The Deadly Daiquiri

by Tegan Maher

  Shane smiled and slung his bar towel over his shoulder. "He didn't have to. In the five years I've known him, he's never ordered anything other than that right there."

  Michael gave him a half smile as he squeezed ketchup onto his plate. "If it ain't broke, don’t fix it."

  It was one of the few times he let his Southern roots slip through, and I smiled, glad to catch a glimpse of the old him.

  We were halfway through lunch when his phone chimed. He glanced down at it, then nodded to us. "It's the video."

  I scooched closer because I wanted to see the witches. As luck would have it, there was a plant blocking the part of the bar where the drinks were sitting, and I made a mental note to remedy that as soon as I got back.

  It cleared the witches, a couple of giggly chicks who ordered layered frozen drinks. I disliked them on principle but had to rule them out as suspects. Unfortunately, the plant was blocking where Colin had been sitting, too, so he was not in the clear.

  "What about the video of the gargoyles?" Colin asked. We were both hovered over Michael, one of us watching over each shoulder.

  Michael pulled up the next video. It showed me delivering them, then the exchange between Cass and me. I had to admit, the look of disdain on my face as I left the table didn't do anything to aid my cause.

  He froze it on the next frame, the one that showed all three of the gargoyles' faces clearly. Michael jabbed a finger at the screen, pointing at the middle gargoyle.

  "I don't recognize the other two for sure, but that one's been hanging around the Brass Tack, an antique store that's a front for the gargoyle faction in town. Money laundering, stolen goods, gambling, loan sharking."

  "So he'd have access to death essence, then," Colin said.

  Michael nodded. "Whether he's got the pull and the cash to get it is another question, but I have no doubt that crew could get whatever they wanted."

  "So," Tempest said, stuffing one of Michael's tater tots into her mouth, "We've narrowed it down to three, then, and two of them are sitting right here.” She looked back and forth between Colin and me, then appraised him, head tilted. She had her own special kind of magic, but she didn't let on what she saw.

  "I say we go home," she said, turning to me. "You have no business chasing after gangster gargoyles in the armpit of the supernatural world. Your brother can do that."

  She turned to Colin. "As far as you're concerned, you need to figure out where your loyalties lie. You're holding back. I don't know what, but you know more than you're saying."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ONCE WE WERE OUTSIDE the Cracked Cauldron, I figured Michael would go his way and we'd go ours. Colin said he had some business to take care of, but I was surprised when Michael turned in the same direction as I did. I shouldn't have been though; as protective of me as he was, I should have figured he'd see me home safely.

  He led me into an empty alley, glanced around, and held out his hand. I scooped up Tempe, and Rocky leaned against Michael's leg.

  "C'mon," he said. "We'll go together."

  I furrowed my brow. "I've been porting since I was twelve," I said. "I think I can manage."

  Rather than argue with me, he scooped up my hand, grinned, and the next thing I knew, we were standing outside the north border of the resort.

  "See? How hard was that?" he said once I regained my balance.

  "Not hard at all, which is why I would have been fine doing it myself," I said, hefting my backpack into a better position.

  Michael hadn't let go of my hand, and he squeezed it.

  "Destiny, please let me handle this. And don't be alone with the werewolf until we figure out what he's hiding. For me?"

  I sighed. To be honest, I wasn't sure where to go from there anyway.

  "Okay," I said, "but I'll keep watch for them around here. I have a feeling Cass wasn't the end of it."

  "Fair enough," he said, pulling me into a one-armed hug. "Just don't leave the resort."

  "Yes, Dad."

  He shoved me toward the door, marked by two boulders on either side of it. To a human, it would just look like a couple big rocks against the cliff among a ton of other big rocks. He crossed his arms and waited as I placed my palm against the cliff and didn't move as I stepped through.

  I turned back to him after it swung shut behind me, and he gave a general wave in my direction; he could no longer see me. I could see him, though, as he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

  Tempe jumped down from my shoulders, watching the boys leave. Her brow was furrowed in concern. "I worry about them. They seem darker every time we see them."

  "Yeah, me too," I said, stepping onto the path that led back to the resort.

  "I just hope my troubles don't get him killed."

  I used the time it took to get back to the resort to mentally organize the puzzle pieces I had. Some of them worked, but most of them were just random parts of a picture I couldn't see.

  What would a gargoyle gain from killing an angel, and what prize was big enough to make it worth the risk?

  Why was an angel’s assistant, whatever that was, following me? I tried to puzzle out the expression on her face when she was crossing the street toward me. She'd had her hand out and had looked determined. But determined to what? Kill me or protect me from the guy who grabbed me from behind?

  Michael'd been miffed that we hadn't tied the guy up or restrained him in some other way so he could have questioned him, but after I explained that things were turning ugly, he got over it. He, of all people, knew how fast the fire could spread in that area of town.

  I didn't say anything, but I wish I would have thought of it, too. Hindsight was twenty/twenty, though.

  Dimitri, our second bartender, was behind the bar. It always amazed me how different the fleet-footed faerie was than Bob, yet they were both great bartenders. Whereas Bob tended to be laidback and rocked the whole relaxed, island vibe, Dimitri was the life of the party, kickin' it to Buffett on the jukebox and tossing together fruity drink shooters for Elena to sell.

  "Hey, Des," he said, smiling as he slid a citrus water toward me. He liked to use lemons, oranges, and limes. It gave it a different flavor than my usual, so it was a nice change.

  "Hey, Dimitri," I answered, taking a big drink of my water. It was a scorcher, and I'd broken a sweat even though the walk from the border wasn't that far. "Has everything been okay?"

  "Sure," he said, wiping down the bar. "Fiona and her crowd came down for lunch. This is their last day, so she said to tell you she'd see you next time."

  He seemed to want to say something but was holding back.

  "Anything else?" I prompted.

  "Yeah," he drew in a deep breath, then released it. "Though I didn't know if I should mention it or not."

  He was paying extraordinary attention to a nonexistent dirt spot on the bar. It only took me a second to figure out what he was trying to get around to—Blake and the brunette.

  As badly as I wanted to think of her as a bimbo, I couldn't. She'd seemed classy, and the smile she'd given me when he tried to introduce us had been real. And I didn't want him to be alone and miserable forever. Much.

  "Don't worry," I said. "I ran into them up at the resort yesterday."

  "Phew." He blew a puff of air out through his cheeks. "I didn't want to be the one to tell you, but I didn't want it to blindside you, either."

  "Oh, it did that, all right," I said. "I was on my way to his office when they came off the elevator together."

  "Ouch," he said, then glanced at my outfit. "Please tell me you didn't go to see him dressed in anything like that and that you had some makeup on."

  I glowered at him. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" It stung a little though, because he'd hit the nail on the head since I'd been wishing I'd taken the time to clean up, too.

  "Then double ouch," he said, taking my protest as a confession.

  "Yeah," I said, turning my back to him and propping my elbows on the bar behind me so I co
uld gaze out over the water. "Double ouch, for sure."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SINCE EVERYTHING WAS going well at the tiki, I figured I'd go to my cottage to put away my goodies. I'd spelled the backpack to hold everything I needed, but I didn't want to risk breaking the candles or having the lotions Mila'd given me leak all over the cereal I'd picked up. The candies were probably already squished beyond redemption, but that wouldn't stop me from plowing through them later.

  I noticed a half-empty glass of water sitting on the bar a few stools down, the coaster under it soggy as though it had been there for a while. Stan made his way from the bathroom and pulled himself up on the stool rather than heading to his usual table.

  I figured I must have mistaken the water for a vodka tonic, but Dimitri shook his head and whispered, "He's been sitting there like a kicked hellhound pup all day, sipping water and sighing a lot. He won't talk."

  I was shocked when I took a closer look. His usually pristine white diaper—excuse me, loincloth—wasn't so pristine. It was a dingy gray with what I prayed were barbecue sauce stains on it.

  His elbows were on the table, and his head hung forward between his shoulders. A good three days' worth of stubble covered his sunburned cheeks, and his curly blond hair was stringy and matted. In short, he looked like he'd hit rock bottom.

  You're gonna have to do something about that before we go anywhere, Tempe said, and she was right.

  I sighed and swung my backpack gently onto the nearest stool, then headed toward the hang-dog cherub, hoping he didn't burst into tears. I didn't deal well with those sorts of situations.

  I tried to breathe through my mouth as I approached him; if I had to guess, he hadn't had a date with a bar of soap in at least three days. He pivoted his head sideways to look at me through bloodshot eyes when I patted him on the shoulder.

  "Stan, my man. What's goin' on?"

  He heaved a great sigh. "I'm obsolete, Des."

  "Aw, Stan, that's not true."

  "It is," he replied, and his eyes welled up. Ah crap; so much for no crying. Still, my heart went out to the poor guy.

  "No, what you need to do is find a better class of people. Stop hangin' out in bars and following the dating websites. Those were great for a few years, but they've grown passé. People go there for kicks, not true love. Or most people do, anyway. Anyone lookin' for love on a barstool's fallen farther down the rung than you have."

  "Really?" he asked, a trickle of hope in his voice. "You think finding some new workplaces would help?"

  "I know they would. Try places like this. Or maybe those couples’ retreats. Singles’ cruises, though watch out for the players there. Outdoor events, sporting events. Anywhere people go to enjoy shared interests."

  He was starting to perk up a little and reached forward for his glass. "Yeah, and maybe I should be a little more selective, too. For the last few decades, I've been going for quantity over quality."

  I raised my brows and smiled. "See there? Another way to up your game. Those arrows are valuable. Don't dilute your product by firing them at just anybody. Do some research. Put a little effort into it."

  Dimitri'd ghosted his way down the bar, and when he heard things going well, he chimed in. "And I'm sure there's a ton of work that needs done on the other end of the love spectrum, too."

  Stan scrunched his brows together. "What do you mean?"

  "We get couples in here all the time that have been married for decades or even centuries. They still love each other, but the romance is gone. A good power-up with a couple of those arrows is just what the doctor ordered."

  "Oh," Stan breathed, his eyes lighting with realization. "You mean like follow-up appointments. Booster shots, so to speak."

  "Exactly," Dimitri said, slapping his hand on the bar and adding a few ice cubes to Stan's glass.

  Stan sucked the last of the water down and pushed off the stool. Tears pooled in his eyes again, but this time for a different reason.

  "Thanks, guys!" he sniffed. "You don't know what you've done for me—I can't thank you enough. Now, I need to go put some love back in the air!"

  He pulled me into a hug, mashing my face against his sweaty bare chest, and I did my best not to breathe.

  Pushing me back to arm's length, he said, "You're the best! I really hope they don't give you the death sentence."

  I furrowed my brow. "Uh, thanks?"

  With a huge grin on his face and the sparkle back in his eye, he strode down the bar.

  "Stan?" I called, wrinkling my nose.

  "Yeah?" he asked over his shoulder.

  "Shower before you do anything."

  He raised his arm and sniffed, his face puckering. "Oh yeah. Good idea." He looked down his body and peered into the side of his drawers. "I could use a fresh loincloth, too."

  "Too much information, buddy," I said, holding up my hand. "But don't be a stranger."

  Dimitri shook his head as the invigorated cupid disappeared around the corner. "We have the strangest jobs."

  "That we do, 'Tri. That we do."

  I figured putting Cupid—or at least a cupid—back on track was enough work for one day, especially given I'd done my shopping, about had my hair yanked out by somebody bent on killing or maiming me, and found a great new dive bar. It was barely past noon, so I decided to take a bubble bath with some of the new goodies Mila'd given me, catch up on laundry, and watch some TV.

  You know what they say about the best-laid plans.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  AS AN ON-SITE EMPLOYEE, I had my own cottage. The Enchanted Coast offered three different types of housing for folks who wanted to live there rather than commute: dorms, one-bedroom cottages, and houses for families only. There was plenty of dorm space, but cottages and houses were limited and divvied out according to seniority.

  I'd lucked into mine when one of the managers had gotten married and moved into a house. It cost more than my standard board allotment, but not having to stare at somebody else's hair in the drain or share a sink while I brushed my teeth was worth whatever I had to pay, as far as I was concerned.

  As a water witch, I wasn't much for growing things, but I'd picked up some tricks along the way when Mila's mom had given her lessons. I liked to cook, too, though baking was beyond me. I was more of a dash of this and pinch of that kind of girl, much to Tempe's chagrin. She loved pastries, but about the best I could manage were boxed brownies.

  I waved my hand to undo the wards on my gate and was surprised when I didn't feel the little magical poof that happened when they dissipated. I paused.

  "That's not right," Tempe said, the fur standing up on her back. "Are you sure you set them this morning?"

  If I didn't, it would shock me because it was so ingrained that I did it automatically. I couldn't remember doing it specifically that morning though. I'd grabbed my coffee and had been lost in thought. Maybe I hadn't.

  The door to the house was always spelled too, and when I released those wards a few feet before I reached it and nothing changed, I stopped in my tracks. I was a sitting duck where I was at, but there wasn't really a good hiding spot. It's not like I had a car or anything to hide behind.

  Putting myself tight against the house was my best option. I'd be visible to anybody watching the house from the outside, but anybody inside wouldn't see me if they hadn't already.

  I skittered to the side and forward, squatting down under my front window, then muttered a few words to erect a one-way mirror ward around just the cottage. That should take care of anybody watching from afar, but I could still see anybody approach.

  Stay here. They'll be looking for somebody human-sized, Tempest thought, then moved toward the door before I could stop her.

  She had her own pet door—or rather, familiar door, and she slunk toward it. I held my breath as she shot forward through it, praying she'd be okay. She was no magical wimp, but she was a long way from bulletproof.

  Less than a minute later, she came back outside. "It's clear.
Nobody's in there, though it does look like somebody searched the place. They didn't make a mess, but things have been moved."

  I started to take down the mirror ward but changed my mind. I'd feel better leaving it up, even though it was technically against resort rules. Too bad—so was going through my house. Speaking of, I needed to call Blake and let him know what had happened.

  He picked up on the third ring.

  "Somebody broke into my cottage," I said without preamble.

  "I know," he said.

  I'd been about to tell him the story but clamped my mouth shut when he said that.

  "You know," I said after taking a couple seconds to process it.

  "Yeah. They showed up right after you called, demanding to see you. When I told them you were off today, they insisted on seeing your house, and they weren't exactly the people you say no to."

  "What does that even mean?" I asked. Blake was a lot of things, but a wimp wasn't one of them.

  "I mean, two of them were from the PCIB, and they were yes-sirring and no-sirring the other two men with them. And there was a blonde woman with a black eye that those two yes-ma'amed."

  "A blonde woman? Tall? Trench coat, long hair? Looks like she eats nails for breakfast but wouldn't chip a nail while doing it?"

  "That's a really weird way to describe her, but yeah."

  "That's the woman who was following me in the Gate this morning. And the one I stunned. Since she wasn't rockin' a black eye then, that's probably on me. So what did they want?"

  "They didn't say. I did insist on being there while they searched your place."

  The magical world worked a little differently than the human one. Because it was easy to make evidence disappear in the blink of an eye, literally, search warrants weren't a requirement in criminal cases. That being said, probable cause was. It was a compromise most everybody, except criminals, of course, thought was fair.

  So, that meant they thought they had probable cause to search my house.

  My face flamed as I wondered if he'd seen the pictures of him with his eyes scratched out and little vulgar dialogue bubbles penned in. Oh well. Not my problem if he did.