50 Ways to Hex Your Lover (10 page)

She sighed. “I should have brought popcorn.”

The movie couldn’t hold her attention for long, though, since Nick was still on her mind. For a moment she wished Irma were
here with her to provide a distraction from her scattered thoughts. She reconsidered the idea quickly. Irma’s presence would
mean cigarette smoke, whining about Tyge and his smells, and constant chatter about what she should do to bed Nick … nope.
She could definitely live with her own ill-timed reflections for a few hours more.

She’d actually reached the six-month mark since she last thought about Nick. It was a milestone for her. Was it too much to
ask that a few more decades pass before she ran into him again? She could eliminate curses with the snap of her fingers, but
no spell could eliminate the vampire from her thoughts and, if she was honest with herself, her heart.

She didn’t understand why he had sought her out. Her reputation had been hard-earned over the years as a high-quality curse
eliminator. She didn’t have the investigating skills Nick had. She met with the client, gauged the depth of the curse, figured
out what it would take to get rid of it and zapped it back to wherever it came from. Then she collected her fee and went on.

Now this.

She didn’t think he was using his reports of missing vampires as a ruse to see her again—especially not since they were showing
up on Krebsie’s radar, too. For one, Nick was too direct in his dealings with everyone. For two, refer to number one. She
stared at the small flickering screen and tried desperately to let the movie take her thoughts away. But even Sandra Bullock
and Nicole Kidman’s magick was flat tonight.

Six

Nick sensed magickal turmoil in the air the moment he rang the doorbell and the door opened with a creak worthy of a Halloween
haunted house.

“Forget it, D. I am not working tonight no matter how much money you offer! I’m sick, damn it! All I want to do is stay home
and suffer.”

Nick followed the raspy voice toward the rear of the house and found Jazz in the kitchen standing over a steaming black iron
pot on the stove with another pot set on a back burner. He inhaled the scents of ginger root, licorice root, and astragalus
with lemon. He stood there for a moment enjoying the sight of his sexy witch looking less than attractive and doing something
domestic. Purple cotton sleep pants echoed the amethyst winking at him from her ankle bracelet while the long-sleeved t-shirt
sported a colorful pattern of Tootsie Roll Pops. Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail with ends sticking out every
which way. And if he wasn’t mistaken her nose rivaled Rudolph’s on Christmas Eve. She sneezed and the contents of the pot
on the back burner immediately bubbled up over the edge.

“At least that one did some good,” she muttered, grabbing a dishcloth and mopping up the mess. “Damn thing would have taken
another five minutes to boil. Not fair I can’t do this in the microwave.”

“Good evening.”

Jazz spun around and collapsed against the counter. “Oh damn. Oh shit.” Her expression warned him she was going to be less
than receptive tonight. “I did say tonight, didn’t I? Fine, come in. Just don’t expect me to be entertaining.” She quickly
whipped a tissue from her sleeve as a sneeze overtook her. A piece of toast promptly flew out of the toaster and across the
room. If he hadn’t had preternatural reflexes, it would have smacked him right in the face. “This really isn’t a good time,”
she muttered, wiping her nose.

Witches didn’t get sick often, but when they did it was with a magickal vengeance, and provided entertainment to boot. He
was fully prepared to sit back and take in the show.

“On the contrary, this might work in my favor.” He noted the filled coffee pot and helped himself. While he couldn’t assimilate
mortal food, he could drink liquids, and coffee was his favorite. He knew Jazz’s coffee would be the way he liked it. Hot
and strong. He glanced at the black and gold mug and chuckled as he read aloud, “
Vampires are a ghoul’s best fiend.
”

“It was a Christmas gift.” She poured the contents of the first pot into a mug that read
Witchful
Thinking.
She leaned her hip against the counter as she sipped the hot liquid. When she lifted her head her eyes were as red as her
nose.

"
You little shits!”

Nick’s head whipped around at the sound of a man’s fury-filled voice, but Jazz didn’t turn a hair.

“Oh dear, what have they done now?” she murmured with a soft sigh. She looked up at Nick. “Now you’ll see the life I lead
and why it would simply be wrong for me to turn myself into some big bad witch just to help you with your missing vampire
problem when there are days there’s so much going on around here.”

High-pitched squeals and noisy chatter reached the kitchen at the same time two bunny slippers dashed across the floor. In
the wink of an eye, they slid themselves onto Jazz’s feet.

“Do you know what those furry little bastards did?” A red-faced Krebs raced into the room, skidding to a stop when he realized
Jazz wasn’t alone.

“Don’t worry, he knows what they are.” Jazz blew her nose, tossed the tissue into the trash and pulled a fresh one out of
her sleeve. “Nick, Krebs.

“Hi.” Krebs remembered his manners before turning to Jazz. “I thought you were going to keep them locked up.”

“Yeah, like that can happen.”

Krebs started for the slippers who promptly snarled their version of “back off.”

“Do you know what this is?” He held up a tiny scrap of black cotton while keeping his distance.

“It’s a trifle small to be a handkerchief and I have this bad feeling you’re going to tell me what it used to be and I won’t
like what I hear.” She looked down at her feet. “What did you do?”

One of the slippers flashed a toothy grin and cooed up at her while its mate released a discreet burp. Ears rotated like an
antenna, then the head whipped around. The bunny reached out and snatched up a piece of licorice root that had dropped to
the floor while his buddy growled and promptly grabbed the other end, setting up a game of tug of war with the root. Killer
bunny growls and snaps filled the room as they battled for control of the herb, their antics throwing Jazz off balance.

“Bad bunnies.” She turned toward her roommate. “Krebs, the veins are sticking out on your neck. You’ll give yourself a stroke
if you don’t calm down,” she advised.

“This…” he took a deep breath, “this
was
my Grateful Dead t-shirt. The one Jerry Garcia signed after their ’72 European tour.” He glared at the unrepentant slippers
who chewed on their now individual pieces of the licorice root. “Do you know how much I paid for this shirt on eBay?”

“And here I thought it was bad when they ate my favorite boots,” Nick murmured.

“They ate my rubber ducky slippers because they felt they should be my
only
slippers,” Jazz said.

Krebs continued breathing heavily through his nose. “I have a shredder and I know how to use it,” he threatened Fluff and
Puff. Entirely unrepentant and unperturbed, one merely yawned while the other blew him a raspberry.

Jazz barely grabbed her tissue in time for her sneeze. The blender whirred merrily before the top flew off and landed on the
counter.

“I will talk to them,” she promised. “Again.” She held up her hand for silence as he opened his mouth. “Give me a break, Krebs.
You know very well they can’t
be
punished because they have that crazy protective shield around them that protects them from being harmed. Plus, even if I
tried to punish them, they would only take it out on you. Do you really want to chance losing half your computer equipment
or at the least the contents of your closet?”

He glared again at the slippers. “The Dead will be avenged.”

“Just go to Vegas and enjoy yourself,” she urged.

Krebs shot Nick a curious look. “Are you sure?”

Nick smiled at the idea of the human protecting Jazz against a vampire even if said human didn’t know he was one. He liked
it even more that Krebs’s protective gesture was more that of a brother than a lover.

She nodded. “I have a cold. Do you really want to be around me?” Her next sneeze activated the garbage disposal and easily
made his mind up for him.

Krebs glanced at Nick again. “No offense, but exactly who are you?”

“Someone who’s looking for a curse eliminator,” Jazz told him. “Drive safely, have a good trip, win at the craps tables, and
find yourself a hot blonde to share your winnings with.”

Krebs disappeared long enough to get a small suitcase, muttered a good-bye and left after shooting a murderous look at the
happily shameless slippers who had finished their licorice root and were looking around for something else to nibble.

“Some things never change,” Nick commented, getting up to refill his cup. When the nearest slipper snarled at him, Nick flashed
a hint of fang. The slipper wisely backed off.

Jazz set the mug on the table then moved the second pot over there. Fresh thyme and peppermint scented the air as she picked
up a towel and draped it over her head, leaning over the pot, and inhaling the nose-clearing steam. She sniffed loudly.

“I may not be a healer like Lilibet,” she released a sigh, mentioning one of her witch sisters, “but I know my herbs. So why
can’t I cure a simple cold?”

Nick smiled. “It’s still safer than when you go through PMS.”

She shuddered. Her nasal tones were muffled under the towel. “Those times are scary even to me. The last time I had PMS a
roast chicken popped out of the oven and danced the
Macarena.
Krebs had walked in just as the chicken started dancing. By then he was pretty much used to anything and only asked if the
chicken shouldn’t be doing the
Chicken
Dance
instead.” She peeked out from under the towel for a second. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, just as he had hoped.
“But you didn’t come here to watch the house overreact to my sneezes, did you? I know I told you to come back tonight, but
why are we bothering with this? You’ll tell me your problem and I’ll tell you there is no way I can help you. End of story.”
She breathed in deeply, allowing the steam to make its way through her sinuses.

“Clive Reeves.” She froze at the mention of the name. If she looked pale before, she now looked the color of new fallen snow.
“
You know
vampires are disappearing and
I know
that Reeves has something to do with it. But I need a strong witch’s magick to help me get onto his property without him knowing
it’s me. I tried to get onto the grounds not long ago and was rebuffed. He obviously set up a ward specifically to keep me
out of there.” He could see the hint of old pain in her moss-colored eyes and hated that he was the one to cause it. He resisted
the urge to reach across the table and cover her hand with his. He doubted she would appreciate his sympathetic gesture.

“I have been hearing that name way too often lately.” It took an effort of will, but Jazz managed to keep her voice steady.
She paused for a long moment, measuring her thoughts, her reactions, the extent of her cold, and her unwanted past against
Nick here and now. “Look, Nick,” she said finally, “Clive Reeves is dead and there are no rumors that his son has gone over
to the Dark Side like his father did.” Her gaze on him suddenly narrowed and sharpened through her cold fog. “Come to think
of it why do you think Junior has something to do with the disappearances? And why would he set up a ward to keep you out?”

“Because of what happened in 1932.”

Her hands trembled so badly she had to set the towel to one side. She looked up from her herbal steam, showing a rare vulnerability
that worried him. She didn’t believe in revealing weakness to anyone. Not even to the one who knew her best.

“Clive wanted to be like us,” Nick pressed. “He wanted power and he wanted immortality. He wanted to be the characters he
played in his films. When he discovered what you and I were, he sought to find a way to gain what we have.”

“That wasn’t all he sought,” she muttered.

“Jazz….” She waved off whatever he was about to say.

“All he had to do was ask for a vamp hickey.” She pushed her mug and the pot to one side, rested her clasped hands on the
table and closed her eyes. Nick remained silent watching her gear up for the coming conversation. When she opened her eyes,
they were so dark they looked black. “Tell me why you think Clive Reeves Jr. has something to do with the disappearances.”

“I believe that there is no Clive Reeves Jr.,” he stated and waited for her reaction. She stared at him in disbelief. “Somehow
at the moment of his death,” Jazz’s lips moved in a silent curse as he continued, “Reeves managed to transfer his life force
into his son’s body. The man everyone thinks is the son is actually the father. He hasn’t left the estate grounds, much less
the mansion, in decades. It’s thought his magick is more powerful there and he feels vulnerable away from his base of operations,
so to speak. He has slaves to provide him with anything he needs and a selection of vampires for everything else.” His lips
twisted in displeasure.

“That isn’t possible.” She shook her head to further underscore her denial.

“It’s more than possible if you use the right spell.”

“Do you realize what you’re saying? If that’s the case then he used…,” Jazz took a deep breath and leaned across the table
as if afraid of being overheard, “the man used the black arts to accomplish the unthinkable. No one dabbles there unless they
wish to lose all that makes them who, and what, they are. It makes them unclean.” She hissed out the last sentence with distaste
turning her lips into a sneer.

“And it can make them very powerful,” he pointed out.

Jazz looked away. “He couldn’t have accomplished such a thing. He was dead. I literally buried that piece of the bottle into
his heart. The blood spilled everywhere.” She shuddered at the memory. “There was no pulse. The only reason I even touched
him was to assure myself that he was dead! Yes, I know I was in and out of consciousness afterwards, but there was no way
I could have been mistaken.” She rubbed her temples with her fingertips.

Nick understood her anguish. It had gone against her code to kill another. The act had even damaged a part of her. By all
rights, Clive Reeves was the weaker one—a mortal. Except somehow he had managed to overpower, assault, and almost kill Jazz
before she managed to defend herself. By the time Nick arrived, Reeves’ dead body lay sprawled on the floor and a weak and
blood-covered Jazz was trying to crawl out of the room. The only reason the Witches’ High Council hadn’t sentenced her to
death back then was that she had been forced to defend herself against dark magick. They ruled she acted in self-defense and
should not be punished for the deed.

He wondered if the Council chose that road since they knew Jazz would punish herself harshly enough. After all, living with
blood on your hands was more difficult than being granted a swift death. He knew that more than anyone.

“It was a known fact back then that Clive was searching for anyone who dealt in the darker side of the occult,” she continued.
“He was convinced that with the right kind of help he could live forever. As you said he wanted to be his characters for real.
Some mortals echoed his beliefs and latched on to him in hopes his power would become theirs. Others treated it like a joke
or a game or even thought he’d lost his mind. Clive sought out anyone with a hint of magick in hopes they could grant his
wish. It seems it happened after all.” Her voice quivered with old pain that still hadn’t been wiped away.

Many times Nick thought of that time and regretted not giving in to his darker side that night and obliterating the man because
he had almost destroyed this magnificent woman’s spirit. It would have been so easy. He could have carried the body up into
the hills and let the wild coyotes and bobcats take care of Reeves. Instead, like Jazz, he thought it was all over. Clive
Reeves’ widow took her baby son to Europe to escape the scandal, and Jazz took off for parts unknown before Nick could see
or talk to her again. He didn’t run into her again for almost forty years. It was only because of a vague rumor surfacing
that Clive Reeves wasn’t who he was purported to be that Nick returned to L.A. The man who claimed to be Clive Reeves’ son
returned to Hollywood to build a new film empire focusing on stylish horror films that catered to the cult market. Clive Reeves
Jr. was also well known for flamboyant parties, where the preternatural were more than welcome. That was when Nick first heard
that party-going vampires may have gone in as guests, but not all of the guests left.