Part 17 (1/2)
”But I, um...I can't.”
”Why not? The recipe is in here...” Bess flipped through the pages of her book. ”I saw it earlier...” She flipped through the pages, hoping against hope, that the release spell wouldn't have to be powered by anything s.e.xual.
”She can't, 'cause she don't know my name,” interrupted the ghost. Bess looked over at him in surprise and he smiled rather smugly. ”And I can't tell her 'cause she can't hear me; she's not a true witch. However, you can hear me just fine, 'cause you are.”
”I, um, I don't know his name...” confirmed Alex between sniffs.
”How the h.e.l.l did you conjure him in the first place?” Bess swept errant curls behind her ear. Nervously she made an effort to comb her fingers through the black hair tumbling about her hips in a riot of sooty curls. Sighing, she gave it up as hopeless. Her mane was a forlorn tangle from being wrapped in a towel and slept on. She'd taken a cool shower right before bed, because it had been sweltering all day and this Bed and Breakfast didn't have air-conditioning. ”Well, I uh, found this... and the spell in the book said I could use it instead.” She held out a sc.r.a.p of tattered fabric with a nasty stain on it.
Bess took it and examined it closely. It could have been brown velvet, a very long time ago. ”You mean you were in my books yesterday? Never mind. Let me guess, you got this fabric from when we were visiting the town cemetery yesterday.” Bess sighed. She'd only gone across the street to get a sandwich and a drink. She must have taken all of fifteen minutes. ”No wonder you conjured a ghost.” ”Actually no, not in the cemetery,” she said. ”There was this dug-up area around the outside of the cemetery fence, way in the back. I found this caught in a bush.” ”Which comes round-about to my story,” interjected the ghost. He was admiring the way Bess's hair swung below the hem of her s.h.i.+rt. ”Somebody dug up my body and moved it. I'd really like to have it put back.”
”You were buried outside the fence?” Bess asked the ghost. She crossed her arms under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, unconsciously pus.h.i.+ng them and her hemline higher.
”Um, yes.” he said, guiltily looking up from her cleavage. ”Was being the operative word here. My body
has been drug off.” He openly ogled the view of Bess's rounded thighs, hoping the hem would inch up
just a bit more.
”Terrific,” Bess said, rounding on her cousin in exasperation. ”They only bury criminals outside of hallowed ground. Congratulation! Your Love Spell just succeeded in conjuring an axe murderer!”
”Hey!” The ghost called out in a thoroughly offended tone. ”I was not an axe murderer! I was a
Highwayman! And I certainly didn't use an axe. I used a pistol or a sword.”
”Oh, you were a highwayman?” Bess snapped, rounding on the ghost. ”You killed people with a gun or a big knife instead of an axe? That makes me feel so much better!” she cracked at the exasperated ghost.
”Now there's no call for all that, it was a good profession,” he called back, shaking a finger her way.
”And I didn't kill anybody who wasn't trying to kill me first.”
”What's a highwayman?” Alex wanted to know.
”It's like a car-jacker, only on a horse.”
”Hey, you!” the ghost shouted at Bess's back, ”they buried witches on the outside of cemeteries too, you know!”
Bess whipped around to face the ghost. ”Are you trying to p.i.s.s me off?” Eyes narrowed, she raised a hand wreathed in blue foxfire.
Alex crooned in awe. This was the most magick she'd been able get Bess to demonstrate in four days.
”Actually, no...” Wide-eyed, he raised his hands in surrender.
”Fine,,” Bess, said to the ghost. Being careful not to smudge the chalk, she stalked to the center of the four burning candles. Setting the old book on the trunk she opened it, the parchment rustling as she flipped through pages.Hmm, the return spell didn't take any actual s.e.x, just a low level of excitement. After the wet dream she had plenty of energy to fuel the spell, and she needed to burn it anyway.
”So, what's your name, and I'll send you back?”
”I'll give you my name if you give me yours,” he countered.
”Do you want to go back or not?”
”What I want is the b.l.o.o.d.y b.a.s.t.a.r.d who took my body. You did hear me say that somebody took off with it?”
Bess rolled her eyes and tapped her bare foot. ”I don't know who took off with your body, and I really could care less, if you really want to know.”
”I will settle for your name.” The ghost crossed his arms in frustration. ”Since you are not going to be of any b.l.o.o.d.y help,” he continued in a mutter.
”All right, already,” Bess growled. Names had power and giving him her name meant that he would have a part of her. She wasn't about to give out her magical name, which might give him command of her person and a key to her power. ”My name is Bess, and I don't want to hear a single joke about being named after a cow.”
”I wouldn't dream of insinuating that you have large brown eyes...” he returned with an innocent look. Her eyes were black actually, as black as her curling mane.
”Your name, Highwayman?” Bess gestured impatiently and the chalked circle surrounding him began to glow with a warning s.h.i.+mmer of blue foxfire.
”Hey! Watch it with that stuff!” he flinched. ”Now, come off it, witch, no cheating. Do you think you're the first witch to conjure me? Out with the rest of it,” he said with a come-hither hand gesture. ”I have to give you my first, middle and last name to get me out of this mess. It's only fair that I should have yours too.”
”You know,” Bess ground her teeth in anger, ”you really are a royal pr...” She glanced at the avidly listening teen-ager behind her. ”Pest,” she finished. ”My name is Elizabeth Victorianna Merryweather, called Bess. There, are you happy now?”
”I'd be happier buried eight inches deep between your thighs...” the s.h.i.+mmer of blue climbed up to his knees. ”Ow! s.h.i.+t!” he yelped. ”All right! All right! My name is...Wait a moment, Merryweather? As in, this is the Merryweather Inn we're at?”
Bess rolled her eyes at his stalling. ”It's a Bed and Breakfast these days, but yes. I'm a distant cousin from America, so what?”
”I thought you looked familiar,” he muttered. ”Oh, so you're a Yank?” he said loudly. ”Well, that explains everything,” he said, throwing up his hands and shaking his head. ”Anyway, I asked 'cause I used to have a...Well, I was going to marry the innkeeper's daughter as soon as I had enough blunt put aside. Her father's name was Merryweather.”
”I can pretty much guess what happened to you. High-speed lead poisoning?”
”Yeah, well, she had an accident first.” A look of stark pain and longing came over his face that was quickly shuttered.
”An accident?” asked Bess, curious in spite of herself.
”Yeah, an accident involving a Thief-taker General and a musket,” he said bitterly. ”I had the same accident later that day. Enough already, can we get on with it?”
”Anytime you're ready. Your name, Highwayman?”
”I'm Aimory Stanton Plunkett.” He crossed arms again, in extreme annoyance.
”Alright-y, here we go.” Carefully s.h.i.+elding what she was doing from the teen-ager, Bess dipped her fingers into her damp cleft, gathering her feminine dew on the tips. ”Say goodbye to Mr. Plunkett.” Bess raised her arms, which lifted the hem of her T-s.h.i.+rt and gave the highwayman a view of her completely shaven mons.
”Hey you haven't got any hair on your...” he called out.
With a brazen smile, Bess cut him off with a spate of Latin words involving his full name. With a sharp gesture she drew a sigil in mid-air with her damp fingers, which blazed with blue light. Mr. Plunkett disappeared from the chalked circle with an audible pop.
”Good-bye, Mr. Plunkett,” Alex called out.