by Melissa Marr
“Lingerie?” Christy echoed.
“Or she sings,” Sera said. “Honestly, if she sang all her prattling answers, I’d listen to whatever she was going on about.”
I patted Christy’s shoulder and offered her my drink, forgetting the blood part until Christy winced. “Strictly non-blood, Gen.”
“Sorry.” I fired off a quick text to Eli, letting him know our changed plans.
When Allie returned, she refused to tell us what she’d rented until we rolled our bags to the car. There, gleaming like a bright, beautiful bad idea was a cherry-red Mustang convertible.
“Seriously?” Christy looked at Allie.
“Yep.” Allie popped her “p” like it was bubble gum. Then she tossed the keys to Christy. “You said you loved convertibles, and”—she motioned around us—“ocean.”
“Damn it.” Christy looked at me. “I’m done for.”
Sera and I laughed, and we all stowed the luggage and clambered into the car. No guards. No work. Four women in a convertible at the beach.
What could possibly go wrong?
* * *
By the time we reached the spa, things were so ideal that I expected the spa itself to be a dump. However, it was anything but low-brow. Christy pulled the car up to the lobby area, and bellmen swooped out to collect our bags and open our doors.
“I didn’t tell them I was coming,” Allie whispered quickly. “It’s like a stealth inspection.” Then she raised her voice and said, “Reservation for Zehr, party of four. Full deluxe package.”
“Of course. Right this way.”
We were ushered to the front desk, and I was glad I was sober enough to take in the lobby. A massive pedestal fountain, surrounded by tiers of flowers, dominated the high-ceilinged space. Some sort of soothing music, acoustic and earthy, filtered into the room. And the entire space was perfumed with some sort of—lavender? vanilla?-- earthy fragrance. I couldn’t identify it, but it was very relaxing.
A uniformed man approached with glasses of what looked like pink champagne, despite the early hour. Apparently, they took relaxation very seriously here.
I accepted a glass and glanced at my phone.
“We have no cell signal on the main grounds,” the man said in a low soothing voice. “Jarring things are not permitted, out of respect for the other guests. Phones will not work here.”
I expected a reply from Eli, but nothing came up. I frowned and tapped off another text to Eli. Sooner or later, he’d get the message when we hit a hotspot or I caught the wifi in the room.
At the desk, Christy was filling out paperwork. She paused, glanced at me, and slid a black credit card over to the woman. “For all expenses.”
The young woman took the card, ran it, and in short order, we were being whisked away through a maze of halls and across courtyards, each with burbling fountains and flowers. A young man with the sort of timeless beauty that spoke well of the spa’s service strolled through the grounds, leading us. It felt a bit like we were walking in circles, a labyrinth of landscaped beauty that I presumed he was showing off.
The group of us exchanged a few looks, pointing at flowers—especially the sheer number of Birds of Paradise. They could grow in New Orleans, but here they were seemingly cropping up like bright flocks around fountains.
“Through the statuary garden, you will find trails.” Our bellman--staff guide, whatever he was--motioned. “Beyond the spa rooms you can reach the ocean. Our facilities offer the best of Southern California without the inconvenience of driving or ever leaving the estate grounds.”
“It’s beautiful,” Allie said with a grin.
The bellman finally stopped beside a building. “Your casita.”
Sera stepped forward, but he put his hand up.
He slipped off his shoes, standing barefoot inside the door. No, at closer look, he had on what looked like thick gauze socks. “We want nothing outside to contaminate the cleansing energy of the casita.”
When none of us reacted, he added, “We don’t wear shoes inside.”
Once we all took off our shoes, he opened the door for us to walk inside. It felt a bit like the home I shared with Eli, as if nature had come inside. Another fountain. More scented air. This time, the earthy fragrance reminded me of jasmine.
Our guide walked to a large dinning table. On it were several carafes of chilled water condensation trickling down the bottles. And at the head of the table were four folders.
“Each client has a spa rejuvenation and detoxification schedule,” he explained. “This schedule will enable you to purify your body and soul.”
He pointed to wall where a color-coded “group schedule” was written out in lovely penmanship. “As you can see, meals are also scheduled. Your optimal nutrition for your age and fitness will be provided. No sharing of entrees, please, as it complicates the chef’s creative process.”
At that, Sera snorted.
“Can anyone enter the facility who isn’t a registered guest?” Allie prompted.
“Absolutely not,” he said sounding aghast at the thought. “We are an exclusive, private spa.”
“Excellent.” I wandered toward the kitchen, and then the living room, and finding nothing, paused. “Where is the bar here?”
“The casita is not stocked with alcohol.” Again with the appalled tone. “It’s dulling.”
Allie scowled. “So, it’s only served at the restaurant?”
“Restaurant?” The man pressed his lips together briefly. “Each guest will have a personally selected meal. We do not burden our guests with making decisions on meals that they may not enjoy.”
I exchanged a tense look with Allie. Somehow, I doubted that they’d have my preferred meals available, but we could always go out into San Diego and shop.
Christy shooed the man out. Once he was gone, she met my gaze, “Plan?”
I shrugged, determined not to let a teetotaling stance at the spa ruin my weekend. It was a minor inconvenience, but the resort was lovely, and the spa experience sounded destressing. “Spa visits, and then we can go out in the morning to grab my food.”
Chapter Six
Lunch arrived a while later. The waiter placed each tray in front of a seat. Our napkins were color-coordinated with our spa charts.
“Your needs are specific to your person,” the waiter said. “Your meals fulfill your particular needs in the best way. You will eat the meal provided.”
It felt like a threat, which didn’t do much for my already agitated mood. Then, I looked at my meal. It was a far cry from fulfilling my needs—and it was bleh. I wasn’t expecting quesadillas or loaded fries, but I expected a few goodies. My plate was carrot sticks and hummus, and with it was cucumber water and a “dessert plate” of berries and cheese.
The waiter left, and the four of us looked at the plates.
I was seriously starting to question our decision to stay here at the spa. It was bad enough that I’d starve, but the meals were depressing, too. Allie ended up with what looked like raw steak with a raw egg and onions draped over. That was it. Raw steak and cucumber water.
“Steak tartare,” Allie offered with a grimace. “Good for iron and protein. . . I guess. I need that to recover from the extra I’ll need to feed you, boss.”
“Blanched chicken, broccoli, and spinach,” Christy offered gesturing at her plate. “And a cheese plate.”
“Four bean salad.” Sera smiled at her heaping plate. “Did you tell them I was a vegetarian?”
Allie shook her head, poking a fork at her raw meat as if she could threaten it into being edible. “So, everyone is getting iron-rich, high protein meals?”
“Everyone but me. I got carrots,” I muttered. “Why carrots? Do I look like a bunny?”
“I’ll take them!” Allie offered. “You can have this bloody mess . . .”
I winced. I might drink blood in my breakfast smoothies, but I wasn’t going to eat raw meat. “Hard pass.”
“Maybe they expect us to collect nuts
and berries or catch a lobster at the beach,” Allie muttered before pushing away from the table.
“Not going to do much for my ‘specific nutritional needs,’ but I could certainly catch food for the rest of you,” I offered. “I’m more than fast enough to—"
“This will not do!” Allie interrupted. “I own this place. I will have real food and liquor, damn it. And so will you.”
The next thing I knew Allie tossed me a blood slushy from her carry-on and ripped open a candy bar she’d stashed in there. That bag was a veritable cornucopia of surprises.
“Either of you need anything?” Allie looked at Sera and Christy.
They shook their heads and dug into their dinners.
After a moment, Christy swallowed the first bite and asked hopefully, “Salt? Hot sauce?”
Ally pulled out a tiny restaurant packet of salt and a little jar of hot sauce. Then she withdrew a small airplane bottle of brown liquor of some sort. Rum? Whiskey? Bourbon? I had no idea. Mostly, we were all just marveling at the variety.
“I just need to grab a few things,” she muttered, pulling out a pair of tweezers, a jar of moisturizer, and a fig bar. She set them all aside. Finally, she pulled out a roll of duct tape with a victorious, “A-ha!”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“Eat.” Alice plopped an airplane bottle of bourbon beside the slushy bag of blood. “Get a facial. I’m going up to the office to explain the errors of their ways. I’ll be back before”—she glanced at the wall schedule—“our scheduled ‘relaxing group beach walk.’”
After Allie marched out, duct tape in hand, Christy whistled. “Man, if Lady B ever transfuses that one, Allie could run the whole hemisphere.”
We observed a moment of quiet while I searched for a tumbler to use for my blood and bourbon slushy. Honestly, I thought Alice had every right to be pissed off. It was a spa. Her spa. She came stealthily to investigate, and what she’d learned was worth a bit of yelling.
“Should we go after her?” I asked, thinking about the no cell phones policy. I had figured the phones would work in the rooms, but so far, I had no signal here either.
“She’ll come get us if there’s trouble.” Sera pointed out.
It wasn’t as if we lived in a city that lacked trouble, and Alice Chaddock was not a stranger to conflict, handguns, or pushy people. She was fierce and smart—and armed. I trusted her, but I was used to being the one marching into conflict.
“One hour,” Christy suggested. “She’ll yell. They’ll fix it. She bought this place, so they’ll get a quick lecture. If she’s not back after our ‘whirlpool or sauna session,’ we go after her. Her idea of waiting until the beach walk . . .”
“Three hours is way too long,” Sera agreed.
I wasn’t sure if it was paranoia, but I suggested, “Do you mind if I put all of our things—including shoes and keys—under a stasis spell?”
The relief in their expressions told me that I wasn’t the only person with a sliver of paranoia. I didn’t want to tote our belongings everywhere, but I was starting to have doubts about the staff.
“Please do! No shoes. No cell signal. No booze.” Christy met my gaze. “I’d feel better knowing our weapons were secure.”
I pulled on the magic that I could summon. I might not be able to raise the dead, but the draugr-blood made for a nourishing slushie. It was one of the more rejuvenating things I’d tried. I made a mental note to pay a visit to my grandmother to thank her for sending blood once we all returned to New Orleans, and then I heaped all of our things in one corner. I placed both a security layer—strong electrical charges on anyone my magic didn’t recognize—and a concealment layer over the luggage, weapons, and shoes.
Plan and spells in place, we finished our odd lunch, although I skipped the berries this time. I had a prickling feeling that being tipsy wasn’t ideal. Maybe I was overreacting. Allie was probably just dressing down her staff, possibly firing people or explaining that we needed proper meals. I was so used to threats that I saw danger everywhere. Sure, the spa was a little weird, but that wasn’t dangerous.
Twenty minutes later, Allie wasn’t back, but a guide with a satchel popped into the casita without so much as a knock or word.
Christy and I already had weapons drawn.
“Knock first.” I pointed my sword tip at him. “Make a note. What if we’d been changing or . . .”
“This is a spa, madam. You will be unclothed quite often. The staff is unaware of nakedness.” He sounded like he was mocking me, but not in any overt way that I could address. It was that passive-aggressive thing that always made me want to jab people the way Allie had with her raw meat meal.
“Knock,” I repeated. “Because I’m not always quick to ask questions before shooting.”
At first, he said nothing in reply, merely gestured toward the door with a calm, “I am here to escort you for the scheduled soothing spa or sauna session. Please join me.”
As we approached him, he offered us each a bundle with beige robes and some sort of woven thong-sandal things. “We are without shoes or wear only these on this ground in order to respect the soil.”
“Let us grab our suits, and we’ll be right with you.” Christy turned to walk into her bedroom.
“That won’t be necessary. Material has chemicals, and chemicals could create imbalance in the hot spring that we draw our water from.” The guide smiled beatifically. “Simply unburden yourselves of clothing, and we can depart.”
Silently, I sent a little magical buzz his way, just to “taste test” to see what he was. If he were a regular human, he wouldn’t react. If he was something else, I’d know—at least I would if my magic answered.
It fizzled before I could read him. Still no reliable access to my magic.
“Are there other people there?” I asked, worrying about my friends’ privacy. I was a witch, so being skyclad—naked—was as comfortable for me as dressed. But I wasn’t sure Christy was entirely at ease with walking around naked, and that was enough of a reason for me to object.
“You will have a towel for the sauna if you opt for steam over the hot pools. The spa is heated with the same water, so you will be purified either way.” He smiled again, and I was tempted to ask what he’d been smoking. The man was too damned chill.
Shoes left behind, wearing the least comfortable woven footwear I’d ever put on, we hobbled through the garden toward the spa. Weirdly, this was our second time walking outside, and we still hadn’t seen another soul.
“Is the spa always this empty?” I asked.
“Empty?”
“You know, no guests. Empty.”
He gave us another vacant smile. “We are at capacity, madam. Our guests are simply enjoying the benefits of a peaceful existence.”
“Okaaaay.” I glanced at my friends. They weren’t buying it either.
We walked in silence that felt eerie now, and that creeping feeling of dread didn’t relax when we stepped into a vacant spa.
“I’ll leave you in the care of your personal spa guide.” The man turned and left—after collecting our footwear.
“Select a pair of spa shoes,” the vacant-eyed spa guide said as she approached. “They are separated into size bins.”
We looked at each other as we collected our shoes. This time, we were given what appeared to be pea-soup green, tissue-paper “shoes.” They would do exactly nothing to protect our feet.
“Seriously?” Christy whispered.
“They’re crafted of pressed leaves,” the vacant-eyed spa guide said. “They’ll melt into the pools or protect your feet at the spa. When they fully vanish, it’s time to step out of the steam.” She gave us a wide-eyed smile. “Isn’t that clever? You don’t even need to watch the time. We like our guests to be freed of all responsibility.”
I’d never wanted a sturdy pair of sandals as much as I did today.
“They melt?” Sera echoed.
“It opens your pores, so when you depart the sp
a center you can absorb the earth,” the smiling woman added.
“So, we’ll be naked, wet, and barefoot?” Christy prompted.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” the woman said.
I think we were all too horrified to answer. This was turning into a vacation focused more on torture than relaxation.
“I’m Misty, your spa guide.” She smiled at each of us. “Let us begin.”
Chapter Seven
After Misty, the vacant-eyed spa guide watched us put on our shoes, she announced in an unsettlingly calm voice, “Who will be steaming?”
“Steaming?” Sera echoed.
“Hot steam will open your pores and soul,” Misty explained. “Calming scents will add to the rejuvenation.”
“And we keep a towel?” Christy clarified.
“Oh yes, you can sit on it or cover the softer parts from steam.” The young woman looked so earnest that I wanted to ask if they were steaming high grade marijuana or something else in the vents, but I was really trying to believe that this place was just extra-eco, extra-earthy, not corrupt. It was San Diego, for goodness’ sake! They didn’t even have draugr here.
“I’ll do the hot springs,” I said. “See you two after.”
Sera and Christy opted for the sauna, but I felt relatively certain that one of us ought to investigate the hot pool. I hoped I was being paranoid, but I was starting to have a strong suspicion that the employees were all high or drugged. I kept trying to explain it away as hippie-dom gone wild. But . . . Maybe it wasn’t simply extra. Maybe something was actually off here, and although I had no idea what it was, I wanted to ease my potential paranoia.
I waited in my robe and tissue paper shoes until Misty returned. Then, I followed her through a pair of wooden doors into a freezing cold room with a burbling steamy pool about the size of an extended, rectangular dining room table. The room was absent of plants, but the scent of something sweet was just this side of nauseating. Was that the drug? It was so sugary that I could taste it in the humidity.
