all rituals are spells.”

  “Got it,” I said, happy we had a starting place for figuring out Dakota’s diabolical plan. Cringing over how I’d lost my temper and been a jerk to the girls, I realized I’d reacted out of fear. Time was running out. I didn’t know how big this plan of Dakota’s was, but I had to stop him from hurting anyone. Especially these girls. Focusing on Desi’s theory, I said, “Not only do we need to find out what he’s shopping for, we need to figure out why.”

  “Yuppers,” she said. “The why will tell us what we need to stop.”

  “Listen, Des. I’m sor—”

  She leaned forward and gave me a solid punch in the shoulder. “No worries, angel boy. We’re all stressed.”

  I smiled my thanks.

  “I can’t get Missy up,” Aly said, leaning against the front of the desk. “Looks like we’ve got the start of a plan.”

  “Looks like,” I said. “Aly, I—”

  Des hopped off the desk and excused herself. “I can get her off the floor.”

  “Aly, I’m sorry,” I said. “I acted like an ass and—”

  She reached across the desk and covered my hand with hers.

  “You don’t need to apologize,” she said. “Des is right—we’re all stressed. You more than anyone. You’ve got a lot to lose. Not only do you have to save the world, but you have to reclaim your halo. I’d be scared and short-tempered too.”

  I flipped my hand over and gave hers a squeeze.

  I was scared. Terrified, in fact. I didn’t know if I could figure things out in time, let alone stop Dakota. I didn’t want to go to hell, but even the idea of reclaiming my halo scared me because it would mean leaving Aly. Before her arrival I’d known exactly what I wanted: re-admittance to heaven, a second chance. Now my future seemed dark whether I stopped Dakota or not.

  “Thank you for understanding, and for your help.” Thank you for making me feel alive in a way I never have.

  She leaned forward and brushed a kiss on my cheek.

  “No need to thank me.”

  “Come on,” Des called. “I’ve got Missy on her feet, but she’s not gonna last if you don’t hurry.”

  “Time to hop into the rabbit hole,” I said grimly. With a
ny hope we’d come out of Wonderland with answers and manage to avoid anyone saying, “Off with their heads.”

  ALY

  Five of the six occult shops revealed very little. We knew Dakota bought a rare and obscenely expensive, solid gold, pentacle-inscribed chalice and some double-sided black and white candles. Traditionally, these candles are burned so that the black (negative) burns away to the white (positive), although they can be reversed. Yet as far as evil plans went, his purchases were pretty innocuous.

  Jameson’s growing frustration simmered around us like static before an impending storm. He tried to hide it with weak jokes about the things we saw on our shopping/snooping expedition, but I saw past the facade. Still, what kind of customer would buy a Yoni candle shaped like a va-jay-jay in order to curse someone with an STD, or a black skull candle meant to hex someone and put chaos in their mind? Did they look like your beer-bellied, tube-socks-with-shorts football coach, or perhaps the apple-cheeked old maid who baked strawberry-rhubarb pies every Saturday for her bridge group? Sure, it would be easy to guess the Marilyn Manson fan down the street with his kohl-lined eyes, spiked dog-collar necklace, and jet black hair covering one eye, but according to Shade, proprietor of Witchful Thinking, one of the oldest occult shops in the nation, the most evil people she’d ever met appeared squeaky clean and holier-than-thou.

  I’m not sure what kind of vibe we gave off, or if Shade, being a real witch, just wondered why a feather was accompanying three humans, but she’d taken an immediate interest in us from the moment we walked in. She’d been standing behind the counter ringing up a customer. As in the previous shops, we started off by browsing. As I oohed and aahed over a seriously cool bat pentagram mirror, I got that prickly feeling of someone watching me. Peering over my shoulder, I noticed a slender woman with short and spiky black hair staring at us. She wore a black tank with a crystal-encrusted black widow on it, and a gorgeous, sunset-hued dragon tattoo curled around her left shoulder. When she caught my eye she smiled, whispered something to her co-worker, and walked over to introduce herself.

  We complimented her on her establishment and she told us Witchful Thinking was a family business that had been open for nearly fifty years. After a little more small talk she did the strangest thing … she signaled a co-worker over and asked her to show Missy their designer jewelry. My sister happily went along to ogle the one-of-a-kind bling.