Hell and Hexes

by Dunbar, Debra

  His expression turned hopeful. “Really?”

  I stood. “Really.” Digging in my purse, I pulled out one of my amulets and gave it to him. “No one will see you coming and going from my office while you’ve got this. Be at my office every Sunday at nine in the morning, and you and Stanley can talk. Heck, I’ll even spring for donuts and coffee.”

  He grinned, then his smile faded. “But what am I going to tell the pack?? They’re nosy as all heck here. Someone is going to want to know why I’m going into town every Sunday morning, and, amulet or no, they’ll probably follow me if I don’t have a good answer.”

  I told him my plan, then he laughed, tucking the amulet in his pocket and struggling to get to his feet.

  “Dang, Bart, how bad did Melvin stab you?” I asked as I handed him a walking stick.

  “Clean through my leg,” he told me. “Bled all over the place.”

  I deactivated the silence charm and tucked it back into my pocket before helping Bart to the door. When I opened it, I was glad I’d used the charm because there had to be two dozen werewolves crowded around outside Bart’s house, all staring at him with eager anticipation.

  “What’d you win in the raffle, Bart?” one shouted.

  He stood for a moment, eyeing them all with a smug grin. “Three months of tap dance lessons. Every Sunday morning.”

  The group sucked in a collective breath, then cheered, all of them excited about Bart’s good fortune.

  “Congratulations, Bart.” One of the werewolves patted him heartily on the shoulder. “Sorry you didn’t get that latch-hook rug, but this is almost as good. Tap dancing. Think you’ll be any good at it?”

  He most certainly would not be any good at it since he wouldn’t actually be taking dance lessons on Sunday mornings, but that was part of the plan. No one would think twice when after three months, a werewolf lacked any tap-dancing skill whatsoever despite diligent practice and regular lessons. And it wasn’t really the dancing that anyone cared about anyway; it was just the fact that he’d been lucky enough to win something in a raffle.

  Werewolves loved luck. They loved being lucky more than anything else in the world. Maybe I could use that to my advantage as a Perkins witch and try to do my part to bring about peace on the mountainside.

  But all the great ideas in the world wouldn’t do any good if I couldn’t manage to do a spell. I only had so many amulets and charms left, and when those were gone, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make more.

  Once again, I wondered if I was still a luck witch or not.

  Chapter 6

  Sylvie

  I headed down the road from the compound, pulling over to the side to let a shiny huge diesel truck edge by me. The truck slowed and stopped even with my car, the window whirring down to reveal a pretty werewolf with blonde hair and a smattering of freckles across a sun-burned nose.

  “Sylvie! It’s so good to see you. Were you up meeting with Dallas or something?”

  I barely knew Tink, so her effusive greeting was a bit puzzling. Yes, she was probably just as gossipy as all the others here in Accident, but I got the impression there was something beyond mere curiosity that made her stop her truck to talk to me.

  “I was meeting with Bart,” I told her. “He won something in the firehouse raffle.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, the latch-hook rug?”

  I shook my head. “Tap dance lessons.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’s pretty cool too, although everyone wanted that rug.”

  I sat for a second, waiting for her to tell me why she’d wanted to talk. It didn’t take long.

  “Um, Sylvie?” The werewolf chewed her bottom lip. “Do you think you can fit me into your schedule sometime next week? Make it all discrete-like because I don’t want anybody knowing I’m coming to see you.”

  I nodded because no one wanted anyone to know they were seeing me. “I’ve got an opening Tuesday at ten. Does that work?”

  She nodded, so I dug into my purse on the passenger seat and pulled out one of my amulets. “Just hold this in your hand when you come, and no one will see you.”

  She reached out the window to take it and let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing in relief. “Thanks. I’m hoping you can help me out. I promised Dallas some things before we got mated, and he really wants these things, but I’ve got no idea how to do them. I mean, I read some articles online, but I think they’re leaving out a few things.”

  I tried to remain composed, struggling to keep a professional, mildly interested expression on my face. “Sex?”

  She glanced around furtively then nodded. “There’s this thing with a lemon zester and hemorrhoid cream, and I don’t want to screw it up. Dallas really wants this, and I promised.”

  Ugh. I had no idea whatever the holy heck Tink was trying to do with a lemon zester and hemorrhoid cream, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I wasn’t about to kink shame anyone.

  “We’ll talk,” I promised her.

  She grinned. “Awesome. I’ll see you on Tuesday at ten.”

  I waved and started to drive off. “Tuesday at ten.”

  As I drove down the mountain, I thought about the problem with the werewolves. I thought about the problems the lone wolves were facing. I thought about lemon zester and hemorrhoid cream and wondered how the hell that could possibly be erotic.

  And I wondered about Eshu. What was he doing right now? Had he come to deliver messages to Lucien? Would he stop by my house to see me again, or had he forgotten all about me?

  * * *

  I was wanting nothing more than Glenda’s foul smoothie and a nap, but instead I drove out of Accident past the wards and to a building in a neighboring town that housed the law office where Cassie worked.

  My sister was in her office, behind a desk with folders stacked so high I could barely see her. She peeked around a folder-tower, then grabbed a handful and moved them to the floor as I sat across from her.

  “How are you feeling? You look tired. You should go home and nap, or better yet, go to my house and nap on the couch.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine. I plan on taking a nap as soon as I’m done here—at my own house and in my own bed.”

  She eyed me with concern. “My couch is always open, Sylvie.”

  I waved the offer away. “I know, and I appreciate it. I popped by to talk to you about the werewolf situation, not my health. I’m worried about the mental and emotional state of the lone wolves in Accident. They’re not adapting well to being completely severed from the pack and any contact with other werewolves. I think we need to address this. Maybe find a way to allow werewolves to talk and meet with the lone wolves in town? It won’t be the same as hunting with the pack or being permitted on the compound, but at least it will help with the crushing isolation they’re feeling.”

  Cassie sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Sylvie, I’m sympathetic. Believe me, I want the same thing, but there are priorities. De-escalating the conflict between Dallas and Clinton comes first. I can’t have a war right now—not in Accident and not on the mountain. I told both werewolves I want them both to meet with me Monday. There’s got to be a way to get the pair of them to back off on this fighting. If I can get them to do that, then maybe in a few months, we can talk to them about easing up on the banishments.”

  “This is important,” I told her. “Werewolves are social beings, pack beings, and this isolation isn’t good for either Shelby or Stanley.”

  “I don’t want to hit Dallas and Clinton with too many demands, too many changes, all at once,” she warned me. “Let’s see how things go on Monday at the meeting first, then we’ll see how fast we can move on this other issue.”

  I was disappointed, but I understood. Hopefully Cassie getting Dallas and Clinton both in a room would get a cease-fire going and work toward some long-term solution to this mess. Hopefully. I shook my head, doubtful that much was going to come of that meeting.

  Cassie was an amazing lawyer, but med
iation wasn’t her strong point. Actually, it was my strong point. Although, I doubted even Nelson Mandela with a fist full of amulets could get those two werewolves to stand down.

  And in the meantime, I’d do all I could so that Stanley could at least have a friend to chat with once a week. And maybe, just maybe, if all went well, we could push for something more.

  Chapter 7

  Sylvie

  I sat at the bar, turned around so I could see the band, a glass of ginger ale in my hand. I’d gone straight home from Cassie’s office, downed a glass of Glenda’s smoothie, and napped the afternoon away, waking up around five. While eating my leftover Chinese for dinner, I’d taken stock of my physical stamina and what options I had for the evening. I wasn’t about to go back to bed after lying on a couch for two weeks. I needed to get out. I needed to start resuming my normal life so I could get over the physical and emotional trauma of my death. So, after a pep talk and some determined effort, I got a shower, slapped on some makeup, and headed to Pete’s to listen to the band.

  They were only on song two and already I was realizing this probably wasn’t the best idea. I was tired. The day had taken a lot out of me, and the effects of Glenda’s smoothie were starting to wear off. My goal of enjoying a night out had quickly turned to sipping my drink, waiting for the band to break, then heading home and to bed.

  Despite my exhaustion, I was glad I’d gone out. The band was excellent, and it felt good to be out and about among the townsfolk. There had been three fairies, two harpies, two nymphs, six gnomes, a goblin, a fetch, two minotaurs, a bear shifter, four pixies, and half a dozen werewolves all in the bar when I’d arrived. I was pretty sure by the time I’d left, another twenty of Accident’s residents would be packed in, drinking, dancing, and occasionally fighting. Pete tried to keep the peace the best he could, but it was expected that a few brawls would break out during the course of an evening. If things got too out of hand, Pete would come around the bar with the towel Bronwyn had enchanted for him, and the fighters would either take it into the parking lot or play nice. No one wanted to get whacked with a magicked towel. It was Pete’s way of keeping the order, and it worked.

  Fear the towel.

  Right now, the bar was lively but not wall-to-wall people. Everyone seemed to be sober enough that no fights had broken out, although there had been a few words exchanged. As usual, it was the werewolves who were causing the most ruckus, and I glared over at them to see if I knew any of the six well enough to chide them for their rowdy behavior. I recognized three, but not enough for my word to carry any weight with them. It was just as well since I really wasn’t in any condition to be confronting werewolves.

  The band had just announced their break and I was getting ready to pay for my ginger ale when someone slid into the seat next to me. I looked over and saw a dark-skinned man with a close-cut beard and short curly black hair. He wasn’t any taller than me, was average in build, and although his features were attractive, he wasn’t what I’d call particularly handsome. But his grin and the sparkle in his brown eyes made my heart skip a beat.

  “Eshu. I didn’t realize you hung out in town. Are you here for the band?” I asked.

  “Nope. I’m here for you. What are you drinking?”

  I slid off the stool, my heart rate increasing. “Me? Does Cassie need me for something?” He was a messenger. I figured Lucien had sent him to get me because of an emergency.

  “I hope not.” He waved down the bartender, then scooted his stool closer. “It took me forever to find you. You weren’t at your house when I went by this morning, so I followed your sister around for a few hours, hoping she’d lead me to you. Then I started to search the town. Let me tell you, that sister of yours does some boring stuff. Do you know the majority of her day is spent in a tiny office with stacks of papers?? Reading them. And typing things on a computer. I’d shoot myself. What do you do all day? When you’re not lying on a couch, that is?”

  I smothered a laugh at his description of Cassie’s job. “Well, I sit on a chair and listen to people talk.”

  He turned, grabbing the two beers from the bartender and passing me one. “That doesn’t sound any more exciting than looking at papers. You should definitely consider a different job. Or maybe just stop showing up and do something fun instead like have sex with me.”

  I rolled my eyes and handed him the beer back. “I can’t drink this. I died two weeks ago. I haven’t fully recovered from it yet and alcohol probably isn’t going to speed that process along.”

  “You actually died?” He eyed me over, gaze lingering on my chest. “That happens to me all the time. How did you die? Did a piano fall on your head? An angry demon rip your guts out? Someone throw you so far up into the sky that you fell into the sun?”

  “I was electrocuted while microwaving hot fudge.”

  His eyes widened. “That’s amazing! How many other times have you died?”

  I felt like I was getting my second wind, so I grabbed the beer back from him and took a sip. “None. I only died the once and let me tell you, I really don’t want to ever experience it again.”

  He sighed. “I know. You die as much as I have, and you get kinda used to it though. Death by hot fudge. That’s really impressive. Why are you not recovered?”

  “Probably because I’m a human and not a demon.” I was worried I wouldn’t fully recover, that I’d always have this exhaustion, that I’d need to drink Glenda’s nasty smoothies every day for the rest of my life just to have some sort of normalcy, but I didn’t want to go into all that angst with a guy I was contemplating inviting into my bed.

  “You’re not really a human, though. You’re a witch.” He guzzled down the beer and flagged the bartender for another. “I’m not really a demon, although everyone calls me one. I’m not an angel, either. I was born before the demons, before the angels, before the first spark of creation.”

  “And your job is to deliver messages,” I teased.

  He shot me a wicked look and spun his empty bottle around on one finger. “And other things. My job is to be Eshu and let me tell you, that is enough of a job for me.”

  The werewolves a few feet away roared in laughter over something. I’d been trying to ignore them, but it was growing increasingly difficult as the volume of their conversation increased.

  They were discussing something about an upcoming fight and how they couldn’t wait to kill those who’d left the pack and tried to steal territory from them. One of the wolves mentioned Stanley and Shelby, saying they deserved the same fate, even if they hadn’t tried to take territory on the mountain. I stiffened, worried that the two lone wolves might find themselves in danger. Cassie had given them sanctuary in town and had put the force of her magic behind her demand that no one in the wolf pack could harass or bother them.

  Was that coming to an end? Was it not just a war on the mountain between two werewolf packs that I needed to be concerned about? Could we be facing a war in the future between the werewolves and the witches?

  Eshu spun the bottle around on the tip of his finger again and started singing some bawdy song about a pirate and a prostitute. I tried to tune him out and listen in on the werewolves. Were they planning something? I’d need to figure out what was going on and warn Cassie.

  “I don’t give a crap about that skank screwing a troll, but the traitor should die,” one of the werewolves said. “He was spying on us for Clinton. He shouldn’t be getting sanctuary. The witches need to give him back to us to deal with.”

  I winced. They might be drunk and just talking smack, but just in case, Stanley needed to be warned.

  “The mate got pegged by a lass with a cock, Oh-ho bend the cook over—”

  “Hush,” I hissed to Eshu, leaning toward the werewolves.

  “We need to deal with Clinton’s group first, then Stanley,” another said. “I know Dallas isn’t thrilled about killing his only pup, but when your boy disrespects you like that, you need to put him down.”

 
“Rum and blow-jobs and fart on the mainsail, Oh-ho bend the cook over.”

  “Shhh.” I clapped a hand over one ear and tried to focus on the werewolves. It was hard since Eshu was between me and them, and the demon—or whatever he was—kept singing and spinning that bottle on his finger.

  “Monday…meeting…agree to whatever… after midnight…every last one of them…. You…. Stanley….rest of us….Clinton.”

  “With a cock like a cannon and balls like walnuts, the lass gets poked—oops.” Eshu went to give the bottle another spin and it shot off his finger and into the head of one of the werewolves with enough force to knock him forward. At the exact same moment, a minotaur edged by us, a lemon drop shooter in hand.

  The werewolf turned around with a snarl and punched whoever he assumed hit him in the head with a beer bottle. His fist collided with the minotaur’s snout, pushing him back a pace and spilling the lemon drop shooter. Bellowing, the minotaur slammed the glass into the werewolf’s nose and lowered his head. With a toss of his horns, the werewolf flew up and into his buddies.

  I’d lived in Accident my whole life. I was no dummy. The moment that beer bottle hit the werewolf, I was trying to get the heck out of there.

  “Fight! Fight!” Eshu chanted, a grin on his face. He pumped his fist, elbow knocking over the full bottle of beer the bartender had brought him and spilling it across the bar.

  I grabbed his shirt and pulled for him to come with me. The guy had indicated he had a gazillion lives, but that didn’t mean I wanted him dying on my watch. He resisted, and I lost my opportunity to escape as other bar patrons closed in to see a minotaur take on six werewolves.