Chapter 15 #2
“If they tried to deny that first girl’s existence, do you think they killed her?” Jamison asked.
Dessa shrugged, her face darkening with the closing miles. “Killed her? Sold her? Imprisoned her? Perhaps were embarrassed that she escaped the commune? There are lots of possibilities. Unfortunately, as with the Vampires and Werewolves, the Hexxers are allowed to police their own.”
Jamison flinched. “But if they’re holding people against their will, wouldn’t that be grounds to shut them down?”
“I wish,” Dessa said. “And from time to time, when caught red-handed with more egregious crimes, they are. But the Hexxers are a powerful entity, and very temperamental. Just like the Vampires and Werewolves, they wouldn’t hesitate to start a war if they felt threatened, and believe me when I tell you they would not lose a second of sleep over Nesci casualties. ”
“Okay, these people sound evil.” Jamison’s gaze darted to the GPS, and nerves fluttered in tingles of adrenaline through his fingers. “They’re moving up to suspect number one in my book.”
“Not evil.” Dessa sighed. “Or at least not all evil. But more unbalanced. They have prophecies, poisons, curses, and all manner of magic at their fingertips. Anyone can learn Hexxer magic, but it comes at a steep price, and it leaves them…well, you’ll see when you get there.”
Jamison tried not to react at the word “curse,” but his hands tightened on the steering wheel. Was it possible these were the people responsible for the magic staining his bones? Maybe he could finally get some answers here, even if they did sound like a nightmare.
“If they’re really so powerful, is there a chance they could possibly help us?” he asked.
“We couldn’t accept their help even if they offered.
” Dessa’s gaze was far away on the winding road ahead.
“Because to accept their help is to also accept a price. It’s the business they offer to the world: Nescis, Cogs, and paranormals alike.
When people are desperate enough to change their destiny, they turn to the Hexxers, and somehow things seem to get both better and worse at the same time. ”
Jamison had so many more questions, but the GPS had guided them to an iron-wrought fence, and their time was up. He threw a questioning glance at Dessa. She nodded, and he pushed the buzzer.
“Welcome to the Golden Shores Community.” A feminine voice vibrated from the metal box. “How may we help you?” Geez, the place sounded more like a retirement home than a dark magic cult.
Dessa leaned over Jamison, almost climbing into his lap to be heard. “This is Dessa McKinney from AzRIO. We’re here to discuss the monthly status.”
“If you don’t have an appointment, I’m afraid—”
“GSC hasn’t answered our calls or emails for the past seven months,” Dessa cut in, her voice booming with confidence.
“As such, we have the authority to enter the property for an unannounced visual appraisal. If denied, we will elevate the issue to the regional office for a more forceful assessment.”
The buzzer vibrated with an almost angry tone, and the gates began to retract.
Dessa flashed a victorious smirk, sarcasm dripping from her words. “We appreciate your cooperation.”
Jamison raised an eyebrow. “Done this before, have you?”
Dessa’s crinkled blue eyes found his, and the fresh scent of her green-tea shampoo flooded his senses.
His stomach flipped again and suddenly all he could think about was how close she was—how her warm chest pressed against his.
He took a slow breath, the urge to reposition her more comfortably in his lap almost intolerable.
And did her eyes flick to his lips, or had he imagined that? “I like to think I’ve got some experience,” she said, her voice low.
The gates clanged, and Dessa withdrew to her seat. Meanwhile, Jamison struggled to slow his heart rate as he pulled into the compound, his skin scorching.
Dessa pointed to what looked like a country club with a roundabout driveway. “Right here.”
Getting a hold of himself, Jamison glanced across lush green lawns, fountains, and palm trees as he parked the car in the drive. “Okay, maybe I had the wrong idea, but this looks more like a golf course than a magical cult.”
“This look is better for business,” Dessa said, climbing out of the car. “And business is good.”
A woman in a long white dress met them at the top of the white stairs with a bright smile that betrayed none of the awkwardness at the gate. “Ms. McKinney, if you’ll follow me right this way.”
Jamison followed them through the glass doors, sucking surprised air through his teeth as he took in the unexpected interior.
While the grounds could’ve fit on any golf course clubhouse in Florida, the inside had a distinctly gothic style.
Dark curtains checked the sunlight streaming in the windows, and the sleek hard furniture gleamed black.
Across the gray walls, gilded gold frames adorned unsettling black-and-white photos of snakes, spiders, and alligators.
Every inch of the space exuded dark opulence as the secretary’s heels clacked on the bloodred tiles.
When they reached an obsidian door, the secretary held out a hand. “I’m afraid Mr. Grittes is the only counselor available on such short notice, but he should be able to address your needs.” Without waiting for a response, the woman turned and walked away.
Jamison looked to Dessa, his magic trickling down his spine. “Do you know a Mr. Grittes?”
“I do not.” The confidence she’d displayed in the car had faded, her face taking on a grayish pallor that matched the walls. “But I don’t know if I’ve ever met with the same two people here. I think they make it a point to be as unapproachable as possible.”
“Then I suppose we have no alternative but to just approach.” Jamison grabbed the gold door handle but stopped when Dessa put her hand on his arm.
“Wait.”
He paused, watching her teeth sink into her lower lip.
“No matter what he says, we need to stay skeptical,” Dessa said. “They will pretend to be all-knowing, to be able to solve your problems, but remember they’re empty promises.”
Jamison smiled, relishing the feel of her fingers on his skin more than he’d ever admit. “Do I seem like the trusting type?”
Dessa chuckled and gave his wrist a squeeze. “To be honest, yes, that’s why I like you.” Her voice lowered as her fingers slipped from his arm. “And why I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Dessa held his gaze for a second too long, and Jamison’s senses flared with unmistakable danger of a different kind.
They were just friends. Just coworkers. Of course she didn’t want him to get hurt.
And yet there was a stupid, selfish part of him that seized upon the words with the hope of a child holding a four-leaf clover.
He swallowed—his feelings galloping off in a direction he had no control over.
In a heated second, his resolution to be happy with the friend zone flew out the window.
The only real answer was to get rid of the curse.
And perhaps that answer was right behind this door.
“Don’t worry. Just because I trust you, doesn’t mean I trust just anybody.” The flush of her cheeks sent a thrill of satisfaction through him before he shouldered into the room.
Jamison didn’t know what he was expecting, but he had to blink until his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Illuminated by a glowing bowl of water, a man sat on a slim cushion in the center of the room.
The windows had been completely blacked out, and shelf upon shelf of silver vials and jars, labeled and filled with various nonhuman parts floating in luminescent green liquid, lined the walls.
If this wasn’t creepy enough, a chilly, mysterious breeze swept through the room, and a hollow rattle drew Jamison’s gaze to a variety of bones hanging from the ceiling in a macabre windchime.
Holy hell.
Forget trusting these people, the whole scene made Jamison want to throw Dessa over his shoulder and run.
Instead, somewhere in the darkness, Dessa’s hand found his arm again with another squeeze.
The touch steadied him enough to look again at the man sitting before them.
His long gray hair fell loose down his back, a beard coated his face, and a black robe swathed his body.
As if feeling his gaze, the man’s eyes flicked open, the whites glowing silver.
“Dessa McKinney, Jamison Kane, one marked with death, the other with pain. You arrive on the pretense of the rules but enter instead with the questions of ghouls.” His lips curled in a cold smile, his glowing gaze spearing straight through Jamison. “Ask away.”
The bones rattled in another gust of wind, and Jamison decided that he agreed wholeheartedly with Dessa.
Hexxers were, by far, his least favorite.