50 Ways to Hex Your Lover (12 page)

Eight

I told you not to open the bag,” Jazz reminded Detective Larkin. The man turned out to have absolutely no sense of humor.After
his announcement back at Dweezil’s office, she had no choice but to be escorted down to the police station. She now sat in
an interrogation room whose décor and stench she dubbed Early Gross. She didn’t know who or what had been in here before her,
but whatever it was it needed a serious amount of deodorant, soap, and water. “And may I remind you I was able to revive the
officer? He won’t have any ill-effects fromthe gas other than a bad headache for a week or three. And since you didn’t read
me my rights I gather I’m not under arrest for getting rid of a bag of totally disgusting trash.”

He shot her a
shut the hell up
glare and she obliged by doing just that. He set a foam cup of coffee in front of her and took the seat across the table,
flipping through the contents of the thin file folder set in front of him.

“For a smartass you sure manage to stay out of trouble.”

“I do my best.” She wondered what his reaction would be if he saw her actual police files, plural. She estimated they would
fill more than a few moving vans. But first they’d have to track down her past identities.

He stared at her. “I asked you if you were human and you said yes.”

She waved off the accusation. “No, I only said me, mom, and apple pie. Besides, I am human.” She thought she’d forgo the explanation
that she was much older than the totally ugly tie he wore loosely looped around his thick neck.

“And a witch.”

Jazz ignored the scowl on his face. “Yes, well, that type of accusation died down centuries ago in Salem. Look, we both know
you dragged me down here because of the bag, which I can explain.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “So explain.”

“One of Dweezil’s clients has a…,” she searched for the right description and settled for, “hygiene problem.”

“Bad hygiene doesn’t cause fumes like that to come out of a bag of clothing. And just where did you get a biohazard bag?”

“It does if it has to do with Tyge Foulshadow. Dweezil keeps the bags on hand because of Foul-shadow.” She ignored his skepticism
and reached for the coffee cup. She sipped the lukewarm liquid and found its only saving grace was the knowledge that caffeine
lurked somewhere in the murky depths. She ignored Larkin’s snort of laughter. “He emits really nasty odors that can make people
sick and sometimes, much worse. Your officer passing out is proof of that. Witches are immune to the gases, which is why I
drive him. The clothes in the bag were the ones I wore two nights ago when I drove Master Foulshadow. As you can see, there’s
no way I can wear them again after I’ve been around him, so I have to secure the clothing in a biohazard bag.Who knew you
guys would show up at Dweezil’s and you’d order your officer to open it.”

“Man, what you witches do for money,” he muttered. “Any more of you work for him?”

She shook her head, taking another sip of the liquid they passed off as coffee. She silently vowed if she had to come down
here again, she’d make them stop at Starbucks first.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

He glanced at his notes again and then looked up.

“So what kind of witch are you?”

“You mean am I a good witch or a bad witch?” She could see flippancy wasn’t working with him. “I’m a curse eliminator.”

“Meaning?”

“Some people will curse an object and the curse sticks with it. They hire me to come in and take off the curse.”

“Are you saying people really believe that shit and pay you money to boot?”

“This is L.A., Detective Larkin. Anything goes.”

“Like some creature that farts gross gas and a guy that looks like a stretched-out olive?”

She nodded. “What? You think all witches have warts and long chin hairs and cackle when they laugh? Honestly, Detective, I
haven’t stirred eye of newt, toe of frog, and bat wings in a bubbling cauldron for years.”
Not since Potions
He shifted uncomfortably.

“Okay, I’ve explained the origin of the fumes from the bag and we have discussed my job, so are we through here?” she asked.

He looked as if he was settling in for the duration. “Just trying to get a little background. So let’s talk about your boss
now.”

“You’re out of luck if you’re hoping I can tell you anything about Dweezil’s illegal activities. There aren’t any. That’s
the funny thing about him. He likes tomake his money the legal way. That way he doesn’t worry about losing it.As I said before,
drugs aren’t his thing.”

“What is?”

She placed her hands flat on the table and leaned forward. “Did you get a look at his bookcases?”

His face remained as impassive and noncommittal as possible. “The warrant only covered his paperwork.”

“Yeah, like you didn’t look all around anyway. I refuse to believe you didn’t notice that Dweezil collects vintage erotica
and antique sex toys.”

He uttered a disgusted sound as if she had waved one of Dweezil’s prize antique vibrators or penis pumps in his face.

“What exactly is he?”

“We’ve never discussed politics or religions.”

Larkin growled a few words under his breath. “No, I mean
what
is he?”

She started to touch her moonstone ring for comfort then held back. She doubted he would appreciate the stone responding with
a soft glow even if it soothed her. “I don’t know.”

“You’re a witch.”

“That doesn’t mean I know everyone’s family background. For all I know, Dweezil is the last of his kind.” One could only hope.

The detective sat back, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Jazz thought about telling him it was annoying. Except she was
positive he already knew that.

“Your boss is in big trouble.”

“I figured that out when you stormed into his business and carried off all his files. But I can’t see why you think he deals
in drugs or has anything to do with missing vampires.”
Or how you found out
about the missing vampires.

“How often do you drive vamps?”

“Not very often.”

“How often?”

Jazz shrugged. “Vampires don’t like witches and the dislike is pretty much reciprocated. So I only drive them if there isn’t
another driver available and the vampire is willing to put up with a witch for a driver.”

“That doesn’t tell me why they don’t like witches.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or is it just
you
they don’t like?”

“Are you kidding? Everyone loves me! Okay, except for vampires. They don’t like any witch. We have sort of a truce. They don’t
bite us and end up sick from our blood. We don’t zap them with flesh-eating spells.”

He winced. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Are you truly interested in learning more or just hoping I’ll say something stupid that you think you can use against Dweezil?”

“Both,” he said it unwillingly then looked half bemused to find he’d admitted the fact.

“Witches’ blood is poisonous to vampires. At the very least, it can give them a nasty case of heartburn, and at the worst
it can kill them.”

Disgust crossed his face. “I thought vampires went to clubs for their blood now.”

“They do, but sometimes one will have partied too much and be a little too eager, so things might get out of hand. That’s
why they prefer to stay away from us.”
Except for one.

“Do you know Clive Reeves Jr.?”

She didn’t bat an eye at his question even if her stomach twisted itself into a million knots. Obviously her shudder and gag
reflex was getting used to hearing the name again—however disturbing it was to her. “I watch his father’s movies every Halloween.”

“So you don’t attend his parties up at his old man’s mansion?”

“No.” That was one destination she preferred to avoid at all cost.

“Ever been invited to one?”

“Again, no.”

“Have you ever driven anyone up there?”

“Third time, no.” She figured as long as he didn’t ask if she were ever going to drive anyone up there she’d be fine.

He remained quiet for a moment, staring at her and idly drumming his fingers against the tabletop.

“So tell me about your clients. Anyone with strange habits other than the one with mega-strength farts?”

“I never talk about my clients, Detective Larkin. Discretion is my middle name.” She grinned. “Well, not really, but I’ve
always wanted to say that. Look, you bringing me here is nothing more than harassment. You know it and I know it. Someone
doesn’t like Dweezil and sicced the police on him. You didn’t like what happened to your officer, so you’re now coming down
on me. Why don’t we agree I don’t know anything and I get out of your hair?” She pointedly didn’t look at his receding hairline.

A tap on the door brought a scowl to Larkin’s face and a smile to Jazz’s lips. She was getting to the point where she was
ready to use some magick to end this pointless conversation. She knew the detective was going the roundabout way in hopes
of trapping her into saying something against Dweezil. Except she knew anything she might say against her boss wouldn’t help
the cop at all. Dweezil was a sleaze and walked a fine line, but he tended to stay on the right side of that line, so he wouldn’t
have to worry about police raids. Unfortunately, someone must have decided D was due some harassment.

Her eyes glittered dangerously when two men walked into the room. One of them she instantly dismissed. The other usually meant
some time spent in a jail cell.

“Guy’s come to pick up Ms. Tremaine,” the detective announced.

Jazz saw the subtle interaction between the three men. Cop acknowledging cop. The words “he’s a vampire!” rested on the tip
of her tongue, but she left them there. She was hoping Nick truly was there to pick her up. She didn’t want to think he’d
try something that would get her thrown in jail after all. If that happened there was no way in this millennium she’d kiss
him again.

“Nick Gregory.” Nick held out his hand to a now smiling and affable Larkin.

She figured Nick was using a bit of vamp hypnosis on the detective. Larkin sure never smiled at her like that and she considered
herself a hell of a lot cuter.

“We’re about through here. Ms. Tremaine’s been very cooperative.” His gaze flicked over her. She flashed him her best “I’m
just an all-American girl” smile as she rose to her feet. While she hated the idea that Nick was rescuing her, she’d eagerly
accept his help in getting out of there. Plus she wanted to find out what was going on at Dweezil’s office. While there were
times she didn’t like the creature, she wasn’t going to see him railroaded by the police for something he didn’t do.

So for now, she would accept Nick’s help. She could go her own way once she left the building and returned to Dweezil’s for
her car. She only hoped the police hadn’t towed it—even if the idea of Irma spending a couple hours in an impound yard brought
a spring to her step.

“Don’t look too happy about leaving here. They might think you’re guilty of something,” Nick murmured.

“Isn’t it a little early for you to be out, Nick?Aren’t you afraid of getting a nasty sunburn at the very least?” She followed
him through the bustling station. She was finding it easier than she thought being polite to him. Or perhaps it had something
to do with all the uniformed officers milling around. Ironic that the last time they’d been surrounded by the police he had
been putting her in jail and now he was getting her out.

Afaint smiled touched his lips. “How long do you think you’ve been in here?”

“You know very well I have no sense of time.” She held up both wrists showing the lack of a watch. She had learned long ago
that witches and timepieces didn’t work well together.

Nick pushed open the front door and allowed her to exit first. She looked up, stunned to find it was past sundown.

“I usually at least feel the shifts in time,” she murmured.

“Detective Larkin must have been a fascinating conversationalist if you didn’t sense the hours passing.” Nick held out a hand
toward the visitor’s parking lot.

“They like you to wait around in a disgusting little room until they are ready to come in and talk to you about absolutely
nothing,” she grumbled. “And they make really lousy coffee. I bet they do it deliberately so the suspects will confess in
hopes the coffee in jail is better.”

“Throwing a biohazard bag filled with deadly smelling clothing into a Dumpster isn’t exactly nothing.”

“It’s not like I can throw the clothes in the washer then give them to charity. Dweezil keeps a Dumpster out back just for
those bags, so they don’t get tossed out on the landfill where the fumes add another ten layers to the smog.” She walked slowly,
content to enjoy the cool night air that was considerably fresher than the recycled air she had inhaled for the past number
of hours. “There is a good reason why the creature is called Foulshadow. Thank you for getting me out of there, however you
did it.”

Nick chuckled. “That didn’t hurt so much, did it?”

Jazz picked up her pace. Once she reached the edge of the parking lot she stopped short.

“You drove my car?” Thunder briefly rumbled overhead.

“Have you ever thought of taking an anger management course?” Nick asked and then walked ahead of her to the passenger door
and opened it. “Irma, my love, we will have to do some shifting around.”

The ghost held onto her pocketbook as if her life depended on it. “I’m not moving.”

“And I’m not sitting in the passenger seat of my own car.” Jazz headed for the driver’s side. She peered inside and noticed
the seat was shifted further back. “How did you get it here? If you hotwired my car…”

“I gave him permission to drive the car,” Irma informed her. “It was mine before it was yours. And if I give someone permission
the car will start up for them without a key.” She looked up at Nick with a saucy smile. “Let her drive. You can sit with
me, pookie.”

Nick moved around the car, smoothly blocking Jazz from sliding onto the driver’s seat. While he didn’t touch her, she still
felt the force of his power. She could have pushed past him, but she didn’t dare lay a hand on him. Touching Nick always got
her into trouble.