Jozzie & Sugar Belle

  “The whatnow?” I stared at my car, the slices in the hood and the ruin of the passenger-side door. Poor thing. I couldn’t even blame the kangaroo, though I would really have liked to.

  He’d thought I was in danger. Which was kind of sweet.

  “Ballsy Awards.” She said it like I should know what the fuck she was on about. “You know, the SAG roast where they pick on directors? It’s his year. He’s guest of honor.”

  “Goody for him,” I muttered. That made sense, at least. “And you’re doing his afterparty?” She’d get paid through the nose, and if she pulled it off, there would be residual business from anyone she could schmooze at the shindig.

  I could even get in and out of there without anyone suspecting I was anything other than an ordinary catering worker, and foul up whatever the warlock was planning with a few well-chosen bits of spellwork. I would only be buying time until I could figure out exactly what to do about the damn Book, although really, once you stop one of its little end-the-world types another one happens along to pick it up right under your nose.

  You can’t ever really kill the Book. You can just delay its effects for a while.

  It takes warlocks a long time to get the ceremonial stuff just right, though, and I could set this motherfucker back for months. Plenty of time to work on other ways to solve the problem.

  “Yes, except Skylee’s on an archaeological dig thingie in Utah and Dina’s up north on sabbatical. I need you, Sugar.”

  Good Lord in a handbasket with a double side of fries. “Fine. Text me the address and the time. I’ll try to bring some muscle.” The kangaroo shifter, if he was still around, could lift and fetch.

  And that would put him right where I wanted him, if he was after the Book. It would suck, because even though he seemed kind a dim bulb…well, I liked him.

  It’s not every guy who will claw his way out of a car to protect you from a chupacabra. Or try to repair your kitchen chair.

  “Bless you, my child,” Mel said solemnly, like that time we dressed up as nuns for Halloween and went up and down the Sunset Strip.

  “And also with you, motherfucker,” I spat back, and she laughed, probably a little crazy with relief.

  I hung up, gazing down at my poor battered Rabbit. Dust was going to get in everywhere.

  Joz probably wasn’t after the Book, I decided, stuffing my phone back into my pocket and bracing myself to climb down the ancient, creaking ladder in front of a dozing chupacabra I’d beaten the shit out of a few minutes earlier.

  The way Sue was laughing, it was probably better to get some distance.

  Fifteen

  Bother

  * * *

  “Find out what you needed to?” The witch perched on the Volkswagen’s scarred bonnet, her boots dusty, her long legs crossed, and her floppy sunhat barely managing to shade her cleavage.

  “Yesmum.” Jozzie dusted his hands together. The rat perched high above was still cackling, and began yelling for Sugar. Apparently, the fucker couldn’t wait to tell her just what Jozzie was in search of. Smoke billowed from the windows and spread in a haze. “Uh, he said you could come back in and—”

  “No need.” She flat-out grinned, pearly teeth behind candy lips, and it was such a welcome sight Jozzie’s knees threatened to go a little weak. Again. Maybe he should put another patch on. “You’re gonna have to sit in the back, the seat belt in front’s busted.”

  “No, I’ll…” He saw the case of Vegemite sitting primly atop the plastic-wrapped pile of melting, melted, and just-plain liquified cheese, and headed for it. “Bloody hell.”

  “What are you doing?” Sugar regarded him curiously. At least she wasn’t ignoring him now.

  “That’s mine, that is.” They’d stolen it fair and square, after all.

  “Nuh-uh, baby.” She shook her pretty head, her sunhat’s brim wobbling. “We made a bargain. That’s his.”

  Well, she’d made the bargain. But it was to help Jozzie, and he couldn’t be a wanker about it. “But…the Vegemite?”

  “It’s not like you can’t pick some up later.” Calmly, logically, as if they weren’t talking about Blend 17, for God’s sake. “They have more.”

  “But…a case.” He couldn’t come up with a better argument.

  “There’s this thing called the Internet, you can buy all sorts of things by the caseload.” Sugar glanced up as the rat shifter’s laughter began to hiccup-cough to a halt. “I think we should go. Get in the car or don’t.”

  He did, but he also tore open the top of the cardboard case and subtracted one jar of Blend 17. He figured Sue wouldn’t miss it, and damned if he wasn’t going home from this bloody trip with a souvenir.

  Jozzie also put himself in the passenger seat, and spent the bone-rattling thumping of the gravel road heading down the canyon towards civilization re-knotting the seat belt’s torn strap. She glanced over several times, but it wasn’t until they reached the paved road that she stopped the car, dust drifting around them in a wind-whisked, golden veil. “So,” she said, her hands light on the wheel. At least the engine sounded all right, even if he’d completely ruined everything else. “Where are we going for this thing of yours?”

  “He gave me the address.” And the time to look for it. “I, uh. I can get there on my own, once we get into town.”

  She eyed him sideways, one raven eyebrow lifted. “I promised to help you.”

  “You did! You, uh, brought me here. You didn’t have to.” He was wondering why she did it if she didn’t owe Petey a favor, but there didn’t seem to be a right time to ask. Witches did what they pleased. “Besides, I’ve already smashed up yer ute here and given you problems, right?”

  “I’m a witch. That’s sort of the nature of the job.” Now she peered over the rims of her heart-shaped sunglasses at him, just like a movie star. “It was worse when I was stripping.”

  “When you were…”

  “Taking my clothes off. For money.” She slid her foot off the brake and the Rabbit bumped up on the paving, nosing out between choking, nasty, spiny bushes. “Also to horrify my grandmother. And lust is good fuel for spells.”

  “Oh.” And she did tattoos. Nice ones, too, if the one slapped on the base of his spine was any indication. Was there anything this woman didn’t know how to do? He was used to being capable, but ever since he’d gone out drinking with the boys he’d been a string of disasters.

  “Does that bother you?” Did she sound tentative? No, just flat, like it didn’t matter one way or the other.

  Only if you want me to get out and walk. When he did get his bits back, he was probably going to get the worst case of bluing in history just thinking about her taking her clothes off. The images wouldn’t stop playing through his head. “Uh, no. Not at all.”

  “Because it bothers some guys.”

  “Idiots.” American blokes, from what he could see, were seriously challenged in the brain department. “Only bothers idiots, Miss Sugar.”

  Her attention was on the road, but she smiled. The corners of her candy-red lips curled up, just like a cat put in front of a cream-saucer. Sweat cooled on Jozzie’s forehead as the car sped up, dust whistling through the half-shattered door, and he figured he’d said something right for a change.

  He also figured he should quit while he was ahead.

  Sixteen

  Enough Trouble

  * * *

  And that, really, was that. I had to slide around on a tangle of side streets and only hit the freeway when absolutely necessary, which meant it took much longer than usual to get home. Fortunately, with the passenger side door shredded, there was always a breeze.

  Unfortunately, that breeze was full of exhaust, dust, and noise. I didn’t turn the radio back on, but I could have. It wouldn’t have made a damn difference at all.

  So much for avoiding the hottest part of the day.

  By the time we got back to my place dusk was settling in the corners, Santa Ana was shaking her moneymaker with a vengeance,
and the kangaroo shifter was awful quiet. I cut the Rabbit’s engine and rubbed at my temples. The headache was going to be truly blinding until I could crawl into a cool shower and swallow some ibuprofen. Laying the spell that would keep someone in the neighborhood from stealing the Rabbit was going to make it worse.

  The parking lot was full of heat, more dust, and the persistent dry smell of eucalyptus and smoke from the hills—plus smog closer to home. I cut the engine and sighed. “You’re heading out to get your thing, then? Sure you don’t want me along?”

  He squinted at the dust on the windshield, full of westerly glow reflected from my apartment building’s windows. Didn’t he have any sunglasses? “Nah. I’ve, er, put you to enough trouble.”

  “So, what?” I drew the key out, dropped it in my purse. “You’re going to pick up your thing and go home?”

  “Yeh.” Joz picked at the shredded, messily re-tied seatbelt. “Eh, also…me family has some cabbage. When I talk to ’em I’ll pay for a new ute for you.”

  I was getting better at his accent, but damn he made it difficult. “A new yoot?”

  “New car.” He indicated the star-cracked windshield, then went back to working at the belt.

  I hesitated between irritated, insulted, and oddly touched. “It’s not the money. I could buy a new car myself before dusk tomorrow. And it’s not like I can blame you,” I added, in the interests of strict truthfulness. “You were only trying to protect me from a chupacabra.”

  “Is that what that was?” Mildly interested. Of course, shifters see a lot of strange stuff just like witches do. The world is a Candyland of weird shit.

  “Yeah. The name means goatsucker. Strong and bitey, but not very smart.” Was I really giving a lesson in cryptid behavior to a kangaroo shifter?

  “Poisonous?”

  “You mean venomous?” Since it wasn’t a herb, for fucksake. “No.”

  “Oh.” He sounded, of all things, disappointed. I’d heard everything on his home planet wanted to kill you, so probably he considered it no big deal. The seat belt’s tough nylon shredded under his careful plucking. “I’ll just be going along, then.”

  “You could have dinner first.” I was coming around to being downright charitable. “My big deal isn’t until tomorrow night.” If he was after the Book, it made sense for him to keep both eyes on me, up close.

  “Nah.” Another shake of his big blondish head. The seatbelt strap parted. “I should be on my way. You’ve been very kind, Miss Belle.”

  I was almost getting used to him calling me that. “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind.” I decided another tack might work. “You know…” I laid my right hand on his knee.

  That got his attention. Under the tough cotton, he was very warm, and he went still as only a shifter could.

  Animal-still.

  “There’s a good chance tomorrow night could be the end of the world.” I let my fingernails scratch his inseam, lightly. “You might want to spend tonight…well, doing something nice.”

  After all, a witch has needs. And if the world was going to end, or even get a little apocalyptic shake, he was hardly the worst lastie to have. I’d seen what was under his shirt, and it looked very nice indeed.

  “Er.” His throat worked. He was sweating. Definitely a reaction there. I hadn’t missed him staring at my chest, or the blushing. “Er, Miss Sugar, I would love to, it’s just…I…”

  “You’re married?” I caught myself. No means no, only yes means yes—and some guys don’t like the idea of sleeping with a woman who can crush the life out of them if they do anything she doesn’t remotely like. “Nevermind, forget I asked. I’ll still cook you dinner. The only thing I’m out of is bacon.”

  “No…er, I…um…” He was scarlet, and the sweating had gotten worse. It wasn’t entirely the heat. A smear of dusty dirt on his cheek was positively damp.

  “Tell you what.” I hit my own seatbelt catch and unlocked my door. “I’ll leave my door unlocked. You do you.” If he considered the “help” done, maybe that was good enough for the curse. If not, well, he knew where to find me.

  And since he’d been in my house, I could easily find him again. Bodily fluids, or even a scrap of worn clothing, are both stupid-simple for tracking.

  Not that I had a reason, unless the curse wasn’t gone.

  I felt his gaze on me all the way to my front door. Funny thing—I meant to go back out after a decent interval, to lay the antitheft spell on my Rabbit. Instead, I got inside, took a cool shower, and found myself in an empty apartment. No huge kangaroo shifter on my couch. Nothing but a broken chair and the ghost of the morning’s bacon.

  That did it.

  I locked my door and collapsed on my bed with my headache without even bothering to raid the fridge.

  Seventeen

  Mum

  * * *

  Joz’s cell phone was all the way back inside his blood-spattered Ute, an ocean away. It took some rummaging in mental cupboards to drag up any number, he was so used to them simply being a button away.

  Fortunately his wallet hadn’t been stolen, and his nose was still working. Which meant he ended up in a minimall full of strange signs blaring in Spanish and found a shop that sold all sorts of things—milk, bread, candles in glass holders, cigarettes, liquor—plus preloaded, throwaway cell phones. It took a bit of doing to figure out the country code, and a little more doing to find a quiet corner on the roof of the store. But finally, after much thinking, biting his lip, rummaging in mental drawers, and picking gravel out of his bumcrack, he managed to ring through.

  Thankfully, she picked up.

  “Hullo?” Cautious. Well, he was calling from a strange number. And the time difference was a big one.

  Jozzie braced himself. “Hi, Mum.”

  A charged silence echoed all the way across the ocean. If Jozzie hadn’t been missing his bits, they would have been trying to crawl upwards right about now. As it was, he looked across a city falling into darkness pierced by smears of white and red from headlamps and brake lights, plugged his other ear against the wind, and waited for the axe to fall.

  “Jozzie?” Deceptively quiet. All the breath gone out of her. “Jozzie, is that you?”

  “Yes, Mum. It’s me.”

  The quiet was of short duration.

  “WHERE THE FUCKING HELL ARE YOU?”

  The phone squealed in its attempt to reproduce audible maternal fury. He winced. “Erm, it’s complica—”

  “I. SAID. WHERE. ARE. YOU.” She was having none of that, thank you.

  “L.A.” Joz fought the urge to hunch his big shoulders and dig a toe into the top of the tiny store. Up here, the wind was a right nuisance, even with his back to it. Dust rasped along his nape, gathering in his hair.

  The only thing he’d been able to wash was his pants in the airport loo and his face at Sugar’s. He was feeling distinctly gamy.

  “WHAT?”

  “Los Angeles, Mum. America.”

  That was not quite what she’d expected, but it didn’t slow her down. Much. “And how did you get there—no, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”

  Which just meant he was going to have to go over it later, in detail, and endure the paralyzing stare while she sniffed for a lie. At least she’d stopped yelling. “It’s a long story, Mum.”

  That earned him a long, crackling pause, during which she was probably deciding if it was worth reaching through the damn phone to slap him.

  “I am going to tan your arse when you get home, you little turd.”

  Jozzie winced again. “I know, Mum.” And he would stand there and take the bollocking, like a good son. “I’m sorry.”

  Her tone dropped further. “Do you need money? A ticket home? Are you all right? What time is it there? I can get to the bank in a half-hour.”

  Now Daniela Hart-Shale was in planning mode, which meant she was twice as dangerous. If Joz didn’t watch himself she’d be on the next flight out here. And good luck keeping qu
iet about the loss of his bits, however temporary.

  “I’m fine with money, I’ve got me wallet, I can get a ticket home, I’m really all right, it’s sevenish in the evening here.” He paused, and took the plunge. “I met a girl.”

  “So there’s no-one I need to kill? Really?” Mum didn’t sound like she believed it.

  “Really.” I already did kill a few and I might do more, depending. “I swear. I’m all right.”

  “You won’t be when I get through with you,” she muttered darkly. “Right then. What’s her name?”

  A sudden change of direction was never a good sign. Joz blinked. “What?”

  “The girl. What’s her name? When am I going to meet her? I’ll need her address to so we can investigate her. Is she local? Is she one of those wild girls?” In other words, was she shifter?

  “She’s a witch, Mum.”

  Another long paused ticked by. He was sweating far more now. Good Lord, but even the Pacific wasn’t enough room to dodge her, no thank you and goodnight.

  “Well, they’re always handy to have in the family,” she said, finally. “We’ll tell your father she’s one of those new-age hippies.”

  That was…not the response he’d expected. He could barely imagine Sugar consenting to get on a plane with him, even after he got his bits back. “All right then. I’ll be home in a few days.”

  “Oh, you will?” Slightly baffled—which she almost never was. He might have realized danger was ahead if he hadn’t been on a rooftop and trying to hear her through the wind. “What happened to your phone?”

  “Lost it.” If they found it with his blood-spattered Ute out in the bush, she was going to have bloody hysterics. “Don’t worry, Mum. I’m on a temporary now.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, the little shit tells me, after disappearing like that! Your father’s bloody worried, Gazza’s climbing the walls, your uncles are beginning to look for you, Aunt Nassie’s making snitty little sides about how her boys don’t run off—”