Maudlin's Mayhem (Bewitching Bedlam #2)(32)

“I’m all right—”

“You are not. Those are at least second-degree burns. Now hush up and let them treat you.”

She nodded, tears in her eyes. “They hurt.”

I gathered her in my arms and kissed her forehead. “I know they do. We’ll do some healing work on them later, after the process has started.”

She sat down on the tailgate of the medic unit. I wandered over to watch the burning truck. Why had the driver lost control? Was it just coincidence? But I really didn’t believe in coincidence, and I had the sneaking suspicion that whatever force had hexed Bubba, had also caused my bank account to be pirated, and my thumb to be sprained. And now, I had almost been hit by a truck. When that hadn’t happened, two men I didn’t even know and Sandy had ended up taking the brunt of the attack. Whatever was going on, it was clear that I was being targeted and anybody around me was in danger because of it.





Chapter 9





DELIA SHOWED UP, recording what information she could find. Then, after the men were taken to the hospital and Sandy’s hand was tended to, and the fire department managed to put out the fire, Sandy and I sat in my car, staring at the restaurant.

“Well, this proves it, Sandy. Somebody cast a hex on me and if anybody gets in the way, it puts them in danger. I have to find out who’s responsible.” I leaned forward, resting my head on the steering wheel. “I’d cast a Divining spell but I’m not sure it would work in this case. If I’m being cursed, then my magic is probably a little wonky. I’m almost afraid to find out.”

“At least you were able to hold back the flames.” Sandy regarded her hand. “It’s been a shitty day all the way around, hasn’t it?”

I nodded. “Last night wasn’t much better. Come back to my house?”

“Sure. Better to hang together when the shit hits the fan than try to dodge it alone.”

“I feel like a magical Typhoid Mary.”

“Well, you don’t look it, if that’s any comfort.” And with that, she returned to her own car and followed me back to my place.





IT WAS THREE p.m. by the time we got back to the house, and Thornton took one look at our bandaged hands and began mixing a pitcher of margaritas. The pain pill had worn off with my adrenaline, so I decided against a second one. Self-medicating sounded better. I broke out the chocolate sandwich cookies and cheese tortilla chips. Lunch seemed a million miles away and holding back those flames had been difficult, at best.

As we retreated to the parlor, I glanced around.

“Bubba?” But the moment the name was out of my mouth, I stopped. Bubba wasn’t here, I reminded myself. Bursting into tears, I tossed the food on the coffee table and slouched down on the sofa, crossing my arms across my stomach as I leaned forward, unable to do anything but cry.

“I’m sorry,” I blubbered. “I can’t stop thinking about Bubba.”

Sandy sat next to me, reaching out to brush my hair back from my face. “Maddy, it’s okay to cry. You love him. He’s part of your life. He’s been part of your life for hundreds of years, and you guys have a special bond.”

“I want that bond to be with a fluffy orange cjinn, not some confused ab-happy human,” I stuttered through the tears.

“I know. We’ll figure this out. I promise you, we will.” She frowned, looking around. “Dry your eyes. I’m going to ask some questions that you might not have been able to think of given the state you’re in. First: when did weird crap start happening? I don’t mean run-of-the-mill weird crap, but really oddball stuff?”

I hiccupped, trying to think. She handed me a tissue and I wiped my eyes, then blew my nose. I had lost my housekeeper, but that was less hex and more hormones.

“I guess…with the money in my bank account disappearing. Then Bubba. I had an accident in the store today and hurt my thumb. Then the truck.” I paused, then raised my eyes to meet her gaze. “You don’t think Bart…”

Sandy slowly shook her head. “No, love. Bart wasn’t good at keeping his health up, and he had a history of heart disease in his family. The signs were all there, he just didn’t read them until too late.”

“I wonder what’s going to happen next?” I felt queasy as a future of one disaster after another opened up before me.

“Stop right there. We don’t know what’s going to happen and there’s no use borrowing trouble. Hold off on speculation until we figure out what the hex is. Now, did—” she paused as my cell phone rang.

I glanced at the Caller ID. Dr. Farrows. Feeling a lump of panic rise in my throat, I answered. “Hello? Is Bubba okay?” The words poured out and I gulped a sob at the end.

“Bubba’s fine, he’s still in stasis,” he said. “I just thought you might like to know that I’ve managed to dig up some information on the type of hex that hit Bubba.”

Breathing deeply, I put him on speakerphone. “Anything you can tell me would help. I’ve had another not-so-fun-filled day.”

“Well, the hex is pretty specific. It seems to be a form of Dirt Magic.”

I stared at the phone. “Dirt Magic? Isn’t that a little like Voudou?”

“Yes, though Dirt Magic is more street-magic, not formalized ritual. The only people I know who use Dirt Magic have origins either in the South, or they came over from the Old Country.”