Boogie Beach

by Winnie Winkle

  The pier ownership changed hands from Keeper to Keeper. It used to just be magic ink in the courthouse, but in the age of electronics a witch popped in and created the paper trail needed to keep the pier in the proper hands. While the Keeper, you owned a serious beachfront enterprise, and could use that asset to build your own wealth, if you’re into that. Most Keepers didn’t have children. Foes tapped innocents for leverage; the book was full of terrible stories of murdered offspring and profound heartbreak. I chucked my biological clock at twenty-four and never looked back. So, I owned a fancy, paid-for beachfront condo and a house in the mountains I tried to see once a year for the sojourn period.

  Keepers got the time between the full and new moons, nearest the fall equinox, to leave the line. To sojourn, I went to my mountain cabin. I missed the fall color that came later, but the downtime gave me a chance to turn my mind off and rest. The keeper job was exhausting and October was nuts, so coming at it fresh helped. Chelsea popped me in and out if I went alone, which was a barf worthy experience, but last month I took Ballard, and we drove.

  Ballard wants to marry me. I know this because he asked me, on one knee on the deck overlooking the mountains. Declining broke me.

  “Ballard, you are all I want and need, but I can’t marry you. Please, stay with me; let that be enough.”

  He didn’t understand and I couldn’t tell him the truth, but he let it go. Something closed up inside him though. I felt it snap shut. A piece of his heart walked away from me. Ballard struggled, up against a set of priorities he couldn’t see, unlike me. I lived it.

  I returned to my office and pulled the book to finish reading the entries on Vapors. I’m intrigued by the smell. How did something that didn’t exist in either space have a discernible scent?

  The words wavered and rearranged.

  Hey, I didn’t say that out loud!

  The words shifted again, and I read the entry:

  As my time as Keeper lengthens, I discover my connection with the book develops, with an intuitive understanding of what I need to understand or connect between the entries. The book reads my mind, and presents records to draw conclusions or parse a new hypothesis.

  “So you’re thinking with me, like a symbiotic cohort? Wild. Show me the Vapor stuff again.”

  The book blurred, and I kept reading, jotting a couple key points. Keepers tried to further the knowledge for the future, our little hedge for longevity.

  Scribbling, I noted:

  Vapors explore every weakness within the line. There were areas of concentration on the underside of the pier. Did the flexibility of the organic piece, the wood itself, allows this?

  I could try asking Chelsea, she might share if she thought I should know.

  I flipped the page, reading the next bit.

  Vapors appear driven to move, seeking territory or domain beyond the space between the worlds. Why?

  I turned the page and sat straight. This was Billy’s handwriting.

  I see no other way beyond offering the Vapors a breakthrough, designed to pour them, in concentration, into this plane. They want this, desire to join the ones that came through with the hurricane. Once on this side, before they can disperse, the magicals can mount their defense. I dread opening the human world to the potential of a Vapor attack, but I know if we control their arrival, the advantage lies with us. There is no reason and zero opportunity to negotiate with a force intent on swarming and killing life. It’s akin to arguing with fire ants, and as effective.

  So, he made his choice. His death bought eleven years of peace, which was a crappy trade off, considering. Well, I suppose that’s over-simplification. The reason this was fubar is that the magicals didn’t catch them all. If Poseidon succeeded at the new moon, I might have a good run at Keeper. This was a test. If the opportunity to weaken the line from both sides was eliminated, we could move to a period of safety and prosperity for everyone.

  Hell yeah. This Keeper was down for that. Time to finish what Billy started.

  Chapter 8

  After securing the book, I wandered through the restaurant toward the far end of the pier. My building sat two-thirds of the way along the pier, and the back quarter deck was set up for fishing and dreaming. I checked the Vapors, no movement there, which was good news. Outside, breathing the salt, I leaned against the railing and blanked my mind for a minute. Years of meditation practice let me get quiet when I needed to grab a reset. Keepers who stayed sharp, stayed alive.

  Palms flat on the top board, I floated with the waves, peaceful for the first time in days. Ballard took my edge off on the regular, but that alone wasn’t enough. The focus on my breath calmed and slowed my heart rate, facilitating the fall into the space below conscious thought, absorbing the roar of the sea as my mind dropped the other senses away. The tacky salty stick of the boards, the scent of organic ocean, the rolling water, and the taste of beach air folded away from me. There was breath, and I became silence.

  “Aaaaaaaa!”

  Pain drilled through my spine. In blackness, I fell. The last cogent thought as the boards hit my face was Ballard’s green eyes closing.

  Nerves in flames, I pushed my body against the railing and pulled, with sweaty effort, into a sitting position. How long was I on the ground? Nothing is communicating here. Did I have a stroke? I stared at my palms, blurry eyed, and assessed the disembodied sensation. Connections broken and going nowhere greeted each conscious attempt to move.

  Get on your hands and knees, Patra. Try to pull yourself upright.

  I jammed an elbow over the middle rail and pulled, but my ankles weren’t listening, my arm slipped out, and I flopped like a human fish.

  On my second attempt, I rolled onto my stomach and pushed back to get on my knees, butt skyward.

  Crawl, Patra. You must get into the building.

  I crept forward, arms giving way with unexpected regularity, adding a bloody nose of epic proportions to my predicament. Choking and spitting, I smeared toward the restaurant, dragging myself in and grabbing the legs of a stool to prop myself up, resting in the swimming room, a whirling with an occasional pause of clarity. One was the level of the Vapors.

  Higher. They were a bunch higher.

  Keep moving, Patra. You need to find someone. Make it to the bar, Pook and Bingo are there. You can do it.

  With a bump, my hip caught as I slid-crawled across the boards of the restaurant’s floor.

  That’s my phone! Halle-freaking-lujah!

  With a groan, I flopped onto my other side and pulled the phone. Cracked screen, but it’s working. I tapped Ballard and it rang.

  “Hey, Babe.”

  I breathed, trying to talk. “Hel…”

  “Where are you? Boogie?”

  I nodded, feeling tears in my chest. “Ye-ah.”

  “Stay there, I’m on my way.”

  The screen went dark and I did too, tears mixing with the salt embedded in the boards, under siege from both beyond and the sea, steady and destructing in simulcast.

  Steps stopped at my head.

  “Dammit.”

  The world upended and I’m flung, whirling and vomiting, into nothing.

  Later, I found out The Boogie was a scene of flashing cop cars, myself a missing person, and Ballard yanked off a case where he had a personal conflict. In my next life, maybe I can laugh about it. If the pain ever stops killing me.

  I’m tied to a tree in the woods, some bug was biting its way across my back, and there’s a fire circle about 40 feet away with a huge caldron floating over the flames. Cannibals. I’ve been transported by cannibals. This was a perfect storybook ending to my oddity-laden life.

  The bug was helping my mind defog. Pain could be funny like that, and I squirmed, getting a half-assed scratch in, but not killing my personal marauder. Crap, he ought to be full by now.

  The idea of a swarm of bugs replaced the previous happy thought of a single feaster, and my squirming redoubled, ending in a yell of frustration.

  Ch
elsea materialized before me, one eyebrow raised.

  “Bugs are eating me!”

  In hindsight, leading with a complaint was not the information she sought, but I’m human and my status quo was single-minded at that point.

  With a snort, she waved and the chomp-meisters vanished. Now I was just itchy. I squirmed violently, scratching my back, and gave her a pleading look. Not asking for help, but it’s a fine line, one I stomped with little finesse. She rolled her eyes, snapped and vanished, leaving me to rub along the tree trunk like a bear, but with less grace.

  Exhausted, I pondered my position. Given the amount of barf at my feet, Chelsea magicked me away from the restaurant a fair distance. By the looks of it, I’d lost three days of nutrition. I leaned into my ropes, realizing I’m restrained for a reason. I posed a threat.

  “What in the hell happened to me?”

  “Better,” Chelsea replied, shimmering into view. “I’d like to know that, too. Tell me everything you remember. Every detail, Patra.”

  I rolled my mind back and talked about meditating, how the Vapors trapped in the wood were receding, the pain drilling into my back, crawling, then calling Ballard and passing out.

  Chelsea eyed me with dispassion, a cold, clinical evaluation. No friendship flickered in those magical eyes.

  “What happened next?”

  “Next? Nothing was next. I woke up here bound to this tree with a cannibal pot waiting for me.”

  “Canni….?” Chelsea glanced over her shoulder and burst out laughing. “You’re not dinner. The coven convened to decide what to do with you. You, as dinner, is not on the agenda.”

  “That’s a relief.” I sagged in the ropes. “My head hurts. I’m not thinking straight, I guess.”

  “Oh, no argument there. And, there was a next. Try to remember.”

  Eyes closed, I let my mind go blank, breathing and quiet. I called Ballard; he was coming for me, I was on the floor.

  “Sorry Chelsea, I remember nothing after calling Ballard for help.”

  “Yeah, that made things awkward.”

  “But, I have to rely on humans for support. Those are the rules.”

  Chelsea waved her hand, impatience obvious. “We move in unusual circumstances.” With a snap, she left.

  Perfect. I’ll hang around here and wait for you, okay?

  I woke with a jolt. My body quaked, my head now bloody from bouncing against the tree’s trunk.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Was that a seizure?

  I stared at eleven witches who returned the favor. A stand off? A decision? I was so tired, and between the blood from my nose, the puke on my shoes, and what felt like fresh blood running into my ear, this Keeper was at her charming best.

  “Hi,” I managed. Eleven heads cock to the left in silence.

  Great. Okay, Keeper. Think. Crap, I’ve got nothing.

  My mind ran over the scene at the restaurant again.

  “Chelsea?”

  A pop and she’s between me and the other eleven. “Did you remember something?”

  “Yes. When I crawled from the pier inside the restaurant, the line of Vapors in the walls was higher. Much higher. I remember thinking I needed to get into the magic bar and tell someone, then felt my phone in my pocket and called for help.”

  “Thank you for that. I’m more interested in what you did after Ballard disconnected. Concentrate, Keeper. Save yourself.”

  Save? Oh, shit. Focus.

  I’m skilled in this practice, and Chelsea knew it. My breath quieted, drawing inward, and I left them, moving below consciousness. A peaceful, pervasive calm folded across my heart beats. I didn’t know how long I was down but when I drifted back up, the twelve witches were still with me. It’s darker though, the sun had set.

  “There is a wall after I called Ballard, Chelsea. If I did anything, I wasn’t consciously directing myself. I’m sorry, I want to help.”

  One witch passed Chelsea a vial. She approached me as the remaining eleven raised their hands.

  Holy shit, are they going to kill me right here, a rabid dog tied to this tree?

  “Do not move. If you do, you will die. Drink this,” Chelsea commanded.

  Eyes shut tight, I opened my mouth, hoping it wasn’t poison.

  The potion’s effect was immediate, rolling away the wall in my mind. I watched myself hop up from the floor, uninjured, and stride toward the bar, palming the door. It barred me. Why?

  Then I trotted to the office, trying to open the secret cupboard for the book. Barred again. Within the hiding place, a bell began to ring. Chelsea’s bell called her? My eyes turned to the wall, and I pulled the fire ax from the case, running toward the black timbers. As I swung the ax back to chop holes in the Vapor laden wood, Chelsea’s spell hit, flinging me to the floor with a crunchy, tumbling bounce. The ax head and handle rocketed down, rapping my shin bones with a violent smack. Ouch. That left a welt. Chelsea’s feet stopped at my nose.

  “Dammit.”

  I shook my head, the witches swimming into view, and looked at Chelsea, horrified.

  “Holy hell. I’m possessed!”

  “Better. Yes, you are holding one of the missing six, but after viewing your thoughts, we now accept this was not by choice.”

  “Can’t Poseidon yank it out?”

  “You are a more complicated situation. We have to understand what the Vapors learned through this possession. This was a bold act; they must believe they’ll prevail. I hope you survive it, Cleopatra. If not, know there was no malice intended.”

  Chapter 9

  The wind slid over my skin, greasy and insistent, but that could be because I was the filthiest I can ever remember being, with the special bonus of being polluted on the inside by a Vapor. The detritus on the forest floor jumped and flipped in the night breeze; it smelled dank and earthy. It’s obvious I’m not in not sandy Florida, not even close. These trees were dense, and I didn’t recognize half of them.

  Didn’t you enjoy being popped around by a witch while occupying a human body, Vapor? Wasn’t it fun, a two-hour carnival ride on steroids? Yeah buddy, the best.

  My hands were doing weird things, flexing, and it’s like watching a different body. The Vapor craved freedom but couldn’t figure out the magically tied ropes restraining my hijacked body. Ergo, nothing I could release as a human. Surprised, I stared as one hand twisted and plucked at the bindings, shredding them with a strength not my own.

  “Chelsea! I’m not doing this. Help me!”

  A quick glance from the circle of witches around the huge caldron, she nodded and flicked a finger at me.

  Ack! The ropes, now thick iron ship’s chains, halfway crushed me.

  “Breathe,” Chelsea called. “We’re almost ready.”

  Was I going to die? I blew out air and grabbed a big breath. Time to make amends.

  “Okay, laying the truth bare, I love Ballard, have since our third month together, and to you swirling tree tops I acknowledge and honor that treasure, left unexpressed in my messy world.”

  Better. That lifted a weight.

  Next, I ran through a list of gratitude for the weirdness that made my turn at life interesting, challenging, and a constant chance to learn. Admit it, you had a good run, Patra, and crammed a ton into 35 years. If that was the sum of your everything, it was enough. My breathing created a sense of calm around the chains, a weight, but one that stymied the Vapor, plucking my fingertips with useless fervor at the links.

  I’ve never been possessed before, so I’m paying attention, trying to understand if there’s a separation of space, feelings of a distinct entity, or any sensation that might serve me in the next few minutes. No idea what the witches were planning and it didn’t appear I’d see help from any other quarter. The thought of my mother, who died when I was twelve, floated across my mind, her face filling my thoughts and pushing the fear out. Whatever happened, I felt centered.

  The tree shook, a rocking motion at first, then a rattling, slamming force
. The chains bruised me everywhere, and it’s all I could do to keep my shit together and not weep. Death by crushing wasn’t on my top-ten list of ways to leave the earth. The tree shuddered and groaned.

  Okay, Mom, here we go.

  A root pulled from the ground and unfurled across the surface, followed by three more. Chained to a giant deciduous crab, I scuttled into the clearing, pausing next to the caldron. Eyes flying from witch to witch, none acknowledged my wordless question; their faces remained closed to me. There was nothing to do but wait.

  Lightning cracked hard across the night sky as the chains dropped, plunking me into the caldron. The water closed over my head and sealed. From my side, my fingers slid along what felt like the criss-cross hatching of a screen, but solid, no flexibility.

  I needed air.

  Pushing, feet pressed against the hot bottom of the huge iron pot, I tried not to panic. Bubbles flowed, the final air in my lungs burning for release.

  I’m coming, Mother.

  The Vapor, feeling my life force weakening, burned through my pores, an agony that surely rivaled childbirth. The fog vented through the screen as my fingers fell away from the scrabble for the unallowed freedom. The last of my oxygen left me in a torrent of bubbles, and I inhaled, an automatic response that filled my lungs with death. Above the sealed surface of the water, a huge flash lit the night.

  I love you, Ballard.

  The sides of my vision folded in, and I let go.

  I adore you, my wonderment.

  Hmm, I floated like a soaring Pook, but this was not flight, more akin to bobbing, weightless. The air sparkled in a gold and silver combination, a shimmery see through, but opaque enough to prevent understanding of this place. Was I alone? It’s hard to tell.

  Feet paddling against nothing I tried moving around, but without landmarks I couldn’t tell if I was underway or not. I read about something similar, an immersion pool where you floated but if you swam, you’d never reach an edge. The idea was you’d let go and be free in the moment. Was this the pause where you release what was, who mattered, the bits of cosmic you hoped you figured out on your little journey of being a nothing in the vast?