Hex on the Beach

by Melissa Marr

  He paused until I nodded.

  Once I did so, he continued, “I will allow my future bride to depart back to your world, but you are bound by our bargain to bring her here to know this world and people. In due time I shall inform her of our future.”

  “I don’t know whether to feel tricked or simply worried for you,” I admitted, thinking about the fury that Alice would direct at the king when she discovered his intentions. She could, of course, refuse him—and it would serve him right. I met his gaze and said only, “So mote it be, Marcus of Stonehaven, King of Elphame. This bargain is accepted.”

  “So mote it be,” he repeated with a cheerful grin.

  In the next moment, twenty-odd guards joined us. And in another blink Marcus had rent a hole in the air. Unlike mine, his gate was instant, elegant, and shimmering like opals had been drawn from the soil to create a stately archway.

  “Together into the battle?” Marcus offered.

  “With pleasure,” I agreed, but this time I was grinning in anticipation.

  I had monsters to slay and magic to use.

  Chapter Eleven

  We stepped out of Elphame onto the beach in San Diego. The waves slammed against the shore, and birds of some sort seemed to cartwheel through the sky, riding currents in the air. The taste of salt lingered in the air, and a glance at the horizon told me that the ocean truly did seem to end the world. It was a lovely stretch of sand, spotted with large rocks and sprinkled with tidal pools.

  “They wouldn’t have had to drug me to keep me here if they’d simply showed me this,” I murmured, partly to myself.

  “We have a sea at home,” one of the guards pointed out.

  “Elphame is still new to me. As a girl, I used to dream of pirate ships and lost islands. Foes to fight and sea creatures to discover.” I smiled briefly, thinking back to books I’d devoured. “When both the fae and the draugr are normal to you, when magic is in your veins, sometimes it’s nature that holds the most allure.”

  “Indeed,” Marcus said in an odd tone. There were secrets hidden in that word that I wanted to ask him to explain, but now was not the time. He added, “This nature has allowed the dead to invade their shore. Man has forgotten to learn his history. The draugr do not need air as we do. They can walk out of the sea.”

  “So the gates . . .”

  “Are useless,” Marcus finished. He gave me a look. “They do not stop your kind, Death Maiden.”

  “Classy,” I muttered. Louder, I added, “I’m not dead, Marcus. Not all draugr. I need air, just like you.”

  Then I turned away from the faery king and let my magic roll out in front of me like a wave, and with disuse or perhaps with the added juice of my new genetics, my wave was neither gentle nor subtle. My magic rolled like a tsunami across the beach, the spa, the city as a whole.

  I could summon armies, I thought with a shiver of something that felt more like pleasure than fear.

  “Daughter of Mine?” Beatrice’s voice filled my mind. “Are you unwell? Imperiled?”

  “San Diego. Girls’ Weekend. Spa is run by draugr that have magic and drugs.” I continued to walk, feeling the dead in the distance awaiting my summons. “Got my juice back. Could raise a city . . .”

  “Please do not.” My dead grandmother sounded worried. “Are you alone?”

  “Nope. Uncle Marcus popped out of Elphame to wage war at my side. Brought a wee army. We’re family bonding with swords and violence.” I glanced at the king, who looked at me curiously.

  “Fight well. Draugr, even those with magic, are susceptible to your will. Speak if you have need of my aid.”

  Then I felt her withdraw from my mind. Whatever secrets she had were not ones she was sharing today. Perhaps she was envious. She did like a good fight.

  Or she might be possessive. My grandmother was not entirely fond of the fae.

  Or perhaps she knew what draugr were here and intended that I resolve this issue.

  I made a mental note to talk to Beatrice. Dear old gran wasn’t above using me as a weapon, and typically I might not object. This time, though, she’d sent me to battle alongside my very human friends and without my magic.

  I concentrated, sending what I thought of as tendrils of curiosity out toward the spa. Six draugr were here. They were old, but not ancient. Two were magical.

  “Six dead biters,” I said to the fae. “Two work energy.”

  “You didn’t plan to tell us about that until now?” a guard asked.

  “Had to be here to feel them.” I shrugged. “Death Maiden thing.”

  We ascended the cliff from sea to spa. My foot slipped a few times on the loose rocks and sand, but no one else seemed to struggle. They lived in nature. I’d spent the last few years on concrete sidewalks or dodging the roots of old oaks in the cemetery.

  At the top, a man in a linen suit of some sort, yoga teacher meets lost-in-the-desert prophet, stood waiting.

  “Friends,” he started. “Such violence is not welcome here.”

  “Dead,” I announced. “Old dead if he’s in the sun like this.”

  The man gave me a pitying smile. “Oh, child. Not at all. I’ve simply found enlightenment. Breathe peace with me.”

  “You trap people here. Fruity drugs or whatever.” I gestured to the pink-tinted water that sprayed from the misters.

  “I encourage peace through natural—”

  “Nope.” I sent a thought toward the misters, freezing them, stopping the toxins. “Not stalling while you wait for everyone to ‘breathe peace.’”

  The beatific expression vanished. Fangs dropped. And he charged—toward the king. The dead guy clearly thought he could flow and latch onto Marcus’ throat before anything happened. No older draugr at home would make such a mistake, so it was nice to have my draugr-traits as a surprise for a change.

  I flowed, almost as fast as the draugr yoga-preacher.

  My back was to Marcus’ chest before anyone could blink. My own fangs were sticking out as my temper sparked. Magic made my bright blue hair shiver as if actual serpents extended from my scalp.

  “My family is off limits,” I said as I shoved magic into the draugr.

  I was surprised when he simply blinked at me and said, “Mistress?”

  “Not the leader,” I explained. “Too weak.”

  “Mistress, how may I serve your guests?” the now befuddled fanger asked.

  With a sigh I stepped away, and in the next heartbeat, Roisin had severed his head. Another guard kicked the head away.

  “He attempted injury to the king,” Roisin explained with a shrug.

  We continued onward, quickly dispatching the next two draugr. Marcus and I beheaded one each. He chortled happily when his quarry put up a decent fight. Truthfully, I thought he missed several obvious openings to end the fight, and I said as much.

  “Why not extend a fight for your joy if it’s not truly dangerous to do so?” he asked.

  I couldn’t truly fault his logic. My own fight was far easier than I wanted. This entire excursion felt like the proverbial walk in the park--and not just because we traveled with armed fae guards. My magic was back awake inside of me. I felt like I could stay awake for years, take on hordes. I couldn’t fault a king who had missed the fields of battle.

  We made our way toward the spa building. I felt at least one more draugr there, but as we were walking through the garden, I felt multiple new dead signatures. Gaps where there hadn’t been any. Early on in my life, I’d thought that meant a new draugr had arrived, but now that I was older, I realized it was something worse: new death.

  People were dying, murdered. I felt sick enough that I stumbled as the number of gaps continued. I couldn’t get to all of them in time, no matter what I did. How was I to choose? All life mattered, and I felt suddenly helpless.

  “Niece?” the king prompted.

  “Murders,” I managed. “Rooms.”

  “Draugr?” Marcus asked, eyes gleaming in anticipation of a fight. “How many?”
/>
  “Two draugr. Killing.” I shook my head, trying to focus. Was it better to go to the rooms? Or the spa? There were three draugr on site here, and they all needed to be stopped.

  “You know these monsters better than I, Geneviève. What do you need?” Marcus asked.

  “Stay.”

  The king quirked his brow at me, but he gave orders, sending fae guards to the rooms as we continued toward the spa.

  Once it was just us, he murmured, “Most fae wouldn’t speak to me like a disobedient hound.”

  I scoffed. He was lucky I could speak at all. My senses were all screaming as body after body died. The spa obviously had been at capacity. All of those people gone. All of those lives ended.

  I hoped the fae warriors were prepared to handle the draugr there. My heart ached at the thought of their deaths, but my magic screamed that the draugr at the spa was stronger. They could handle the others. I had to go to the spa. Magic recognized its own, and now that I was back in possession of all of my capacities, I knew this draugr was one of my kind: magic and death.

  I glanced at Marcus before we entered the lobby. “This is my fight, uncle. I need you to defend yourself and take the head if you can.”

  Marcus gave a curt nod. “Why?”

  “Death magic.” I jerked the door open and let my magic roll out like a hammer seeking a target. No subtlety. “Hey, asshole! I’m here for your head.”

  At my side, Marcus made a noise that might’ve been a laugh.

  We stalked past the front desk where a man was slumped over, blood not yet congealing on the savaged wound on his neck.

  “All I wanted was a relaxing weekend,” I called out. “Some fruity drinks and beach time. A massage. But nooooo, you ruined it.”

  I slammed open the locker room, heading toward the draugr with the unerring focus of a bloodhound on a scent trail. I felt his dead presence as surely as any corpse. This one, though shimmered in a way that only Beatrice did—and my great-times-great grandmother was the only other magical draugr I knew.

  “Come out, come out, frog nuts!”

  I kicked open the door to the spa where I’d been half-high on that fruity fog earlier, and there stood the tallest man I’d ever seen. At almost seven foot and change, the draugr standing in the steamy room looked like he’d done a few turns on a medieval torture rack and stepped off. His eyes widened at the site of Marcus, and without using whatever magic he had been utilizing to control the people enslaved at this toxic hell-spa, the lanky draugr wrongly assumed that the faery king was the biggest threat.

  “You come here, onto my ground, with your fae magic and—”

  “Way to be sexist,” I interrupted the villain monologue he was about to spout.

  “You.” The draugr studied me. “Why is your heart beating if you are of us?”

  “Because I’m alive.” I shoved my death magic into my blade . . . accidentally . . . and for a blink I faltered. That hadn’t been what I meant to do, but now my fae-wrought sword was glowing like some sort of bad special effect in an 80s movie.

  “You’re a draugr. Submit to my authority. I am William of Diego, regent of this place.” The too-tall dead guy flashed fang at me, as if it was some official dead person greeting. Hell, maybe it was, but I wasn’t here to chat.

  I flowed, stopping across the pool from him. “Not really looking for a king, Billy.”

  “I am the draugr ruler of this—"

  “I’m a necromantic witch, and I’m full up on regents ordering me around.” I flashed my own fangs, though, as if in a reactive response. Behind me I heard Marcus moving, and I knew he was looking for an opening.

  “Get rid of the steam, Marcus,” I called, hoping fae magic was as powerful here as in Elphame.

  As I felt magic that felt like summer fill the hot springs room, Tall Bill lunged to try to steal my sword or bite me. I honestly couldn’t tell because when he got closer, the magic in my sword flashed out like a shield and enclosed the two of us in a bubble of magic.

  I made a mental note to figure out what that was because being trapped with the thing trying to kill me wasn’t exactly ideal. For now, I just hoped that the magical bubble wouldn’t drop out from under us.

  “Okay, Bill, you can either surrender or—”

  He snapped again, like a rabid dog who’d forgotten his remaining manners. This time his teeth caught my shoulder and tore into the meat of my arm.

  “Or, I can make you,” I finished, reaching out mentally to try something that suddenly seemed possible. I shoved life into Bill, mentally massaging his heat, coaxing it to beat, and filling his lungs with air. I pulled the fae magic into my necromancy, and in that moment, I tugged a half-century old draugr into living.

  He stepped back, throwing himself at the magical bubble in horror, clutching his chest as he noticed the long-silent heart begin to beat.

  “Stop. Stop this,” Bill begged me, voice sounding older, weaker by the second.

  And something cold inside me smiled. “Certainly.”

  I tugged all of my magic back, and Bill’s centuries of existing as a walking, biting dead man caught up in front of my eyes. Bill aged rapidly, and as mortal men can’t live for centuries, Bill withered, died, and floated away in dust.

  My magic retracted into my body, dropping the bubble from under my feet, and I fell in an ungraceful crash into the hot spring.

  “Son of a monkey!” I stood up, sopping wet and trying to scramble out before the toxins made me high.

  “I purified it,” Marcus offered as he extended a hand.

  Embarrassed, wet, and a little mortified at the joy I felt in ending Dead Bill’s un-life, I stepped out of the hot spring and shoved my wet hair back.

  We made it as far as the front desk before we were met by the same son-of-a-weasel who had been at Tomes and Tea arguing with Jesse. He was stacking files, shredding some, and singing what sounded like a sea shanty.

  “Ms. Crowe,” he greeted. “I had thought that the stories were exaggerated.”

  “What? How?” I blinked at him. Of all the things I’d dealt with of late, this one was the first to surprise me.

  Marcus raised his sword. “What are you doing here, Chester?”

  “Chester?” I echoed.

  The man raised a hand. “Please skip the prurient jokes, Ms. Crowe.”

  I wanted to object, but I resembled that remark. A lot. So I simply said, “Who are you? Why are you here? And why does he”—I motioned to Marcus—“know you?”

  “You are far more adept than anyone had reported.” Chester tapped the files in his hands like an orderly office manager. “For an untrained Hexen, you’re capable.”

  I flinched. Capable? That was the sort of flattering that sat next to “nice.” And while I didn’t think I was the best thing since sliced bread, I was a lot more than merely capable. I was an original. I was a half-draugr witch who melded with a faery prince. The faery prince, as a matter of fact. I opened my mouth, temper getting ahead of logic.

  “You knew about this?” Marcus said, forcing focus back to the matter at hand.

  Chester shrugged. “It wasn’t sanctioned if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I watched him, still fairly in the dark, and realized that the little tiff at the bookstore was an act. He was powerful enough that the King of Elphame was being cautious.

  “Who are you?” I asked again. “What are you?”

  Chester straightened his impeccable suit before he smiled. “I maintain balances, educate, and sometimes assassinate. You made a mess of this place.”

  “They were keeping people in . . . vegetative states.” I stepped closer. “And they attacked me and mine.”

  “And yet . . . here you are.” Chester made a tsk-ing noise. “You seem unharmed.” He shoved the files in a drab leather briefcase and snapped it shut. “And you restored a deceased Hexen. Granddaughter to a draugr. Niece of a king. That’s a lot of influence for one . . . woman.”

  Marcus put a restraining hand on my
arm, which Chester noted. Then the man—being?—departed with a poof of jasmine scented pink smoke.

  I looked at Marcus. “He? That? He was involved?”

  “Perhaps.” Marcus released my arm. “But . . . Geneviève?”

  “Hmmm?” I met the king’s gaze.

  “You’re a terrifying being.” The king held my hand as he spoke. “Know that if I had knowledge of the power level that you’d achieve by melding with Eli, I’d have killed you. Chester, however, is liable to do so if you provoke him. Be cautious with your choices.”

  I swallowed. I wasn’t sure what Chester was, but I knew I really didn’t want to fight with the king of Elphame. Carefully, I explained, “I had no idea that the trio of . . . heritages? . . . That being this would be so unstable.”

  Marcus nodded. “I believe you, but know that if you ever try to wrest power from me or threaten my people, you will not survive.”

  “You think you could kill me?” The question was out before I could think about what I was saying.

  “Spouses are bound in life span. To kill my nephew is to kill you.” Marcus released my hand finally. “It would be wise to remember that if you face enemies who do not hold him in the same high regard that I do.”

  And I heard that both as the wisdom it was—that I ought to make sure my spouse knew everything, and so was able to keep himself protected—and as the threat that it was. If he thought it was necessary, the king of Elphame would kill his nephew to save his people.

  We walked out of the spa building in tense silence, only to be greeted by the rest of the fae soldiers.

  They gave reports to the king as we all made our way to a good spot to return to Elphame. Only Roisin was bold enough to ask if I was well, but the best I could do was nod. My magic was back, and it had brought new tricks with it. I needed time to think and process—and I needed my husband at my side.

  My “Girls Weekend” wasn’t anywhere near what I’d expected, but obviously it had achieved the unspoken goal: I had relaxed enough that my magic was back.