Hexed

button-down shirt, and a big belt buckle studded with turquoise. Maya, on the other hand, wasn’t in her electrician gear; she was dressed to kill in a tight black dress, red lipstick, and stiletto heels.
    Coyote halted in the center of the lobby. He threw his head back to study the gallery that ringed the second story, then he laughed, a big, booming laugh.
    “I smell a curse,” he said. “A big, bad curse. What are you still doing in here, Janet?”
    As soon as the words left his mouth, the front door slammed shut behind him. A hurricane-like blast blew through the lobby, ripping papers into the air, shoving pictures off the walls, and shattering glass. Every open window banged shut.
    The wind died abruptly, followed by a heavy clanking as the big lock on the front door fastened itself. Then all the lights went out.
    As the four of us stood in twilight gloom, the magic mirror’s voice rolled from the saloon.
    “Uh-oh, kids. I think it’s showtime.”

TWO
     

     
    MAYA RAN TO THE FRONT DOOR, TRIED TO unlock it, failed, and started pounding on the wood. “Hey, let me out of here!”
    Cassandra checked the saloon. “Everything’s locked down tight in there.”
    Coyote, damn him, kept laughing. He flicked magic at the windows in the front room, his amusement dying when they stayed firmly shut.
    “Come on, Janet,” Maya snapped. “Open the door. There’s somewhere I need to be.”
    I shrugged, trying to remain calm. “If you can figure out how to get out, you let me know.”
    Maya gave me a disgusted look and marched past me and into the kitchen, where we heard her start beating on the back door.
    “So, little witch,” Coyote said to Cassandra, his eyes gleaming in a way I didn’t like. “What have you been up to?”
    “Leave her alone,” I said. “What exactly did you mean by a curse, Coyote? I thought this was just a warning spell.”
    “Nope,” Coyote said, almost joyfully. “A curse, a hex, very bad juju. You can’t smell it? It stinks like shit, all over this hotel. I’d say you’re in for one hell of a night.”
    “So break it,” I said.
    Coyote grinned. “Wouldn’t it be more fun to see what happens?”
    “No,” Cassandra and I said at the same time.
    Coyote just chuckled. I was glad he thought this was so damn funny.
    He looked Cassandra up and down, and his laughter died. “I don’t see the connection, though. This might be tough.”
    “What connection?” I asked.
    “The one between Cassandra and the hex. Could be a general hex, on anyone and everyone near her. Or a blanket hex, on the place she happens to be.”
    “Whatever it is, just fix it.” I headed for the kitchen. “We need lights.”
    Coyote called after me, “The best spells might need a little sex magic. You game?”
    I gave him a signal he’d understand and went on into the kitchen.
    Maya at least had stopped banging on the back door. She leaned against it to face me, her slender arms folded, her dark eyes full of rage.
    “What the hell, Janet? Every time I come near you, I get battered, taken hostage, held at gunpoint, buried in rubble, or all of the above. And I always, always ruin my clothes. What is it with you?”
    “Would you believe me if I said that this time it’s not my fault?”
    “No.” Maya uncrossed her arms, gave the door one final thump, and stalked back into the middle of the big kitchen.
    It was eerily quiet in here without the appliances humming. My temperamental cook, Elena, hadn’t shown up today. Elena Williams was an Apache from Whiteriver, a culinary genius but given to fits of sullenness. Some days she never came to work at all.
    “Whether you believe me or not, can you fix the electricity?” I asked Maya.
    “In this dress?”
    “You can wear something of mine.”
    “You’re two sizes smaller than me, and you only have bikerchick clothes.” Her voice went sad. “I was going to meet Nash.”
    “Oh.” Maya’s so-called relationship with Nash Jones, the sheriff of Hopi County, was drama with a capital D . I’d seen them a couple of times together lately, eating sedate meals in the local diner, looking like two people afraid to talk to each other.
    “Call him,” I said. “Tell him you’re stuck because of me. He’ll believe that.” My run-ins with Sheriff Jones were volatile and memorable. He blamed me for anything weird that went on in his county, and the trouble was, he was usually right.
    “I tried.” Maya’s face went even more glum. “My cell phone