Hell's Belle (19 page)

“Stay there while I find some clean clothes in this mess.” The laundry hamper sitting beside my small writing desk had been tipped over, everything scattered. Hex knew what she was doing. My favorite silk pajamas and lace undies were the most mutilated. My oldest pair of sweats and the pants that I never wore because they were a size too big were undamaged.

I began to discard garments too ripped to keep, explaining, “For some reason, Hex doesn’t bother anyone else. I’m the lucky one. She’s been doing this to me since I was a kid.” I stepped over and closed the door. “Only it was worse when I was younger because I was allergic to cats. She loved to sneak in here and roll in my bed, my clothes, anything she could get her furry paws on. I’d itch and sneeze and break out in hives. We’d wash and wash, but there was always something we missed.”

I snuck a glance at Jacq, who was listening intently as she watched me work, her long firm legs outstretched, relaxed. “I grew out of the allergy, so she’s mostly left me alone.” I shook my head. “Who knows why she’s mad at me now?” My mind flashed briefly to the hellhounds’ attack and my stepping on her tail during my mad dash through the house. This was an extreme amount of damage for that slight infraction. “Maybe she’s bored.” I sighed. A melodramatic cat was too much to deal with right now. I was about to strip off the bedding when Jacq left her seat and stopped me.

“Let me help.” She stilled my hand with hers. Again, I felt her warmth as our magics touched, tingling. She kept her hand, beginning to glow silver, on mine a moment before moving it over the bed. “It’s not well known—and I would ask that you not share this—but I have some small power over energy, and energy is in everything.”

Her voice was wonderful. I suddenly felt awful about becoming angry over her “you smell” comment. (Though in my defense, that was something you should never say to a Southern lady unless you followed it with the words “lovely,” “delicious,” or “like heaven in the moonlight.”)

“About earlier,” I said, watching as black hair slowly disappeared from the comforter. “According to Becca, I ‘stunk up’ her car. To retaliate, she drove me bonkers with every annoying show tune you can think of.” I swear Jacq flinched at the words,
show tune
. “So maybe I’m a bit sensitive about the smell issue. I ran into our neighbor, Dr. Wellsy, hugged him, and some of his cologne must’ve rubbed off.” Reminded, I turned away from the fascinating sight and pulled open my closet. Thankfully, that door had stayed closed.

“I’m going to grab a quick shower. I wouldn’t want to continue to taint the sanctity of everyone’s olfactory senses.” My cheeky tone managed to get a laugh from Jacq. The sound shivered down my spine.
Damn, that woman was too sexy for her own good.

“Well, it’s not that you smell bad…exactly. But I much prefer your own smell of oranges and cinnamon to the scent of a Necromancer.”

Jacq knew what I smelled like? As I searched the closet, I kept my back turned. I really had to work on this blushing thing. Hold up—necromancer? She must be mistaken. Wellsy was an earth witch. I pulled out a pair of navy workout pants, matching jacket, and white tank top.

“Jacq?” My voice was soft.

“Yes?” She glanced in my direction.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” I tried to make her understand with my eyes. Becca had irritated me. Hex had angered me. But neither had hurt me. And I’d seen it in Jacq’s eyes. My careless words had hurt her. My eyes said I’d never do it again. My mouth simply said, “I’ll see you downstairs in a few. Don’t exhaust your magic. If you get tired, leave the mess. I can wash that later, or I can always sleep in the guest room tonight.” The bathroom door clicked shut behind me before she could respond.

But even through the closed door, I still heard Jacq’s outraged shout, “Wait—if you have a guest room why did I have to sleep on that short lumpy couch two nights in a row?”

I simply walked farther into the bathroom. That was one question I wouldn’t be answering any time soon.

* * *

My scream brought Jacq running. I barely grabbed the corner of my white towel before she barreled in. “Put that away before you poke someone’s eye out.” I gestured to the glowing silver sword that seemed to appear and disappear quite frequently.

I wasn’t sure how the mischievous cat had done it, but Hex had somehow gotten something very slippery all over the floor. From the orange smell I suspected my bath lotion. I saw Jacq’s mouth twitch. I’m sure I made a funny picture. Big bad runner, naked but for a towel, hanging on to the shower rail for dear life.

“Oh, go ahead and laugh. Just throw me a towel from that cabinet to put on this floor.”

Jacq grabbed a towel and stepped forward. I started to protest. She’d slip too, and I couldn’t catch her without losing the towel. Instead, the same silver glow emanated from Jacq’s feet. As she approached, the slippery mess disappeared. She stopped a hairbreadth from my suddenly overly warm body. Jacq no longer looked amused.

“Allow me.” Her husky voice was deep, almost raspy. Jacq gracefully dropped to one knee, keeping her smoky eyes glued to mine. In her position, she could’ve peeked beneath the towel. Hands full, I couldn’t have stopped her. But her gaze stayed with mine. I’m not sure that I would’ve been so noble.

As I watched, Jacq lifted one of my feet then the other. Her hands again glowed as she cleaned not only the floor but also the bottoms of my feet. My magic followed her hot, tingling fingers as they caressed the soles of my feet, running gently over each toe before sliding up the backs of my calves. White-knuckled, I clutched the rail for support. From the very beginning, every time we’d touched, I’d tingled. Now I knew why. Her magic had always been brushing mine. This woman was a living, breathing form of electroshock sex therapy. And it might be worth a trip to the loony bin to have a couple thousand watts of that running through my system.

Watching my pupils dilate and my breathing get heavy, she whispered in my ear, “I’ll wait for you.” Something in her tone said she was talking about more than my quick shower. My eyes closed as I leaned against the shower door for support. I heard her shut the door firmly and felt her absence as the room’s temperature returned to normal. I made my way to the bathtub.

With these weak legs, the shower was no longer an option.

Chapter Eleven

“Time is fluid. Scientists will give you a bunch of mumbo jumbo about how this deals with space and relativity, but all it really means is that, like water, the harder you try to hold on to time, the faster it runs through your fingers.”

—From the personal diary of Cate Delacy Deveroux

After my bath I headed downstairs, passing through a bedroom that seemed like new. I didn’t want to know how much magic Jacq had expended. When this was over, I’d bake her a cake to say thank you. Nothing says “Thanks for repairing the damage my evil cat inflicted” like chocolate icing. Even the clothes I’d discarded had been fixed. I couldn’t help but notice—she’d left my favorite lacy undies (minus the claw marks) hanging on the inside door. The fact that I was now wearing said undies didn’t mean a thing.

Probably the most impressive thing had been the anti-kitty, silver-glowing runes spread across my bedroom door’s threshold. Of course, Jacq hadn’t told me that’s what they were. She didn’t need to. When I’d exited the bathroom, the sight of my open bedroom door and a spitting-mad Hex stuck on the other side said it all. I could kiss the woman for that alone.

Because the den had been too small for our group, I’d come downstairs to find everyone relocated to our rarely used dining room. Aunt Helena had made it back from wherever she’d been today, but Mynx had sent me a text saying she was on the trail of something hot and would be back late. That left us five in the dining room, which worked. Its dark paneled walls and hardwood floor suited the somber task.

Becca wasn’t angry about being pushed into Luke.
No shocker there.
She gave me a halfhearted glare for his benefit, which I promptly ignored. I recounted my harrowing tale of tuneful torment with subsequent moaning, groaning and placating (with a home-baked cookie from my aunt) before getting down to business. We managed for about ten minutes until Discord Deveroux had to bring up Wellsy.

“I think your professor friend is right in the heart of it.” Luke pointed to the information he and Jacq had collected this afternoon.

I gave him a dirty look. I hadn’t had an opportunity to speak with my aunt regarding her friend, and Luke had just ruined my chance to bring up the subject gently.

“What professor friend?” Aunt Helena turned to me. “What is Lucas talking about, dear?”

I pulled my braid then stopped. It was a childhood habit my aunt would recognize. “I ran into Wellsy at Tulane. I was going to tell you, but someone,” pointed eye-roll at Luke, “beat me to it. He’s teaching a class there.” I dropped my voice. “Aunt Helena, he’s different. At first, he didn’t recognize me. He looks older and,” I looked at Jacq for confirmation, “smells of necromantic magic.”

At Wellsy’s name, Aunt Helena grew pale, but her color returned quickly as she forcefully said, “That doesn’t mean anything. There are a hundred unrelated reasons why he would smell like that.”

“Yes, there are. And that’s why we’re going to check all the professors who have connections to these girls.” I pointed to a list we’d made. Luke had a point. Wellsy was indeed connected to Isabella and two of the other girls. They’d been his students years ago. However, once we’d started looking at the college angle, we’d found several of the girls had unofficially audited classes and had several professors in common.

Luke gave me a dirty look. If this was a police case, he’d be all for playing by the book. But this was Were business. He didn’t fool me. I knew Luke didn’t care about who was behind this. He figured if we had the where and when, we could go in, kick ass, and get names later. He’d always been a quick finish kind of man.

“Back to the where. I believe the last ritual will take place in The Burg or nearby. They won’t want to move Isabella far.” That’s why I’d had Kyle moved to that city. We might not be able to track Isabella through her mate-bond, but being near her general location would strengthen the bond and help Kyle stay calm.

My statement got us back on track and we went over the Council’s photos again, looking for common factors. Becca was silent for several minutes, but I could tell she had something on her mind. Finally, she cleared her throat. I raised my eyebrows. She looked first at me then Aunt Helena.

“Won’t the ritual have to be done at a gate? And don’t you know the locations for all of those? You guys didn’t misplace one or anything?” She laughed slightly, but her voice was strained. I opened my mouth, shutting it again as she continued, “I mean, how many can there be in one city?”

I saw my aunt gear up to answer. Better her than me. I’d asked my mom the same questions at least a dozen times growing up. I didn’t like the answer then. It wouldn’t be any pleasanter now.

“What you have to understand,” Aunt Helena said, “is that the gates are only for one-way travel. It’s not like an open door where we can travel through either way. Gates work best going from gate to gate. They’re easier to hold, and there’s less chance that you’ll be lost in the void.” I doubted the others understood how horrible a concept “lost in the void” really was. “The other option is to set up a beacon or focal point on the receiving side. It’s like a magical marker telling the gate where to deposit whoever’s coming through. It’s more risky and takes more power.”

This explanation could get a bit long. I pulled up a chair and grabbed Jacq’s wrist. We sat close together. I passed her a cookie. Becca and Luke joined us. The Weres looked like they wanted to take notes. I smiled around the chocolate chips. The Council kept information about the gates on a need to know basis, and they didn’t think anyone needed to know. This was like finding out who really killed JFK.

In lecture mode, Aunt Helena continued, “There are only a few gates close by. We’re tuned to them and know the minute a ritual is begun to open one. We don’t think Nicodemus is willing to take that chance when he doesn’t have to. All his group needs is a small focal point on this side to set a destination and a massive burst of power. The large gate is in Hell. Power can be stored and hidden on a greater level within living objects than within something inanimate. We believe Nicodemus is using the missing boys as vessels to hold the power he steals during his sacrifices. Because they were not born to it, they can’t harness the power. Even chock- full of stolen magic, the boys provide less resistance than if he just kept all of the kidnapped girls alive until the day he opened the gate. From the amount of power he’s amassing and his use of the missing boys, this seems like Nicodemus’s plan.”

Becca’s mouth dropped open. I passed her a cookie. She took it automatically. “But the power, the sorcerer, everything is on this side?”

“I’ve got this,” I said. Aunt Helena nodded and sat. I slid the plate of cookies her way. A teaspoon of sugar makes anything go down better. You can bet there were more than a few teaspoons in those cookies. It was a scientific fact—one I was counting on—that people couldn’t fight if they had a cookie in their mouth. “Becca, think of it like a collect call where the sorcerer, in this case Nicodemus, accepts the charges. I know it seems bass-akwards.” I scooted my chair away from my aunt as she tried to swat me. Technically, I wasn’t cursing. I moved just a bit closer to a laughing Jacq, who was fortunate not to choke on her own cookie. Becca watched us three with fascinated eyes. I wasn’t quite sure about Luke’s expression. It looked remarkably like rancor.

Once out of harm’s way, I continued, “The gate would be initiated on the other side then connected to Nicodemus’s focal point. The entrance can be powered by either side. Nicodemus is the one collecting power, so he’ll be the one to accept payment and be responsible for holding the gate open. If he can’t deliver, the call gets disconnected, and the gate closes.” I didn’t add that the gate
always
takes payment. If Nicodemus couldn’t provide enough power, the gate might decide to take him body and soul. Or it might decide to nab anybody who was in the wrong place at the wrong time…like a group of guardians, Weres, and other sundry folk who decided to crash the party-line.