Hollywood Dead: Elisabeth Hicks, Witch Detective Page 8

  The parlor stood open, a lounge, a pair of chairs, and her instrument in the center, the rest of the space empty. White garlands stood out against blue painted walls, reminding me of my grandmother’s Wedgewood plates but somehow complementing Jo at the same time. I took one of the chairs beside LaRue, facing her.

  “Is this the middle?” I recognized the composer but not the piece. My high school music teacher would be so disappointed in me.

  “The beginning,” he whispered.

  The music took me away—church hadn’t been able to, not food or sleep, but Jo’s playing did. She started to sing at some point, maybe an hour later? Maybe only ten minutes. Her voice was haunting, even in German. She stopped and I realized, too late, that the instrument was covered in spellwork, designed to keep me that enthralled. I shook it off and she laughed.

  “Don’t get upset. You look like you needed it.” She tossed her pretty blonde curls over her shoulder.

  “I did. I had a rough night. That’s still sneaky, hexing the harpsichord like that.”

  “It wasn’t a hex.” She fiddled with the keys, tapping out a few notes, not a song. “It’s simple magic.”

  “Simple for you, you mean,” I corrected.

  “Indeed,” LaRue put in. “It is nothing her mother or I could accomplish.”

  “Well, everyone’s got their own special skills, right?” She stretched her arms over her head. The blue gown I had taken for a nightgown was actually a dress, silk with a scoop neck and tiny poofs for sleeves.

  “How old is that dress?” Looking at it, I guessed it was older than I was. Maybe older than the country was.

  “Two years. Maman has them made for me from a pattern.”

  “So how old’s the pattern?”

  “1820s? Regency period, anyway. Long lines, demure.”

  “I thought you were younger than that?” I’d always put Jo as changed right around the Civil War.

  “She was born in 1797 and made in 1814,” LaRue supplied.

  “Well, guess I can’t lie about my age now,” Jo laughed. “But it’s not some weird nostalgia thing. With my total lack of breasts, empire fashion suits me.”

  “You have breasts.” LaRue moved over to her quickly and his hands were on her shoulders. In a second, maybe two, I suspected he’d be kissing the body part in question.

  Instead, Jo darted from him, moving from the harpsichord to standing a few feet away, leaning on it. “Not like Elisabeth’s,” she teased.

  “Perhaps if I had a better view to compare them,” he said before switching to French for something that sounded naughty.

  “Okay, you two. Not why I’m here.”

  They looked over at me, LaRue vaguely disappointed, Jo smiling. He spoke to her again in French, then slipped into a mist. That cool white air stretched over the ground, curling up around my ankles and sneaking into my jeans. Could he feel my skin as mist? Somehow, the smoke he’d turned into caressed me, slipping over me, feeling almost as if fingers played against my breast, lips at my neck.

  “Jean-Laurent,” I breathed, excited despite myself. He’d be naked when he formed again, naked and ready, the mist, no his hands on my thigh. He’d—

  A loud bang sounded and the mist was gone.

  “Oh, did I close the harpsichord too loudly?” Jo asked innocently.

  “Why does he do that?” I demanded, knowing full well that she’d been saving me from him.

  “Because he can.” She shrugged. “And you’re cute. But we don’t go there, remember?”

  “Right.” LaRue had told me once that Jo was bisexual. We didn’t talk about it much. Our friendship was a friendship, not a prelude to something sexual.

  The corners of her mouth turned up in a little half-smile, probably amused by my prudishness. Jo could be pretty sophisticated when she wanted to. “What do you need?”

  “There’s this spell….” I began, and didn’t stop talking for a while. Jo knew her spell work, but all she could do was confirm my fears. The circle Brian had drawn using his own blood was most assuredly a circle of protection. Being inside it had saved Edward and William. She was positive any effects of the spell would have shown up long before now. She wasn’t as positive about what the spell was meant to do. For that, she would need to see the symbols Brian had used, hear the words.

  There were two ways to make that happen—she could dreamwalk, entering Ted’s conscious while he slept and taking the memory from him. Dreamwalking wasn’t tough; some spirit witches could do it. I could do it if I was touching the person, and vampires did it all the time. But it was personal, intimate. Did I want Jo, with all her good looks and sexy nature, in my boyfriend’s head? I wasn’t sure about that.

  Option two was me taking it from him and showing her. I didn’t know how easy that would be, so she called LaRue back and we practiced.

  He came back as mist, forming inside his clothes for my benefit. Then we all sat down in a circle. I would hold his hand for a second while he called to mind an image to share with me. When I could see it as if it was my memory, I dropped his hand and grabbed Jo’s. Then I did my best to push the image out to her. My first attempts were useless. I don’t know what I was doing wrong, but while I could share the memory with LaRue the minute I touched Jo, I got caught up in what she was thinking, and couldn’t bring back what LaRue had been thinking. It was frustrating. I was doing everything right but it just wouldn’t work. We tried all kinds of different thoughts—happy, then sad. Jo worked with me to mimic the kind of memory LaRue brought to mind. It seemed impossible, but then, just after one in the morning I got it.

  Or at least I got enough that LaRue could picture a book he’d read, in a language I didn’t speak, and Jo could read the words when I showed it to her. I’d spent a lot of the time with my hands on his. The first thoughts in his head were always about me naked and sex, which I suspected weren’t as much of a mistake as they were an invitation. I ignored them.

  I practiced the skill, becoming better with each round of images until Calvin was forced to play. I could see he didn’t want to, but LaRue didn’t give him a choice. When I told him to picture something important, the first picture in his head was his wife. Between her dress and the street she’d been standing on, I’d say the memory was from about 1930. A surge of pride for being able to do it got pushed aside by guilt for invading his thoughts. Still, when I held Jo’s hand a minute later, she was able to see it all down to the street sign behind the woman and the thin gold cross on her neck. I considered that a win.

  I headed out to my car, grateful for what I’d learned and ready to be done using it.

  My cell phone chirped up at me from the front seat. I’d missed a call from Ted, so I texted him saying I’d be home in twenty minutes and to call me then. I was too tired to risk talking and driving at the same time. I added up the sleep I’d gotten over the last few days while I drove. A few hours post-beers with Jo and Douglas on Friday, nothing on Saturday, and a half a night’s sleep on Sunday afternoon all added up to one hell of a weekend. I was looking forward to spending the day tailing a potentially philandering husband tomorrow. At least I would get home on time.

  Back at my apartment, I sank into the new couch, my body stubbornly awake. I had expected to walk in, see the bed and collapse. Instead, I walked in and woke up. Sleep could be fickle that way. I gave up on waiting for Ted to call and reached for my phone. If I was lucky his voice would relax me enough to sleep. The phone was halfway to my ear when someone knocked on my door.

  I checked my gun and headed over. Did I need a gun to open the door? Maybe not. No one was coming after me, but after what I’d seen last night I wasn’t about to risk it. Cracking the door open, armed and ready, I put my weapon down when I saw who was on the other side.

  “Since my place has a houseguest you don’t like, I thought I’d come here.” Ted filled my doorway in a way that could have graced the cover of a romance novel.

  I grinned and ushered him inside. “That’s a great idea
. I’m glad you had it.”

  “New furniture?”

  “Jo’s old stuff, what do you think?” I walked toward the kitchen, my arms spread wide like a model. He didn’t respond so I tried another tactic. “Want a beer?”

  “Please,” he answered, still looking around at the setup. I stuck my head in the fridge grabbing two tall brown bottles. I had them open when he finally rendered judgment.

  “It’s peach,” he declared.

  “Very,” I agreed. “I might have a way to get us more details on the spellwork Brian did.”

  “Why?”

  My beer bottle stopped halfway to my mouth. “Because that’s the key to finding out what’s going on?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think it is.”

  He gestured to the couch. I took a seat, still lost. “Really? If it’s not the spellwork then what?”

  “Someone? Maybe even something?” He shook his head and took a long drink. “After the spell everyone went insane. They were tormented with their worst fears, but those fears didn’t start coming to life. At least not until recently. And I don’t think spellwork can change like that. If it was meant to drive everyone nuts and make them suffer, they wouldn’t start dying, not unless-”

  “Unless there’s a new spell or a new player in the mix.” I slapped my own forehead annoyed I’d wasted the evening practicing magic I didn’t need.

  “Exactly. What we need to know is who and why, maybe even what. There are plenty of creatures out there that feed on fear. Maybe one of them found our little group and is enjoying the buffet.”

  “So now what?”

  “There’s nothing else we can do tonight, except try to relax so we’re ready when something does happen. That’s why I’m here rest up and not think about it. In fact, I was hoping we could focus on something else entirely.” He moved closer to me. “Like maybe some tv, or a movie, and you’ll show me the rest of the new furniture.”

  My lips quirked up in half a smile. I didn’t understand how he could be so calm about all this, but I definitely understood the need for a break from it. “So you’re looking for some frivolity after all that seriousness this morning.”

  “Exactly. Distract me, please. I don’t care how.”

  I leaned forward and kissed him, using my new skills to share pleasant memories with him. After a few minutes he was plenty distracted.

  7

  I left Ted mostly asleep in my new bed. The peach sheets went well with his dark hair, clashed a little with the blond tips, and altogether made him look amazing. We’d spent half the night talking and the other half not talking but moving together, our bodies locked. He was shaken up by the place we’d visited even if what I’d seen there hadn’t fazed him. Between that and the sex, I hadn’t gotten much sleep. Thankfully there was drive-thru coffee and loud music on my way into LA.

  On Friday, my client’s husband had worked in an office downtown, an easy-to-watch affair with a number of two- and three-room suites, a guard at the front desk, and only one pedestrian entrance. Monday morning started at the building. After an hour inside, he headed downstairs for coffee. I watched him through the coffee shop windows. I expected to waste my time, relaxing after a crazy weekend by sitting in the car. But after he finished his coffee, my mark grabbed his car and headed north.

  I followed him to the movie studio, big impressive gates with blue uniformed security manually opening them. I parked on the curb. It was time for the producer to visit the set and I needed a way to follow him. A large tour bus pulled up and everyone filed out, heading into the visitors’ center. The bus driver followed them, tapped a cigarette against his hands for a few minutes. He leaned against the bus smoking. Maybe there was an angle, a connection I could make. He looked like an average guy—heavy-set, dark skinned, maybe Latino. The first of the tourists started to filter out, holding plastic bags and wearing cheap visitors’ stickers. I knew better than to think a chance like this would come again soon.

  The tourists were a mixed bunch so I wouldn’t stand out. As I walked over, the driver made a big display of not seeing me in the way city people had. If you don’t see someone you don’t have to interact with them. When I leaned on the bus, only a foot away from him, he didn’t have a chance to ignore me.

  “How much to ride in with your group?” Being blunt didn’t always work but I couldn’t come up with anything else this time.

  “The tour is sixty-nine dollars. We go here, with a lunch buffet, and then out to Rodeo drive in the afternoon. But you have to get tickets from the office.” He looked doubtful.

  “No, not the tour.” I shook my head. “I just want to get inside and take a look around.”

  “Can’t do that. Security is real tight at this place.” His words were perfect, but the look in his eyes told me this was all about how much.

  “How about fifty bucks just to grab a seat on the bus while you drive inside.”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “They’re real serious about it. Nobody in that doesn’t have a sticker and all that crap.”

  “A hundred?” I was generous with my client’s money.

  He threw the cigarette in the dirt and smashed it out with one dirty sneaker. “Come on.”

  He walked in front of me, the normal shambling walk of someone with work to do who didn’t much care about time. On the bus, he opened the glove compartment and handed me an out-of-date visitor’s tag. I palmed the hundred to him so no one else would know and took my seat. Ten minutes later, an older woman took the seat next to me and told me how excited she was about her first studio tour.

  The guard waved us through, not bothering to check on the occupants. We drove to the working studios as the driver explained that everyone should gather for the walking tour just outside. I filed off the bus like a good grade-schooler and then turned down an alley.

  The sound stages grew out of the earth in fat half-circles of steel, each one indistinguishable from the next except for a chalk movie marker on the front telling me what was filming inside. Their shiny silver walls reflected the bright sunlight and drove the temperature around them up at least fifteen degrees. I shielded my eyes from the glare as I walked, trying my best to look like I belonged. I was still new to the detective business but I had learned a long time ago that looking like you should be someplace was enough to stop people from asking you if you should be there.

  A door labeled with a three-word title and my mark’s name caught my eye, and I ducked inside. No one seemed to notice me. In front of me, the scene played out, a drama with two women. False tension filled the air—any minute now the two would start throwing punches. Except they didn’t. A director called “cut,” filming stopped, and Dan leaned over to talk about the scene. The director left his chair to convey whatever Dan had told him. Five minutes later the process started again. One of the actors flubbed a line, someone off-set coughed, and a dozen other things happened before Dan and the director were happy enough to let the crew set up for the next scene.

  I stretched and checked my watch. An hour on one scene. Who knew movie making was such hard work?

  The scenes were filmed out of sequence, making the actors go through emotions like songs on a radio dial. A man joined the two women, then one of the women left. A love scene followed by angry recriminations, and then another long talking piece that took forever to get right. I hadn’t realized they filmed everything that happened in a place on one day, ruining the sequence of the movie for anyone who might be watching. I stood through two hours of filming before I gave up any girlhood dreams of being a movie star. It was damn hard work.

  I shifted, listening to my muscles groan, always worried the fake tissue would lock up on me when I needed it most. But when Dan called for a break and walked out, I followed him.

  Blending in with the insanity that was a Hollywood back-lot, people in golf carts buzzing by others walking fast and talking loudly, didn’t take much effort. Dan turned through the alleyway between two sound stages and I stay
ed a few steps behind. The space was empty but he didn’t notice me. We came out the other side and he stopped ten feet away to talk to another suit. It was the closest I’d been to him. If I was lucky and no hordes of tourists came through, I’d be able to eavesdrop. I dropped down to one knee, fiddling with my shoelace so no one would notice me.

  “Hey! It’s Elisabeth, right?”

  So much for being inconspicuous. Twenty-inch biceps and not a lot of brains, Jeremy Steel was on his way over to greet me.

  “Yup, that’s me.” I got up from the ground without bothering to finish the imaginary bow on my sneaker.

  “What are you doing here?” Jeremy wore a giant grin as if the idea of running into someone he knew absolutely made his day.

  “It’s a work thing. No big deal.”

  “Work? What do you do? I don’t think you mentioned it the other night.”

  “I’m a detective.” I did my best to give him the brush off.

  “Really? Fascinating. Are you detecting now?” He flashed me that million-dollar smile.

  “Sort of.” I swallowed a line about how I had been before he’d turned up. Dan was walking away, head close to the man he’d been talking to.

  “Can I help?”

  “Not really. It’s kind of private.”

  “Right, sure, of course.” He looked around like a kid, and then dropped his voice to a whisper. “Is Steve having an affair?”

  “What?”

  “With Dan. Is Steve cheating?”

  I struggled not to give anything away with a surprised look. “Discretion is part of what I’m paid for.”

  “He should know better, a thing with Dan is never serious. He’ll sleep with someone one day and cut them out of a movie the next.”