Hotel Hex (3 page)

The elderly woman tipped her head to one side in thought. “I know very little about Zorak. My only instructions were that he came with the house.”

Jazz thought about telling the woman about the strange wallpaper and vibes that the house was giving off. But looking into her faded blue eyes she knew Mrs. Babbington wouldn’t believe her. She’d run into too many mundanes like her. It was easier to think that the shadow in the corner was merely a shadow, not a creature looking for his next meal.

Yet … there was something about the woman that made her wonder if there was a chance she knew more than she was letting on. “We’ll do our part,” she said finally.

The manager’s warm smile returned as she clapped her hands. “Wonderful! Perhaps you’d care for a cocktail and meet your fellow guests.”

Nick asked if Mrs. Babbington wanted anything then poured glasses of wine for himself and Jazz and a small glass of port for the manager. 

Jazz studied the other woman as she led her further into the room. Strange. She could have sworn the woman’s ornate brooch had sported an amethyst stone set in the twists of gold, but what she now saw was midnight onyx. She prided herself on her observation skills and couldn’t believe she was wrong.

Jazz switched her grimace to a smile as Mrs. Babbington made the round of introductions.

“My dears, our special guests have arrived!” she tittered. “May I introduce you to Jazz Tremaine, a witch, and Nick Gregory, a vampire.”

Both winced at the description but held onto their manners.

Jazz took stock of the other guests. Sylvie, an ethereal wisp of a woman in her mid-twenties with waist-length silver blonde hair, spray tan, and a barely there dark pink silk dress. Beatrice with high-piled burgundy hair looked dramatic in black silk, and seventyish iron-haired portly Derwood wore what she judged to be a custom-tailored suit he must have purchased on Saville Road.

“I understand you claim to be over 700 years old,” Beatrice said, managing to look down her nose at Jazz even though the latter was standing. “How can you prove that?”

Jazz’s jaw hurt from her clenching it so hard. “Not easily since birth certificates weren’t issued back then.”

Undeterred, Beatrice continued, “Didn’t I see on the news that you lifted some sort of curse on a land developer in Laguna Niguel and yet he ended up seven inches shorter?” She tapped her second chin with her forefinger as she speared the witch with beady eyes.

“Banishing the curse merely returned Raymond Carruthers to his original height,” Jazz said, noticing that Sylvie was tapping away on her iPhone.

The younger woman frowned. “It went dead!” She glared at Jazz. “Did you do something to my phone? I need to keep my friends updated over the weekend.”

“Don’t tell me you believe all that nonsense that she’s a witch?” Beatrice chuckled. “My dear, it’s merely publicity so the Hollywood people will use her services.”

It was official. Jazz didn’t like her one bit.

“All that online insanity has ruined the use of pen and paper. The proper way to talk to people,” Derwood spoke up, gesturing with his glass of whiskey.  “What can you tell us about the events for this weekend, Ms. Tremaine? Will you conjure up a demon?” he chuckled.

“Not my style, Mr. Grantham. Not to mention summoning a demon is a very dangerous thing to do. As it is, Nick and I’ve only been here a couple hours,” she replied. “Right now, I’d like to drink my wine and enjoy dinner.”

“I thought you were part of the entertainment,” Beatrice stated huffily, doing her best to stare Jazz down.

It didn’t work.

“We’re guests just like you.”

Sylvie lifted her head, seeming to sniff the air like a dog. “There are very odd vibrations in the air. I wonder how many spirits inhabit the hotel.” She lifted limpid eyes the improbable color of cobalt that had to be enhanced by contact lenses.

Jazz’s elbow connected with Nick’s midriff when she noticed his eyes were focused on the young woman’s impressive spray-tanned cleavage.

You look again and you’ll be way beyond undead.
She bared her teeth at her vamp honey aware he could read her expression.

“There are many kinds of psychics,” she said. “Do you commune with spirits, objects, or just whatever sounds good at the time?”

Sylvie’s glossed lips tightened. “I am well known for my gift.”

“Really?” Jazz smiled. “I’ve never heard of you other than seeing you on
TMZ
or mentioned in the tabloids for sex tapes released to the Internet, all the wild parties in Europe and then there was that escapade in Cancun. But I’ve never read anything about you being psychic.”

“Just as you don’t advertise your gifts, I don’t market mine. I merely use them for the benefit of friends,” Sylvie said primly while flashing Nick a come-hither smile. He wisely ignored it and her.

“Shall we move to the dining room for dinner?” Mrs. Babbington announced.

Jazz knocked back the rest of her wine and handed Nick the glass. “They better have more with dinner,” she muttered.

“A drunken witch is a dangerous witch.”

“Trust me, better drunk than a pissed off one.” She took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the dining room.

“Not when it screws up your magick. Remember last spring in Palm Springs?”

She grimaced at the not so pleasant memory. “It was just the one time.” Her eyes lit up at the sumptuous buffet set up against one wall. The tempting smells reminded her she hadn’t eaten much at lunch.

“We have to serve
ourselves
?” Beatrice was aghast.

“If you want to eat, you do.” Jazz wasted no time forking slices of roast beef, herb roasted potatoes, some yummy looking biscuits, and mixed vegetables onto her plate.

“Very plebian food for a luxury residence,” Derwood grumbled, but piled his plate high also. “Ah.” His eyes lit up at the bottles of wine set on the table. “An excellent vintage.” He quickly took a seat and filled his glass. Then recoiled as the red liquid sent out the tangy scent of copper.

“I believe that’s for me,” Nick took the wine glass out of his hand. He then snagged the bottle, bringing it closer to them.

“Do you enjoy busting curses for celebrities?” Sylvie asked, barely sounding polite as she added a few greens to her plate and retired to a chair. She might have directed her question at Jazz, but her smile made its way toward Nick.

The witch wondered if the so-called psychic saw a nasty hex in her future. All sorts of good ones filled her mind.

“I don’t
bust
curses, I eliminate them.” She bit into her biscuit with a decided snap of her jaw. “And no, not all are celebrities. Although I have to say that Hollywood does love a good hex.” She smiled broadly.

Beatrice nodded. “I do believe I read somewhere you played with magick on film producer Leon Aaron’s office desk. His business partner had a curse placed on it that somehow blanked out all his paperwork and even did something nasty to his computer.” She didn’t look entirely convinced it was true. “I’m sorry, it just doesn’t sound like something someone would do.”

“Hollywood hype,” Sylvie agreed.

Oh yes, Jazz would just
love
showing them both what a well-placed curse could do.

“A lot of people don’t believe in magick,” she agreed. “Just like many, even during these enlightened times, still feel psychics are charlatans.” She smiled at Sylvie. “Years ago psychics were considered witches and burned at the stake.”

Beatrice dipped her spoon into her soup. “All theatrics,” she announced.

“Then why are you here?” Nick asked barely sounding polite. 

The opera star lifted her many chins. “It is research for my next role. I will be playing Nostra in
Dante’s Loves
. I will be joining the company in Paris.” She mentioned a new opera that first played a few years ago and had since taken the world by storm. Written by a vampire, the story dealt with a woman who descended into a world of magick and fear. Dark, exciting, and enthralling to all who saw it. The original star had succumbed to a mysterious illness that left her a prisoner in her penthouse apartment. The singer that replaced her died of an unexplainable illness. And now it appeared Beatrice would be its new leading lady. Or latest victim.

“Congratulations.” Jazz picked up her glass of wine and toasted the woman. “I’ve heard it’s a very demanding role.”
And one that can’t be easily obtained. What did you do to gain it, Beatrice?

“Jazz.” Nick’s low voice intruded into her thoughts.

She looked at her lover. His eyes briefly met hers, dropped to his plate then lifted again. Then he gulped.

Leticia noticed his unease and covered his hand with hers.

Jazz looked down at her plate and just about crawled over her chair. If she wasn’t mistaken tiny bugs oozing something purple were marching around the perimeter and across the china’s surface.

She started to open her mouth to banish the bugs when they blinked out of existence. She looked around the table, but didn’t see any distress from the other diners. She doubted Sylvie would calmly eat her greens if there were blood worms crawling over them. 

She set her fork down.

“Something wrong with your food, Ms. Tremaine?” Derwood asked.

She shook her head. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.”

“If you’re agreeable, I’d like for the two of us to sit down after dinner and have a chat,” the writer said.

“I think that can be arranged.” Jazz’s gaze swept the room, her eyes taking in each person at the table. She paused at Mrs. Babbington who presided at the head of the table. The soft lighting was flattering to all. Yet for a brief second she swore the hotel manager looked a little younger than she had when Jazz arrived.  

Jazz opened up her senses, searching for whatever was causing the changes. Because there was no doubt something was happening that had nothing to do with a hotel owner’s idea of a supernatural weekend.

Beatrice looked hard, calculating, while Derwood had the haunted look of a man living on the edge. She wasn’t surprised to see Sylvie looking gaunt with muddy tanned skin and hair free of any luster. Then her attention moved to Nick. Fear iced her blood as she looked at her lover. He was skin and bone, eyes bleeding red, and fangs brown with dried blood. Yet she knew his fangs hadn’t dropped. He never did that when with humans.

She quickly glanced down at her spoon turned upside down to catch a glimpse of herself.

A hook nose dominated her face while two curly hairs sprang out of a wart on her pointed chin. Her copper red hair was a riotous mass of inky black tight spirals that had a life of their own.
So not a good look for me!
The utensil almost flew from her hand. 

“What impressions do you receive from this room?” Sylvie asked, appearing to have no idea cockroaches scuttled around her plate and fork. Jazz wasn’t about to point it out.

The witch surveyed her surroundings. She admired the forest green wallpaper with its cabbage rose design etched in gold leaf, the well-caredfor antique dining table, chairs and the long, polished cherry wood table that was pushed against a wall. She also noticed that at some point the main entrees had been removed from the serving table to be replaced by a variety of desserts that covered the linen runner. Yet she hadn’t seen anyone enter the room to take away the original serving dishes and replace them with the desserts.

But it wasn’t the changing furnishings that snagged her attention most; it was the lack of
anything
that hinted at magick or even a curse pervading the air.

“To be honest, that’s not one of my skills.” She picked up her wine glass.

Sylvie smirked and returned to her vegetable plate. “I thought so.”

Jazz just knew she was going to enjoy showing the so-called psychic what
real
magick was about.

Chapter 3

Nick cradled his brandy snifter between his palms as he watched the room. Especially his witch. He sat sprawled in a plush chair with his legs stretched out in front of him as he kept a safe distance from the fire burning merrily in the fireplace.

After their adjournment to the parlor, Derwood wasted no time herding Jazz toward a more private seating arrangement and bombarding her with questions. Since she didn’t look irked, Nick assumed she was enjoying herself. Although she looked a bit surprised when Mrs. Babbington joined them after she poured tea for those who wanted some.

“You look lonely.”

Nick ignored his usual good manners and continued to gently swirl his brandy in the glass. Sylvie’s approach hadn’t caught him off guard. He knew when the psychic approached him. Or rather when her perfume approached him. He just preferred to ignore her.

“Not at all.” He didn’t take his eyes off Jazz, who smiled at her pompous companion. Not that he felt the least bit jealous. He knew whose bed she’d be warming that night.

Sylvie took the chair next to his. “I never met a vampire before,” she said in a low voice verging on sultry. 

“That can be a good thing.”

She trailed her fingers down his arm until they reached the back of his hand.

Nick slowly turned his head and stared at her, allowing his gaze to redden with undead flare.

“Didn’t your mother warn you not to toy with something you can’t handle?” His voice ripped through her. “It’s a good way to end up with your throat torn out.”

Sylvie reared back almost falling off her chair. Just as quickly she regained her composure. Her cobalt eyes narrowed. “Not unless someone carries enough silver.” She pressed her hand to the back of his, smiling as the brief smell of scorched flesh rose in the air. She stood up and walked away.

Nick swore fiercely under his breath as he stared at the disc-shaped mark on his hand. And swore again when Jazz’s head swiveled in his direction. He shook his head when he saw her raise a hand toward Sylvie.

Later,
he mouthed.

“Why didn’t you let me put that bitch down?” Jazz demanded as they walked down the hallway to their room. She’d grabbed his hand the moment they left the parlor and spread a bit of soothing magick across the burn. “In fact, why didn’t you just throw her against a wall?”