Double Hexed, Page 4

  “How?” Maya asked sourly. “Smoke signals?”

  “Maybe. I’ll think of something.”

  I left the saloon a lot less confident than when I’d gone in. I made for Coyote, who still lounged by the coyote statue as though drawing comfort from the stone. He’d at least wiped the blood off his face.

  Mick was touching the walls again. He was becoming obsessed. Maya thumped down on a couch, folded her arms, and pretended to ignore us.

  “Tell me you really do have your god powers,” I said, sitting on the steps next to Coyote.

  “Sorry, Stormwalker. Tell me you’re not going to try the Beneath magic again, when we can’t predict what the hex will do to it.”

  “I will use it to defend my friends if I have to. I’ll not stand by and let the sorcerer, whoever he is, kill us or get to Cassandra.” When the ununculous attacked, I planned to kill him. Quickly. End of problem.

  “When he comes,” Coyote said, as though he’d read my mind, “Mick fights him, not you. Mick’s the only one who can.”

  “Like hell I’m letting Mick face an over-the-top powerful sorcerer on his own. If I can take this guy down, I’m doing it.”

  Coyote gave me a stern look. “You need to stop and think about what kind of forces you’d be unleashing if you use your Beneath magic, Janet. Undampened, on something like that sorcerer, with everything complicated by his hex. There’s no way of knowing what kind of magic he’ll be drawing on. The two of you could rip open the vortexes and release who the hell knows what, including your bitch-queen goddess mother. I will not let you do that.”

  My blood chilled. The desert to the east of my hotel was riddled with vortexes, confluences of mystical energy. New Agers liked them, thinking that they enhanced their chi or whatever, but I knew what vortexes really were—gateways to the world Beneath. If my mother got out, she wouldn’t be looking to have a happy family reunion. She’d destroy every single person she could get her hands on, beginning with those most special to me. What she’d do with me, I had no idea, but it wouldn’t be anything good.

  I was about to concede that Coyote had a point when Mick rushed across the room, yanked Coyote up by the shirt, and slammed him against the statue.

  “Mick!” I protested.

  I was more worried about the sculpture than Coyote, but Mick’s eyes were black with fury. “I told you what I’d do if you threatened my mate again,” Mick snarled.

  “He wasn’t threatening,” I tried. “He was explaining.”

  Coyote might be out of magic, but Mick wasn’t. His eyes were still black dark, and fire flared from his fingers. Flame magic licked up the arms of Coyote’s jeans jacket, threatening to burn him alive.

  Coyote solved the problem by turning into a coyote. Mick suddenly had his hands full of a hundred or so pounds of enraged beast while Coyote’s clothes fell from him in smoking shreds. Mick’s eyes filled with fire, and his tattoos began to glow red.

  “Don’t turn into a dragon!” I shouted at him. “Don’t you dare turn into a dragon!”

  Coyote kept snarling, fighting, clawing, and Mick fought him. Maya drew her legs up under her on the sofa and watched. The commotion brought Fremont and Cassandra from the kitchen, but they only stopped and watched in alarm.

  Coyote bit Mick on the shoulder, and blood blossomed on Mick’s shirt. Mick’s hands filled with fire, and Coyote’s fur began to smolder.

  No way should I shove myself between the ripping, clawing, and fire-striking males, and Coyote had just scared the shit out of me about using my Beneath magic. But I didn’t see that I had any choice. I couldn’t let Coyote kill Mick, the man I loved, and if Mick killed Coyote, I didn’t want to imagine the consequences.

  I drew on my Beneath magic, finding it scarily close to the surface. Just a little bit, I thought, nothing like what I’d done when I’d tried to break the wards. The tiniest amount was all I needed. I would separate the two wrestling alpha males and then shut it off.

  What rushed up from inside me was a huge blast of otherworldly power that made me gasp with its intensity. I desperately held on to the magic, sweat pouring from me, knowing that if I let the magic go, it would blow off the roof.

  “I can’t,” I babbled, the sweat freezing on my face. My breath fogged out. “I can’t.”

  I didn’t have to. A pair of thin, but incredibly strong, arms locked around Mick’s waist, tore him from Coyote, and tossed Mick aside. Coyote, still in his fighting frenzy, went for Mick’s assailant, but I leapt between them and yelled at Coyote, “Stop!”

  Coyote skidded to a halt, his eyes yellow with rage. The tall, slender man stepped beside me and fixed Coyote with a steady gaze.

  “Hey, Ansel,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Mind telling me what is going on?”

  Ansel’s voice was calm and matter-of-fact, and that made me edgy. Ansel, an Englishman who’d been turned Nightwalker at age twenty-three when he’d been a prisoner during World War II, was quiet, soft-spoken, and a little nervous. He collected stamps, watched lots of television, and generally kept to himself.

  What he was unlikely to do was throw Mick across a room—he was afraid of Mick—and then calmly ask me what was the matter.

  “Hex,” I told him. “You all right?”

  The night-dark eyes Ansel turned on me smoldered with a deep hunger. Once you’ve been given the once-over by a ravenous Nightwalker, you don’t forget it. Or you die.

  “I am a little peckish, my dear,” he said.

  And Ansel never called me “my dear.”

  “There’s blood for you in the refrigerator. But the electricity’s out, so please keep the door closed.”

  Ansel reached out and traced my cheek with an ice-cold fingertip. “Anything you say, darling.”

  Mick started for him. I got myself between Ansel and Mick’s headlong rush, a frightening place to be. “Mick, no!”

  “Let him come,” Ansel almost purred. “I’m hungry, and dragon blood would be delicious.”

  “Mick,” I said in warning.

  Mick stopped, but his eyes flashed fire. “Touch Janet again, Nightwalker, and I tear your head off.”

  Ansel gave him a derisive look and turned away, only to have his attention arrested by Maya. Maya self-consciously tugged the hem of her skirt down her thighs.

  “Ansel,” she said, not sounding pleased to see him.

  “Maya.” Ansel gave her a smile full of teeth. “Want to raid the fridge with me?”

  “No.” Maya looked away, a woman’s universal signal for “Get lost.”

  “You go alone,” I said to Ansel. “Drink at least half that gallon jug of blood, and then come back in here and help us figure out how to break this hex.”

  Ansel turned the smile on me. “Anything you say, mistress.”

  Gods, he sounded like the mirror. Ansel finally went off to the kitchen. Fremont and Cassandra got out of his way as he went by, and no one followed him.

  Coyote, still a coyote, growled at Mick. I planted myself in front of Coyote and raised my hand, palm out.

  “Sit!” I commanded. “Stay!”

  Coyote gave me a look that said “Fuck you” and then sauntered over to the sofa, climbed up next to Maya, and lay down.

  I drew a long breath. “All right. It looks like the hex is working to bring out the worst in us—or at least release that part of us we try hardest to control. Ansel, bloodlust; me, my Beneath magic; Mick, his dragon instincts; Cassandra, it’s messing with her emotional control. Coyote—I don’t know what’s going on with Coyote.”

  Coyote growled again. I was aware of Mick at my back, right against my back, pressed all the way along me. His arm stole around my waist, strong and possessive.

  “It hasn’t affected me, Janet,” Fremont said. “I’m being strong for you. And I’m coming up with all kinds of ideas to enhance your p
lumbing.”

  I had to love him. “I can honestly say, Fremont, that so far you are the only male here I haven’t wanted to strangle.”

  Fremont winked at me. “I’ve got your back.”

  “Janet.” Cassandra’s voice was weary. “I can’t keep letting this happen. I can try a summoning spell, bring the ununculous to me, and let him kill me. He won’t have orders to do anything to the rest of you.”

  “Screw that,” I said. “You can’t know what this guy has in mind—he might decide that Mick, Coyote, Ansel, and I are a threat to him. Or he might kill us for the fun of it.”

  Cassandra’s face crumpled as her tears came again. “I promise you that if I need to be sacrificed to save the rest of you, I’m willing. I’m the one who got you into this in the first place.”

  “No one’s getting sacrificed.” Except maybe Coyote or Mick, if they continued to piss me off. “Besides, I have a few ideas up my sleeve—”

  My words were cut off by a gut-wrenching moan from the kitchen, which wound quickly into a wail of anguish. I rushed past Cassandra and Fremont and into the kitchen, Mick hard on my heels.

  Ansel was bent over the big stainless steel sink on the other side of the room, vomiting his guts out. The gallon jug of blood lay on its side on the floor, the remaining liquid spilling across the tiles. As we piled into the kitchen, Ansel looked at us over his shoulder, blood all over his mouth.

  “It’s bad,” he snarled. “The blood is bad. Are you fucking trying to poison me?”

  “No,” I said in surprise. “It was fresh yesterday, never out of the fridge.”

  “It’s tainted, and it’s cow.”

  “You always drink cow.”

  Ansel dug his fingers into his mouth and scraped out more blood, which he flung into the sink. “Not tonight, I don’t. I need to feed, and I need to feed now. Either one of you volunteers, or I simply start biting.”

  Five

  Mick stepped in front of me, and for once his overprotectiveness didn’t irritate me. “You touch anyone here, and I’ll kill you,” Mick said. His words were quiet, deep, and unshakable.

  “Come on and have a go, then,” Ansel said. “I’d like some dragon blood.”

  Fremont gaped. “Is he a vampire?”

  Cassandra started to answer, then snatched paper towels from the counter and pressed them to her overflowing eyes. “Damn it, why can’t I stop crying?”

  “Ansel is a Nightwalker,” I said crisply. “Much like a vampire, but a little different from ones in the movies. For one thing, he’s real.”

  Ansel’s lip curled. “He’s real hungry.”

  “I’m killing him,” Mick said. “Sorry, Janet, I know he’s your friend, but no one here should be a Nightwalker snack, and I’m certainly not letting him get his fangs into you.”

  “It’s not his fault,” I countered. “I’m betting that the cow’s blood would have been perfectly fine if not for the curse.”

  “It’s also not a demon’s fault it likes to devour human flesh,” Mick said. “That doesn’t mean I’d let one feast on you.”

  “Ansel,” I said, trying to ignore Mick. “If I can give you fresh cow’s blood, will you drink it? It would take the edge off at least, right?”

  Ansel gave me a grudging nod. “Possibly.” He wet his lips, then grimaced when his tongue touched a drying drop of the tainted blood. “I really need a human vein.”

  “For me, Ansel.” I held his gaze with my own. Nightwalkers could mesmerize with their gazes, but none had ever been able to do that to me. “There’s another jug in the back of the refrigerator. Go get it, and drink it. If you don’t, and Mick tries to kill you, I won’t be able to stop him.”

  Not without killing Mick in the process. If I had to choose between Mick and a Nightwalker ready to go on a rampage, sorry, Mick won.

  Ansel sneered, fangs still long and nasty, but he headed for the fridge. I could tell he was trying to control himself, but he nearly ripped the handle off the refrigerator door when he opened it.

  As soon as he stepped inside, I rushed the door. Mick caught on and got there first. He slammed the door just as Ansel realized what we were doing and turned around. Ansel hit the door from the inside, the boom rattling the kitchen windows. Mick fused the latch with a lance of dragon fire.

  Ansel screeched, an unearthly, ear-shattering sound. He pounded on the door, and Mick stepped away from it, breathing hard.

  “That should hold him,” Mick said. “For a while.”

  “A while is all we need.” I wiped my brow. “The air in there is still cold enough to make him a little sluggish. By the time he breaks out, hopefully we’ll have this curse thing resolved.”

  “Breaks out?” Fremont asked, his eyes wide. “What happens if he breaks out?”

  Cassandra answered from behind her tear-dampened paper towels. “Then he’ll want more than a snack.”

  Maya put one hand on her hip. “You do know that most of our food is in there.” Aside from the little pile of half-made sandwiches on the counter, dangerously close to spattered cow blood, she was right.

  I gestured to the refrigerator, where Ansel was already denting the door from the inside. “Go on in, if you really want to. Pick something out for me, too. In the meantime, there’s something I need to do on the roof.”

  ***

  “Is this some crazy Indian thing?” Maya asked me as she walked out onto the roof with me.

  “No,” I answered. “Just some crazy desperation thing.”

  Mick followed us, but Cassandra, Fremont, and Coyote remained below to make sure Ansel didn’t get out. Or at least Coyote and Fremont did. Cassandra had curled into a ball on a sofa, still weeping.

  I was pleased to see, as we walked outside, that the emerging stars were being swallowed by thick clouds to the north and west. My skin prickled. A storm was coming, a big one, and my Stormwalker magic wanted to lick it all over.

  Once the storm grew big enough, I’d suck it inside me, bind it to my Beneath magic, and let it rip.

  Mick laced his fingers through mine, and I knew he sensed my storm magic awakening. The aftermath of storms usually involved him calming me down from the overwhelming magic, and that involved our grappling bodies and plenty of sweat.

  Maya shivered as the approaching wind cut through her thin dress. “You think Nash will see your smoke signals from twenty miles away and come running? Nash never even looks out the window.”

  “No.” I crouched down and set out the supplies I’d grabbed: a brazier, sage, charcoal, and towels from the linen supply closet. I piled charcoal and sage in the brazier and looked at Mick. The butane lighters had stopped working, and I hadn’t been able to find any matches.

  Mick’s eyes were still black, without a hint of blue. He pointed at the brazier, a fireball streaked out of his forefinger, and the brazier exploded into flames. Maya and I jumped away.

  “I only needed a spark,” I said as I grabbed a towel and beat the flames in the bowl back to manageable size.

  Mick balled his hand. “Sorry, I was trying for a spark. That just came out.”

  Terrific. If Mick lost control of his Firewalker fire, he could burn the hotel down around us. The hex might burn with it, but we, trapped inside, would still be dead.

  Was that what the hex meant to do, I wondered, bring out the worst in us so that we were the means of our own destruction? The wind turned suddenly icy.

  “So, what happens now?” Maya asked.

  I got to my feet and fed the towel I’d been using into the fire. The cloth sputtered and caught, then started to smolder, sending up a wisp of stinking smoke.

  “I’m hoping that someone will see smoke coming from the top of the Crossroads Hotel and report it. A 9-1-1 call will bring firefighters, the police, and Nash.”

  “Carlos couldn’t see me or hear me through the window,�€
 Maya said. “What makes you think the smoke will be visible?”

  I had no idea. Mick had demonstrated that the bubble of the hex extended fifteen feet upward. Possibly the smoke would simply collect in the bubble and not disperse, but wouldn’t that look weird enough to attract attention? A glowing ball of smoke on top of the Crossroads Hotel?

  “If Nash hears about it, he won’t be able to stay away,” I said. “He’ll have to know what trouble I’m getting myself into this time, so he can gloat if no other reason. Besides, he and you were supposed to meet tonight, right? He’ll get worried when you don’t show up.”

  “He won’t.” Maya folded her bare arms. “Out last date didn’t exactly end well.”

  I grew curious. “What happened?”

  “Do you know what he talked about during our nice dinner out? Nonstop? You.”

  “Me?”

  I felt Mick at my shoulder, his breath hot on my skin. “Why?” he asked, his voice taking a dangerous edge.

  “Because he and Janet had just had another run-in,” Maya said. “He was angry at her, and he told me all about it at the fancy restaurant he took me to—through the appetizers and the wine, and all through dinner. Couldn’t shut his stupid mouth about you, Janet.”

  “Sorry.” It was hardly my fault that Sheriff Jones was clueless when it came to women, but I felt bad that his choice of conversation had hurt Maya. “What did you do?”

  “Poured my wine in his lap and walked out.”

  Mick snorted with laughter. “Good for you.”

  “This was supposed to be our makeup date. If I don’t show, he’ll assume I’m still mad at him. Which I am.”

  Mick put his arms around me from behind while I dropped another towel into the smoking mess. His dragon tattoos glowed eerily in the light from the brazier. “Tell Jones to back off Janet, or he’ll answer to me.”

  I suppose some women would be thrilled by a gorgeous man leaping to their defense for every little thing, but his tight protectiveness was starting to worry me. Mick was possessive, yes, but he usually was more sensible about it.