Magic and Mayhem: Have Wand, Will Travel (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 5

  She turned to find Chris biting his bottom lip, his strange gray eyes glowing silver.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’ll tell you about it once we get out of town.”

  He backed out of the parking spot and pulled into traffic, traveling with the flow of cars down Main Street, then turning onto West Karma. They passed large two-story houses, some as old as the town, and meandered onto the entrance ramp to a bypass that circled Superstition.

  They remained silent as Chris hit the gas and they sailed down the four-lane road, the car hugging the curves. She loved the feel of the powerful engine speeding them through the mountain pass. Chris’s hands rested lightly on the wheel, his attention focused on the road.

  Her attention had finally drifted from the car back to him. His long fingers gripped the steering wheel with careful control. Vampires were known for their brutality, not sensitivity. But Chris had piano player’s hands, poet’s hands. What would his touch be like while making love?

  She jerked her thoughts back from their libido-clouded haze with a bad witch, bad witch. Bad, sexually-deprived witch.

  “How is it you became a private investigator?” he asked, interrupting her fixation.

  She cleared her throat. “When I was a very young witch, I became obsessed with finding my father. Warlocks are a bit like bull elephants.” He shot her a look, and she shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  “Not like that. I just meant that they have a tendency to spread their seed and then move on. So when he disappeared, my mother wasn’t concerned. They weren’t married, and their affair had burned out. But I missed him. He was funny and loving, and I just couldn’t believe he’d leave me without some kind of farewell. As soon as I came into my power I started looking for him.”

  “And you found him?”

  “What was left of him.” She tamped down the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. “He had a house in the mountains here. He’d been murdered and left in a cave near his home. His killer, whether human or preternatural, has never been caught. But one day I’ll find out who did it and see to it my father gets justice.”

  “I’m sorry, Zaira.” His voice deepened in sympathy.

  “Thanks.” She turned the conversation back to him. “You’re out in the sun. How is that possible?”

  “I’m two hundred and thirty years old. The older we get, the more resistance to the sun we have. I still have to wear sunscreen, and I can’t stay out in it for long periods. Inside the car, I’m fine. Plus I had a special tint applied to the windows to shield me.”

  “You’re still dressed in the same clothes from last night. Haven’t you been to bed?”

  He shook his head. “They destroyed my house.”

  She caught her breath. His calm tone sent goosebumps up her arms. “They?”

  “I think it was the two goons from last night. When they couldn’t get me, they decided some payback was in order to make it very clear how serious they were.”

  “What do you mean destroyed?”

  “Every piece of electronics, every picture, every book, every stick of furniture was systematically ripped or hacked or stomped to pieces. There’s nothing left that hasn’t been demolished. They even dumped out the refrigerator and ripped the doors off every appliance.”

  Her stomach hollowed out at the thought. She pressed a hand to her mouth, though words completely escaped her. She finally managed, “I’m so sorry. If you’ll take me by your house, I may be able to reconstruct some of it.”

  He glanced at her. “Don’t you have to have a working knowledge of what you reconstruct?”

  “Some things. I don’t have to have a working knowledge of how a book is constructed to know how it goes together.”

  He reached inside his jacket and took out a bag of blood. He placed it in her lap. “It’s more important that we find Arnold. Once he’s safe, I can deal with the rest.”

  The blood was still cool from the refrigerator. She rested a hand on his arm, but was immediately flooded with his anger and pain, so she withdrew her touch.

  The empathic part of her that worked hand-in-hand with her healing caused her a great deal of trouble. By keying into a person’s emotions, she learned about them more quickly than through conversation. She didn’t want that with Chris.

  If it was as she suspected, and they were both after the same thing, it would put them at odds with each other. She’d find it hard not to take his needs into consideration when it came time to turn the wand over to the Witch Council. But she knew one thing. She couldn’t stand by and allow a man to be killed, either.

  She touched the bag of blood. “We need to pull over so I can work a locator spell.”

  “Here, in the middle of nowhere?”

  She looked around at the mountain scenery on either side of them. “What better place to draw from the power of nature? All I need is a map and this blood.”

  “There’s a map of the area in the glove box.”

  Turning the small knob on the compartment door, she opened it, removed the map, and studied it. It was a map the chamber of commerce gave out to tourists. Perfect for what they needed.

  Chris turned onto a gravel road leading up into the mountains. The small car, built very low to the ground, wasn’t built for mountainous terrain, and they bounced along for several minutes along the trail that was more of a path. Finally, he pulled over onto a widened, flat patch of dirt kept free of grass and trees by vehicles allowing drivers going the other direction to pass.

  The two of them released their seat belts, got out, and met at the front of the car. Zaira spread the map out on the hood of the vehicle. “I need something I can use to pierce the bag.”

  Chris took the bag from her, extended his fangs and bit it, then handed it back to her.

  Her attention snagged on him. Dear goddess, even with his fangs out he was hot.

  She was not falling for a vampire. No matter how hot he was.

  She had to keep reminding herself he was a thief, so it would be an entirely inappropriate, as well as colossally stupid, move.

  She squeezed out a small amount of the blood onto the map and handed him the rest.

  She ran her hands back and forth just above the map while she drew her power from the things around her. She tasted the greenery of the trees, bushes, and plants upon her tongue, and another, spicier flavor that could only be him.

  “Blood of friend, we will send,

  “To the place he rests, or nests.

  “We will find

  “Where he is forced to hide.

  “Where might he be? So mote it be.”

  The blood beaded into a ball and started rolling toward the east side of town, coming to a stop in the center of Hallows Drive.

  “Give me sight, before my flight,” she murmured and opened herself to a vision of the place. A man was bound in a chair by heavy ropes, his white hair disheveled and lank, as though he hadn’t combed or washed it in days. His skin had an unhealthy pastiness to it. She felt the pain in his wrists and ankles where the bonds cut into his frail skin. Felt the hunger that gnawed at his belly. His weakness. Why were they not caring for him? He wouldn’t last much longer in such conditions.

  Chris’s hand clamped over her shoulder.

  “I can’t bring you both back with me at once. If I take you with me and have to leave you, we’ll just be exchanging one bad situation for another.”

  She sensed the tug of war inside him. “Get him,” Chris urged, and released her.

  Zaira took flight, speeding to the man. Her sudden appearance startled him.

  His eyes shifted and widened. “Watch…” he started to speak.

  “Fracus!” Zaira shouted, throwing out a burst of power and creating a bubble around them. She felt an answering power hit the shield and ricochet away. She turned to face her attacker, only to find an empty room. The witch was gone. But she couldn’t drop her shield yet. She might be hidden and waiting for Zaira to do just that.

  She
threw out a hand, and the ropes holding Arnold to the chair fell away. He groaned. She turned to examine him.

  “I’m all right, Miss. It’s just the blood rushing back in after so long. Hurts some.” His aristocratic English accent sounded so posh. “I assume Master Christophe sent you.”

  “Yes. I’m going to get you out of here as soon as possible.”

  “If there are any more witches about, Master Christophe can hear their heartbeat.”

  “Not if they’re hiding under a cloaking spell.” She thought of Cerbie, and he appeared just outside their bubble, gnashing his teeth. “Look around, Cerbie, and see if anyone else is here.”

  He growled as he scented the air and circled the room. He sneezed and shook his head. “The coast is clear.”

  “Are you able to stand, Arnold?” Concerned at how shaky he was while he struggled to his feet, she looped his arm across her shoulders, then thought of Chris and the car, and they were zooming to him.

  Arnold’s legs collapsed and he started to fall as soon as they landed. Chris leaped forward and caught him and held him steady. “You’re safe now, Arnold.”

  “I knew you’d find me and get me out.”

  At Cerbie’s bark of warning, Zaira threw up another shield, but it was just a pickup coming down the trail.

  The truck squeaked to a stop. The man pushed his battered baseball cap back with hand. “You folks lost?”

  “No. We just stopped to let the dog out for a moment,” Zaira explained. Cerbie hiked his leg on the guy’s tire to demonstrate, then trotted over to stand next to her.

  The driver waved and rolled on down the hill.

  “His tire’s not going to go flat from the battery acid your dog urinates, is it?” Chris asked.

  “No. Is it, Cerbie?”

  The Jack Russell snorted in reply and turned to present his white butt and stubby tail to them both. It looked very much like he’d just flipped them off.

  CHAPTER 6

  “I’M VERY SORRY, sir. I went out to the market. I was putting the groceries in my car when these two huge vampires grabbed me and threw me into a van. And they put a sack over my head so I couldn’t see where we went. It was a house, in the hills, I think, because the road sloped upward. But I was only there for a few days.

  “There was a woman there who brought me food now and then. Just enough to keep me from starving. They wanted me to be too weak to try an escape.” Arnold spoke from the back seat. Christophe watched him in the rearview mirror. Cerbie seemed to have taken to him, and allowed Arnold to stroke him, which seemed to soothe the older man.

  He looked like hell. Thin, feeble, weak, and dirty. And they couldn’t go home. He couldn’t even get into the bathrooms, because the sinks were broken, and their toiletries smeared all over the floors and walls. The glass wall in Arnold’s bathroom had been smashed with a hammer. “You have nothing to apologize for, Arnold. It wasn’t your fault. The Vampire Council was using you as a fulcrum to force me to…” He glanced at Zaira. “…do something for them. But they didn’t show up to let me know they had you for nearly a month. The two vampires who took you…they’ve damaged the house. So we’ll have to go somewhere else to stay for a few days.”

  “I hope you haven’t done it, sir. Whatever they wanted you to do.” There was vindictive anger in his voice.

  “No, I haven’t done it. And I won’t. They’ve gone too far this time.” He felt a wild rage every time he looked at Arnold. The man’s cheeks were hollowed, his eyes sunken from not getting the proper nutrition. His wrists and ankles were swollen and raw. “I’m going to take you to…”

  Zaira broke in. “Take him to my house. I have a spare bedroom there, and I’ve set wards against anyone who isn’t invited in, vampire and witch alike. He can take a shower, and I’ll fix him something to eat while you go out to buy him some clothes.”

  Christophe glanced in her direction. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. We’ll be fine while you do what needs to be done.”

  “We have insurance on the house and the contents, sir. You need to contact an agent with the company and have them come out and look at the damage.”

  He didn’t want to tell him how bad it was. Arnold prided himself on keeping the house clean and organized. For him to walk back into the place the way it was now and see everything destroyed…

  “All the important papers are in your safety deposit box at the bank.”

  “I’ll go by after I drop you both off and take care of it.” He didn’t even have a key to the box. It was probably somewhere amid all the debris.

  Zaira’s house was the size of a postage stamp. He felt like a giant in the land of the Lilliputians standing in the living room. Zaira found Arnold some sweat pants and a T-shirt her brother left behind after a visit.

  “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. I am grateful for you keeping him safe until I can get him some things.”

  “You’re more upset for him than for yourself about the house.”

  “Yes. The house has always been more for him than me. He’s going to be hurt by the loss.” He shook his head. “He had a collection of antique snuff boxes. They’re gone now.”

  “My offer still stands. I might be able to fix some things.” She stepped close to him. “How long has he been with you?”

  “A hundred years. He’s been seeing one of the older ladies on our street, going to the movies, that kind of thing. She’s called nearly every day since he’s been gone. I told her he took a wildlife hike on the Appalachian trail with a friend for a month and was out of touch. If he wanted to take it further, I’d free him to do so. It’s an antiquated practice, having a manservant these days. I’m not exactly helpless.”

  “Change is hard. And a hundred years is a long time.”

  It was. They might not be blood kin in the manner humans were, but they might as well be. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “You have a lot to take care of. I can work from here until you get back.”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.” When they had time, he was going to show her how appreciative he was for all she’d done.

  Her cheeks flared as though she’d read his mind and he smiled. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  The bank was helpful in helping him gain access to his bank account and safety deposit box, as was the police department. Armed with the insurance policy and a police report, he stopped by the insurance office and made an appointment.

  Next he swung through a men’s clothing store where he knew Arnold shopped and bought several pairs of pants and shirts for them both, as well as underwear, pajamas, and socks. He rushed through a discount department store and purchased toiletries, a couple of pairs of jeans for himself—Arnold wouldn’t be caught dead in them—and pullover sweaters for each of them.

  Three hours before he had to meet with the insurance adjuster, he returned to the house. The damage didn’t look any better today than it had the evening before. He sifted through the ruins of Arnold’s room to find what he could of the snuffboxes. Out of the fifteen he knew he had, he found twelve. Only two had survived intact, having been kicked beneath other debris. He hoped once he began to clean up, he’d find the other three.

  The longer he surveyed the damage the angrier he became. When he saw the two vampires again, they would wish they hadn’t set foot inside this house.

  That thought brought two worrisome thoughts to the surface. First, Arnold’s rescue had been too easy. Had they wanted to keep him longer, the witch they hired would have fought tooth and nail to keep him. They’d already gotten what they wanted from him, so they didn’t need Arnold anymore. And the second: he needed to move the wand to a safer location. The safe had worked fine for the past few days, but he was beginning to feel antsy. The digital lock was foolproof against most humans, but not against magic. With sufficient power, they could rip the safe out of the floor and spring the door.

  Now he had Arnold back he could destroy the damn t
hing.

  More than satisfied with his plan, he rushed downstairs to his office, opened the safe, and extracted the wand, taking it into the garage where he stored the tools he used to fix the car and do small repairs around the house.

  He got out heavy work gloves. The damn thing gave him the creeps every time he touched it, and he hoped the gloves would be thick enough to keep it from affecting him.

  He opened the shipping tube and pulled the wand free of the towel. Its power penetrated the gloves immediately, and he grimaced. Fastening the piece of oak into the vise he used to hold metal parts in place, he lifted down a small hand saw from the pegboard over his work table. He’d cut the damn thing into pieces and burn it.

  He rested the saw against the wand and, pressing down, he raked it back and forth, first lightly to get a start, then with greater force. The harder he pressed, down the more resistance he felt. He lifted the saw and stared in disbelief. The teeth of the instrument were tangled and flattened. There wasn’t a mark on the wand.

  There had to be some way to destroy the thrice-damned thing.

  Half an hour later, the worktable was scattered with damaged tools. And he had a large knot on his forehead where the hammer he’d tried boomeranged back and hit him. The damn wand had a hell of a built-in defense mechanism.

  He studied his reflection in one of his car’s side view mirrors. It looked like he’d developed a zit between his eyes the size of an ostrich egg. It even had the red center, like it needed to be popped. If he had a gag reflex, it would be working overtime. And worse, it hurt like hell.

  Surely the injury would heal before he returned to Zaira’s house to collect Arnold.

  He didn’t bother to try the small acetylene torch. He didn’t relish the idea of setting himself on fire.

  If he couldn’t destroy the fucking thing, he had to hide it well enough so anyone who came looking would have to raze the house to find it.

  He scanned the many tools he hadn’t used yet and picked up a cordless drill, popping open the container of bits he had that fit the tool and selecting the biggest one. This would do.