7. CHAPTER
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Indy took one step into the elevator and found Mr. Heiss had plucked them away and transported them to the back of a sleek limo.
The seats were plush, the bar stocked, and a peek through the divider revealed there was not actually anyone driving.
Mr. Heiss had taken the seat in the very back while Indy was perched along the side next to the bar.
Mr. Heiss was human, still scowling, and holding a big glass of something black and glittery.
Indy perused the bar and helped himself to Malibu rum and what he hoped was Coke.
Ugh, Pepsi.
And judging by the taste, it was diet.
Definitely a demon’s pick.
Indy assumed they were driving to Anna Graham’s, but he wasn’t in a hurry to disturb the silence for once.
He could practically taste the rage coming off Mr. Heiss in thick waves, and he was actually grateful for a chance to sit and catch his breath.
He was used to a pretty fast-paced life, but holy shit.
So much for a relaxing day off.
He wanted nothing more than to enjoy this disgusting drink, kick off his boots, and simply be. He did just that and stretched out his long legs, turned so that he could prop his head up on one of the cushy pillows and still see Mr. Heiss.
Mr. Heiss eyed the tears in Indy’s fishnets, but he said nothing.
Indy wiggled his toes at him and grinned.
Mr. Heiss snorted, and it was almost a laugh.
Grateful that the tension had ebbed, Indy chugged the awful concoction and immediately made another. He noted that Mr. Heiss’s glass continued to refill no matter how much he drank, and he bet that was popular at parties.
The trick, not Mr. Heiss.
Mr. Heiss was a dick.
Breathe.
The memory of Mr. Heiss’s hand on Indy’s throat made him shiver, and suddenly the silence was terrible because it was letting Indy’s mind run absolutely wild, wondering what would have happened if they’d kissed—
Nope.
Time to cut that shit right out.
“So.” Indy popped his tongue. “That was fun. I was hot. You were okay. And wow! Meeting your family already! It’s not even the second date.”
“Not even the first,” Mr. Heiss retorted, and the tiniest hint of a smile was teasing around his lips.
“Yeah, yeah, details.” Indy slurped his drink. “Just checking, but the entire point of me being a witness to murder was just so you could claim all of Mr. Kalt’s shit?”
“Yes.”
“You got me freaked out and terrified for basically fucking nothing.”
Mr. Heiss shook his head. “Not nothing.”
“Oh, right. The whole watching me squirm thing or whatever it was you said before you almost kissed me.”
Mr Heiss sneered. “I did not—”
“Yeah, it was weird. Didn’t take you for such a big sweetie.” Indy was happy to turn it back against Mr. Heiss, grinning wider. “Was kinda into it if I’m being honest, but you’re an asshole. So. None for you. And yeah, it all still sounds like nothing to me.”
Mr. Heiss scoffed. “I wouldn’t call a fortune in excess of one hundred million dollars nothing.”
Indy choked on air. “Fucking seriously?”
“Mr. Kalt has been active a long time. Enough to collect quite the portfolio of stocks, bonds, properties.” Mr. Heiss smirked. “All of which are now mine.”
“Except what you owe Lou and ol’ Nyppy tuck whatever his name was.”
Mr. Heiss narrowed his eyes. “Could you see them?”
“See who? Lou and Nyppy? Yeah, Lou is mega beefcake, but—”
“No. The ones with Louis.”
“The rockabilly chick and the burning dog?” Indy blinked. “Who are they? Wait, better question. What are they?”
“Louis possesses one of the wizard’s Artifacts. His is called the Reliquary. The people you saw are two of the spirits he controls.”
Indy scoffed. “Really? Not that impressive from what I saw.”
“I assume it was the witch and the hellhound.”
“Oh… Well, that explains the fire at least.” Indy hummed and slurped his drink. It tasted better now, but maybe only because he was getting used to the taste. Or he’d added too much—the right amount?—of rum. “So, you can’t see them?”
“No.”
“But you can see Dill?”
“Yes.”
“This wizard is fucking weird.” Indy laughed. “What’s the point of having all these cool ghost spirit guys when no one can see them?” He dropped his voice low. “Why yes, I have big scary ass ghosts. Where are they? Fucking invisible.”
“They’re dead,” Mr. Heiss said with a shrug of his shoulders. “My understanding is that the visibility is related to the connection of the spirit to the mortal realm. The Artifacts bypass that and allow the wearer to not only see the affected spirits but control them.”
“But what about Dill?”
“What about him?”
Indy wiggled his finger where the ring sat. “You can still see him. Gammy and King can too. Plus Dill’s girlfriend. Who is way hot. Burning hot. Literally.”
“I do not have an answer.” Mr. Heiss looked down at his glass. “Very little is known about the wizard. His life, his death. Why he created the Artifacts. How.”
“Guessing it wasn’t a Ghostbusters situation where he just ran around snatching up ghosts?”
Mr. Heiss chuckled.
A real, genuine laugh.
“All that matters to me is securing a piece of that power.” Mr. Heiss raised his glass.
Indy waved his hand. “And by that, you mean getting this ring.”
“Yes.”
“Trust. I’m all over it. For any scenario that does not involve bodily harm or death.” Indy tilted his glass back and chugged. “Ready to get as far away from you as possible and back to my normal fucked-up life. See, I’m used to fucked up. But this is mega fucked up. Not a fan.”
“So eager to leave me, hmm?” Mr. Heiss was smiling.
Weird.
Creepy.
Hot.
“So eager,” Indy taunted, though he felt the heat of flirtation seeping through their banter. “You, sir, are an asshole. That’s been well established. King of the assholes even.”
Mr. Heiss hummed. “I can be charming.”
“Oh? Really? When does that happen?”
“Rarely.”
“No shit.”
Mr. Heiss laughed again.
“Gotta say, that Nyp guy might also be an asshole king contender,” Indy added casually. “Not a fan of him, huh?”
Mr. Heiss’s smile dropped.
“Is Raph, like, a nickname? Like the Ninja Turtle? Didn’t think you guys had first names—”
“We’re here,” Mr. Heiss cut in briskly. “This conversation is over.”
“What?” Indy wiggled his toes. “We were having such a great time! That’s not something I say to a lot of men. At least, not while we still have so many clothes on.”
The limo jerked to a stop, and Indy slid right off the seat.
Judging by Mr. Heiss’s smirk, the abrupt halt had been on purpose.
Indy groaned as he picked himself up. “Of course we’re magically where we need to be right as you don’t wanna talk anymore.”
“Let’s go get what we need for your caboose.”
“Oh?” Indy grinned, grabbing his boots to slip back on. “Concerned about it, are you?”
“Only concerned that you won’t stop bitching about it, and I’ve yet to find a way to remove that ring.”
“What I heard was, yes, Indy, I am very concerned about the state of your shapely behind. Wait, no, shapely? I meant perfect.”
Mr. Heiss sighed. “If I must wait, I’d rather wait without listening to your mouth.”
“If only there was a way to shut me up. Something to put in my mouth to occupy it—”
“How about your own foot?”
“You know I can do that, but I charge extra.”
“Let’s go.”
Anna Graham’s was a boring brown building with thick black curtains blocking out every window.
There was a wooden sign hanging over the door that said Anna Graham’s Magic Shop in big gold letters, and the door itself was a bright shade of red.
The inside was filled with row after row of shelves packed with magical items ranging from rare herbs to candles shaped like dicks.
There was incense, cauldrons, and a wide range of magical books.
Gammy had always said the books were bullshit and that proper magic should only be recorded in a witch’s personal tomes. Indy had no idea if that was true or not, but he felt it was fair to trust the woman who had beaten death to finish all fifteen seasons of Supernatural.
Indy had been here many times with Gammy, and he led Mr. Heiss through the aisles to grab ingredients. The herbs and spices were hardly comparable to those found in the grocery store and had the price tag to prove it.
The turmeric was prepared by gremlins who composted with troll dung. The garlic came from a rare strain that only grew in caves under the sole illumination of a Tlahuelpuchi’s fireball.
Or some such shit.
Indy located all of the ingredients except the Jubboko sap, finding its spot on the shelf empty. He groaned lightly because that meant he would have to go ask the clerk, Marsha, for help.
And Marsha was…
Well, she was Marsha.
Marsha F. Snart, as a matter of fact—a petite white goth girl who was the cute pastel sort of goth who loved lavender, pink, and wearing fancy sweet Lolita dresses.
Indy had asked her once what the F in her name stood for, and she’d giggled and said she’d have to eat his liver if she told him.
She was very strange, definitely not human, but had always been nothing but sweet to Gammy and Indy.
Other than the eating liver bit, of course.
She was behind the counter in her usual spot, but she was arguing with a big scruffy man.
He had olive skin, dark hair, and bright hazel eyes. He wore a fluffy bathrobe and cargo shorts no matter the weather, owned an endless wardrobe of ratty band T-shirts, and yet always had on the same black Crocs with crew socks pulled up to his knees.
Fashion fucking disaster and a half.
Indy recognized the hot mess as Adam, Marsha’s brother.
Or boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend? Indy wasn’t completely sure, to be honest, but he and Marsha clearly had a rocky relationship, whatever it was.
They were fighting every time Indy saw them together, and Gammy’s guess was that they were related.
She’d reasoned that only family would fight that much and still continue to see each other.