Hex in High Heels Page 3

  “I try.” She paused long enough to admire her reflection in a mirror. Since Grady’s dress code was pretty casual, she’d opted for a dark teal, hip-skimming cowl-neck sweater over a pair of black jeans. Her gold ankle bracelet with the broom charm was draped outside her high-heeled boot. She had released her 40s updo and allowed the curls to fall free around her face.

  “You are one witch loaded for bear… or should I say Were?” Felix chuckled.

  “Give us all the details when you get back,” Horace demanded from his sprawled position on the counter. “And don’t leave anything out.”

  “I’m amazed you don’t want pictures, too,” Blair retorted, emptying her cash register and stowing the bills and change in the enchanted moneybag that boded ill for anyone who dared steal it.

  The gargoyle perked up. “Yeah! You’ve got a camera phone. I wanna know if what they say about Weres is true. You can find a way to take pictures. Or just make his pants disappear.”

  “Horace!” A flick of Blair’s fingers had the gargoyle tumbling head over heels off the counter and across the floor.

  “For Fates sake, doesn’t anyone have a sense of humor around here?” He slowly got to his feet and rubbed his butt as he limped away. “I have one simple request and I get zapped for it.”

  “What’d he do now?” Jake asked, stepping inside the shop and stopping short when he looked at Blair. The hand passing over his black hair betrayed his nervousness. “You look great,” he finally said. “I feel low-class next to you.”

  “No way,” she assured him, liking his casual look of flannel shirt and jeans. Jake took her faux-fur hooded jacket out of her hands and helped her put it on.

  She locked up the shop and moved down the sidewalk next to Jake. With the streetlights made to look like old-fashioned gas lamps, the light was soft and didn’t war against the stars shining in the clear sky. Blair breathed deeply, then wished she hadn’t when the icy air hit her lungs.

  “I guess there are some things you witches can’t handle,” Jake gently teased, taking her hand.

  She was glad she hadn’t worn her gloves as she felt the warmth of his calloused fingertips.

  “There are a few.”

  Jake pulled her to a stop. “Are you sure eating at Grady’s is fine with you? I mean, we could go up to one of the resorts for dinner, if you’d rather.”

  She shook her head. “Give me a beer and Grady’s infamous barbecue and I’m a happy witch.”

  “No eye of newt or bat wings?”

  “Oh puleeze, that’s so thirteenth century,” she pooh-poohed. “Not that I was around then.”

  As they walked, they passed a few of the locals, who smiled and greeted them. A few knowing glances were directed their way.

  Since Grady’s BBQ Pit and Tavern was also located at the edge of town, it wasn’t a far walk. The old one-story wooden building looked like a shack but was sturdier than most modern buildings.

  Grady, a tall, bald-headed man in his seventies, was busy in the kitchen when they walked into the crowded tavern. Blair noticed an empty corner booth and nabbed it while Jake went to the bar to place their orders. He returned with two glasses and a pitcher of beer.

  As he sipped his beer, Jake looked around the room. There wasn’t one person there he didn’t know personally. But suddenly he had a flash of memory of what had happened in the town the previous October.

  “Do you ever think about Samhain?” he asked softly, although there wasn’t much chance of anyone eavesdropping with the jukebox turned up high.

  Blair had started to take off her coat, but the chill that invaded her bones at his words made her decide to keep it on for a little while longer.

  “Not if I can help it,” she murmured, nodding her thanks as he poured beer into a glass and handed it to her. “There’s something about an angry mob and insane forest Fae trying to burn you at the stake that doesn’t invite Kodak moments.”

  “You could have had those memories erased along with everyone else,” he reminded her.

  Eurydice, their former headmistress and head of the Witches’ Council, had told Blair and her friends that their memories could be altered like the townspeople’s memories, but they had chosen to remember. In case they ever had to fight the battle again, Jazz, Nick, Stasi, Trevor, Blair, and Jake had agreed it was necessary. The six magickal beings never spoke of that night, when a renegade band of forest Fae led by “Reed Palmer,” disguised as a human, had almost succeeded in poisoning the lake and destroying them all. But it didn’t mean that their recollections had faded over the past few months.

  Blair still experienced that dark hint of fear any time she went out to the lake. While she enjoyed going out there for relaxation, there was also a bit of concern that the lake would retain some of the taint.

  “It was tempting, but Stasi was right. It’s better to remember the past in order to be prepared for the future.” She sipped the cold yeasty drink that Grady brewed in his basement.

  Jake’s dark brown eyes turned almost black. “You almost died that night. If I hadn’t…”

  “But you did. You turned all furry and saved the day when you killed Reed,” she said quickly with a big grin. “Not to mention totally surprising the hell out of me when you shifted. And to think I was feeling sorry for a poor homeless dog!”

  “I was getting pretty sick of Pupperoni,” he told her, grinning back. “Try Beggin’ Strips next time, okay?”

  “Deal.” Blair laughed as she slipped off her coat and let it slide down behind her.

  “Here you are, kids,” Grady announced, setting down two platters along with a bowl of thick, rich barbecue sauce. “Tri-tip dinners for two with all the trimmings and extra sauce.”

  Blair immediately picked up one of the seasoned fries, dipped it in sauce, and brought it to her lips. She closed her eyes as the flavors exploded in her mouth. A soft moan escaped her.

  “Damn, woman! You trying to get me shut down for illicit behavior?” Grady scolded with a smile. “You know how old Sheriff Carson is about goings-on in public places,” he said.

  “Old Sheriff Carson is five years younger than you,” she reminded him.

  “Old fuddy duddy with that tin badge sure doesn’t act it. He should have retired years ago.” He scanned the table, saw that they had all they needed, including extra napkins, and left them to their feast.

  “You know what? Let’s talk about anything but last Samhain. Since you showed up furry at your little play date yesterday, it’s obvious you don’t need the full moon to shift.”

  Jake shook his head. “You need the full moon when you’re young, but after you reach maturity, you can shift at will. Some prefer sticking to a ritualistic full moon ceremony, but I like the idea of running free whenever I choose. Plus, the dark of the moon makes for good hunting.”

  “That makes sense. So tell me, Jake, why does a Were move away from his pack when it’s a known fact that Weres stick together no matter what?” The minute she saw his face, she realized that it wasn’t a question he would readily answer.

  “I prefer being on my own and this town gives me what I need,” was all he said. “Plenty of land to roam.”

  “Lots of rabbits and squirrels for you to hunt.” She shook her head. “I’m still trying to get my head around the idea you’re a Were.” She kept her voice low; his species wasn’t “out” like the witches were. “Although I’m more used to Were wolves and panthers and such.”

  “Mine is a story that’s hard to tell. I don’t talk about it much.” He noticed Blair’s expression, as if she expected him to tell all anyway. “Like I just said, I don’t talk about it.”

  “Oh. I thought you meant you hadn’t talked about it before, but you would now.” She used the side of her fork to cut through the tender meat and brought the spicy goodness to her lips. They tingled.

  “It’s not like you and Stasi talk very much about your pasts.”

  “We’re pretty much an open secret here, at least among the townsfolk
who’ve lived here for more than a few years. And since we conjure up a few spells to keep the town safe from developers, people don’t mind as long as we stay sort of low-key.”

  “Then what was with this deal about banishment that the head witch talked about?” Jake asked.

  Blair refused to allow the mention of Eurydice to ruin her appetite. Not when all this fantastic tri-tip sat in front of her. No to-go bags tonight. If she took any home, Horace would gobble it up in no time and what he missed, Stasi’s magickal dog Bogie would grab. “I guess, like you said, some stories are hard to tell,” she replied.

  “Touché.” He saluted her with his fork. “You seem to do pretty well.”

  “We have. We’ve all made our way in the world in our own unique ways, and we’re all happy with our lives. None of us have done deliberate harm to anyone.” She nodded when Jake indicated the pitcher then her near-empty glass. He topped it off, then his own. “We’ve come a long way over the centuries.”

  Jake held his glass near hers and they bumped glasses for a toast. He flashed an appreciative smile as he watched her eat. “It’s nice to see someone not pick at their food or approach it as if it’s the enemy. Female Weres are hearty eaters, too.”

  “I guess I’d qualify on that count.”

  “Blair’s as good a customer as you are, Jake.” Grady stopped by the table. He glanced down at Blair’s half empty plate. “I guess everything’s fine.”

  Jake looked at Blair’s open and clearly happy face. “Perfect, Grady. Just perfect.” He noticed she didn’t blush or look away. Instead she looked him square in the eye and there was a hint of mischief in her bright blue-green gaze. Mischief he wouldn’t mind pursuing to see just what would happen.

  Oh man, this witch was trouble with a capital T.

  Chapter 3

  The evening didn’t end with dinner; they remained at the table and shared a second pitcher of beer while they enjoyed the music and dancing. The tavern’s occupant’s age ranged from early twenties up to a few couples in their seventies and eighties, so Blair and Jake sat back and watched the show.

  Blair almost choked on her beer when Mrs. Benedict and her longtime beau, Mr. Chalmers, got up and cut a rug to the sound of Steppenwolf screaming from the jukebox.

  “Who knew she could shake her booty like that?” Blair remarked, chuckling.

  “You think they’ll ever get married, or just keep on with their affair?” Jake asked.

  This time Blair did choke on her beer. Jake quickly got up and slapped her on the back so hard she almost fell out of the booth.

  “I’m fine!” she choked, holding up her hand.

  Jake immediately dropped down next to her. “Your face is purple.”

  “At least it’s a color I can wear,” she wheezed, struggling to regain her breath. “Mrs. Benedict and Mr. Chalmers are…?” she wig-wagged her hand.

  He nodded. “Oh, come on, you had to know they were more than just platonic friends. I found out a year ago when I went over there early to chop wood for Mrs. Benedict and saw Mr. Chalmers slipping out the back door, looking pretty pleased with himself. I waited about ten minutes, then went over to knock on Mrs. Benedict’s door.” He leaned over to confide, “She was wearing a robe and her cheeks were pretty flushed, and not because the oven was on.”

  Blair took another gulp of her beer. “No more, please. I really don’t want to consider them in that position. In any position. How will I look her in the eye when she brings over some of her cookies or sourdough biscuits? I so can’t think of her having a sex life!” She buried her face in her hands.

  Jake grinned. “Just be glad you weren’t the one who showed up that morning. At least I didn’t get there ten minutes earlier. As it was, I never chopped wood so fast in my life. She was inside humming Papa Loves Mambo.”

  Blair looked up when the door opened, then ducked down behind Jake’s broad shoulders.

  “Floyd and Agnes just came in,” she hissed. “She’ll want to talk me into helping with the carnival.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Too late, she saw you.”

  “Blair, there you are!” the mayor’s wife trilled, tottering over on her high heels with her portly husband behind her.

  “Agnes,” Blair greeted the woman.

  “What wonderful luck to find you here.” Agnes plopped down across from them in the booth. She wiggled her fingers to direct Floyd to sit next to her. “Grady, could we have two root beers, please?” she called out.

  “Floyd can pick them up here,” Grady yelled back.

  Floyd sighed and lumbered to his feet.

  “The new owner of Snow Farms Resort had us up for dinner and to discuss the carnival,” Agnes related with a light in her eyes. “What a lovely man. So gracious, and friendly, too. He feels, as we do, that the carnival can be so much more than it’s been in the past. He’s going to see if he can persuade some professional skaters to come up here to give us an exhibition. Now we just have to hope the lake freezes over in time, and with our cold weather, we should be lucky that it does. The poor man has so much on his shoulders, what with the previous owner being arrested for renting out private penthouse suites to use for Lord knows what. There was even talk that teenage girls were involved.” Her lips pursed tightly. “Not only that, but he had been overseeing the carnival account and that money is now gone. Our funds are somewhat low,” Agnes confided. “Thank goodness Snow Farms Resort is willing to help out. I’m sure we can bring the carnival to life, even after all these upsets.”

  Blair managed a smile. “We” as in anyone Agnes could coerce or blackmail into doing most of the work while she supervises and takes all the credit. She mentally smacked herself upside the head; while Agnes did manage to take all the credit, she also was an excellent organizer and got everyone going in the right direction—a job that no one else really wanted.

  “You and Stasi will help us, won’t you?” Agnes asked. “We thought if the weather stays cold enough the lake will freeze, and we could even use it for ice skating. Look at all the snow we’ve been getting, and the carnival is just around the corner.”

  Blair swallowed her horror and mentally counted the days. Jazz would be up next week for their centering ceremony and the carnival was only a few weeks after that.

  “We had hoped—” Agnes frowned at her husband as he swallowed half his drink. “That doesn’t look like root beer.” She snatched the glass out of his hand and sniffed, recoiling with horror. “That’s bourbon!”

  Floyd took it back. “No, a very fine Irish whiskey.” He downed the rest before she could steal it back again.

  Agnes leaned over. “Floyd, you are a role model for this town,” she said in an undertone. “They can’t see you drinking alcohol in public. Do you want people thinking you’re a drunkard?”

  “Nope, can’t be that lucky. Just ask Blair,” he groused, craning his neck to stare longingly at the bar.

  “Ask me what?” She felt that sense of horror again.

  Agnes leaned across the table until Blair had no choice but to inhale the heavy gardenia and jasmine scent of White Shoulders that wafted off the woman. “While the resort will do what it can, we have to do our part, too. I thought you and Stasi could help us with some…”

  “Some…?” Blair prompted when she didn’t go on.

  Agnes mouthed the word magick. “We thought you could do something… perhaps with decorations… and perhaps convince the printer to print our flyers for free,” she whispered. “You know what I mean. One of those spells.”

  Blair could sense Jake’s suppressed mirth as his thigh pressed warmly against hers. She rested her arms on the table and leaned across toward Agnes, making sure to breathe shallowly. She dared not breathe through her mouth or she’d taste the damn perfume, too, and no way she wanted to ruin the tasty memory of her dinner.

  “What you’re asking for isn’t allowed, Agnes,” she whispered back. ”We have very strict rules we have to follow.” When she again sensed Jake’s swallow
ed chuckle, she casually ground her heel into his toes. His work boots wouldn’t allow much damage, but he got the message.

  Agnes’s overly plucked eyebrows rose. “You have rules?”

  Blair nodded. “We have to answer to someone, and we must be careful how we use our magick,” she mouthed the last word.

  “And they wouldn’t allow you to help us out? It’s for a worthy cause,” Agnes persisted. “What if I speak to whoever is in charge? Perhaps they’d make an exception.”

  “I’m sorry, but they wouldn’t see proceeds used for renovating the town center as a worthy cause. Don’t worry, I’m sure Stasi and I can come up with other ways to help.” Oh yeah, Stasi was so going to hate her for this, but there was only so much quick thinking she could do in one evening and she’d pretty much reached her limit. Plus, Stasi had gone off on a romantic getaway, leaving Horace with her. Yep, this seemed only fair.

  Agnes frowned in thought as she sat back, then suddenly brightened. “I know what you could do to help us add some wonderful ambiance to the carnival. Being… what you are… I would think you’d know”—she paused as if looking for just the right word—“well… small people.”

  Blair sifted through Agnes’s attempt at political correctness. “Small as in…?”

  “Elves.”

  Blair was beginning to be aware of a headache pounding its way out of her forehead. She picked up her beer glass. “Why do you want to know if I know any elves?”

  Agnes brightened. “Think how festive it would be with booths out by the lake and the ice-skating. And the resort has offered to host a lovely formal dance as a finale.”

  “Gee, that all makes sense why she’d want elves,” Jake said quietly enough for Blair’s ears only.

  “I personally don’t know any elves, but I’ll see what I can do,” Blair said, immediately tossing that idea out the window. Elves were too much trouble, and that was the last thing she wanted.