Boogie Beach

by Winnie Winkle

  * * *

  We sat in vigil with the mermaid until the night’s high tide. Then our odd little procession trooped in the moonlight down to the beach. Poseidon faded, growing clear, water and crystal, and reached through the globe that held her body, folding the remains into his chest with tender gentleness.

  * * *

  Chelsea and I watched as he waded out, joining into the sea, and flowing away, lost in the waves. Poseidon returned in an instant. Time was irrelevant, I supposed.

  * * *

  “I located the rest of her body and returned the maid to the place of her family. They will find her at the New Moon and perform the rituals,” he said, the clear sparkle muting to human skin. “The maid lies with those who love her.”

  * * *

  “A hero,” Chelsea murmured. “Her last act was self sacrifice.”

  * * *

  “That message resides with her body. They will celebrate her.”

  * * *

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “The Boogie is just a bar, why is it so important to protect it?”

  * * *

  “It’s not the bar that matters, but the location, Patra,” Chelsea gestured to the sand under the pier. “If Vapors take this, the line falls and everything commingles. That act unleashes all the dark with no gate. Humanity suffers, and the light and dark will be in chaos.”

  * * *

  “Keeper Billy sacrificed himself to help us,” she continued. “When he created a plan to be bait, to draw the Vapors through, he accepted he would not survive. By doing so, our magic, surrounding the attack, caught and destroyed them.”

  * * *

  Oh, Billy. You knew, you told me, but I was too young and stupid to understand.

  * * *

  “I never thought we had them all, but damn near,” Poseidon continued. “Seven is too many.”

  * * *

  “Six,” Chelsea said, turning her face toward the moon.

  * * *

  “Notwithstanding, I remain until it’s zero.”

  * * *

  Bait. Jesus, Billy. What a horrible decision to make.

  * * *

  I walked away, heading for the steps up to the pier. He died right here, under this pier. I was walking on the line. At some point this extraordinary life will call its marker. This felt certain, like my cells had an expiration date.

  * * *

  Billy cared for, trained, and loved me like a daughter, but my showing up was his curtain call. Now, I edged that way. Where’s my replacement? Who was coming? How long did I have?

  Chapter 6

  Thighs sticky with Ballard’s seed, I rolled out of bed and hit the shower, sluicing dead mermaids, translucent gods, and sexually sated wolf mates down the drain. Another night in paradise. Yippee.

  A check of the phone informed me that Jameson called not once, but three times. Ballard left cold coffee, so I poured a cup, nuked it, and chugged. Better.

  “Hey Sean.”

  “Patra, can you swing by? I need to show you something.”

  “On my way.”

  I repeated the coffee nuking and headed to my car, singing Tom Petty and ignoring my brain. Whatever, I’ll deal. Nothing could be weirder than last night.

  Jeez, my mantra. I’ve said that at least 3,000 times.

  Jameson met me on the pier and we walked back to the damaged section. He jabbed a thick finger at the remaining original wall studs.

  “This black stuff, it’s like no mold I’ve ever seen, but after working around it for a couple hours, I feel sick. This looks major, Patra.”

  I looked at the mold that wasn’t and shuddered, mind racing overtime.

  “Jameson, pack up your stuff. Let me hire an expert to get this handled. I need you healthy, and I need a roof, in that order.”

  “Patra, I can hold for a couple days, but then I have to bump your job and start the next one on my schedule. Sorry, but business is good.”

  “No worries, I’ll see what I can do with this, and I’ll text you later with an update.”

  With a grin, he lifted his tool case like it weighed 3 pounds and shouldered it, bending to grab his heavy work bucket.

  “Enjoy your day off,” I told him, admiring the view.

  “You could join me.”

  “Nope, I’ve got mold to eradicate, remember?”

  Plus, I didn’t need the complications he’d create. My plate was loaded at the moment. Jameson headed down the pier, chiseled ass working his jeans. I watched him go because I was not dead, yet. Perched against the railing, I was worried and, if being honest, scared.

  That was not mold. Thanks to dark boy, I knew the signature. Vapors were trying to break through the line. The Boogie was under siege. The bar needed help, and now.

  With a sigh, I scanned the beach, but of course, when I needed Poseidon, he’s nowhere in sight. Perfect. I unlocked my office. Next to the book, in my secure spot, was a small handbell. I grabbed the handle and rang it three times.

  A faint pop announced Chelsea.

  “Wow, you’ve never used the bell. What’s happening?”

  “Nothing good. Come see.”

  Chelsea stared at the black tacky stuff on the studs. It was a smidge higher than a few minutes ago. Shit.

  “These are attacking Vapors, Chelsea. Just being near them made my contractor sick.”

  “Agreed. And introduce me to him. Sean is hot.”

  “Okay, but first, how do I stop this, other than burning the pier down?”

  “That won’t help, Patra. Vapor behavior isn’t bound by natural law. These are, oh, like dead ends, tunnels that are weak points in the line. This is an assault.”

  With a snap of her fingers she vanished, reappearing with Poseidon and his quantum hangover. I left them to discuss it and palmed my way in to mix his morning-after cure but stopped short, staring at the wolf, in human form, asleep on the floor of my bar. The hell?

  I mixed, one eye on him, then returned to the dining room, passing the drink to Poseidon, murmuring, “The wolf is back.”

  He licked the shot glass clean, grinned, and patted my head, shooting a blast of feel-good through my brain.

  “This should be fun.”

  I followed his big, perfect, bikini-clad butt through the restaurant, Chelsea on my heels. I dropped back to walk beside her.

  “Yesterday didn’t afford the opportunity, but I want to apologize. I should not have asked for help with Grenade Guy. It was instinct, and I regret it.”

  “Oh, I did not see it as a petition, Patra. It felt like a warning, to let us know of the imbalance in your space. That’s the way I took it. We’re good.”

  The wolf was on his feet, pacing and growling. Wolves believed they are the top of the chain, but this one faced the genuine dominant, and he got fucked yesterday. Well, by proxy.

  “My mate refuses to see me and says the connection no longer rings true. What did you do to her?”

  “Who, me?” Poseidon’s face was guileless. My internal eye roll, on the other hand, dialed to ten.

  “Perhaps it’s the residual recovery from the Vapor attack. If so, as the next full moon approaches, she’ll vibrate for you again,” Chelsea offered.

  The wolf’s hands shook. I mixed a Mooncraft and pushed it over. He downed it in one tip, and I replaced it.

  “Bah, I healed her. Give it time,” Poseidon shrugged, eyeing the sand. Today was a toasty one for October and a day long beach volleyball tournament was winding down. He rose, heading to hang with the human ladies. I cut an eye to Chelsea but remained silent as the wolf shoved payment across the bartop and followed him.

  Chelsea pushed her heavy red hair back then leaned in on crossed arms.

  “The Vapors can’t escape your studs, and you need to leave them for now. Poseidon will remove the threat at New Moon.”

  Frustration must have flitted across my face, because she rapped the bar with her knuckles to get my attention. “This is not child’s play, Patra. The Vapors can�
�t push through, but you don’t want to create an opportunity. So, no more construction, no removing the wood, and definitely no restaurant. Humans can die from this exposure because the Vapors caught in the wood are concentrated. At the New Moon, Poseidon says he has the leverage to push them back, repair, and seal the line. Deciding how the situation resolves is not your role.”

  Chelsea reached out and gripped my hand. “Remember, I am your friend. This is dangerous, Patra, and timing matters. Stay true.”

  Her eyes, shifting from sage to green to blue, held my boring blue ones that did nothing but shade grey when I’m pissed.

  “Okay, I understand.” Pulling my phone, I tap Jameson’s name and wrote the text.

  Two weeks until you can work. Let me know when you can start again.

  Sorry, Babe. Will do.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry too,” I told my phone before shoving it into my pocket.

  “We’ve got three hours,” Chelsea said. “Let’s go hang in Cassadaga and take a break.”

  A break sounded necessary, and I nodded, holding out my hand. She grabbed it and snapped. The farther you travel with a magical, the more profound the effect on the human body. We landed in the woods near town and I was down on hands and knees, swamped with vertigo.

  Chelsea shook her head, laughing. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She snapped out.

  I rolled onto my butt, holding my head as the trees swam from hundreds to tens to five, and got my feet under me. The worlds, and the way each ones’ rules determined those who dwell, were hardcore. It was difficult to be in both. Chelsea and Poseidon were pros, but most magicals wanted little to do with human beings. Humans found the concept of magic fascinating, but the actuality of it another kettle. Saw orbs? Cool. Believed you got messages from the Universe? Right on, my brother. Humans loved the fringe because it’s still explainable. If they saw real magic, it was a different story. Those folks ended up labeled fruit cakes and weirdos.

  Psychics, a fair number who lived in Cassadaga, were unique. They saw, in a different way than me, the whole picture. What they did well was parse meaning from cues and clues, then help people not fuck up their lives. Were there fakes? Sure, but many were genuine seers, sensitive to magicals and time. For the most part, it’s as hard on them as me. We had a sister and brotherhood connection, but also paid a price for the gift. They were mocked and sometimes ostracized. I will die young. None of us chose the role we play.

  C’est la vie.

  Chelsea popped and grinned. “Sadie is slow today. Let’s go have a drink.”

  Sadie was an old friend and the best psychic I’d ever met. Her sight was crystal clear, and she excelled at picking out just enough guidance to help the client without scaring the hell out of them, plus leaving wiggle room for free will. If you told someone what’s showing up, they stalled out. They sat and waited, forgot to carry their part, and the Universe blew by like a dog in a car, tongue flapping, no cares. People needed to show up and live their minutes. Sadie saw her client’s circle and the intersections to come. I loved watching her work. Master craft.

  Hugs all around and wines in hands, we settled in the back courtyard, hidden behind jasmine vines determined to reclaim the space. Chelsea waved a finger and trimmed it, still private but less primal.

  “Thank you!” Sadie beamed, “They are a force of nature.”

  She sipped and continued. “I hoped you might pop around and visit. I’m seeing things that remind me of the tempest after the hurricane. The balance is off-kilter.”

  “We know. It’ll be the eve of the New before an opportunity comes to make the change. Have you heard anything?”

  By this, Chelsea meant had she read into any minds and pulled unusual information. Readings were two-way streets. It’s presented as a window for the beyond to inform humanity, but knowledge flowed both ways.

  “The foggy ones, I’m reading that they are still around,” Sadie offered. “I read a young woman who was camping and her boyfriend got, well, he scared her, he was not himself. I suspected possession.”

  “Yes, we excised a Vapor from a young man. It could be the same one.”

  Sadie cocked her head as if listening. “Perhaps.”

  Chelsea shifted. “Can you describe this man?”

  “Blond, twenties, and surfs were all presented to me.”

  I cut a side eye to Chelsea. Not the dude who broke my bar.

  “That’s helpful, Sadie.” Chelsea raised her glass, and we clinked. “To the new moon, and success.”

  Chapter 7

  “We have information about another Vapor possessing a human body,” Chelsea announced to the sacked out god on the beach.

  Jeez, he really needed to wash that speedo. Ewww.

  Poseidon cracked an eye open. “Who?”

  “Blond surfer, younger, in his twenties.”

  Poseidon eyed the calm sea. The ocean teemed with splashers, but no surfers. Abs rippling, he pushed himself up, walked to the water stood for a moment. The waves increased, and he nodded.

  Chelsea and I sat on the shore and waited. Surfers were their own breed. In ones and twos, as word spread, beater trucks and cars parked in The Boogie’s lot and boards hit the beach. Soon the sea populated with twenty bobbing surfers.

  With a yawn and stretch, Poseidon dove through a wave, surfaced and strolled back to where we sat. He grinned and adjusted his junk.

  “Not here.”

  “Yet,” Chelsea cocked an eyebrow.

  An ancient white Ford pickup blatted into my lot and parked. A blond guy pulled his board and walked toward the pass gate; before he cleared it, Chelsea snapped and vanished. Poseidon walked into the sea and dove through a wave.

  Ah, they’re diluting their magical signatures. This could be the guy.

  I stretched and kicked back, just another body enjoying the beach. He cut his eyes in my direction but didn’t break stride.

  He felt me, but didn’t see me as a threat. Probably thought I’m a blend.

  Blondie splashed through the breakers and paddled out watching the waves, floating, patient, looking for the one. With a quick paddle, he maneuvered and skimmed his feet underneath him, rising into the ride.

  A trio of porpoises crashed into his board, flinging him into the water. The uproar from people along the beach was immediate, but after a pause, the surfer’s head bobbed up. He pulled himself onto the board and lay there, recovering.

  Poseidon surfaced near the surfboard, speaking to the man, a finger on his forearm, before ducking under again. The waves rocked the surfboard and its immobile rider. After a long minute, the surfer started paddling.

  The god flowed in with the next wave, then stood. Water slid off his huge bronzed chest, and his hair streamed across his shoulders, speedo leaving nothing to the imagination. Power blasting, Poseidon strode through the tumbling froth.

  Damn.

  Turned on to a ridiculous level, all I could do was stare. Chelsea popped back, plunked her butt on the sand and poked me, hard, in the ribs.

  “Get your shit together.”

  “Yeah.” I jumped to my feet. “Time to open. See you in a while.”

  It’s insane to have all the great sex a woman wanted and needed but still be affected like that.

  He’s turning it up, Patra, and twelve days remain until the new. Get your shit together, indeed.

  I did a quick restock and dish washing, then set Poseidon’s sticky hangover glass to soak. After half an hour, I realized they weren’t coming. Huh.

  Pook and Bingo showed up forty minutes later, talking in low tones.

  It’s obvious that I was being shelved. Something was up but no record required. Fair enough, hint taken. I set up the boys with fish ales and a bowl of anchovy crisps and headed back toward my office, stopping to inspect the Vapors caught in the wood of the walls. Lower. Maybe they knew the magicals were onto their little scheme.

  I removed the book and threw my feet up on the desk, reading every entry I had concerning Vapors. The reco
rd was quantum magical. If I asked it to show me entries about Vapors, it reorganized to consolidate those details. Which, to be honest, was cool magic and saved keepers a ton of time.

  A crash grabbed my attention and I secured the book before heading to see what the pelican shifters broke. They were jousting with two fishing poles I kept on the wall for decoration, and the mirror on the back wall was in a billion pieces across the floor.

  “Sorry, Patra. Chelsea can fix it.”

  “No worries, Pook. Just don’t cut your feet or the salt water will sting later.”

  Pook stuck a bloody heel up on my bar. “Too late.”

  I snagged my kit. Billy had everything labeled by type of magical and injury. I found the vial for ‘Shifters/Cuts and Scrapes’ and dripped three drops onto Pook’s injury. The edges drew together, shimmering in a partial shift while Pook howled.

  “Sheeee-it that stings!”

  Heel clean and closed, I shot him a look and he got his dirty bird feet off my bar. Shifter blood was inanimate for humans, so I grabbed soap and water and wiped the blood away. To learn what I could and couldn’t touch was the piece I struggled with, and Billy’s face when I screwed up was funny, if it weren't so important. The Keeper before Billy only lasted a month because of a stupid mistake. Billy showed up about a year later, walked in the door and the magicals, in an unusual gesture, trained him.

  Keepers matter. After a year without, it seemed prudent to get one that’d stick. It was 1968, and Billy, high, sauntered in the wrong door, sat on a stool, and looked around the pub.

  “Man, it’s like I’ve been here before. Far out.”

  According to his entry, two witches in the bar exchanged looks and one told him, “There’s a job here and you’re perfect.”