“No problem.”
I grabbed the beer pitcher, passed it to Charlie, and hauled ass to the dishwashing sinks. My dishwasher was nowhere.
Shit! Shit, shit, shit. Chelsea might be messing with me, but this was a train wreck. I pulled a line cook off, got him going, then ran to the bar and sanitized glasses. Charlie poked me in the ribs and nodded at the drink station.
“The fourth pitcher is your order, if you can run it.”
The line cook hustled in with a couple fresh trays of glassware and Charlie relaxed.
“Stay on the dishes, Max, and catch Charlie up at both stations. Thanks for floating.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
I ran the beer to Ballard’s table with a smile. “Sorry, I can’t chat longer. My dishwasher is MIA. Enjoy yourselves.”
Ballard reached over and nipped a drop of sweat off my cheek. “Better pace yourself.”
A phrase from the past, when we lay tangled in lust and careening, where he wanted more and to stay in the moment simultaneously. My eyes caught his, and I felt, rather than saw, the click.
The memories are coming back, but I don’t understand how. I need to talk to Clep.
Chapter 13
The Boogie’s last guests straggled outside, and the cashier locked the main doors as I called, “Staff meeting!”
The wait, kitchen, and bar employees pulled out barstools, and I tapped a beer for each, talking as I delivered.
“Good job on the event tonight, they left y’all a monster tip.”
I set pre-counted piles of cash on the bar and pushed them to my people. As was my norm for events, tips split across the front and back of the house because of the extra work for everyone.
“OK, we know the bikers arrived, and we’ll be hopping by Friday. Front of the house, be mindful of bikes turning around on the pier. Don’t let them park two wide, because of kids. Let’s avoid a repeat of that little monster that burned his leg on a tailpipe. Monitor the bathrooms and check for any paraphernalia, dropped drugs, or anything not kid friendly. Just keep them clean.”
Nods from everyone.
“Charlie, we’ll be running the usual specials on doubles and shots with beers, plus a discount on beer buckets at lunch with the purchase of a meal, which will cut back on glassware needs. The pricing will be on your POS by morning. It’s gonna get busy, and I want everybody on top of those drink reorders. Remember, these folks didn’t come here to knit. Sell them every ounce of booze you can.”
I tapped a last beer for myself and sipped. “Same bonus structure as before, so bust your asses.”
Big grins flashed.
“I need a new dishwasher. Send me your people.”
Gloria, an amazing server, spoke. “My nephew is new to town, he’s green, but…”
“Gloria, if he’s anything like you, send him in tomorrow morning. I’ll train anybody who wants to work and will stick. I know it’s tough to switch from disposable cups to eco friendly ones, but we can make this happen. Charlie, if you get weedy, I’ve got four cases of plastic reusable beer glasses in the storage room. Pull a case inside for your backup needs, and you can use your judgment if you need another.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
“Deep clean tonight, please. We won’t have another opportunity for two weeks, and the inspectors haven’t come through in a while. We’re due.”
That earned a couple eye rolls, but they nodded. “I’ll be in my office catching up paperwork. Thanks for your dedication. Let’s make a pile of damn money.”
Payroll finished, I watched the last of my staff lock and check the door, and trudge down the pier.
Every one of them works hard, and I’m super lucky to have them.
With a sigh, I let myself into The Boogey. Quiet, maybe ten magicals, normal after a full. Chelsea gave me a stinky little grin.
“He’s fired. Hope you’re happy.”
“Oh, he is, at least, since he ‘found’,” she made air quotes, “a bale of weed in the surf. He’s industrious and motivated, bagging it up for sale.”
“Well, I’m glad he’s found his calling.” With a sarcastic glance, I refilled her wine.
“Sorry, that was shitty of me.”
I poured a bourbon for myself, and we clinked. “Used to it. I knew it might fall either way.” I waggled my fingers back and forth between us. “We’ve met, you know.”
“Tell me about Zeus.”
“Not much to say, Chels. I’m still here. Not as pissed as I expected.”
“The big three aren’t happy with Gaia, so Zeus needs you… for now. Don’t consider this a permanent burying of the hatchet, Patra.”
I snorted. “Yeah, no worries there. He made that point.”
Heavy footsteps crossed the decking, and a chill entered the bar, dropping thirty degrees in an instant.
Holy crap.
“Keeper, I decided I needed to meet you for myself. Do you pour a Death’s Door?”
Hades wasn’t what I expected. I can see how, to a point, Persephone agreed to spend time with him. An ageless rocker vibe with long black hair, glimmers of purple shimmering in its depths, Hades had skin the color of a dude whose workday started at 9 pm, and deep set violet eyes that missed nothing. A black tee shirt strained across his chest and faded grey jeans molded to long legs. Death has a sexy butt, in case you wondered. Other than the chill, I liked him.
“Yes, I do, although it’s been a while since anyone asked me to craft one.”
Pulling keys from my pocket, I selected a delicate, ornate red key, slid it into the cabinet sunk between the banks of taps along my back wall, and laid my palm above the keyhole. With a click, the door swung open, and I pulled two black glass bottles from the depths. Shaped to resemble fierce rearing horses, stoppered with a two-faced glass head of the rider, they resembled your basic four horsemen of the apocalypse. Very cool, if death in a bottle was your thing. The patrons, muted because of our new guest, gathered around the bar to watch. I pulled an ancient, embossed leather box from the cupboard and prepared to build the cocktail.
The case opened with a creak and I lifted, then slid on a pair of black gloves. They molded and flowed, covering me from the neck to the knees in a magical apron. I returned to the cabinet and raised a special black skull-shaped glass, which I set between the two bottles. From the opened chest I removed three small boxes, placed precisely and opened, laying the tops above the bottoms. The last item was a long spoon with a writhing handle; the venomous snake’s hissing head turned to me, then Hades, before falling still.
Gloved fingers landed on the first bottle, and I twisted the stopper. The face opened its eyes. As it closed them, I poured three drops and tapped the empty top of the first box with the bowl of the spoon, then scooped up a single black crystal from its contents and placed it in the skull. I repeated the steps with the second face and box, then the third face on the second bottle, followed by the third box. I then twisted the stopper to the final visage. It grinned.
“So thirsty.”
I nodded, and selected the knife from the leather box and pricked my lip, a drop of blood welling in front of the tiny face, then pressed my mouth against the stopper. As I pulled away, in a single fluid motion, I unstoppered and poured, filling the skull. Smoke roiled from the glass, and the magicals backed up, eyes watering.
A shower of sparks, and the drink finished evolving. An incredible fragrance of honey and spice filled The Boogey. Hades took the proffered cup, flashing a grin.
“You are as they said, Keeper. A suitable sacrifice.”
I nodded, returning the items to the box in the precise order, turning the stoppers to their original positions, then pulling the fingers of the gloves, which restored to size. With care, I returned the entire setup to the cupboard, sans the skull glass, shut it with my palm, and removed the key.
It helps that the drink is self refilling; make it once and done.
“May I ask a question?” This was risky, but hell, he came to my bar. I though
t it was worth a shot.
Death appeared amused. Great. Here goes nothing.
“I’ve seen you, Poseidon, and Zeus in the space of two earth days. What do you want from me?”
“From us? To a minion? Are you serious?”
Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, a pointed question is a god’s way of reminding you to back the fuck up so you can stay alive. My heart, never calm around god mojo, clattered in my chest. Despite that, something, something didn’t jive. Peace crept through my blood.
Huh. So it’s like that? More help? OK, Patra, do the job. No point in hiding now.
“Dead serious. Pun intended.”
The expected punishment never materialized; instead Hades threw back his head and howled in laughter. “No wonder Poseidon adores you, and Zeus hates your guts. Ever consider checking out the dark side?”
A black feeler, resembling a shiny ivy vine, lifted from his palm, and I held his gaze.
“No sexy times. I’m off limits to everybody. Perhaps you haven’t been following along, but I’ve got shit to do.”
A chuckle etched across my skin, but the feeler returned and vanished. He tapped the bartop three times, and the bar emptied. We were alone.
“Well, bold Keeper, I have one small task you might help us with, if you were so inclined,” he leaned toward me and my knees knocked. Death packs a punch.
“And that would be?”
“Gaia is a colossal pain in my ass. Primordial this, puny god that, she’s never happy, blah, blah, blah, always changing the rules, and those prophecies? It takes a millennium to work around that bullshit.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing you can’t handle, Keeper. We just want you and your little gas ball buddies to catch her and ship her irritating carcass to Tartarus. Gaia’s got fam there, so laissez les bon temps rouler.”
Let the good times roll? Holy shit. The only thing rolling in this scenario is my head.
“So you want me to ask the Vapors to do Zeus a solid? Zeus. Good grief.” I worked hard on my tone and failed.
Hades chuckled. Another trio of taps and we were no longer alone. Chelsea blinked and glared, disliking the idea of being out of the loop.
“Trust me,” his lips pulled back in a gut quaking smile. “It’ll be fun.”
Chapter 14
Bikes parked the entire length of the pier and filled my closest lot. The blatting was so loud I couldn’t think, and Charlie was a blur. Every seat was full, my standing room made a mosh pit look spacious, and money was flying.
“Charlie, I’m sliding in to help. I’ll work the left side and the outer ring for you. Keep rockin’ it.”
His nod, not breaking concentration, was enough. Years ago, working The Boogie with Billy, I cut my chops at this bar, and it felt good to slip those shoes back on for an afternoon. Flirt, pour, POS, repeat. Cha-ching.
We got a breather about 3:30, and Charlie restocked while I sanitized glasses and swapped the tills. Early, but cash over filling the drawers is an excellent problem.
Gloria, hair whisping out of her crown of braids, waggled a finger. “Randy says we’ll be out of shrimp by tonight.”
“Thanks, Gloria. Charlie!” He glanced my way. “I gotta order fresh. Back in five.”
In a trot, I skidded into my office, where the blatt of Harleys was a couple decibels less, and tapped my phone.
“Hey Hottie, it’s Patra.”
Lester was sixty, looked ninety, and was a shrimping legend. Getting shrimp from the market during Bike Week was iffy because of high demand. I learned long ago to have a direct relationship with a shrimper as a backup plan.
“Honey, I hope you aren’t calling me to up your order.”
“By fifty percent. Can you help a broke-ass pier owner out?”
“Darlin’ you’re as broke as I am.”
“And I work almost as hard.”
A deep chuckle filled my ear. “How many days?”
“I’m loaded with bikes. Will you bump me up for the next 6 days?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“You are the best. Thank you, Lester. Once the bikers go home and I can hear myself think, bring your wife and have an evening on me.”
“We’ll do that.”
I stuck my head into The Boogey, and Chelsea shot me a thumbs-up sign. A couple of covens and a pair of bears sipped wine around the bar. While unusual to get that many during an afternoon, watching the human bikers through the magic wall had entertaining moments. It’s their version of reality TV.
I headed back to Charlie at a trot, eyeing my groups and grabbing reorders. The rest of the day flew in a blink. I changed my shirt, dropping the sweaty one into the laundry bag under my desk, dusted talc under my boobs, and weighed in for the evening’s rush. For the first day, we killed. If it kept up, we’d have the best Bike Week in years.
I should know better than to rattle the gods with optimism.
The Boogie closes at nine, and I had the last tabs settled and boots thudding along the pier to the final bikes before ten. For them, the party was just getting started. Well, for me too. As the crew cleaned up, I chatted with Gloria’s nephew, Parker, who did an amazing job for his first day, then dragged ass to my office and palmed through to The Boogey for my night shift.
Guru sat on a barstool, a glass of water in front of him, fingertips templed, eyes closed. Along the far side, Chelsea glowered. Not good.
“You’re out late,” I slid my tired butt behind the bar and washed my hands in the sink. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Information.” His lids flipped open, and I’d seen friendlier stares from pissed wolves.
“If I can,” I said. “I appreciated your help with the cleanup.”
“I detect a god signature here. Who talked to you?”
“I haven’t been in The Boogey all day, Guru. It’s Bike Week, so Chelsea has the afternoon shift. I can’t breathe over there.”
He grunted. “She said no gods were here. Who’s lying?”
Chelsea’s eyes flamed green; she flicked a finger, and Guru’s water erupted in fire. “Careful, Guru. You are not my superior. Is testing the power of your impudence against a High Priestess on your bucket list?”
I always wondered if she was the boss. Now I know.
Guru’s head turned, holding Chelsea’s glare. He blinked first, which saved him from starring in a cup of coffee on my balcony in the near future.
“It is not,” he said, rising and turning his gaze to me. “Keeper, if you speak with a god, I expect you to inform me at once.”
My skin, as sweaty as it was, tingled with electricity to the point of pain, and I quaked, gripping the bar edge to stay upright.
What the hell?
Vapor language traced across my arms, forming a glowing line of emotive symbols. As the patterns connected, they illuminated before disappearing, rearranging, and relighting with a new message.
Guru’s skin tone faded from warm brown to pasty tan as he read, swallowed with an audible click, spun on his heel, and marched out of The Boogey.
I shuddered as the world went dark, then dropped to the decking with a thud, Chelsea’s frantic “Patra!” the last sound my tired ears heard.
I woke in a hammock of air, skin itchy and on fire, desperate to focus.
“Where am I? What happened?”
The Boogey stopped swimming; from my vantage point, suspended waist high off the ground, I blinked in confusion as Chelsea, her mom, Glenna, and Poseidon peered at me.
“This is fucking weird. Please set me on my feet.”
Poseidon placed a finger on the space between my eyebrows, then withdrew it with a puzzled expression.
“Nothing,” he muttered, before fading away.
“How do you feel,” Glenna asked, poking me.
“My skin is hot and scratchy.”
A clinking from her waist sack accompanied her muttering. “No, not you, yes!”
She tipped the vial into my mouth and my skin smoot
hed out.
“Much better. Thank you, Glenna.”
She glanced at Chelsea, shrugged, and snapped. Chelsea waved her hand and my body floated from horizontal to vertical and drifted until my feet hit the floor.
“Did you see them? Can you remember them?” My eyes held hers, intentional.
“Yeah.”
“Follow me!” I spun, heading to my office at a trot with Chelsea on my heels; her spell cracked against The Boogey’s door, sealing it from magical entry.
“Girl, you’re in some deep shit now,” Chelsea muttered, grabbing the teak folding chair and scrooching closer to my desk.
“You have no fucking idea.”
That earned me a side eye, but since Hades hid the conversation, there’s no way I can tell her. I lay my palm on the hidden cupboard and pulled out the book.
“Show me the language of the Vapors.”
The record’s pages filled with swirls, and Chelsea studied each page. “This one,” her finger hovered, knowing not to touch. “Then this tornado symbol and here is the third.”
“Was that it?”
“What? Hell no. I saw three distinct messages. OK, for the second set, hmm, I think this,” her eyes traveled over the symbols, “or maybe this one. They’re similar. Here, this was the second piece, then this banana shaped figure, and that squished box one.”
“And the third message?”
“Two curly cues, here, and here, but not connected. One was intact and the other lined through the middle.”
“As in crossed out?”
“Exactly.”
“I remember feeling that line cross through the symbol. Hurt like hell. Deep. Meant. OK, give me a minute.”
Huh, we’ve got mother’s abiding love, anger, and disappointment. This is a message for Gaia! Jeez. Message number two begins with either love or sorrow, since Chelsea wasn’t sure, followed by deception, uncertainty, and grief? Crap. Okay, and the last is peace with death lined out below it. Holy shit.
“Chelsea, the Vapors communicated, through Guru, to Gaia. They aren’t happy with her. The second message either says they support the reset or condemn it, and the final one is peace at all costs.”
Salt Shaken Page 8
