I’d always thought we came as energy and left to return to energy once more, and that’s why with some people we clicked in an immediate zap. The juice met up and humans knew, this one, this vibe, that’s my person. I knew it with Ballard, which was why I felt sorry for Poseidon. He couldn’t have an encompassing single connection. It’s the one thing denied to him.
I realized, lost in my reverie, that the gold was condensing, growing more opaque, and the silver was falling away, sinking from my sight. Fingers splayed, I stared at my hand. It’s covered in gleaming specks, gathering more every moment and shading my skin from metallic glitter to smooth gold, sparkling and growing solid, creeping up my arms. I glanced down. Legs too.
I had gold boobs. That’s crazy.
Even my hair changed, darkening from beach blond to heavy gold strands. As it crept up my neck my mouth sealed, then my nose, and finally my eyes and ears. What the hell? In the afterlife we became a statue? That’s a letdown, to be honest. I much preferred my zipping along as an energy entity idea.
A sharp rap smacked me between the eyebrows. Okay, who’s knocking on my third eye? Wait, wasn’t I a statue? Were there pigeons in the afterlife?
A second sharp whack, and my face cracked off, forcing air into my lungs in a sharp gasp. Chelsea’s face blurred and came together, smiling.
“That worked. Welcome back from the dead, Keeper.”
Fingers white, I gripped the planks of The Boogie’s deck, heaving.
“How far,” I retched, “did you take me?”
“Shush, it will pass. Far enough to do the job right. You handled yourself well, Keeper, and I’m glad you lived.”
“How long was I gone?”
“You, only a few hours? In our time, even less.”
With a groan, I rolled on my side in a fetal position and tried breathing through the vertigo.
Come on, find it, grab the piece to hang on to that stops the wild swing in your mind. Get a grip, Patra!
There’s a keening noise, then I realized it’s me. How embarrassing. I bit off the sound and shoved my hands against the boards, gripped the railing, and with an awkward lurch, got my feet under me, rising into a leaning lay on the top rail. With gritted teeth, I held my body in a passable vertical.
Well, passable if you’re on your ninth bourbon. Whatever, at least I wasn’t on the ground mewling like a teenager who drank a fifth.
“Good girl,” Chelsea’s tone was kind. “Let’s find out if the door accepts your palm.”
“May I ask a favor?”
“Oh, you may ask.” her tone held amusement.
“Could you make me a walking stick?”
Chelsea’s eyes twinkled, and she pulled a small charm from the bag tied at her belt, tapping and passing me a carved stick covered in runes and symbols.
“Keep it, a token of friendship.”
The stick hummed in my hand.
“Good, it likes you. It offers magical protections to a worthy bearer. You qualify. Enjoy it.”
“I… I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Chelsea. This is a lovely gift.”
With a smile, she turned, walking through the damaged restaurant. I limped behind, eyes moving to the blown out corner, and stopped dead.
“Chelsea, the Vapors in the wall, they’re gone?”
“Poseidon worked on that. Not the permanent fix he plans for the New Moon, but it sent the message we’re ready to fight. Based on what I heard, he rather enjoyed it.”
At the door, Chelsea nodded. I reached forward to lay my palm and paused.
Am I still Keeper? If not, and I’m alive, I am free.
This thought swirled and I stopped, hand inches from the surface. To love Ballard without condition, time for a child, and a normal life lay in balance with a powerful magic staff in my right hand and a book beyond the entrance. I stared at an ancient doorway as understanding dawned. This was my role. If The Boogey still accepted me, it’s where I belonged. The line was my life.
My palm connected and the door swung open. Using the staff, I thumped through and headed for the book to record the event.
“Before you update the record, come this way, Patra.”
Well, yeah, she’s whipped and wants a drink. That’s the job, too. I step-tapped into the bar. Pook, Bingo, a couple witch drifters from Cocoa who I believe were in the woods with us, and Poseidon sat, scattered around the gleaming wood. Pook started it, clapping and whistling, and each came up and hugged me.
“Well done,” one of the Cocoa witches told me, a gap-toothed grin revealing her. She was there.
“You did everything right, Keeper. Impressive.” A green and blue eye held mine, as the second Cocoa witch gave me a gentle hug.
“Good for you!” Pook bounced over and squished me in a big squeeze. “I’m so happy you came back!”
“Me too,” Bingo told me, wrapping me in his Ichabod Crane embrace. “The Boogey is not the same without you.”
Poseidon reached over and laid a hand on my head, knocking me sideways with a gigantic love mojo orgasm, drew his palm away, and grinned.
Little shit.
“I heard that.” His laugh boomed through the bar.
I mixed a round for everyone, pulled my bourbon from below, and poured a stiff three fingers for myself. Raising glasses, we toasted.
“To righting a wrong,” I said.
“Victory in all planes,” Chelsea added, eyes glowing green.
“To eternal vanquish,” Poseidon agreed.
Clink.
Drink.
And, to not being stuck as a pigeon poop repository for eternity, hallelujah.
Chapter 10
Hand aching, I returned the pen to the inkwell and blew on the pages. Learning to write with a dipping pen was a challenge, but I’m not half bad with one these days, occasional exaggerated capital letter screwups notwithstanding.
I didn’t understand what the witches did to me. A faithful transcription of my side of the occurrence lived in the book, but I didn’t get the whole picture. Sometimes, asking for explanations pissed magicals off, but this was death dealing. I planned to stick my neck out and push for answers.
The pub door creaked, so I stowed the book and gripped the stick. Each of my injuries, except for the crack on the shins by the ax handle, vanished during the, er, event. While an educated guess, I suspected it’s because the vapor had control when that injury occurred. I added my theory, as a supposition, into the record because I believe it’s true, or damn close. In the meantime, my legs sported deep bruising, one hurt more than I cared to admit, and I was limping. Plus, this magic staff was cool as hell and let me swagger like a badass.
Stick in hand, I stumped back into the bar and mixed a mooncraft for the arriving wolf, who downed it, pushed some human cash my way, and left in search of better entertainment. I couldn’t blame him, it was 3 am, quiet, and the only ones left were the witches. Poseidon was off doing what he does, and the pelican shifters were off to the islands dotting the intracoastal waterway where thousands of pelicans pass the night, having shagged willing females before drifting off to sleep.
“Everything recorded?”
I rubbed my sore hand and nodded at Chelsea. “Yes, what I know is in there.”
“Meh, you know what’s necessary,” her tone was dismissive.
No explanations were forthcoming. At least she didn’t tape my mouth like that time when I was twenty-seven. That was embarrassing.
“This is a battle,” she continued. “Besides, you have another problem.”
Ballard. Yeah, I wasn’t sure how to explain my call, kidnapping, and limping return.
“Chelsea, I can’t just stay gone.”
“Vanishing is the best solution,” her eyes were serious.
“Chelsea, I love him and I won’t put him through the agony and worry of having me missing for weeks. Neither giving Ballard up nor driving him away with a lie is the answer.”
The three witches rested their chins in hand and looked a
t me. It’s uncanny how they synchronized movement.
“Undeclared love,” Chelsea said when I held their stares. This matters to magicals; they saw things in black and white. With the rule bending and suspension of physical law crap, you’d think they reveled in the grey areas, but there’s a thread of medieval loyalty and bond that ran through everything. In their eyes, the evidence of me not laying my heart out to Ballard implied I wasn’t committed.
“Nature of this job,” my hands landed on my hips and I stood, looking like a bruised Superwoman. “I don’t want to destroy him, and everyone here knows I won’t see sixty. Hell, thirty-six is the current goal.”
“Hmm. The police saw you weren’t robbed, so that’s out.”
“Not quite,” I said. “The Boogie wasn’t looted, but remember, Charlie and I locked the place down so there’s nothing valuable here to take. On the other hand, I own a big expensive piece of the beach, so I’m a target beyond the restaurant.”
“Ah,” Chelsea nodded. “How much do you want to lose?”
“Banking limits these days are five grand, so pull $4,900 out, disable the camera, tie up the other loose bits, and leave me in the parking lot. I’ll handle Ballard.”
“Stash your stick,” advised the gap-toothed witch, whose name, I’d discovered, was Glenna. I thumped to the office, secured the stick and as I turned, stumbled in a parking area near the ATM. Fortunately, the bank building was nearby and my stomach empty.
With a groan, I sat on the curb, woozy, listening to the police siren in the distance and setting the story in my mind. Keepers and lying intertwine, and once I created the tale, it’s my truth and nothing changes. I didn’t have too many expert level skill sets, but I lied like a pro. If I didn’t, I’d be the dumbass Keeper whose screwups the magicals had to show up for and fix. If you became that Keeper, there’s a point when they stopped seeing you as an asset. Not an optimal situation.
Two patrol cars rolled in and one of the four cops, Broadsky, was a familiar face. He’s a decent guy, so this should flow well.
“Patra, do you need medical attention?”
“For my legs,” I pointed. “They really hurt.”
“What happened, how did you sustain this injury?” A cop I hadn’t met, big guy, leaned in, looking at the purplish black bruises while Broadsky muttered into his shoulder radio.
“The dude cracked me across the legs with my fire ax,” I said, sounding scared. “I hit the floor like a ton of bricks.”
An ambulance, responding to Broadsky’s request, pulled in and three hunk-o-ramas jumped out. This was turning into an awesome wee hour of the morning party. Big sexy hands checked vitals and examined my legs, which made staying in my story a struggle, but I did, because of Ballard.
I was listening, at least trying to eavesdrop, to hear with the cops said while the hunks continued their examination. Muttered words of “rape kit” and “transport” told me this would be a long morning after a rough night. Perfect.
Broadsky came back, knelt down next to me and asked, low, “Patra, were you assaulted? We can keep it private for now and just run a kit at the hospital.”
“Not necessary, he wanted money. I’m hoping the bank cameras got his face because I’m out five grand. Well, $4,900. His idea.”
“You’re lucky money was the goal, Patra.”
“Yeah, I’ll make more,” I assured him, as strong arms lifted me onto a gurney. “Are you following to the hospital? Can you tell Ballard I’m OK? Not sure what happened to my phone, but I tried to call him for help.”
Normal responses, each question expected. I watched the cop’s subtle body language and knew this ruse was going well. The gurney slid in, a hunk climbed up, sat on the little jump seat and smiled. Smokin’.
With the sound of a double slam, the doors closed and we’re rolling. Act one: curtain.
To my surprise, it turned out I had a hairline fracture in one leg. The hospital set me up with a walking boot and an appointment with an orthopedic doc for next Tuesday. I got my fingernails scraped, another rape kit offer, declined, and hair combed for evidence. This was not Chelsea’s first doctored crime scene, so I relaxed and let the mechanisms of investigation do their thing.
As soon as the sample snatchers cleared me, Ballard was in, pulling me tight and not letting go. I returned the favor. His arms are my haven. After a thorough kiss, green eyes bored into mine and I popped him on the nose.
“This was a robbery, nothing more. Ballard, I’m okay. My leg will be fine. Just seeing your face is all I need, and you’re here.”
I leaned in and kissed him, a soft, meaning-filled one, and he shut his mouth.
At 2 pm I was discharged, exhausted, and Ballard swung by to pick me up since he was on shift. We headed to my condo and he keyed me in because I had nothing, then passed me his key.
“Hey, I’ll get you another one,” I murmured, touching the top of his hand.
He helped me to the sofa overlooking the sea and settled my leg on a cushion on the glass top coffee table before taking a seat next to me, sporting a serious face. That meant I needed to muster up linguistic dexterity, which is a hell of a lot easier when I’m not wiped out.
“Patra, I’m done with you working all night at the bar and coming home in the morning. You need a different routine. What you’re doing is an unsafe practice.”
“Ballard, I’m locked in, it’s quiet, I do all my paperwork and ordering, and for a decade it’s been fine. Tonight was an isolated incident.”
Stubborn green eyes met mine. “I mean this, Patra, and I understand criminality far better than you.”
Crap, we’ve reached a line for him. He couldn’t help his nature, a protector, and my lifestyle of being gone all night and coming in with the sunrise had been a request for trust that he gave. Now he’s asking for something from me that I couldn’t give. Dammit.
“Ballard, I’ll beef up my security, implement any suggestions you have, but I have a great system with The Boogie. I’m keeping it.”
He leaned back, thoughtful. “You know, I don’t ask you for anything, Patra.”
Except love. You asked me for that. And marriage. That too.
“Ballard, I have to run this business in the most efficient way possible. I love what we have, how we connect every day. Don’t you?”
“The past twenty-four hours were the worst in my life, Patra. I can’t keep it as casual as you need.”
He rose, staring down at me, deciding.
Uh oh. Not liking how this feels.
“Don’t make a key for me,” he said, his voice neutral. “Let’s take a break.”
“Ballard!”
“Goodbye, Patra.”
The door snicked shut as I stared, flummoxed, at nothing.
Chapter 11
“Broken? Hmm. That’s a wrinkle.”
I pushed Chelsea’s drink over. “Why?”
“Because it means they learned how weak human’s bodies are. The Vapor was in control, swinging the ax, when I zapped you. The force of their power was behind the handle that struck your legs.”
I thought of how my fingers could not have shredded those ropes, yet once powered by Vapor, easily destroyed them.
“Latent strength.” Chelsea swirled her drink and a puff of smoke rose from the surface. “Nice. Humans draw on adrenaline under duress. The Vapor pulled this from your body and used it.”
“Okay, that’s somewhat creepy. Are they demonic?”
“Vapors resemble nothing that’s relatable for you, Patra. They are non-corporeal yet conscious forms, self serving, and emotionless. They operate based on domination and power. It’s why, long ago, the highest beings banished them to the space between the real and magical worlds. Vapors lust for mayhem and disruption; they feed chaos. The creation of the line and the space is ancient.”
“May I record this conversation?”
“We wouldn’t be having it otherwise.”
Huh. Okay. I braved another question. “If the Vapors were
so incompatible with the two worlds, and the gods can kill them, what made the case for creating the space.”
“Because they are a distinct life form, Patra. The gods created a solution that let them continue their destiny. Vapors used to be warriors for the gods, but over time, they sought independence. Gaining that, they desired dominion over the gods, whom they believed were lesser because they saw beyond constant war and destruction and dwelled as balancers of creation and beauty. This attempt at dominance created the fracture, and in time, the line and space.”
My heart raced. This was a huge influx of information. I stayed relaxed, waiting for the chance to update the book.
Chelsea sipped her drink. “How did it go with Ballard?”
Shit.
While I spoke convincing half-truths and bald-faced lies to humans every day, one thing I couldn’t do was lie to magicals. They knew the second you deceived, and they punished. Besides, many of them read the human mind. I sighed.
“Ballard hates me being here at night, but changing that isn’t possible. My inflexibility is the underlying problem. He’s frustrated and wants us to separate for a while. It sucks because I tried, but still ended up driving him away with a lie.”
“I’m sorry,” Chelsea said, green eyes melding to blue. “I understand now that your feelings for him are deep and true.”
“Ballard has no way to perceive that I run my life to protect him. While I give us as much of myself as possible, the line comes first and I accept this.”
“It makes you sad?”
“Sometimes. But, I am the Keeper, and The Boogey is my responsibility.”
An eyebrow rose, followed by an impish grin. Did she listen to my self-talk before I tried the door? God, it’s like walking through life naked.
The door creaked open, and a wolf entered, growling, saliva soaking his shirt. Chelsea stiffened, and I eased backward, placing my feet with care until I stood against the back wall, near the taps.
Boogie Beach Page 6
