Hell and Hexes

by Dunbar, Debra

  My money was on the minotaur. And a month ago I wouldn’t have minded sticking around to see the show. I was a luck witch after all, and the chance of a stray punch coming my way, or me being trampled by a group of satyrs or getting a pint of cheap beer poured over my head would normally have been slim to none. But I’d died, and ever since then, luck did not seem to be on my side.

  A goblin pressed against me, pushing my back against the hard wooden edge of the bar. I shifted left to keep from being pinned and found myself practically in Eshu’s lap. Evidently, the crazy guy thought I was trying to get on his lap because he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me there, holding me tight.

  Annnnd the guy had a hard-on like a fricken flag pole in his pants. I’d thought he was exaggerating about the size of his member, but evidently not from what I could feel shoved against my butt. I squirmed to get off and regretted the motion immediately as he thrust his hips upward, holding my body against his.

  “This is turning me on too,” he shouted in my ear. “Nothing like a good fight and a witch on my lap to make me want to do the magic mambo.”

  “We can’t do the magic mambo if we’re crushed by goblins and werewolves or gored by minotaur horns,” I shouted back. “We need to get out of here.”

  “And miss this? No way! You’ve died before. One more time won’t matter. Although, crushed by minotaurs and werewolves is far less impressive then dying by hot fudge.”

  Pete came around the corner, towel in hand. I exhaled in relief, knowing it would soon be over. Usually all Pete had to do was snap the towel and everyone settled down, but the minotaur and the werewolves were too busy beating the crap out of each other to notice. Pete shouted, cracking the towel a few times, then went to climb on top of the bar. His foot landed in Eshu’s spilled beer and he fell to the ground, his enchanted towel landing on top of my head.

  Thankfully Bronwyn had magicked the towel so it didn’t work on any of us Perkins sisters or Pete, so it was merely blinding me and filling my nose with the odor of stale beer and greasy hamburger. Didn’t Pete ever wash the darned thing? Once this was all over, I was going to have a serious conversation with him about proper care of magical items.

  I pushed the towel away from my face just in time to see the minotaur pick up one of the werewolves and throw him across the room. One of his buddies barreled into the minotaur, shoving him back toward me. I yelped, scrambling off Eshu’s lap and diving out of the way just as the minotaur crashed against the bar. It cracked. The minotaur tossed his head, and a whole pile of werewolves sailed over the top and into a mirrored wall with whole shelf of booze.

  “Eshu!” I shrieked, hoping the guy hadn’t used up all his lives because he’d either gotten crushed between a minotaur and a solid oak bar or ended up being smashed into the rail liquor with the werewolves.

  “Couch-witch!” he shouted back, popping his head up over the edge of the bar. With a leap that would have done an acrobat proud, he vaulted on top of the bar, stepping on a werewolf’s head and one of the minotaur’s arms on the way over to jump down.

  “Are you a whisky witch or a rum witch?” He stood before me, holding a bottle in each hand as we were being shoved around by the press of the crowd. “I hope you’re a rum witch because I’m in a pirate-y mood tonight. Arrrr!”

  “I’m about to be a dead witch or, at the very least, a flat witch if we don’t get out of here,” I shouted. Reaching up to grab the towel off my head, I realized it was no longer there. Ugh. That had been my idea for clearing a path to the door, and now it was probably on the floor being trampled by half a dozen people.

  “Don’t worry, my beloved couch-witch. I’ll save you!” Eshu looked back and forth between the two bottles, then smashed the whisky one over the minotaur’s head, clearly deciding the rum bottle was worth saving.

  The minotaur roared and flung the werewolves aside as if they were rag dolls, smoke puffing from his nostrils as he focused his rage on Eshu. I screamed, ducking down and trying to find a way through the mob. That’s when I saw the towel.

  Dropping to my hands and knees, I prayed for my witchy-luck to return as I scrambled among all the stomping feet and hooves, crawling my way to the bit of white terry cloth I’d spied between two bar stools. Spilled beer and booze dripped down on me, and I stretched out my hand, fingers closing on the towel. Someone grabbed my waist, and I felt myself being dragged backward. With a panicked shriek, I struggled free and started whipping the towel around my head, indiscriminately smacking people in the legs with it. I knew I was nailing lots of innocent people with the thing, but at this point, my main concern was not dying a second time.

  Every person I hit went down, legs numb, a glazed expression of confusion on their faces. I was like a tornado clearing a path to the door. When I felt the cool fresh air against my face, I stood, holding on to the door jamb as I looked behind me.

  “Pete!” I grabbed a decent-sized rock from beside the door, wrapped the towel around it, and threw it to the bartender. For the first time since my death, my luck held, and the towel-wrapped rock flew right into his hands. Pete shouted for everyone to “settle the ever-loving F down” and started hitting the minotaur and werewolves with the towel, nailing a few goblins who’d joined the fray in the process.

  I took a deep breath, ran a shaking hand through my beer-soaked hair and turned, walking smack into Eshu. He steadied me with one hand, his other hand still clutching the bottle of rum.

  “You sure know how to show a guy a good time, couch-witch.” He held up the bottle. “I haven’t had this much fun in…. well, in a few hours. Let’s go back to your place, drink this rum, and screw until sunrise.”

  I maneuvered my way around him and headed to my car. “I’m going back to my place, but I think screwing is not going to happen tonight. If I can manage to get a shower before I collapse into bed, I will. I’m exhausted. I’ve been crawling around on the floor of a bar. I reek of beer and booze, and my hair is sticky. And I almost died for the second time in my life.”

  Most people would have blamed Eshu for the bar brawl; after all, he was the one whose spinning beer bottle had started the whole thing, but I’d lived in Accident my whole life. There wasn’t a night that went by where there wasn’t a fight at Pistol Pete’s or somewhere else in the town. This many different supernatural beings all living together was pretty much a powder keg in a room full of lit candles and torches. If it hadn’t been Eshu’s bottle, it would have been something else. The werewolves were itching for a fight. Someone would have stepped on someone’s foot, or flirted with the wrong guy or girl, or insulted one of the fairies, or accidently knocked a goblin over, and the end result would have been the same. Most of the time it was the werewolves, but there were plenty of other feisty, fight-happy creatures who lived here. It was why Pete had Bronwyn make him the towel. And honestly, if he hadn’t slipped on the bar and dropped the thing, events would never have gotten as out of hand as they had.

  Although now that I thought of it, he had slipped on Eshu’s spilt booze. It was like bad luck followed the guy around. Maybe that was a bit unfair, though. Everyone had times when things went wrong in their lives. It didn’t mean he was a walking hex just because a whole lot went down at his hands tonight. And just because I’d had a twenty-nine-year streak of fortune as a luck witch didn’t mean I should expect it to continue. Things had been rocky after my death. It could be that my luck had taken a hit. It could be that my luck would never fully recover. It could be just a blip and things would be back to normal by next week.

  Besides, tonight wasn’t totally bad luck. I did manage to grab the towel and get out. I didn’t get hurt at all. I was fine. So maybe my luck was starting to return, and I just needed to look at things differently.

  We both walked to my car. My hand shook on the keys as I tried to beep the lock on my door.

  “Here.” Eshu handed me the bottle of rum and took the keys, unlocking the door and guiding me around to the passenger side.

&n
bsp; “I can drive,” I protested. Yes, I was tired and shaky, but it’s not like I’d drank anything beyond ginger ale and a sip of beer. Plus, it was only five miles to my house.

  Ignoring my objections, Eshu gently got me situated, fastening my seatbelt and doing a thorough job of running his hands along my waist and thighs as he did so. Even as tired as I was, I didn’t push him away. His attentions warmed my heart, and his hands were doing a good job of warming other parts of my body as well.

  I closed my eyes, resting my head against the back of the seat as he climbed in the driver’s side, started my vehicle, and drove. He went straight to my house without needing any directions, running my car up over the curb a bit and into one of my rhododendrons. I didn’t care. I was too exhausted to care.

  “Lazy couch-witch,” he murmured, picking me up and carrying me to my house. Somehow, he managed to get the door open and me inside, depositing me on my couch and covering me up with the afghan after taking my shoes off.

  I heard the clink when he put the rum down on the coffee table. Then he leaned over and kissed me on my forehead. “Sure you don’t want to screw? I’ve got a massive tent pole that’s got your name all over it.”

  I smiled with my eyes still closed. “Rain check, Eshu. I’m too tired for that.”

  “You can just lie there. In fact, if you fall asleep in the middle of it, that’s okay. Although I’m so good in the sack there’s no way you’ll doze off with me rocking your garden of love.”

  “Another night,” I whispered, wanting nothing more than the joyful oblivion of sleep right now.

  “Guess I’ll just have to masturbate, then. Oh, and I’m taking the rum.”

  I murmured something and heard him let himself out, noting the sound of the deadbolt sliding home. That meant he’d taken my keys. Oh, well. I had a spare set, and it was reassuring knowing that I didn’t have to get up and stagger over to lock the door. Accident was a safe town if you were a witch, but I still didn’t like to take chances. I slept better knowing the doors and windows were all locked, even if I wasn’t so paranoid that I needed to set magical wards on them.

  I sighed and snuggled into the pillows and afghan, knowing that I’d need to wash the sticky booze and beer residue off of them all tomorrow. It had been a crazy evening—crazy and scary and kind of fun in an exhilarating I’d-almost-gotten-crushed sort of way.

  And Eshu… He was trouble with a capital “T.” Everything turned upside down when he was around. It was like being on a rollercoaster where I wasn’t sure if I was having the time of my life or experiencing the last moments of my life. But he wasn’t boring, and he made me laugh, and I never knew what to expect when he was with me.

  And his hands on my waist and legs set off all sorts of sparks and sensations I hadn’t felt in a very long time. I’d never taken his constant teasing propositions seriously. Normally I wouldn’t be interested in a meaningless fling that might complicate things between us. He wasn’t serious. I got the impression he was never serious. And I feared casual sex with Eshu, while it would probably be a whole lot of fun, might leave me wanting a commitment that a demon—or whatever he was—could never give.

  Heartbreak wasn’t something I wanted to risk right now, but friendship with someone fun and crazy who made me forget my troubles? That was something I needed. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep things just friends though, because my body wanted to cross that line with the trickster, even though my more sensible brain warned me that way lay danger—big danger.

  Chapter 8

  Sylvie

  I got up the next morning and contemplated burning my couch. The booze and whatever the heck had been on the floor of Pistol Pete’s had permeated the upholstery and the whole thing smelled like cat piss if a cat had gone on a bender the night before.

  Hoping for the best, I shoved the blankets and pillows into the wash, hosed the whole thing down with Febreze, and went to take a shower, putting my clothes in a plastic bag to deal with later.

  The shower felt amazing, and I glided the scrubby all over my skin, inhaling the aroma of vanilla and lavender. When the hot water was beginning to fade to lukewarm, I got out, toweled myself off, and piled my wet hair on top of my head in a clip. Not even bothering with a bathrobe, I headed down to the kitchen naked, opened the cabinet, and pulled out a jug of Glenda’s smoothie.

  Should I have asked Eshu to stay last night? It was the question that had been running through my brain ever since I’d woken up. Actually, I was pretty sure a few of my dreams had involved him as well. I’d been too tired last night to do much besides crash on the couch, but if he’d stayed, we could have showered together, had a naked breakfast together, gone back in my bedroom after breakfast for round two. Despite all the bawdy jokes and songs and his constant descriptions of his supposedly enormous cock, I got the feeling he’d be really good in bed. He’d be enthusiastic, and fun, and we’d probably laugh as much as we’d orgasm. Maybe that’s what I needed in my life right now. It would be a fling, at the most a friends-with-benefits sort of deal. I couldn’t see Eshu taking anything seriously, let alone a relationship, and I wasn’t sure he was really relationship material anyway.

  But fun breathless sex with someone who made me laugh, who made me feel more alive than I’d felt even before my death? That might be worth throwing caution to the winds for.

  Trying to delay drinking Glenda’s smoothie, I picked up my phone and texted Cassie, letting her know that I needed to talk to her. I’d learned not to call since Cassie always picked up when it was one of us, fearing we were in trouble and needed her. Many times, it had been absolutely obvious she’d been in the middle of sex and my call had brought that to a screeching halt. I had no doubt that she’d paused whatever activity she and Lucien were doing on a Saturday morning to check my text, but at least she could see it wasn’t an emergency.

  I eyed the jug, knowing I needed to just get this over with. Unscrewing the cap, I drank it all down, gagging and choking at the horrible taste. It was bad. It was worse than the other smoothies she’d been bringing me since I’d died. I knew Glenda was concerned, that she was worried I wasn’t healing fast enough, but why oh why did her potions have to taste so foul?

  I was rinsing the bottle out when I got Cassie’s return text telling me she’d meet me at the diner in an hour. Or maybe two hours. She’d text me when she was on her way. I rolled my eyes and smiled, thrilled that she was in love and happy and getting some hot action anytime she wiggled a finger at Lucien.

  Would it be the same with Eshu? Probably not. I was pretty sure he’d be up for sex any time I wiggled my finger, but I couldn’t see him being as devoted to me as Lucien was to Cassie. I couldn’t see him being as devoted to anyone or anything. It’s just how he was. Lighthearted. Fun. Casual. Could I do casual, or would my heart end up wanting more?

  I shook off the thoughts and headed upstairs to get dressed, invigorated by Glenda’s potion. Cassie might be heading to the diner in an hour or two, but I was heading over now. Why cook breakfast and eat alone when two blocks away I could get an omelet with swiss and bacon and enjoy the reassuring feeling of being surrounded by the good folk of Accident?

  Dressed and heading out, I nearly stepped on a note tucked partially under my door mat.

  Your office at 8am Saturday. Please.

  Sometimes my clients had emergencies. As much as I wanted that omelet, it was going to have to wait. We didn’t have a hotline in town or a backup therapist, and many residents either didn’t have cell phones or weren’t in a position where a phone call would be unheard. Too many of the beings in our town had supernatural hearing, and many of my clients had matters of a sensitive and confidential nature to discuss. So, I tried to make myself available whenever someone needed me.

  Stuffing the note into my pocket, I walked past the diner with its tantalizing smells and to my office where I found a werewolf waiting for me—a werewolf who, thanks to my charm, only I could see. We’d had several sessions over the last few
months, and I knew he’d been eager to resume and get on my appointment book once I’d come back after my death experience, but I was pretty sure I knew what his emergency was today.

  “Sylvie.” He shifted nervously, looking down the street. “Thanks for meeting me. It’s late notice, I know.”

  I opened the door and let him in, motioning him toward a chair as I took a seat opposite him. “How are things going, Clinton?”

  He looked down and ran a hand over the carved wood of the chair arm. “I did what you said and picked out the rugs, upholstery, and throw pillows for my pack’s lodge. Even got a nice shabby-chic accent light for the side table.”

  “How did that make you feel?” I asked.

  He let out a whoosh of breath. “Good. Like it’s home. Like it’s mine. Just being there calms and centers me. That’s not why I wanted to see you, though. There’s a meeting coming up on Monday between Dallas and me with your sister there. I need to talk about that.”

  I nodded. “That meeting will be a huge test of your newfound calm, Clinton. Have you been practicing the techniques we went over? Planning strategies for when you feel like your temper might get out of hand?”

  “No. I mean, yes, but that’s not it.” He fidgeted in the chair. “The meeting is a waste of time. Dallas ain’t gonna ever let me have a separate pack inside the wards, let alone on what he feels is his mountain. He ain’t gonna budge. Cassie’s gonna get mad and lay down the law and try to force what she wants. Nothing constructive is gonna happen. Dallas’s wolves already took a quarter mile of what we carved out for our pack, and I know he plans on standing his ground and attacking us the night after the meeting.”

  I thought of the conversation in the bar last night. “Do you think he’ll offer you a chance to return to his pack and re-integrate?”