Hotel Hex, page 2
“That’s the thing, I didn’t make contact. Make sure your toothbrush is far enough away from mine that you don’t use mine … by accident,” she raised her voice as she placed folded clothing in the chest of drawers.
“Sweetheart, considering where my mouth has been in the past I’d…” he stopped the second he saw the don’t go there look on her face. “Not that I’m using that as an excuse. My bad.”
Fluff snickered. “Witchwhipped.” One look at Nick’s rapidly reddening eyes had him running for the stack of bed pillows.
She noticed his dark expression when he returned to the bedroom. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Something strange in there. If I didn’t know better I’d swear someone was watching me from the mirror. And yes, I looked but didn’t see anything or anyone in there.”
“And that bothers you? It’s not like you go in there to pee or anything,” she reminded him with a chuckle.
“Doesn’t mean I want to be spied on when I take a shower.”
Jazz fell backwards onto the bed. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll protect you if a sexy female ghost shows up in the shower. Or…” a wicked grin curved her lips, “I can get Irma here. She’d protect you in a second.” She mentioned the elderly spirit that had ridden shotgun in her vintage T-Bird convertible for decades. “I bet she’d even offer to wash your … back.”
Nick closed his eyes and groaned. “Damn, Jazz! That’s not a picture I want in my head.”
She chuckled. “Don’t worry, my love. Your virtue is safe on that score. I haven’t sensed any ghosts in the building.”
“But you’re not real strong when it comes to sensing the living-challenged,” he reminded her.
“True, but I’m sure I’d sense something. If I’m wrong maybe the show happens as part of tonight’s entertainment. We’ll have sightings of ghosts, clanking chains and moaning in the hallway.”
Nick shook his head, muttering uncomplimentary words about a witch’s sick sense of humor as he walked back into the parlor. Fluff and Puff slid off the bed and scooted after him.
“Jazz! There’s scary stuff in here!” they shouted. “We want to go to the Beverly Hills Hotel!”
“I live with wusses,” she muttered, going after them.
“It’s nasty!” Fluff insisted, glaring at the wall as if arms would appear and pull them through.
“Wallpaper shouldn’t give off a dangerous vibe,” Nick said.
Jazz stood behind him and peered over his shoulder. At first glance, the old-fashioned wall covering looked like off-white silk-embossed roses that swirled. She moved around him for a closer inspection. Now she could see the floral design was really tiny skulls with mouths wide open in silent screams.
“I’ve been in a lot of castles in Europe and I don’t recall any of them displaying wallpaper like that. The usual designs are roses or fleur de lis. What in Hades does a monstrosity like this have to do with European old world elegance? It’s unsettling enough now. How could anyone have looked at this a hundred years ago?” Nick shook his head, keeping a safe distance from the wall. “I’ll admit it. I made a mistake with this hotel. We’ve been here barely fifteen minutes and I already regret accepting their invitation.”
Jazz understood his disturbed feelings. She was feeling pretty uneasy too. To distract her thoughts she walked around the room. She picked up a fragile Limoges porcelain box and examined it. “It just means someone has bad taste in wallpaper. You still have to say the owner spared no expense in decorating the rooms. Did you see that Ming vase in the lobby? There’s no doubt it’s an original.”
“It’s obvious the hotel intends to attract the high-end clientele,” Nick said.
“If they want high-end, they better install a spa facility,” Jazz said.
“The Beverly Hills Hotel has a very nice spa,” Fluff and Puff piped up in unison from their hiding place on the bed. “They even give us ear massages and use that yummy smelling conditioner when they bathe us.”
“Facials. Massage. Mani/pedi,” the witch murmured with a sigh.
“Did you ever think someone might want to go to a hotel for quiet relaxation?” Nick settled into a nearby chair.
“Relaxation is a day at the spa complete with Swiss and Belgian chocolates on your pillow,” she pointed out.
He smiled as he waved the brochure in front of him. “While here they have relaxation as in badminton, croquet, lawn darts. High tea. Gourmet meals. No Wi Fi or TV though. Krebs would be tearing out his hair. So tell me, Jazz, what would you like to do first?”
She gifted him with a wicked smile. That was a no-brainer in her book. “The cocktail hour isn’t until 5:30, so why don’t we just take it easy until then?” she purred, lifting her hands to her top.
Nick rose to his feet and walked toward her with the liquid grace that proclaimed him a vampire.
“That’s an excellent idea.” He grinned at her squeal as he picked her up and draped her over his shoulder, walking into the bedroom.
The slippers took one look at them and raced back to the parlor.
Jazz and Nick were so engrossed with each other they didn’t notice a leering face watching them from the midst of the gentle flames in the bedroom’s fireplace.
Chapter 2
“Does this hotel understand your dietary needs?” Jazz asked, as she slicked on a glossy coral lip color to match the coral silk hip length cardi that topped her short navy lace dress. Her coral peeptoe pumps revealed her ankle bracelet with its gold broomstick charm with the amethyst twinkling from the broom handle. A moonstone pendant nestled among intricate gold rings and matching earrings were her jewelry. She made up her eyes, the color of fresh moss, to their best advantage.
She stared at her vampire lover and wanted to push him back onto the bed again. Instead, she followed him out of the suite.
Nick with his brown hair without its usual disorder and piercing coffee colored eyes was devastating whether clothed or naked. Black fine wool slacks and a cream colored shirt with narrow charcoal stripes and charcoal sport coat had him looking very mouthwatering.
“They assured me that wasn’t a problem.” He brushed a kiss behind her ear.
Jazz had no worry about the safety of her veins. A witch’s blood was poisonous, if not deadly, to a vampire’s so they never shared blood.
Once downstairs, they followed the sound of voices.
“What’s wrong?” Jazz asked, when she noticed Nick’s tip of the head.
Nick paused. “I sense five heartbeats. One of them is Mrs. Babbington.”
“I wonder when the other guests showed up.” She picked up the pace until she stood in the doorway. She viewed three women and one man residing in a loveseat and easy chairs.
“Ah, Ms. Tremaine. Mr. Gregory.” Mrs. Babbington glided forward at a pace much lighter than seemed possible, considering her round shape. She wrapped her hands around Jazz’s arm and managed to move her forward a step. “Please come in and meet our other guests,” she invited in a low voice. “Well known travel writer Derwood Grantham, I’m sure you know of him.” She motioned at the only other man in the room. “He chronicles haunted hotels and homes across the nation. And over here,” she turned to gesture at the last two women, “we have world famous opera singer Beatrice Fairfield, and celebutante psychic, Sylvie Vandemeer.”
“That’s quite a mix of guests,” Nick commented.
“It’s wonderful we have such a nice mix for our first guests,” she replied with enthusiasm. “They’re all very excited to be a part of this. With the two of you here I’m sure it will be a success.”
“I don’t know what you expect of our presence here, Mrs. Babbington. Please tell me that Jazz and I weren’t invited because of what we are. We’re not known to perform parlor tricks,” he stated with steel in his voice. He felt the slight pressure of Jazz’s hand resting against his spine. A deep breath didn’t cool his temper, but it lowered it a bit.
Mrs. Babbington looked surprised. “Oh no, my dear, that is not it at all. The owner thought for the first weekend it would be lovely to have a variety of guests who are interested in the supernatural. Some smaller hotels have done that with great success. With the hotel’s somewhat unusual history it was natural to do the same. If it goes well we could plan other events such as murder mystery weekends, an 1880s gala, and Regency balls.”
Jazz moved until she stood by Nick’s side. “So this is just a weekend of talking about the supernatural. Or are you looking for proof that the hotel is truly haunted?” she said in a low voice.
“In a way. The building has been deemed to be haunted, but there have been no sightings yet. The workmen were understandably nervous during the renovations, even if nothing too alarming happened,” she whispered. “Only tools disappearing then appearing. Problems with the electricity and water. More like small disturbances. Yet there have been enough stories to suggest there might be more going on here than meets the eye.”
“And of course there’s Zorak,” Nick pointed out. “You can’t tell me that’s a trick of Hollywood make up.”
The elderly woman tipped her head to one side in thought. “I know very little about Zorak. My only instructions were that he came with the house.”
Jazz thought about telling the woman about the strange wallpaper and vibes that the house was giving off. But looking into her faded blue eyes she knew Mrs. Babbington wouldn’t believe her. She’d run into too many mundanes like her. It was easier to think that the shadow in the corner was merely a shadow, not a creature looking for his next meal.
Yet … there was something about the woman that made her wonder if there was a chance she knew more than she was letting on. “We’ll do our part,” she said finally.
The manager’s warm smile returned as she clapped her hands. “Wonderful! Perhaps you’d care for a cocktail and meet your fellow guests.”
Nick asked if Mrs. Babbington wanted anything then poured glasses of wine for himself and Jazz and a small glass of port for the manager.
Jazz studied the other woman as she led her further into the room. Strange. She could have sworn the woman’s ornate brooch had sported an amethyst stone set in the twists of gold, but what she now saw was midnight onyx. She prided herself on her observation skills and couldn’t believe she was wrong.
Jazz switched her grimace to a smile as Mrs. Babbington made the round of introductions.
“My dears, our special guests have arrived!” she tittered. “May I introduce you to Jazz Tremaine, a witch, and Nick Gregory, a vampire.”
Both winced at the description but held onto their manners.
Jazz took stock of the other guests. Sylvie, an ethereal wisp of a woman in her mid-twenties with waist-length silver blonde hair, spray tan, and a barely there dark pink silk dress. Beatrice with high-piled burgundy hair looked dramatic in black silk, and seventyish iron-haired portly Derwood wore what she judged to be a custom-tailored suit he must have purchased on Saville Road.
“I understand you claim to be over 700 years old,” Beatrice said, managing to look down her nose at Jazz even though the latter was standing. “How can you prove that?”
Jazz’s jaw hurt from her clenching it so hard. “Not easily since birth certificates weren’t issued back then.”
Undeterred, Beatrice continued, “Didn’t I see on the news that you lifted some sort of curse on a land developer in Laguna Niguel and yet he ended up seven inches shorter?” She tapped her second chin with her forefinger as she speared the witch with beady eyes.
“Banishing the curse merely returned Raymond Carruthers to his original height,” Jazz said, noticing that Sylvie was tapping away on her iPhone.
The younger woman frowned. “It went dead!” She glared at Jazz. “Did you do something to my phone? I need to keep my friends updated over the weekend.”
“Don’t tell me you believe all that nonsense that she’s a witch?” Beatrice chuckled. “My dear, it’s merely publicity so the Hollywood people will use her services.”
It was official. Jazz didn’t like her one bit.
“All that online insanity has ruined the use of pen and paper. The proper way to talk to people,” Derwood spoke up, gesturing with his glass of whiskey. “What can you tell us about the events for this weekend, Ms. Tremaine? Will you conjure up a demon?” he chuckled.
“Not my style, Mr. Grantham. Not to mention summoning a demon is a very dangerous thing to do. As it is, Nick and I’ve only been here a couple hours,” she replied. “Right now, I’d like to drink my wine and enjoy dinner.”
“I thought you were part of the entertainment,” Beatrice stated huffily, doing her best to stare Jazz down.
It didn’t work.
“We’re guests just like you.”
Sylvie lifted her head, seeming to sniff the air like a dog. “There are very odd vibrations in the air. I wonder how many spirits inhabit the hotel.” She lifted limpid eyes the improbable color of cobalt that had to be enhanced by contact lenses.
Jazz’s elbow connected with Nick’s midriff when she noticed his eyes were focused on the young woman’s impressive spray-tanned cleavage.
You look again and you’ll be way beyond undead. She bared her teeth at her vamp honey aware he could read her expression.
“There are many kinds of psychics,” she said. “Do you commune with spirits, objects, or just whatever sounds good at the time?”
Sylvie’s glossed lips tightened. “I am well known for my gift.”
“Really?” Jazz smiled. “I’ve never heard of you other than seeing you on TMZ or mentioned in the tabloids for sex tapes released to the Internet, all the wild parties in Europe and then there was that escapade in Cancun. But I’ve never read anything about you being psychic.”
“Just as you don’t advertise your gifts, I don’t market mine. I merely use them for the benefit of friends,” Sylvie said primly while flashing Nick a come-hither smile. He wisely ignored it and her.
“Shall we move to the dining room for dinner?” Mrs. Babbington announced.
Jazz knocked back the rest of her wine and handed Nick the glass. “They better have more with dinner,” she muttered.
“A drunken witch is a dangerous witch.”
“Trust me, better drunk than a pissed off one.” She took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the dining room.
“Not when it screws up your magick. Remember last spring in Palm Springs?”
She grimaced at the not so pleasant memory. “It was just the one time.” Her eyes lit up at the sumptuous buffet set up against one wall. The tempting smells reminded her she hadn’t eaten much at lunch.
“We have to serve ourselves?” Beatrice was aghast.
“If you want to eat, you do.” Jazz wasted no time forking slices of roast beef, herb roasted potatoes, some yummy looking biscuits, and mixed vegetables onto her plate.
“Very plebian food for a luxury residence,” Derwood grumbled, but piled his plate high also. “Ah.” His eyes lit up at the bottles of wine set on the table. “An excellent vintage.” He quickly took a seat and filled his glass. Then recoiled as the red liquid sent out the tangy scent of copper.
“I believe that’s for me,” Nick took the wine glass out of his hand. He then snagged the bottle, bringing it closer to them.
“Do you enjoy busting curses for celebrities?” Sylvie asked, barely sounding polite as she added a few greens to her plate and retired to a chair. She might have directed her question at Jazz, but her smile made its way toward Nick.
The witch wondered if the so-called psychic saw a nasty hex in her future. All sorts of good ones filled her mind.
“I don’t bust curses, I eliminate them.” She bit into her biscuit with a decided snap of her jaw. “And no, not all are celebrities. Although I have to say that Hollywood does love a good hex.” She smiled broadly.
Beatrice nodded. “I do believe I read somewhere you played with magick on film producer Leon Aaron’s office desk. His business partner had a curse placed on it that somehow blanked out all his paperwork and even did something nasty to his computer.” She didn’t look entirely convinced it was true. “I’m sorry, it just doesn’t sound like something someone would do.”
“Hollywood hype,” Sylvie agreed.
Oh yes, Jazz would just love showing them both what a well-placed curse could do.
“A lot of people don’t believe in magick,” she agreed. “Just like many, even during these enlightened times, still feel psychics are charlatans.” She smiled at Sylvie. “Years ago psychics were considered witches and burned at the stake.”
Beatrice dipped her spoon into her soup. “All theatrics,” she announced.
“Then why are you here?” Nick asked barely sounding polite.
The opera star lifted her many chins. “It is research for my next role. I will be playing Nostra in Dante’s Loves. I will be joining the company in Paris.” She mentioned a new opera that first played a few years ago and had since taken the world by storm. Written by a vampire, the story dealt with a woman who descended into a world of magick and fear. Dark, exciting, and enthralling to all who saw it. The original star had succumbed to a mysterious illness that left her a prisoner in her penthouse apartment. The singer that replaced her died of an unexplainable illness. And now it appeared Beatrice would be its new leading lady. Or latest victim.
“Congratulations.” Jazz picked up her glass of wine and toasted the woman. “I’ve heard it’s a very demanding role.” And one that can’t be easily obtained. What did you do to gain it, Beatrice?
“Jazz.” Nick’s low voice intruded into her thoughts.
She looked at her lover. His eyes briefly met hers, dropped to his plate then lifted again. Then he gulped.
Leticia noticed his unease and covered his hand with hers.
Jazz looked down at her plate and just about crawled over her chair. If she wasn’t mistaken tiny bugs oozing something purple were marching around the perimeter and across the china’s surface.
She started to open her mouth to banish the bugs when they blinked out of existence. She looked around the table, but didn’t see any distress from the other diners. She doubted Sylvie would calmly eat her greens if there were blood worms crawling over them.
