Hexed

“But Ansel tasted his blood,” Pamela said. “I couldn’t stop him.”

I sat up in alarm, clutching my aching head. “Ansel? Is he all right?”

I spotted Ansel on a sofa, cringing against the arm as though trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. The red in his eyes had gone, and dried blood caked his lips.

“I’m fine,” he said in a shamed voice.

“So why isn’t he dead?” Fremont demanded. Fremont looked tired, blood all over his hands, but there was a satisfied look in his eyes. The succubus had screwed him over, but he’d gotten even. Fremont might have inadvertently invited the problem into our lives, but he’d also been instrumental in solving it.

I slumped back against Mick, liking the feel of the strong arms that wound around me. “Because Ansel isn’t inherently evil,” I said. “He’s a human being who got turned into a Nightwalker. It’s a different thing.”

Ansel said nothing as he rose and silently faded up the stairs. Nightwalkers could move without sound, and Ansel vanished quickly into the gloom. He’d be punishing himself for a while, poor guy.

Someone stopped next to me. I looked from pristine leather wing tips up cashmere pant legs to Emmett Smith, his nosebleed gone, his dignity restored.

“All this compassion is making me ill,” he said. He gave me a sharp look. “That demon was an ancient one, Stormwalker, born in the brimstone of the earth, created even before the dragons. Yet your storm magic tore her apart as though she were a paper doll. Even with the trickster’s magic and the dragon helping, you shouldn’t have been able to do that.”

I shrugged. “I was provoked.”

Mick’s voice held a hint of steel. “And I suggest you leave before she gets provoked again.”

Emmett straightened his tie. “Yes, all right, I take the hint. One day I’ll meet you again, Stormwalker—or whatever you are. That, I think, will be an interesting day.”

“Yes, it will be,” I said, pretending I wasn’t as weak as I felt. “By the way, if you happen to see John Christianson, tell him you have no idea where Cassandra is.”

Emmett snorted. “Christianson is an idiot. If he can’t find Cassandra himself, then he doesn’t deserve to.” He gave Cassandra a mocking bow. “I applaud you, witch. I’ll meet you again one day, too.” As he spoke, his body shimmered, and then he was gone.

“Is everyone all right?” I asked wearily. I wasn’t certain I was. I was so damned tired.

No one answered. Pamela and Cassandra were holding each other, and Nash pulled himself up from behind the reception counter. I felt better. If a building in Iraq falling on him couldn’t defeat Nash Jones, a little tumble behind my reception desk wouldn’t be able to either.

Nash hauled Maya to her feet beside him. “What were you thinking?” he demanded. “Calling a dangerous person names makes them more dangerous. She could have killed you.”

“Just kiss her, Nash,” I said.

“What?”

Maya squirmed out of Nash’s grasp and marched away, grabbing her purse from the table where she’d left it. “Fuck you, Nash. I am so out of here.” She banged the front door on the way, and we heard her truck roar to life.

A voice came out of the saloon. “She’s a feisty beeyotch. Gotta love that Maya.”

The magic mirror. I heaved a sigh of relief. “Where the hell have you been?”

Nash answered, thinking I was talking to him. “Behind your reception desk. I was thrown here, remember?”

The mirror nearly sobbed. “I was trying and trying and trying to talk to you. But all that came out were those songs. Not even when I screamed. And I couldn’t focus anywhere but on the saloon. Good thing I love show tunes, but I missed all the sex.”

Mick started to smile. “Hey, maybe there were a few good things about that curse.”

I shared a grin with him, but I for one was damn happy to hear the mirror again. “But you shut up entirely when Emmett arrived, even stayed quiet after the hex broke. I can’t believe you did that by choice.”

“Janet, who the hell are you talking to?” Nash was in front of me now. There were actual wrinkles in his uniform shirt. Two of them.

“But I did shut up by choice,” the mirror called. “That nasty ununculous was here, and he’s got a lot of magic. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want him to know you have a magic mirror.”

That was smart, I had to admit. “Thank you.”

“Oh, you can thank me in many ways.” It snickered. “Ununculous. Sounds like a flower. Or do I mean ranunculus? Do think he’d mind if I called him Flower-Power?”

“Do what you want,” I said.

Nash slid on his jacket. “What I want is to get out of here. Things seem back to normal—that is, as insane as ever.” His shoulders slumped a little. “I can’t believe I condoned a murder, even encouraged it.”

“Coyote’s a god, Nash,” I said. “He’s probably fine.” I believed that, didn’t I? “Go see Maya.”

“In the mood she’s in, I doubt she wants to see me.”

“Go find her, help her, and go to bed with her, for all our sakes. She loves you. Damn it, Nash, you have to try.”

Nash gave me a long stare from his ice gray eyes. Then he gave me a nod and departed. Whether he went after Maya, I wasn’t to know.

Mick drew me back against him. “Good advice. Damn, I love you, Janet. Crazy magic, weird prophecies, and all. Bed?”

“Please.”

He lifted me as he rose, my dragon boyfriend as strong as ever. As Mick started with me down the hall, all the faucets Fremont had opened during the hex suddenly exploded with water.

“Fremont!” I yelled.

“I’m on it!” Fremont grabbed his toolbox.

“Oh, and Fremont,” I said from the safety of Mick’s arms.

“Next time you want to sleep with a woman—check with me first?”

“Right.” I could tell he had no interest in discussing his choice of girlfriends right now. The plumbing called. He charged into the kitchen, and Mick carried me down the hall.

“Oh, yes,” came through my bathroom mirror. “I get to see some action now. This will make up for my downtime.” The magic mirror’s gleeful chuckles died off into protests as Mick shut off the water in there and firmly closed the bathroom door.

* * *

MICK MADE ME leave the hotel for a few days and take vacation. Ansel, remorseful and guzzling cow blood by the gallon, offered to stand guard over it for me, and Cassandra, her cool efficiency restored, assured me she had everything under control. Elena showed up to work the morning after the hex, surveyed the wreck of her kitchen, and started an hourslong rant. I was happy I didn’t understand much Apache. We left her to her kitchen, her diatribe, and her knives.

I went with Mick to a place outside of Santa Fe that we loved, where the air was frigid, the snow was high, and beauty existed in every breath. We basked in the joy of time alone, especially snuggled up in bed at night, but I was still uneasy.

Mick hadn’t quite come to terms with his choice of killing Coyote, even though his act had ultimately saved us. I’d tried to find out what had happened to Coyote’s body, but of course, I couldn’t. Plus, I was a bit worried about those flashes of visions I’d had while under the hex. Something coming, they implied. Something not good.

On the third night, I slid into warm slumber after wild lovemaking with Mick and found myself standing outside under the tall pine trees, stark naked in a gently falling snow.

I blew out my breath, which fogged, even though I knew I was asleep and dreaming.

Tracks of a large wolf dented the snow. I followed the tracks deeper into the woods, and there he was, a huge coyote standing in a clearing, moonlight in his yellow eyes.

I stopped myself from rushing to him and throwing my arms around him. I was naked, and he’d like that too much. “Are you alive? Or is this all I’ll ever see?”