Hex Goddess (All My Exes Die from Hexes Book 3) Read online

  “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” she continued. “I’ll take your paper and leave twenty pounds of my own money in the drawer here for the ledger.” Franklin’s image wrinkled in her hand.

  “And how much will you give me back?”

  Sincerity filled her face as she looked up. “Why, none, of course.” She slid out a stack of multicolored bank notes from her pants pocket. Pulling one from the pile, she threw it into a shoebox on her side of the counter. “One of you can go in now.”

  “I’ll go,” Dee volunteered, pulling down his shirt, and trying to slip in a little self-adjustment without being obscene. “I think I’m more likely to be diplomatic at the moment. You look like you’re about to grind your teeth to glue.” And I don’t like where my mind is heading with this chick. Namely, down south.

  “Well, what do you expect? A hundred dollars is a lot of money, and I ain’t exactly rolling in it.” Jerry turned his attitude to the receptionist. “Am I allowed to sit and wait without a charge?”

  “We’ll consider it complimentary since you’re such a good tipper.” She tapped her chest as Franklin got to second base when she deposited inside her bra.

  “At ease, Jer.” Dee pushed his partner down into W-shaped, metal-framed folding chairs. “This won’t take long.”

  The room into which he stepped was even chintzier than the lobby. A cloth of crushed velvet covered a small, round table, topped with a crystal ball, most likely manufactured in Taiwan. Canned, new age spa music pealed from hidden speakers, creating a soundtrack for the formulaic event to unfold. A stack of tarot cards on the table provided the finishing touch on this stereotypical – and completely wrong- set-up to invoke the wisdom of the great beyond.

  Dee sat at the table and schooled his expression, trying to restrain his hysterics. He’d have given the oracle this much: she finally knew how to set the stage for her one-act play. Last time he was here, she had nothing more than a few moth-eaten armchairs and a vase of plastic flowers.

  When a slice of metal-on-metal ripped the air, a small bundle of a middle-aged woman in an outfit termed by the fashion-minded as “thrift store gypsy drag queen” shuffled out from behind a purple, pleather curtain. The only thing thicker than the red lipstick “Madame Zorelli” wore was her lousy Romanian accent, although the latter definitely took the prize for being tackier. Dee realized it had been years since he last ventured here. So what if he didn’t recognize her as the same person he consulted previously? Magical creatures didn’t age or endure the way humans did.

  “Fear not, for Madame Zorelli sees all!”

  Dee folded his hands behind his head. “As dark as you keep it in here, I don’t know how that’s scientifically possible.”

  Melting into the chair, the oracle stilled when she heard Dee’s comment, appearing as though she were weighing the decision to respond. “How can Madame Zorelli assist you to communicate with the great beyond? With whom do you wish to speak? A mother? A friend? A lover?”

  He bit his lip and pitched forward, placing his palms flat on the table as a dance of memories flitted across his mind’s eye. Dee refused to let memories of Clare sneak into this cheesy platter.

  “Actually, I’m looking for some prognostics, if you catch my drift.”

  As the crystal ball took on a blue-green glow, Dee could make out her features well enough to notice the wrinkles around the edges of her eyes and the laugh lines crisscrossing her cheek. “The years are not treating you kindly, are they?”

  “Wisdom knows no age.” Her hands hovered over the ball as she caterwauled and crooned. “Spirits, spirits, guide me! Quickly, give me your hand!” She reached out a paw. “The spirits tell me the answer can be found on your palm.”

  “Which spirit? Gin or whiskey?”

  “Don’t hesitate. They may leave before we have a chance to ask anything. Give me your hand!”

  Before he could argue, his palm was under her inspection.

  “You found a great love.” A bony finger ran its way down his lifeline. “But lost her tragically. However, love is not over for you. I see another coming, a love as great as that which you knew before. This one will make you complete again.”

  Dee snapped his hand back and glared. “That’s not the kind of prognostics I’m talking about. I need information on my sister. I’d like to make her an offer she can’t refuse, but sadly, ain’t no such thing. She could tell me to go fuck myself and I’d lose the one person in my family I still hold an ounce of love for. What will she do if I offer to help get her away from her husband?”

  “I cannot discern the will of the gods!” the oracle proclaimed. “But know this, your sister’s fate is not in your hands. It rests with another, and you are powerless to influence it. But the time is coming for you to embrace a new love and...”

  “My heart is currently offline for discussion,” Dee gnashed out through a clenched jaw. “I don’t care what kind of future you see in your Hasbro crystal ball, there. You say anything that suggests I’m going to replace Clare, and I’ll make sure the only spell you’ll ever need again is for levitating to the bathroom, because I will break both of your legs.”

  Dee winced when the lights shot on, rendering him shocked and temporarily blind. His fingers curved into his eyes, trying to massage them into focus. When the glare dimmed and his pupils readjusted, he barely made out a glint of silver giving him the old eye-to-eye.

  The door flew open behind him, but Dee couldn’t pull his gaze from the double-barreled threat pointed in his direction. He heard the voice of the annoying woman from the reception desk behind him, and shuddered. Instinct demanded that he protect the innocent from the crazy lady with a pistol. Only, he didn’t know if his muscles, much less, his magic, could move faster than a bullet.

  “Madame, you... Holy hell, what did you do, you bloody yank?”

  “Jesus Christ, lady, stop. First, I’m not American. Second, how about you tell your boss here that I already get plenty of vitamins, and I don’t need an iron supplement.”

  The psychic spoke, somehow misplacing her Romanian accent. “This bugger just threatened to break my legs. Thought I’d better take safety measures before he got a chance.”

  “You’re no oracle,” Jerry sputtered, filing in.

  In the fully lit room, Dee realized how right Jerry was. This woman? She was a stranger. “You’re not Kamaala.”

  “Kamaala?” the stand-in repeated, her brow heavy with confusion. “You mean Kami Winters? She moved to Belfast six years ago, and sold me the business.”

  Dee heard Jerry kick the wall. “That would have been nice to know before you charged us.”

  Options arranged themselves like bullet points in Dee’s brain. Could he out-jump a bullet? No problem if he got a slug; as long as it wasn’t between the eyes, he’d heal in a week or two. It would smart horridly though, and the other two wouldn’t fare as lucky if they caught it instead. A stunning charm of some kind? Their schedule was too tight at the moment to stick around and make sure the witness was sufficiently assuaged to remain quiet.

  “I may be a fake psychic, but if you don’t get out of me business this very moment, no one’s going to able to read anything else into your lifeline, savvy?”

  With his hands out before him, Dee took meager steps towards the door. He cursed himself for his impatience. “Look, I’m just looking for Kamaala. Do you have a phone number for her, maybe? Even an address? I really need to consult...”

  “Can it and book!” the woman shouted, cutting him off.

  Jerry laughed under his breath. “Is this what you meant by being more diplomatic?”

  To Dee’s horror, Jerry managed to skirt around the receptionist, placing himself between the demigod and the gun. Dee thought for a moment if he should remind his fellow Pure Soul that his newly reissued human body wouldn’t stand up too well to a point blank injection of lead.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Jerry continued. “My wife is in terrible danger. She’s a drop dead
gorgeous woman amidst a collection of the biggest players since The Rat Pack did Vegas. For some reason, my partner here thinks seeing this Kamaala woman is critical, so how about you just telling us where she is and we’ll leave you alone?”

  “Like I’m going to tell you, you stalking buggers!”

  Jerry’s shoulders fell. If Annie Oakley really were psychic, she would have foreseen the hex the ex-demon was whispering under his breath. Something must have triggered her, though. The moment Jerry pushed his hands up to throw a freeze charm over her, she fired.

  Instinct set Dee in motion. He spun, throwing himself towards the door, ready to cover the receptionist’s body with his own when he saw her. The mousy annoyance of a woman stood with her hands before her, a trickle of light flying from her fingertips. When Dee looked back over his shoulder, he saw the gun floating in the air, contradicting the laws of physics. The bullet was barely three inches from the barrel and only one inch from Jerry’s chest. The air around it bent, an echo of disturbance trailing behind it, but remained stationary.

  “What the bloody hell?” The psychic’s chest heaved as she fell backward. Wide-eyed, she scrambled to her feet and lashed an accusatory finger. “What the hell are you?”

  “A former employee now, I’m guessing,” the woman snapped. “I’m sorry, Sinead. But in my defense, you can’t just go around shooting people, okay? It’s not good for business. Plus, it will bring in cops, and neither one of us wants to be on radar, right?”

  “Sinead?” Dee turned to the old woman with her back pressed against the wall. “Is that the Irish adaptation of Zorelli?”

  The gasping woman shook her head reverently, her eyes still fixed on the bullet levitating in the air. “How the hell...?”

  “You got a witch of a receptionist, that’s how,” Jerry growled.

  “You think I’m a witch!?” The raven-haired lass exclaimed. “Maybe your life partner is here, but you ought to know better than that when you see the likes of me. Especially you, Fabio Dark.”

  Dee’s eyes narrowed. Calling on his wicca, his third eye surveyed the spiritual borders of the woman in front of him. The green-blue twinkle of her aura was weak, but managed to give her away.

  “Your mother or your father?”

  The curl in a corner of her mouth, which became a grimace, told him he hit the mark on the head.

  “Grandfather.”

  “Olympian?”

  Goddess in grief, please don’t let her be of my mountain, Dee thought. That radically upped the chances he was related to her. While some of his family considered cousins fair game, he wasn’t amongst them.

  Later, he wondered why that thought crossed his mind.

  “Meso-american actually, but my tootich has gone into the sunset.”

  “My condolences.”

  “Unnecessary.” She jerked her head. “You?”

  “My dad. Zeus.”

  With her hands on her hips, she flexed her fingers. “My, aren’t we from a lofty pedigree? Tell me, what possible future would concern a Prince of Olympus so much to make a pit stop to see an East London psychic?”

  “I was after an oracle who used to work here, and the rest is my own concern.”

  They should have gone. By the look on Jerry’s face, he thought the exit point was about five minutes earlier. Consulting an oracle wasn’t going to happen. Still, Dee hesitated, although if it were because of caution or hope, he couldn’t say. How did one cross paths with another demigod and make sure the news of his appearance wasn’t contained? Demons were known to buddy up with certain partial nephilim, stroking their egos for information.

  He leaned into the woman as Jerry wisely put the fake psychic into a light sleep. “Is there somewhere we can talk, Miss...?”

  Her gaze slanted. “Yates,” she supplied. “Anwen. What have we to discuss?”

  “Nothing.” Hopefully something. “Just a kindness. To make up for all this.” Dee flicked his hand in the direction of the sleeping Goofy. “I’m Dee, by the way, and the overly oiled charmer over there is Jerry.”

  Anwen rolled her eyes, as if to say that was fine and good, but why did she need any more details about them?

  “Fine, there’s a pub a few blocks down. I suppose the least a man can do when he manages to cost an innocent woman her position is treat her to a pint.”

  He could have given her another position. He could have given her several, really good positions.

  Dee chided himself as he pulled back his libido and Jerry, in turn, pulled the lapels of his jacket.

  “I don’t care if her daddy is Big Boss and her mom’s Liz Taylor,” he said. “That woman took me for a hundred dollars cash. You better be damn sure she’s treating.”

  Chapter 7

  “And this is your en suite. Nothing impressive, I know. But, assuming you don’t have any special angel body parts, it should do.”

  Riona felt like she could have taken on Persephone in an Oxford-styled debate over their different understandings of the term, “impressive.” She had never seen a bathroom better described as “perfect for entertaining,” and a cocktail party wouldn’t have been hard to pull off. The tub, alone, could have seated six comfortably.

  “There’re towels in the closet, and a robe on the back of the door. I guess you won’t need me to supply you with any clothes.” Putting a finger on her chin, Persephone gave Riona’s outfit a keen inspection. “You just poofed up that ensemble out of nowhere. Funny.”

  Sliding her jacket off her arms, Riona tried not to sound insulted. “My clothes are funny?”

  “No, you look sexy-fine as usual. What’s funny is that you were able to do magic,” Persephone clarified. “Dee’s wicca peters out here. He can’t so much as float a pencil. Clare couldn’t either. Maybe it’s different for you because you’re a keystone and they were both pillars?”

  If there was one thing Riona didn’t want to discuss right now, it was theories on Pure Soul, realm-specific abilities. “Maybe. Can I ask you something, Steph? How is all this here?”

  Persephone’s face screwed up. “What? The bathroom? I know, in the original design, I had it on the other side of the...”

  “No, not that. I mean, everything. The paved roads, and marble toilet and the coffee shop down in the village. How did all this come to be in Olympus?”

  “The old-fashioned way: we built, bought or bartered.”

  “But where do the supplies come from?” Riona asked, kicking off her shoes. “I didn’t exactly see Mt. Olympus IKEA or Valhalla Hardware on our way in. No trucks or cars, either.”

  “We have ways. There are actually some nephilim artisans still, but every decade there’re less of them around. More and more choosing to go into the sunset, it seems.”

  Persephone must have been able to see from Riona’s expression that she wasn’t tracking.

  “It means dying,” she continued. “Because that’s when disembodied souls transcend to their next realm. Seems silly for us, as we don’t have souls, but it’s just a phrase that’s stuck throughout the years. As to building materials: the smaller stuff we bring in by hand. You know how angels can port, right?”

  Riona felt a corner of her mouth rise. “Kinda first-hand now, yeah.”

  “Nephilim can do something similar. We can’t pop up wherever and in whatever realm we want like angels, but we can flash back and forth into the mortal realm. So if we need, say, a chainsaw or some grout, we just buzz out and carry it back in. There’re also a few fixed portals, accessible by anyone who knows where they’re located. We do bring trucks in on occasion, but Dad restricts them. He doesn’t like the pollution.”

  “But you said there’re other villages in this realm. If you don’t have cars, I’m guessing you don’t have planes either. How do you get around?”

  “Easy! We port back to the mortal world and hop a plane. Oh, and we can all shift back to our native villages from anywhere in the mortal realm. I know that doesn’t really make sense, but it’s an exchange we were giv
en to counterbalance all the checks the angels insist on for us.” Persephone’s expression became unreadable, and Riona could tell she was working up to something. “Riona, I’m going to say something, and I want you to promise to take it seriously, okay?”

  “Not like I’ve been dealing too much with the frivolous over the last few days. Shoot.”

  “I’m delighted you’re here. Really. I consider you a friend, and I don’t make friends easily. I want you to feel at home. Mi casa es su casa, as some of your people say. But nephilim men, they’re very... driven. And you, you’re very...” Riona felt Persephone’s gaze drifting down to her chest. “...tempting. And new. You’re a big girl, I’m not going to tell you not to. I’m just giving you a head’s up; this is a different culture. As we can no longer reproduce with each other, sex is just recreational here. Don’t bring your racquet unless you’re hoping to swing.”

  The keystone’s brow furrowed. “Am I in danger? Are the old stories about gods raping mortal women...?” Riona’s voice trailed off.

  Persephone shook her head. “No, no one on Olympus will force you. Dad has zero tolerance for crime. Anyone convicted of the slightest infraction risks the lightning.”

  “The lightning?”

  The goddess flicked two fingers on her hand, as if stinging. “Dad’s signature move. You know, Zeus’ bolt? Anyway, Dad put his foot down on that kind of stuff eons ago. And, to tell you the truth, most of our guys aren’t so bad, once you get around their blatant seduction schemes. Take Hades, for example. No matter what I think of him, he’s a pretty decent guy. That doesn’t mean he won’t take a shot at you, though.”

  “I’m not going to sleep with your husband, Steph,” Riona promised, her voice more than a bit gruff. Inwardly, she thought, I haven’t even had a chance to sleep with mine. “Look, I don’t mean to be a rude houseguest, but there’s nothing I’d like better than a hot bath right now and some rest.”