50 Ways to Hex Your Lover (9 page)

“Are we going anywhere or are the two of you going to stand out there talking all evening?” Irma’s plaintive voice broke the
last bit of the spell lingering between Jazz and Nick. “Of course, if you’re
doing something else
I’ll wait.”

Jazz sighed. “Too bad a fireball won’t take care of her.”

“I’ll be here at seven, Jazz.” The instant the words left Nick’s mouth he disappeared right in front of her.

She took a swig of water and several deep breaths to calm her raging hormones before activating the carriage house door. It
silently slid to one side and the interior lights came on.

Irma swiveled around in the seat and stared at Jazz.

“I don’t understand why the two of you don’t kiss and make up,” Irma said, as Jazz climbed into the car.

Jazz wasn’t about to tell her that she and Nick had, not two minutes previously, far more than covered the kissing part of
that request. “There are things you don’t know, Irma,” she said wearily. “Just let it go. Please.”

The ghost looked startled by Jazz’s lack of sass. She smiled and reached over, patting Jazz’s arm.

“He’s a man, honey. You have to put up with their oddities at times. I should know after my Harold betrayed our marriage vows.”

Jazz uttered a short laugh. “Except you didn’t forgive him, did you? Instead you got even by killing yourself in his brand
new T-Bird and cursing your spirit to stay in that damn passenger seat for eternity, and damning me with your presence in
the process,” she pointed out.

“Oh honey, Nicky isn’t like Harold, damn his cheating soul. He really cares for you. Why if I were five years younger I’d
show you what it takes to keep a real man.”

Jazz shook her head. Thanks to Irma, she felt her equilibrium returning. “You know what, Irma? Since you adore Nick so much,
why don’t you go haunt
his
car? Why, you would be the perfect pair. You’re both dead!”

Irma narrowed her eyes and lifted her hand, a lit cigarette balanced between her fingers. “This is exactly why you can’t keep
a boyfriend.”

Piloting the sleek black limousine up the narrow two-lane winding canyon road devoid of all streetlights wasn’t easy, but
it was nothing Jazz hadn’t done before. While she enjoyed the funky town of Sierra Madre that lay nestled in the foothills,
she didn’t enjoy this part of the journey or the destination. The only good thing about having to concentrate on the winding
road was that she couldn’t think about Nikolai Gregorivich, correction, Nick Gregory.

On either side of the road small houses were set against the mountains, the dwellings boasting elaborate stained glass windows
alive with jewel tones and homey plants hanging from rafters set over the doorways. While many of the residents here were
known for sneering at the establishment back in the sixties, the rustic façades of their homes now hid expensive art and designer
furniture inside. And every driveway seemed to boast a high-end Mercedes, BMW, or Porsche. She continued driving until she
reached the end of the road. She parked in front of a series of stone steps leading up to a rounded earth-house that Bilbo
Baggins would have envied. She climbed out and went around to stand next to the rear passenger door. One trip up the steep
steps had cured Jazz of ever climbing them again. They were, simply put, hazardous to anything without built-in cloven hooves
or something equally billy-goat-like, or perhaps sucker-footed since they could stick to the stones. High-fashion stiletto
heels—however much the client liked them—were an absolute no-no on Foulshadow’s steps or she’d be falling on her ass.

Not that she had to even honk the horn or wait long for him anyway. This particular client always seemed to know exactly when
she arrived.

As she stood there she again felt the pull of the waxing moon. She was glad she would be heading for Moonstone Lake soon.
She needed the chance to spend time with her witch sisters and center herself.

She sensed parts of her world were ready to turn upside down and she feared she would need more strength than ever to handle
it. She tipped her head back and noticed the otherworldly lights drifting out from the half-moon shaped windows in the dwelling.

“Why do I feel as if the dirt used to build that place was not originally from the good ole U. S. of A.?” she muttered.

A portion of the base of the hill rolled upward like a garage door and her client moved toward her on short spindly legs that
seemed to allow him to glide more than walk. The opening slid shut behind him with the same low hum of magick.

Jazz kept her features impassive. The last thing she wanted Tyge Foulshadow to know was just how much she detested him. She
sensed he would enjoy her disgust more than any form of fear she might display.Whenever she was forced to spend time with
this creature she felt the dark power of an ancient and dangerous magick seep out of his skin the same way a gelatinous substance
seeped from his pores. But his magick’s origin eluded her. It was more like a tainted odor than the comfort offered by the
magick within her. She had a strong feeling that there was more to Tyge Foulshadow than met the eye. She couldn’t stand him,
but she never wanted to find herself on his bad side. She was positive he would be a very formidable enemy if he chose to
be. There was no doubt there was an exceptionally sinister side to the creature, which was why she made certain to keep her
loathing for him well hidden.

“Prompt as always, my beautiful Jazz.” Tyge Foulshadow’s voice was more an echo inside her head than any sound coming from
the tiny round dark hole that was his mouth.

Even without streetlights, Jazz could see him clearly as if his skin was illuminated from the inside.

She privately described the barely five-foot-tall creature as Jabba the Hutt with legs. Tyge’s immense teardrop shaped body
was covered with oozing grayish green skin that resembled million-year-old algae. As he moved toward her, multi-colored bursts
of noxious gas burst out of his rear end. She mentally damned Dweezil for refusing to allow her to wear a gas mask when dealing
with his biggest client. While the gas was dangerous to some and lethal to many, her kind only ended up with a mild nausea
and headache. To her regret, Tyge had taken a shine to her after the first time she drove him. After that night he requested
her as his driver every time he went out. And every time Jazz refused, Dweezil offered her more money. If she weren’t so greedy
at times, she’d have an easier time turning him down.

Tyge had tried to hire her away from Dweezil to work full-time as his personal driver. The money may have been tempting, but
working for the smelly creature was not. Dealing with him once or twice a month was her limit.

“You look gorgeous tonight, my Jazz,” Tyge’s voice rumbled in his chest, as he held out his short, pudgy, long, three-fingered
arms as if to embrace her.

Jazz deftly sidestepped his maneuver by opening the door for him. No way she wanted those suction-tipped fingers anywhere
near her skin.

He glided to a stop by the door. Eyes the color of anthracite swept over her with a thoroughness that Jazz feared meant he
could see clear to her bare skin. She steeled herself not to retch when his long purplish-black tongue appeared to wet non-existent
lips. Venomous hot-pink gas shot out of his ass exuding a smell strong enough to instantly kill any vegetation unlucky enough
to grow within one hundred feet. It took some time for Jazz to figure out that hot-pink meant the creature was slightly aroused.
She was just glad it had never grown darker than a pale-red. If she ever saw a dark-ruby shade, she would zap that ugly bastard
right on its slimy ass. She kept her gaze determinedly planted on his ugly face. She was soooo glad she hadn’t eaten before
picking him up. Just being around him was enough to make her lose her dinner.

What she did for the almighty dollar.

“According to your itinerary you want to go to Klub Konfuzion,” she said, keeping her features impassive. Yep, she was going
to seriously gag if he didn’t get in the car right now.

“That is correct. I also hope you will be available to drive me to a private party to be held at Clive Reeves’ mansion ten
days hence.” His face shifted into a smile. Or what his kind might call a smile.

It was all Jazz could do not to flinch. Clive Reeves…after all these years, then twice in one day—and his was a name she never
cared to hear again. And now he’s haunting her all the time, damn him.

She still had nightmares from that hellish night back in 1932. She had crossed a line that night that, by rights, should have
extinguished her life. Only the mercy of the Witches’ High Council had saved her body even if her spirit had never felt fully
recovered.

She wanted to give Tyge an instant, outright “no,” but she thought better of it.

There were less direct, much wiser ways to handle things with certain of Dweezil’s top clients, and for once she would use
her head, pause, think, and not merely react to the moment. She knew Dweezil would throw a fit when she gave him a flat-out
refusal to Tyge’s request, but she didn’t care. Just because it was the son living there instead of the father, damn his soul
to the Underworld, she wasn’t crossing that property line for all the gold in the world. Let Dweezil do the driving. Let him
go home with a toxic wardrobe for once.

“You would have to speak with Dweezil about that,” she said instead. Like D, Tyge didn’t appreciate the word no. She was a
witch with a strong instinct for survival, and she had no idea exactly what powers Master Foulshadow possessed. For all she
knew that noxious gas could turn into something truly nasty if he got riled—as if he wasn’t disgusting enough already. But
no matter what, the last place she was going was Clive Reeves’ mansion.

He inclined his head. “Of course. I will speak to him on the morrow.”

She had no doubt that he would. Luckily, he chose that moment to enter the car. She closed the door firmly after him. Once
behind the wheel, she turned on the special air filtration system that released Tyge’s colorful deadly gas into the atmosphere
without harming the driver or turning it into an even nastier form of smog. She was grateful that meant the privacy panel
always remained closed. The idea of any form of physical contact with the oozing ugly creature sent her stomach into a tailspin.

Even with the privacy panel up she could hear the high-pitched wailing sounds of Tyge’s favorite music and the muted rise
and fall of his voice as he chattered away on his cell phone.

“There is no way I can believe he has even one friend to talk to,” she muttered, making her way down the narrow road to the
freeway.

Traffic was on her side as she headed for San Pedro’s warehouse district down by the docks.

During the day the wharf was alive with stevedores loading and unloading the ships that lined up at the port and filled the
surrounding warehouses with their goods. The buildings that remained empty and dark during the day teemed with another kind
of life at nightfall. They were home to the underground clubs that catered to an exclusive clientele who preferred to live
on the edgier side of life. Jazz knew it wasn’t just the vampires that enjoyed going out after sunset. But no human with a
desire to live beyond that night dared venture into this area.

She resisted an urge to snarl at the creatures lingering outside the club’s entrance as she climbed out of the car. The pungent
mixture of dead fish, salt air, and diesel fuel burned her nose and eyes. But she knew she would take these smells over what
was inside the club any night of the week. Her coat rippled around her body as she moved to the rear of the car and opened
the door. Tyge slid out and waddled in his awkward glide close enough that she had to hold her breath to avoid the lingering
odor on his skin.

Tyge’s eyes glittered with a dark luminance as he stared at her under the red and yellow lights that lined the flat roof of
the building. It was the club’s only decoration. Jazz knew the symbols surrounding the heavy-duty door were a combination
of the club’s name and protection wards so no unsuspecting human could accidentally wander in.

“Perhaps you would care to come inside. I can assure you that you would be treated as my most honored guest.” His tongue,
the color of fresh eggplant, again appeared.

Did he just catch a fly or was he trying to taste her skin?
Eeuuww either way!

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” No, she wasn’t sorry at all, but hey, she knew how to lie with the best of them. She refused to
spend an extra second with Tyge if she didn’t have to. “Dweezil has a strict non-fraternization rule where the clients are
concerned.” She already knew he didn’t have any such rule.

Dweezil believed in doing whatever was necessary to keep the client happy and damn his employees’ sensibilities. Some drivers
didn’t care what they had to do to keep the client happy and pick up big tips.

Jazz was a hell of a lot more discriminating.

Tyge smiled as if he knew she didn’t speak the truth, but he was willing to forgive her transgression. For now. “If you would
only be willing to take the time to truly get to know me. I know that we would spawn beautiful offspring together, my lovely
Jazz. I could give you riches you can only imagine. I have much to offer a beauty like you.”

She felt her smile tremble on her lips, then lost her hard-won control. “I would rather eat dead rotting flesh,” she replied,
her disgust winning out over her fear of insulting him.

His eyes lit up at her words and bright-red gas literally crawled up his back making the dead fish scent of the wharves smell
like French perfume. “You do not know my kind as well as you pretend to, my sexy Jazz. You just spoke of our most popular
aphrodisiac.” He glided toward the entrance where the burly ogre standing in front of the door nodded him through while others
waiting in line snarled and growled their displeasure. One look from the ogre shut them up.

Nursing a stress headache, Jazz moved the limousine to the rear section of the parking lot and backed into a slot so that
she was facing out. She privately thought of the music pumping out of the club as a combination of ear-bleeding electric punk
with a smidge of New Age thrown in for respectability. She pulled a portable DVD player out of its case and popped in one
of her favorite movies. She settled back in the soft leather seat and inserted her ear buds. She knew she would have more
room if she went into the back of the car, but no way would she punish herself that way. As it was, her evening would end
in a long hot shower she called extreme decontamination while her clothing would go into the biohazard materials bag kept
on hand for these occasions.