Well, I’m either right or screwed.
The leering wolf dropped his glass on the bar, reached for me, and slid off his stool into a furry floor puddle. Poseidon nodded at Chelsea; she hit the werewolf with a spell that dropped him on the beach, snoring.
“Banned,” I said, and Pook walked over to the chalkboard, writing the name. The letters glowed, etched permanently into the lore. Billy set that board up in the ‘90s, and once a magical person wrote a name, the door no longer accepted their palm. It’s a sweet bit of magic. I couldn’t write on it, but so far, my bans have stuck.
“Another,” Poseidon boomed, and I pulled the bottles. The merwoman argued with the merman at the other end, and I turned toward Poseidon’s gaze, pushing the drink across the smooth wood.
“Darling, you should reconsider,” he murmured, running a finger over the punctures and deep scratches on my arm, sealing them without scars. My skin glowed gold under his fingertips, and I had to give him props; he’s a charmer.
“Not a fan of sloppy seconds,” I pulled away. The heat of his touch was racing toward my heart and I knew the end of that particular story.
“Cleopatra, my seconds are neither sloppy nor second-rate,” he leaned in with what passed for a whisper from a god. “Remember, I hit my stride in round three, and you made it to five. A rarity, and a treasured memory. One,” thick fingers slapped the bar, “we’d enjoy revisiting.”
Eyebrow raised, I moved to Pook, refilling his fish ale and pushing a bowl of crispy sardines at Bingo. “Have some more clean eating, Bing.”
He laughed and dug in as I scanned the human side, not liking table sixteen. Sometimes blends, people with historical magic in their woodpile, or dark humans feel pulled toward The Boogie, although most don’t understand why. Sixteen was sketchy. Time to walk through the restaurant.
I worked the tables, chatting my way toward sixteen.
“Good evening, how was your meal?”
“Wow, total MILF. You busy later, baby?”
“Yeah, I date a cop. Sorry, kid.” He’s got some shoestring magic, but the other guy is plain nasty. It’s leaking through his pores. Yeesh.
“Y’all visiting? Where are you from?”
“North.” Shoestring reached for my hand, the one Poseidon repaired, and stopped in mid-grab. That interested the dark guy who leaned into the conversation.
“Hey, I heard there’s a second bar here.”
I waved my hands around the restaurant. “It’s a pier, guys. This is what fits.” I stepped back with a smile. “Thanks for stopping at The Boogie. Enjoy your stay.”
As I moved on to the next group I glanced down at my arm. A tickling line of gold scripted the words ‘bad muthas’, fading before I reached the table. Poseidon’s warning. I’m way ahead of you, pal.
I bounced through the rest of the tables before sliding behind the real bar, eyes roaming over the liquor supplies, and motioned for a busser to get the glasses stocked. Charlie, my tender, shot me a grin.
“Thanks, Patra. Been in the weeds the entire night.” Down near his thigh, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, and I grinned.
Good moola tonight.
A whip through the kitchen, handing out compliments and a lifted eyebrow at the dishwasher who dug in with a shrug, and I returned to my side. Only two more hours on the restaurant, four on the human bar, and sunrise for my side, and we made another full moon. Yippee.
The crash shook the pier’s timbers. At a flat run, I hauled ass back to the restaurant in time to see my darkest sketch meister hold up an avocado.
No. Shit, that’s a grenade.
“Run! Get these people out!”
Shocked, I spun, jerking my head at Chelsea, before swinging back into a panicking stream of screaming customers. My staff was everywhere, helping frightened patrons out before running inside again to help others. I waded through the exodus and stood fifteen feet from the pair, hands on hips, unhurried, and unafraid. Living an extraordinary life will do one thing for you; it took a hell of a lot to scare me. These boys did not fit the definition.
“We want to go to the other bar,” the darker one’s clipped monotone gave me the willies. He walked closer, tossing the grenade, pin intact, into the air and catching it with one hand before crowding into my space.
“You stink,” I offered. “Also, where, exactly, would I have a spare bar? Might want to tone the meth down, it’s messing with you, my pungent friend.”
“Bitch, blowing this place apart works for me, but you can save it by not being stupid. I know it’s here. Get us inside.”
“In where? You come here, blow a hole in the rear corner of my building, and ask for admittance to a secret bar? I think whoever draws the straw to do your psych eval will have a good time tonight.”
Micro magic man shuffled his feet. He’s along for the ride, it’s dark dude’s show.
“I don’t know what you’re smoking, bitch,” I let the sarcasm drip, “but those sirens tell me you best toss it and your firepower into the sea and try for a head start. It’s more fun for the dogs that way.”
Jeez, he wanted to pull that pin so hard it’s a push inside my brain. Damn, he’s sketchy. Come on, Ballard, I need help.
The ride-along broke first, yelling, “I’m out,” and running toward the double doors.
The Boogie is a long pier. He almost reached the end before the cops pulled into the parking lot. Almost.
Dark breathed, holding my eyes for a long moment. “I’ll see you around, bitch.” He pulled the pin, tossed the grenade at me, then ran toward the back deck and did a one-handed vault into the sea.
Heart in my throat, I scrambled toward the front of the restaurant, but the boom never happened. I caught Chelsea’s eye, and she shrugged.
“Dud,” she mouthed around a grin.
I looked away to Ballard pounding down the pier in a dead run, gun drawn.
“In the water!” I pointed, and he pulled his flashlight as two other cops clattered across the weathered boards.
The night’s remainder was a blur of paperwork. I lost my ass because most of the patrons never settled their checks, and with a full moon, drink flowed on the other side with minimal accounting.
I hate October.
Chapter 3
My key liked Ballard’s lock as much as he liked mine. The door wasn’t closed before he scooped me into his arms, sliding a hand between the waistband of my shorts and skin, shucking them, and filling his hands with ass cheeks. A twist, and he spun me into the wall, eating my face off for a millennium.
Ballard had style. And substance. Mercy.
A clank announced his belt meeting the tile floor, and he was in, humping to glory, kiss unending. I reveled in the sense of being pinned, letting go, flowing with lust. Ballard did me perfect.
He pulled us away from the wall, bending his torso back, and bounced me. Gravity had me gasping, rewarded with a questioning eyebrow, and I gripped his biceps.
“Good!” I managed. I was close, and he knew it, so he threw me on the bed and dropped a mouth on my ache, legs shooting out straight as I careened off the edge into orgasm.
Damn.
Any other morning, he’d flip me and go to town, cum like a king, and head to work while I drifted to sleep. Last night’s activities defied normal. Thick fingers invaded, popping against my G-spot which shot me sideways in less than a minute. I looked at him, and his green eyes held unspoken love. Unspoken because I demanded it. I won’t make this any harder on him than it had to be.
Fitting my calves against his shoulders, he climbed over me and slid in, loving me with long deep strokes, eyes never leaving mine. Feet tucked behind his head, Ballard showed me his fear as he ran that pier, and his love that I handled it. I tried, but my eyes gave it away and his thrusts quickened, frenzied as he read the message I refused to speak.
Seed spilled, he held me like a treasure, tight, conscious of the fleetness, determined to hold on to the yielding moment. He healed us both, one
more time.
Six hours later I was in the shower, running the day’s tasks through my mind. City Hall, for the repair permit, then a meeting with the contractor I kept on speed dial and a team confab with my crew.
Please don’t let the pilings be fubar, if it’s just the walls, we’d lose a week instead of a month.
The magical side remained open, but that’s limited to customers who stayed past the moon set, and that’s not many. Regulars, who made beach life their own, stayed, but the mer folks, wolves, and vampires wouldn’t hang out in the real space between the moons. Most of the Greek peeps left too. Immortality was boring, seeing the same stuff on repeat.
Not a problem for me.
A quick whip into my condo to pull the journal, I took fifteen minutes to write out the night’s events. The journal magically connected to the big book that I studied with Billy years ago. It’s the composite of the job, of every keeper of the line, and the entities we served. Also, those that killed the keepers. Yay. Dark boy was now a part of the unfolding narrative. I haven’t figured him out yet. Something about his demeanor made me think he didn’t tap into his power, and the grenades were just a ruse. Uncertain why, but the thought lingered, so into the journal and by proxy, the book, it went.
Next up was City Hall. I’m a favorite there; some days I’m positive The Boogie was an annual revenue-stream line item based on how many permits I pulled. Max, the head inspector was in, and I let him flirt with me.
“Hey hot stuff, saw you had a crackpot. Need a helping… hand?” His eyebrows were ridiculous.
“Hi, Max. Damned meth. It’s bad for business. People losing their minds.”
“Aw, I hear you, honey. Are you using Jameson for the work?” Max’s hand ran up my forearm. Ick.
“Jameson is the best with the pier. Knows my pilings like the back of his hand.”
“Mmm, I do too, darling, and can put a smile on your face in no time.”
Carolyn, the clerk, cleared her throat, and I flashed her a grateful look.
“Here’s your paperwork, Patra. Good luck on the repair.”
“Thanks, Carolyn, for pushing this through your system. I know you’re slammed.”
“Landmark businesses help everybody. Get her back up and running.”
I sprinted down the steps and straight into Jameson, who grabbed me by the upper arms and swung me in a half circle before setting me down.
“Hey, babe, I’m thinking neither of us needs to hit the pavement. Did you get the permit?”
With a nod, I passed the paper to him and he pocketed it. “There’s no piling damage, so you’re lucky. But, the force blew part of the back wall, along with destruction to the corner, which means redoing a section of the roof and the tie-down straps. With luck, we can schedule an inspection in 7-10 days.”
“Jameson, you rock.”
He gave me a long look. “Still with Ballard?”
Jameson was a sculpted fuck machine, but he’s basic, not the intellect that kept me curious.
“Yeah. We click.”
“That’s too bad. You get bored, you know where I am.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I wheeled into The Boogie’s lot, ducked under the yellow tape, and walked down the pier. Charlie was there, plus a few of the others, and they waved. While not a softy, I loved my crew. They were solid, even if I limited their vision to half the business.
More cars arrived, and I was covered in gratitude. Fifteen minutes later, the house was full. My dishwasher, who I knew had not slept and was pretty wasted, still made the effort to be there. Unusual tears pricked behind my eyes and I poured a beer for each of us. Might as well, the kegs wouldn’t keep. Charlie trayed the beers. Gloria, my best waitress, shoved tables together and they settled in, eyes on me.
“Last night, y’all went beyond hero. The way you hustled, helped guests, and once clear, kept making yourself available to them to help and calm them… well, I don’t have the right words, but I respect and admire the hell out of every one of you. I left here this morning and woke up this afternoon overwhelmed with gratitude. Thank you.”
Glances exchanged around the table, and Charlie spoke.
“Patra, you walked right up to that tweaker, no fear. That was balls.”
“Well, we needed time, a chance to get people clear. Tried to be a distraction, that’s all.”
Several heads shook. Huh. This was me not factoring how being extraordinary looked to outsiders, because I wasn’t a bad ass, just a fatalist. Every day might be the last, so I’m at the point where I needed what Billy found in me, a trainee. So far, no luck.
“Okay, let’s talk work,” I changed the subject, uncomfortable with the emotion surfing the group. Time to be the boss.
“Jameson has the contract, and he says 10 days or less. I will pay you your regular wage and would like you to be on call to come in for restocking and cleaning. Does that work for everyone?”
Gloria leaned toward me. “I plan to take the down time to go visit Mama. You don’t have to pay me, I’m good. After a week, if you need me, I will come by and clean.”
I’d still pay her, but I wouldn’t advertise that, since I needed warm bodies, not paid vacations.
“I’ll be around,” Charlie promised. “Any chance the bar can open without the restaurant?”
Blerg. That involved creepy Max.
“I’ll try, but with the roof issue, I doubt we can get a waiver.”
I knocked out a tentative schedule and sent it to their phones. After a second round of beers, most peeled off to tackle the rest of their day. I tapped a third beer for Charlie and topped mine off. We sorted the booze, locking up and securing the bar, taps, and registers, following the hurricane protocol Billy established years ago.
If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
“You ok?” Charlie’s brown eyes looked worried. “No shell shock?”
“I’m fine, Charlie. Ballard was here so fast it didn’t sink in how messed up that guy was. But, thanks.”
“You two still a thing?”
Oh, for the love of goat-shifters, not Charlie, too.
“Yup.”
Charlie lifted a heavy tray of glasses and moved toward the kitchen. “Had to ask.”
“I’m your boss, Charlie.”
“Not in the bedroom,” his easy laugh flowed as my eyes rolled.
I let that ride and snuck a quick peek at the other bar. It was clean, sparkling even. But not by me. Chelsea was a queen. Saved my ass and fixed my mess.
I dragged the barricades out and blocked the restaurant door, then set up the sandwich board.
CLOSED FOR REPAIRS
NO TRESPASSING BY ORDER OF BBPD
CAMERAS ON SITE
People enjoyed fishing off the pier, so they wandered up sometimes, but even after the hurricane, we didn’t have looters. Of course, The Boogie was lousy with Vapors. Damn, I missed Billy. Every. Freaking. Day.
After double checking everything, Charlie and I locked it down tight.
“Thanks, Charlie. I’ll text you when we’re ready to gear back up.”
Charlie’s grin, just on the line of flirting too hard, stuck with me. Having offers was nice, and jumping from bed to bed would eliminate the potential damage to Ballard, but hey, any of us could die tomorrow, Ballard included. In a human world, loving was the price, right?
My heart’s truth was that I don’t want a life without Ballard. He leveled me out. This stupid mental seesaw was me trying to deal with the fact I traded my old age card at sixteen. Hell, it was traded for me, without knowing the transaction happened.
A glance down the beach stopped me cold.
Oh, sweet Jesus, are you kidding me?
Poseidon, red speedo a little rough the morning after, lay spread eagled on the beach, sound asleep. Great. Was I dealing with him for two weeks until the new moon? Or a year? He did whatever the hell he wanted.
That’s how he got to me last time, remember?
Like I c
ould forget.
Chapter 4
Poseidon was a big boy, so I left him to recover from his blast-o-rama, and gave myself a rare walk along the surf. The sandpipers and egrets scattered, diligent in the quest for morsels, and the sea licked my tired feet. Two pelicans bobbed in the surf, and I grinned. Bingo and Pook stayed for the moon too. They dove, digested, and floated, watching the world.
The sun dipped toward the western edge of the river. Boogie Beach sat on the narrow strip between the sea and the Intracoastal Waterway, also called the Halifax River, and it’s a mecca for seabirds of every description. The peace of the moment seeped and smoothed the panic from the past day, giving me a chance to ponder before details lost their crispness.
Not a possession, not quite, he had control, but he wasn’t, huh, not fully human? Was that possible? To me, he didn’t manifest like a blend. That odor, it was not for lack of bathing. What was I missing?
On any given day, the beach was full of blends. Most of the time it was a case of running into people who called themselves empaths, spiritualists, or were interested in the wiccan practice, but sometimes I met ones drawn to the darker studies. These humans were correct; they held connections, but it’s different. Each believed they had a bond with a greater Universe; they didn’t see it as a blurring of the line between the worlds.
The connection was ancestral, meaning they had magic in their blood. Of course, it diluted each successive generation, but I could detect even small, residual traces. Blends were cool; I liked them. Often, they showed up at sunrise and sunset, walking the beach, gathering trash, practicing yoga on the sand, or collecting bits of cast aside things. If they felt a vibration within, the flotsam went home to be added to their other treasures. Blends held a piece to a puzzle sold long ago in Grandma’s garage sale, and their sensitivity was welcomed in a harsh world.
Dark boy’s bud was a blend, I’d guess he had a witch in his woodpile. For him, this manifested as luck with cards or being the guy who won small scratch-off lotto tickets with regularity. Just enough push to make him a bit different. Dark boy appeared more like a distinct entity, but like nothing I’d ever seen.
Boogie Beach Page 2
