Mojo Queen (21 page)

Assuming I could find her, get Blake away from her, and,
ahem
, break their connection.

Bubba was right, casual sex was not my style. This attraction to Blake was unexpected, inexplicable, and probably stupid, but there was nothing casual about it. Even before I saw him, I saw his aura and thought it was beautiful. That mesmerizing starfield had enchanted me better than any love spell. I knew he was attracted to me, would sleep with me, but did that mean anything? He knew she was a killer and a demon, but could he let go of Delia?

I stared at my increasingly illegible notes, a sinking feeling dragging down the pleasure of a good meal. Dropping my pen, I took off my glasses and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Ninety-nine problems and a hellbitch sure is one,” I murmured.

“Can I refill your tea, hon?”

I looked up to see a waitress hovering at the edge of my table, a pitcher of iced tea in one hand and a stack of dirty plates in the other. She was too old to still be waiting tables, lines stretching out from her eyes and mouth, faded dye barely covering the gray in her hair, her aura a muddy blend of browns and grays. Defeat personified, but trying to put a good face on it, nonetheless. She offered me a tired smile.

I nodded. “Please.” She refilled my tea with practiced ease, turning the pitcher to the side instead of using the pour spout. “Can I have another slice of that chess pie, ma’am?”

“Sure thing.” She moved on to deposit the stack of plates and get my pie. I watched the blurry colors of her aura for a moment then replaced my glasses.

Time to get my mojo workin’.

* * * *

Nightfall found me sitting on the floor of my office. Several candles were arrayed around me in a circle. In front of me was one large pillar candle, a map of the county and the plastic bag containing Blake’s hair. I’d never done anything like this before. It was much closer to traditional magic than what I was used to, but I was banking on intention being the most important factor, not following rituals to the letter.

I tried to relax but couldn’t. Tried chanting and felt silly. Taking several deep, slow breaths, I conducted a slow grounding, visualizing my aura spreading out all around me. My glasses were on the desk. I opened my eyes, pleased and a little surprised to see my aura rippling inside the circle, a wave of indigo accented with violet, a few flickers of silver and gold. I attempted some chanting again but stopped. I needed something to help me focus, to raise more energy and shift my consciousness into a different state so that I could direct all this energy into my goal. Chanting might work for a lot of people but never had worked for me.

I sat quietly, letting myself open within the confines of the protective circle. My eyes unfocused, the office falling away as I let myself be wrapped in the blue haze of my magic. I reached out, trying to feel for other energy around me. I didn’t know if it would work, what with being in a circle, but I felt an instinctive desire to touch whatever surrounding waves of energy I might find. I’d done this at my home, feeling the energy of trees and flowers and other growing things, small animals, an underground stream. I’d never done it here in town.

The first thing I heard, felt, whatever, was chanting. Ha ha. I could feel it coming from next door at the Broom Closet, a group of women meeting for their Goddess book club. It had a peaceful, busy feel to it, like work joyfully done. I cast out farther, feeling something sharp and abrasive made entirely of speed. Was that downtown traffic? It didn’t seem to flow so much as march impatiently in grids and circles. It was big, rumbling, and powerful, so powerful I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to sense anything else separate from it. I focused on it, feeling myself slip deeper into a meditative state.

After a while I could sense random sparks shoot across the rumble of perpetual motion, each spark with its own energy. None of these sparks were strong enough for me to hold onto and follow in any meaningful sense. They appeared and disappeared like shooting stars in the night sky.

Gradually I became aware of something underneath it all, something light and rhythmic and oddly familiar. I could feel it enough to nod in time with it, almost hear it, like something half-remembered bubbling up from deep subconscious.

It was music. Underneath the loud neon rumble of the city, the flashing lights and dark echoes of its people, the accumulated memories and emotions of hundreds of years, the deepest energy signature of this land felt like music.

My eyes snapped open as I jerked out of the meditative state. I felt fully awake and aware, but not cut off from this energy. Quite the opposite. A gentle rhythm coursed through me, spreading from the parts of me touching the floor, where I sat all the way up to the top of my head and out, sending ripples through my aura. The circle of unlit candles came to life with just a moment of my focus directed at each one.

I turned my attention to the larger candle in front of me, the one I would use as a focal point for my petition. All thoughts of chanting and poetry dissolved as the rhythm ran through me stronger, little pings against the high wire becoming more pronounced. Did it bring a melody with it, or did I do that when I started to hum? I put my questions aside and focused my intention on finding Blake.

Humming more confidently, I reached for the little plastic bag with the hairs from Blake’s brush. With a flick of energy, I lit the petition candle, the flame flashing higher than it should have. Pinching the few hairs between two fingers, I held them in the flame, visualizing Blake’s face, his dark chocolate eyes, full lips curled in a sexy smirk, his beautiful starfield aura. Sending out a silent call to him, hoping whatever connection might already exist between us would be strong enough to tell me his location.

Did this mean I was using myself as a magical tool of sorts? Once again I shut down the part of my brain that couldn’t stop asking questions and continued to focus on my intention. And hum. At some point it seemed to turn into a song, but I couldn’t readily identify the tune.

I caught a flicker in the air above the map out of the corner of my eye. A small inky black mass, shot through with red and purple and silver, spread out to the size of a dime over an area not far from downtown. My breath caught, shock, delight and wonder all filling me at once. As soon as I stopped humming, the image winked out.

“Well, crap.” I blew out the candles and stood, nearly toppling over. It felt like my blood sugar had dropped to the floor. Hell, under the floor. That big meal hadn’t lasted long. I’d need a candy bar before kidnapping the sorcerer away from his demon girlfriend. Maybe a cappuccino. If there was ever a time for excessive caffeine, surely this was one.

The old Tennessee State Prison was a massive Gothic structure atop a hill overlooking the Cumberland River. It was everything you would imagine a haunted, abandoned prison to look like. After finding a place to park I thought would be suitable, I took a good look around to make sure no one was lurking, then climbed into the cargo section of the SUV and set up my tools.

A thirteen by nine metal cake pan with a long, slender nail welded to the center, just for spells that needed a particular kind of candle. A double-action candle, half black, half white, that I anointed with oil and speared on the nail right where the colors met. I oriented the white half to be pointing at me, to draw Blake to me, and the black half at what I hoped was Delia’s general direction. I had that hex message to send her, after all. Next I pulled Seth’s cellphone from my bag, then a small glass jar with a spider captured inside. I took a deep breath and slipped into a meditative state.

I don’t know how long it took me to find that hum of energy but I think it was quicker this time. Unsure if this was the right thing to do, I went ahead and asked it for help. I sent my own energy into the candle, lighting both ends at once. For a nice change, I was able to keep the flames under control. Good thing, since I had one end pointing right at me. I kept my focus tight and began to visualize Delia. I pictured her long blond cheerleader hair, preppy clothes and snooty attitude. I very firmly kept any stray image of her doing anything to Blake, good or bad, out of my head.

I opened the phone and called up Delia’s number but didn’t dial, placing it on the cargo bay floor next to the pan. Black and white wax collected in the bottom of the pan. Glasses off, eyes unfocused, I sent my will into the candle to start the spell. Visualized the energy of the candle flames, the energy of the cellphone and the energy of the spell she had used to sicken Daniel. Wove those threads together tight, so deep in the work I could no longer tell if it was my imagination or was I really seeing all these lines of energy crackle and spark in the air.

Raising the jar, I thanked the little spider for its sacrifice before dumping it into the pan, making sure it touched the flame before being captured by black wax. Another thread to weave. Then I picked up the phone and sent Delia a text message.
How do you like it bitch?

Hey, I’ve been using that line since junior high, works in all sorts of occasions.

Now I had to maintain my focus to fuel the spell and keep it going, wait and hope Blake wasn’t tied up or unconscious and able to get away, and count on Delia being too busy barfing up increasingly larger spiders to follow.

I was drenched in sweat by the time I spotted his aura making its way to the SUV. He rapped the driver side window with his knuckles and I yelled for him to get in.

“Figured you were close when she started spitting out spiders.” His voice sounded strong but I didn’t look at him, afraid to break my concentration too much.

“You okay?” I managed to ask.

His lips on the side of my forehead, warm and firm, told me he was. “I take it you want me to drive?”

I nodded.

“Where to?”

“Anywhere.” This was taking a great deal out of me. He started the ignition and pulled onto the road. I put a hand on the pan to keep it steady.

The idea was to let the two ends of the candle burn themselves out. I’d worked with double-action candles before and never had this much trouble maintaining focus. I think it was because I was essentially pitting my will against a very powerful and dangerous entity, rather than the much weaker things I was used to dealing with. This didn’t bode well for my plans to exorcise her.

Blake took us to a motel near the airport, getting us a room while I stayed in the SUV with the candle. I carried the pan into the room with care, setting it on a small round table by the window and facing the black candle out.

I’d given it all I could. Content to let the candle burn itself out, I relaxed on the bed. Blake lay down and cuddled next to me, an arm draped across my stomach. After a while I felt better and sat up, wanting to look him over and make sure he was really okay. He kept his eyes closed, though I could tell he was awake. Three lines of dried blood from what looked like fingernail scratches marred his cheek. Somehow I didn’t think that was his only injury.

I combed his hair with my fingers. “How bad was it?”

“She throws a mean hissy fit,” he murmured. He rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes and temple. “Lot of screaming about me cheating on her and crap. I told her I never cheat on my women but I do consider a relationship to be over if a woman tries to kill me.”

“How’d she take that?”

Blake sat up, meeting my gaze. There was a flintiness in his chocolate eyes and no hint of a smirk. “She said she was sorry. She said she was wrong and she begged me to take her back. She’s so sweet when she begs.”

Well, that was not what I wanted to hear, but then I told myself, he could have stayed with her. He left when I gave him the chance and he was here with me now. That had to count for something. I reached for him, intending to kiss him, but he slipped away and left the bed.

The room was a typical cheap motel with a sink and sort of open closet outside the bathroom. The sound of running water cut through the heavy silence. Blake leaned over the sink, splashing water on his face. He grabbed a thin white towel to dry himself and stood there for a long moment, staring at his reflection. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking but I was afraid of the answer. My own thoughts demanded attention. How the hell did this happen? How did I come to care so much about this man so quickly?

I laid my glasses on the nightstand and went to him, wrapped my hands around his upper arm, thrilling at the feel of muscle. “Baby,” I whispered.

He tossed the towel onto the edge of the sink. “She can’t kill me, can she?” He met my eyes in the mirror.

“I don’t think so.”

“Because of what was between her and me, because of our connection.”

I nodded. “That’s what I think.” I took the plunge and told him my theory, all of it.

He whirled to face me, his expression cold and hard as a black diamond. “What are we waiting for then? Let’s fuck, Roxie.”

I backed away, startled by his fury.

“Come on, take your clothes off.” He pulled his t-shirt over his head, balling it in one hand and throwing it viciously. Bandages on his chest still covered the worst wounds from the hellhound attack. “Take your clothes off and get in the bed and I’ll fuck you real good.”

“Blake, stop it!”

“It’s what you want, isn’t it? It’s what she wants, why should you be any different? She fucks me so she can live. You want to fuck me so you can kill her. I must be a pretty good piece of ass if everyone wants some of me. So let’s do this and then you can go wash off the stain before you walk out on me.”

“What? I don’t…”

“’Cos that’s how it’s going to be, right? You sacrifice yourself and lie there and think of England or some shit while the dirty man does things to you. So you can tell yourself later you only did it, only did
me
, so you could defeat the evil demon. How very fucking noble of you, Roxanne.”

“I don’t deserve your anger.”

“I’m sick of being used!” he shouted. “Delia used me, now you. I can’t take this. I won’t.” He retrieved his shirt and made for the door.

I got in front of him, hands sliding up his arms. “Don’t go! You don’t understand. I don’t want to use you.” Pleading with him to stay, to listen, to calm down.