Hex Appeal (8 page)

Irma's glare bounced off her before the ghost returned to her TV viewing. “I hope you don't plan on taking me anywhere today. There's a movie I want to watch later.”

Jazz took it as dismissal and escaped the carriage house.

“And don't forget to come up with one of those illusion spells!” Irma called after her. “I've been wearing this horrid dress long enough!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She escaped to the house. Irma's illusion spell would have to wait. She had some investigating at the boardwalk to do on Fluff and Puff's behalf along with heavy-duty cleansing in her suite of rooms. She knew that part of the job was going to take a lot more than Pine-Sol and Clorox.

***

After using cedar oil and charged water along with her favorite broom for sweeping out the negativity, Jazz was ready for a quick shower and change of clothes for her trip to the boardwalk.

She bypassed stopping for cotton candy or funnel cake and headed straight for the carousel. The enclosure was edged with gold curlicues and vividly painted scenes of mermaids, dolphins, sea serpents, and other sea creatures humans thought were mythical and Jazz knew to be all too real.

“Hey Hector,” she greeted the Hispanic operator who she knew had Wereblood. The yellow vertical slit in his eyes meant that his Werenature had something to do with reptiles but since anything with scales totally put her off, she didn't pursue it. She'd just hope he wouldn't decide to turn during their conversation.

His scowl was an echo of Rex's. “Whaddya want?”

“How about some news about Willie? Have you talked to him lately?”

His hiss and snarl was worthy of his boss and his species. “We all know what happened to him. Those damn bunnies of yours ate him and you're protecting them when they should be destroyed. They broke the law. What'd you do to Rex to get him to back off? Give him a blowjob out behind the roller coaster?” he sneered.

Major
euww
moment there! “Yeah, like the slippers would eat a Were. They don't like Weres anymore than you like them,” she argued.

He grinned, showing off yellowish-fangs that were definitely of the reptile family. Clear viscous liquid dripped off the fangs and sizzled when it hit the ground.
Ugh!

“Give me a break, Jazz. Everyone knows those creatures eat anything and everything. What are you trying to say? That someone framed them? Give me a break, Tremaine. Willie's gone and one of those furry beasts coughed up his shirt button as proof where he went.”

Jazz was tempted to say “Ms. Tremaine to you, bub,” but she didn't want to see what would happen to a pissed-off snake that drips acidic venom.

“Which can come from anyone.” She stared pointedly at his shirt that gaped a bit even if he had a concave belly. “In fact, it looks like you lost one somewhere.”

Hector glided toward her. His breath was a little too rancid for her olfactory senses. Didn't anyone use mouthwash nowadays?

“Just hand over the bunnies and no one will get hurt,” he told her. “Keeping them in that fancy magickal cage won't keep them safe forever.”

While she wanted to wave her hand in front of her face, she settled for standing her ground.

“As I told you before, Fluff and Puff are protected by very old and very dangerous magick,” she said in a low voice. “When Dyfynnog created them he made sure no one could ever harm them.”
Other than the harm he cooked up to torture them since he was more than a little insane for close to three thousand years.

“You think that scares us?” he sneered. “The laws are clear, Jazz. You harm one of us you die for it. No amount of magick can protect them and if you get in the way you won't find any protection for yourself either.”

Jazz knew a threat when it was issued. Not that it bothered her. There was no way she was giving up the slippers because she knew they were innocent. And even if she didn't like reptiles, Were or not, she would still battle for their rights. Gloria Allred had nothing on a witch fighting for her bunny slippers' rights!

“Do us both a favor and get the hell out of here before I do something you won't like.” Hector turned back to the machinery that ran the carousel.

“I intend to find out the truth,” she declared to his back.

“We know the truth. They ate him.”

Knowing she wouldn't get anywhere here, Jazz exhaled her exasperation and moved on to the next ride. But everywhere she went she was greeted with the same open hostility. As far as the Werecarnies were concerned, Fluff and Puff ate their friend and they deserved to be judged, convicted, and executed for it. She was grateful she didn't run into Rex, although she was sure the boardwalk manager would hear about her visit. Thanks to a Were that actually liked her, Jazz could still indulge in her funnel cake addiction without any problem.

“I never liked that Willie,” Magda, a Werecat who ran the snack stand, confided as she handed over a large Diet Coke and a paper plate filled with a warm funnel cake dusted with powdered sugar. “That weasel clan doesn't have one good member.”

“Is the clan large?” Jazz asked, nipping off a bite with her fingers and popping it into her mouth. She nearly moaned with joy as the flavorful treat gave her taste buds powdered sugar joy.

“Anything over two is too big for me. I'd say there's about fifty in the clan. There'd be a lot less if we could hunt them.”

“I am so glad you're on my side.” Jazz grinned before moving off. She knew the woman shifted into an Angora cat with beautiful silver fur echoed by the waist-length braid hanging down her back, but that didn't mean she wasn't afraid to get her claws dirty. Magda was known for her bloodthirsty nature. Thanks to her and her two daughters there wasn't one actual rat along the boardwalk except for two with Were-blood. Even they stayed out of Magda's way.

As she walked back to the parking lot, she decided to take a detour by the two-story building that sat at the end of the boardwalk. Since taking the stairs and carrying her booty wasn't going to work, she chose the old-fashioned cage elevator that creaked and groaned every inch of the trip.

“Some WD-40 would help,” she muttered, struggling with the heavy grille door and squeezing her way into the cage.

When she reached Nick's office, she found the door ajar and the sound of a woman weeping inside almost hurt her heart. She set her food down by the door and slipped inside.

“There has to be a way you can help me!” The woman's voice was cracked and sounded tired.

“It's not that I can't help you, Mrs. Archer. It's that I feel some things are best left alone,” Nick said, his tone soothing.

Jazz silently crossed the reception area and stood in the doorway. The woman seated in the guest chair was tiny with salt-and-pepper hair cut short. The hand lifted toward her heavily lined face was pink with visible veins and spots denoting her age.

Nick looked up, nodding his head. “It's all right, Jazz. Come in.” He pushed a handkerchief into the woman's hand before leaning back against his desk. “Mrs. Archer, this is Jazz Tremaine. She's helped me in the past.”

“I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something,” Jazz apologized, walking inside.

“Perhaps you can help me persuade Mr. Gregory,” the woman said, dabbing her eyes with the handkerchief.

“Mrs. Archer wants me to find her son,” he said quietly.

Jazz immediately sensed the woman wasn't asking Nick to find a missing little boy.

“He was turned twenty-three years ago,” he went on.

“I don't care that he's a vampire,” the woman went on, clutching the damp handkerchief in one hand and a crumpled photograph in the other. Jazz could see the smiling face of a young man wearing a bright blue polyester shirt and brown polyester pants. She mentally cringed at the fashion disasters of the 1980s even as she remembered a few of her own hair tragedies back then. “I just want to know Ronnie is all right.”

Jazz didn't miss the silent look of entreaty Nick shot her. He never was good with tears and those of a grieving mother with so much love in her heart were even harder. She crouched by the side of the chair, her hands resting lightly on the wooden arm.

“Mrs. Archer, do you truly understand what your son is now? That he isn't the young man you raised?” she asked softly.

The woman's head bobbed up and down. “Ronnie was leaving his night class when he was attacked by a band of rogue vampires. He was such a good boy. He was taking advanced accounting courses. He called me a week after he died and said that he wasn't really dead. He just had to tell me. He knew how hard I took his father's death only a few years before that. But he wouldn't tell me anything else.” She dabbed at her eyes again. Her tears streaked a trail through her face powder. “But he still sends me cards on my birthday and at Christmas. All I want is to see him one time. To know he's all right. Someone at an occult shop I went to gave me Mr. Gregory's name and said he could help me.”

“As I explained to you, Mrs. Archer, your son is no longer the young man you remember,” Nick said.

Her sweet features hardened to a resolve Jazz could understand, even if she knew it wouldn't work on Nick. Her Cossack vampire was too stubborn. “I realize he might not be like the vampires in movies and on TV, but I also know he wouldn't be the monster so many are like. Present company excepted.” She flushed in embarrassment.

Nick smiled. “No problem. But there's also the question of your safety.”

“I'll sign anything you'd like absolving you of any liability; just, please, find him for me. Let me talk to him. Let me see he's all right.”

Nick and Jazz exchanged glances.

She isn't going to give up and better she hire you than someone who will take her money and do nothing or worse, try to claim any vampire they can dig up is her son. And I'm here if there's a way I can help.

He nodded, easily reading her thoughts. He still took a few minutes before responding to Mrs. Archer.

“I can't guarantee that I'll be able to find your son.” He held up his hand to halt her expected protest. “Yes, you told me everything you know about him, but some of the groups move around. I will start going out tonight and see what I can find. But you have to understand that he also has to agree to see you in a place of my choosing and I will be present for the meeting. I won't leave you alone with him.”

Jazz rested her fingertips on the woman's bare arm, feeling the tissue-thin skin under her touch. “It's the best way if you really want to see him,” she murmured.

“He wouldn't hurt me. I know that.”

“My kind are predators, Mrs. Archer.” Nick's voice suddenly turned harsh. “When we are turned we leave our old lives behind. Many times without a second thought.”

She looked from Nick to Jazz then back to Nick again. “If I agree to your terms, will you find my son for me?”

Nick looked as if he wanted to still refuse, but Jazz silently willed him to say yes.

He looked as if the words he was about to say weren't the ones he wanted to say. “I will find him and see if he is willing to meet you.”

After the woman left, Jazz returned to the hallway to retrieve her funnel cake and Diet Coke. A few words warmed up the cake and added ice to her Coke.

“Obviously Rex wasn't on the boardwalk.” Nick slipped the check into his desk drawer and settled back in his chair.

“”No, but his influence was there. No one wanted to talk to me about Willie.” She perched on the chair Mrs. Archer recently vacated. “Most of them are convinced the slippers ate him. Sure, they're garbage disposals at best, but they'd never eat a Wereweasel. Even they have their standards.”

“So you think Fluff and Puff were framed?”

“Definitely. But then what happened to Willie? Is he really dead or just hiding out somewhere?” She glanced up under the cover of her lashes. “Nick.” She drew his name out in a loving coo.

“I'm not getting involved.”

“But I'm helping you with Mrs. Archer.”

“Only because you can handle mortal females better than I can.”

“You're just afraid she'll cry again. So back to Fluff and Puff. The carnies will talk to you. They like you.”

“And they don't like you.”

“They don't like witches,” she corrected him.

“No, I think it's more you.” He suddenly groaned. “Why do I feel that if I don't help you clear Fluff and Puff you won't help me with Mrs. Archer?”

“Because it's something I'd do.” She took a sip of her Diet Coke.

“I'll go talk to them, but don't expect me to hear anything.”

“Thank you. When do you want to start looking for Mrs. Archer's son?”

“I'm going alone on that. From what little she knows I have a good idea he's in Luger's clan.” Jazz made a face at the mention of a rogue band known for vampire violence and mayhem at every turn. “While your blood makes you safe from them biting you, that doesn't mean they can't try something else.”

“Normally I'd argue that I can take care of myself courtesy of fireballs and such, but since it's Luger, I'll let you do the big bad vampire bit and go by yourself. Just call me when you get back. And I promise if Luger goes off and kills you I'll avenge your death.”

Nick snorted at Jazz's declaration.

“I'd say send the slippers, but even then I think you'd be better off contacting the Protectorate.”

Jazz grimaced. She wouldn't go to the Protectorate if her life depended on it. She polished off her funnel cake and crumpled up the paper plate, tossing it in the wastebasket before she stood up.

“I have some cleansing to do.”

“Are you still having dreams?”

She nodded. “But I have a spell that should do the trick.” She walked around the desk and dropped a kiss on his lips. Nick slid one arm around her waist, pressing his fingertips against the base of her spine.