Wicked By Any Other Name Part 28

Suddenly Fergus and Irene appeared, looking just a little more substantial than last time she's seen them-for ghosts anyway. "Thank you, ma'am," Fergus said, nervously rolling the rim of his hat around in his hands. "We're right grateful to you for you what you have done."

"If I do say so myself, you witches do good work," Irma approved, resting her hand on Sirius's head. "Now if you all don't mind I'm going home to watch a movie." She turned to Fergus and said, "Would you like to join me?" He smiled shyly, and then the three ghosts and the dog winked out of sight. "Great," sighed Jazz. "A ghostly film festival."

Jazz kept her arm around Nick as if he needed her strength even though he showed no sign of injuries from the silver chains. Apparently the visit to the Witches' Council had also healed him.

She turned and flashed a smile at Stasi. "But it's Stasi who deserves all the credit. She figured it all out."

"All back to normal." Stasi grabbed Trev's hand and pulled him along.

He held back for a moment. "I bet the road to the resort is cleared now."

She stilled, realizing he was right. "So you want to go back to the resort?" She didn't want to think his admission he loved her was only in the heat of the moment.

He shook his head. "I want us to head up there. I'm talking big tub, big bed." He c.o.c.ked his head toward the other two couples. "Privacy. Chocolate souffle ..."

She was sorely tempted to give in to Trev's suggestion, but her energy level was running high, and she realized this was one time when she wanted to be the alpha instead of allowing Trev to take the lead. But something inside her reared up and roared.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm sure I can come up with something even better than their chocolate souffle. So you come with me, wizard." She snagged two fingers in the collar of his sweater, which had also been returned whole and pulled him toward her. "They'll be using Nick's safe room anyway and besides, remember it only takes the right wards," she paused to give him a lengthy and deep kiss he'd never forget, "so that no one will hear you scream when I f.u.c.k you so thoroughly you'll forget your own name," she whispered, dragging her teeth lightly over his lower lip and pulling it into her mouth where she nibbled on it. "And that is exactly what I intend to do."

Trev's eyes glazed over with unrestrained l.u.s.t until they were a glittery blue.

"I have to say there's something very hot about a woman who takes charge." He made it easy for her to pull him down the street then almost stumbled forward when she abruptly stopped in the middle of the road.

"Oh." The word left her lips in a soft breath.

Trev moved to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on top of her head.

Tiny lights in the shape of pumpkins cast orange lights around the display windows in Stasi and Blair's shops.

Blair's shop held two corn sheaves with black crows perched on them and a skeleton sprawled in the middle, while Stasi's sensuous display was complemented by a jaunty black witch's hat set in one corner and a small broom in the other.

Stasi's laughter held tears and joy all mixed up together. "There is no way Eurydice would have put those there."

Trev hugged her tighter. "Maybe she did. You stood up to the Fae without allowing the townspeople to be hurt. You were afraid. I could sense it, but you never allowed it to take over. You didn't permit your anger to fight back when you could have with only a few words. You acted not out of fear or anger, but out of love. And ..." he whispered in her ear, "no hiccups. No bubbles."

She reached up and curled her hands around his arms. Her tears trailed down her cheeks and dripped onto his sleeves.

"I didn't hiccup once, did I? And now the fear in the air is gone. The darkness is banished." She looked up to see the full moon now shining bright and the sky filled with stars. "Everyone here will wake up in the morning and not remember a thing."

"You also had that choice."

She shook her head. "No, as I said I wanted to remember." She turned in his arms. "Did you want to forget?"

Trev's smile was as warm in his eyes as on his lips. "Forget that I walked into a shop and met a fiery witch who knocked my socks off? That I hadn't expected to fall in love with her?"

Stasi's smile grew even broader. "This all might be Cupid's doing," she suggested, even though deep down she didn't believe that was all there was to it. She had fought against falling in love with Trev. As Eurydice said, witches and wizards don't go well together, but Stasi knew now that she and Trev were an exception.

"No, I think it was just a little push in the right direction. Come on, let's test those wards," Trev whispered, now being the one to pull her along. "And we'll show everyone that witches and wizards get along very well, indeed. By the way," he paused, "do you think when Eurydice replaced the building she also replaced your cinnamon lip gloss?"

Stasi couldn't help it. She threw her head back and laughed with sheer joy. She hopped into Trev's arms and wrapped her legs around his waist.

"I think we should write Cupid a thank-you note, don't you?"

Epilogue.

Fluff & Puff vs. Cupid "If Jazz finds out we did this we'll be in a lot of trouble," Fluff, a bit more timid than his furry cohort, said as he followed his fellow magickal bunny slipper down the street.

"Naw, she'll understand. The guy messed with Stasi big time."

"It all worked out."

Puff stopped, turning his head from right to left, while his ears lifted to full point. "We wish the land of sweet. It's the land of love we seek," he chanted. "Take us to the creep who does it neat, or else."

A curtain shimmered red and white in front of them and the slippers quickly slid past it and landed on a path paved with smooth, glimmering white stones. Soft music seemed to come out of the air, while on either side of the path, glittering red hearts sprang from the ground. Overhead, the sky was a soft illuminated white with fluffy red hearts for clouds, and the air was faintly scented with cinnamon.

"Augh!" The slippers' horror escalated as they recognized the singer. "Barry Manilow!"

They gritted their razor-sharp teeth and forged on until the path ended in front of a three-story building shaped like a gigantic heart, complete with a red satin bow. A matching mailbox was set at the end of the pathway with "Cupid. One Heart Drive" written in elegant gold script on the sides.

"Talk about subtle," Fluff grumbled, pausing at the mailbox post. He sniffed the post and tentatively nibbled. "Hmm. Marshmallow." Pretty soon the mailbox was on the ground and the post was resting comfortably in Fluffs tummy, while Puff discovered the mailbox was chocolate.

"A lot of cinnamon out here." Puff used one of his ears to point out a display of cinnamon candies arranged in a heart shape. "Jazz wouldn't want that from Cupid. Just chocolate."

They skittered to the door and pushed it open. The sound of Barry Manilow crooning Mandy echoed throughout the entry way as they peeked in the rooms. Another voice joined in l.u.s.tily from upstairs, clearly belonging to someone who was so tone deaf his singing could shatter gla.s.s.

"Cupid's got pretty cool digs," Puff commented, stopping to try out a few chocolate-shaped hearts. "Too bad he's such a jokester."

"Don't let him get out the bow and arrows," Fluff warned him. "I like being single."

"You think I want a million kids running around?" Puff made a gagging sound.

"Same here. I'm too young to be a father. Okay, now that we're here, the plan is we eat everything in sight while he's in the bathtub and then run for it."

On their way out, the slippers gazed at the huge red cinnamon candy heart in the middle of the front yard, exchanged glances, and headed straight for it.

When they left Cupid's realm, the cinnamon candies had been rearranged to spell the words: Fluff and Puff Were Here.

More witchy romance by Linda Wisdom now available from Sourcebooks 50 Ways to

Hex Your Lover

Hex Appeal Read on for a sneak peek ...

50 Ways to

Hex Your Lover

Chapter One.

Pasadena, California

The Year 2007

"How long are we going to sit here?"

"As long as it takes." Jazz Tremaine shifted in the Thunderbird convertible's bench seat. She loved her 1956 aqua and white cla.s.sic sports car, but there wasn't much legroom for her five-foot-eight-inch frame.

Nice neighborhood for a stakeout though, with its wide, posh swath of multi-million dollar homes set behind high iron fences and ornate gates. Still, Jazz hoped she wouldn't have to wait all night for Martin "The Sleaze Bag" Reynolds to come home. Her left foot was falling asleep, and that large Diet c.o.ke she'd had with her dinner was warning her that bathroom time would be in her near future.

A sc.r.a.ping sound, a flare of sulfur, and a whiff of tobacco smoke from the pa.s.senger seat made Jazz's nose twitch. "Irma, put that d.a.m.n thing out."

Irma clicked open the ashtray and heaved a put-upon sigh. "I'm bored."

"Then leave," Jazz snapped.

"Ha, ha," Irma snorted. "Very funny."

She sat in the pa.s.senger seat wearing her Sunday best, a navy floral-print dress with its delicate lace collar and navy b.u.t.tons marching down the front. A dainty navy and white spring straw hat decorated with tiny flowers sat squarely on her tightly permed iron-gray hair. White gloves and a navy patent leather handbag completed her perfect 1950s ensemble. No surprise there because Irma had died in the pa.s.senger seat of the T-Bird on March 12, 1956.

Irma was the bane of the 700-year-young witch's existence and the sole drawback to the snazzy car she dearly loved. Her 100 percent success rate at eliminating curses had fallen to 99 percent when she'd failed, no matter what she tried, to remove the highly irritating Irma from the car. In the end, Jazz's client refused to pay her, and Jazz ended up with the cla.s.sic sports car instead; with Irma as an accessory.

"I can make that lamppost disappear with a snap of my fingers." Jazz gestured toward a nearby post standing at the corner and did just that. Another snap of the fingers and the post reappeared. "But with you ..." She snapped her fingers in front of Irma, but nothing happened. "With you, nothing. Nada. Zip. No matter how many times I try, you're still here!"

Jazz glared at Irma. Irma glared back at Jazz. The clash of witch temper and ghost tantrum lit the interior of the car with an unearthly silver light; then a gray Mercedes rolled slowly past the T-Bird, and Jazz swung her head away.

"Good," she said. "Martin is home."

The gates to The Sleaze Bag's Spanish-style mansion swung apart. The Mercedes drove past them and up the winding driveway. Jazz pushed her door open and slid out of the T-Bird. She glanced up at the night sky and felt the pull of the slowly waxing moon.

She sighed and fingered the moonstone ring she wore on her right ring finger. The milky blue stone glowed faintly at her touch.

In two weeks she'd drive up to the small town of Moonstone Lake set high up in the Angelus Crest Mountains for the monthly ritual that kept her and her witch sisters centered. The lake and nearby town provided Jazz and two of her fellow banished cla.s.smates a much-needed sanctuary. While Stasia and Blair enjoyed living in the tiny mountain village, Jazz and several of the others preferred the darkness and grit of the city to breathing all that smog-free air.

"You could leave the radio on," Irma called after Jazz in the raspy voice of a long time smoker.

"Bite me," Jazz growled, moving silently across the street toward Martin's house.

She easily blended with the night in her black leather pants, black silk t-shirt, and black, waist-length leather jacket. Her coppery hair hung in a tight single braid down her back. Tonight she was Scary Witch, the better to teach Martin a lesson.

She paused long enough to flick her wrist at the gates, which opened just enough to allow her to slip through before they swung shut again.

Her nose wrinkled against the overpowering scent of heirloom roses lining the driveway. Malibu lights bathed a lawn that had been trimmed with mathematical precision.

"You pay a landscaping service a small fortune to keep the grounds looking perfect, and yet you dare cheat me," Jazz muttered, stopping a short distance from the house. She drew a breath, lifted her hands and murmured, "Resume."

A faint flicker traveled from her fingertips to the house. When the witch light slid through the windows, a woman's shrill, shrieking voice erupted within, so loud Jazz could hear it standing a hundred feet away.

"What have you done to this house?" Martin's harpy ten-years-dead mother-in-law screamed. "There is no way you can tell me my daughter had any hand in the decorating in here! What did you do? Hire one of your bimbos to design this interior like a brothel? Or did the s.l.u.t do you instead? I told my baby not to marry you! You're a pig, Martin Reynolds! A pig!"

Jazz smiled and sauntered up the driveway to the front door. Figuring Doreen Hatcher's screaming inside would be too loud for Martin to hear the doorbell, she leaned on it long enough to be downright annoying.

"You just can't live without the booze, can you, Martin?" the voice shrieked. "Your liver ought to be pickled by now! Pickled, do you hear me? If not pickled, you should at least be dead from all that alcohol, you drunken slob! If I didn't know I had died from a heart attack I'd think you arranged my death."

Martin Reynolds flung the door open, wide-eyed and grim-lipped, a highball gla.s.s in one hand, a cordless phone tucked under his chin.

"h.e.l.lo, Martin," Jazz purred.

"Jazz! I was just-uh-calling you," he said, stepping quickly backward, unease flashing across his face, though she noticed his forehead didn't move, even if his lips did. She guessed his Botox job had been fairly recent. "Your spell didn't work. You said she would be gone, but she isn't, and she's back with a vengeance. She showed up all of a sudden, just now. I walked in the house and bam, she's here, ten times worse than she was before." He waved his hand toward the other room. "You've got to take care of her."

"Come back here and face me, you coward!" Doreen screamed from the confines of the cookie jar she'd been cursed into before her death.