by Angie Fox
Sarayh waved and began trotting over with some red plastic cups, while the music kicked on. It was a classic. "Wipe Out" by the Surfaris.
I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to listen to anything other than the rock songs Grandma and the gang favored. I found it surprisingly pleasant, given the tang of salt water in the air and the sand at our feet.
"I'm so glad you came," Sarayh said, her hair tangled around her shoulders. She wore a grin as wide as Texas. "Have a Sex on the Beach."
She winked, as if Dimitri and I had been doing that on the beach earlier, which we hadn't. Well, at least not last night.
We'd been capturing my dad's fenris from purgatory, which was a much better excuse, although not as much fun.
Shiloh grabbed the first drink. "Thank you. This is so neat," she gushed. "I love the bonfire and the music. I've never been to a beach party before."
Sarayh seemed charmed by that, although she wouldn't be if she knew why. It took me a second to realize my neighbor was still trying to hand me a drink. Right. "Thanks," I said, not really wanting to take it.
Sarayh waited for me to say something else; what, I couldn't imagine.
"Okay." My neighbor smiled. "We have snacks on the table and we're going to be roasting s'mores later," she said, as if that were as much fun as roasting a demon.
She left us, which made sense because we probably weren't very good company. I glanced down at my cocktail like it was a foreign object. I wasn't even sure what was in a Sex on the Beach. It was cold, though.
Shiloh tossed another stick and I was tempted to walk out into the waves and see if I could feel any trace of the portal from this morning.
"Let's walk over to the party," Shiloh said, as Babydoll ran back with the stick.
"And leave the portal?" Flappy wasn't guarding it anymore. He had his head in the waves. Make that his entire body. I should probably warn him to keep his eyes peeled and his teeth snarly.
Shiloh stood in my line of vision, her pixie face a mask of determination. "Look, honey, you've got to let it go for tonight. The portal is dead right now. Finito. Ended. Do you get it? It's not even interesting to me."
No kidding? Maybe Dad listened to me and shut that part of his operation down. I smiled to myself. Ha. As if he'd be that smart. I'd certainly need more proof than an inactive portal.
Flappy dashed out of the surf with a huge chunk of driftwood. Oh, great. He was going to play, too. If he didn't brain someone first.
"Let's get another drink," Shiloh suggested. That first one sure went down fast.
I tried to hand her mine, but she refused. Instead, she took my hand and dragged me down the beach like we were in college or something. It had been fun back then, but those days seemed really far away.
Torches crackled in the sea breeze. This part of the beach smelled like smoke and dried seaweed. A girl with pigtails manned the cooler.
"Whatcha got?" Shiloh chirped.
The girl grinned. No wonder. She guarded all the goodies. "We have tequila, vodka, and rum. Mixers are in the orange cooler. Or you can help yourself to a beer."
"Beer," I said. At least I was used to that.
"Oh, no," Shiloh said, slamming the blue cooler with the beer. "You need another Sex on the Beach."
"I haven't even had one," I said, protesting as Shiloh motioned for me to try it. I did and it was actually pretty good. Sweet and easy to drink. I had another sip.
"That's the spirit," Shiloh said, opening up the coolers and mixing herself another drink like a pro.
I had to admit these were pretty tasty. I wasn't a big drinker, so I tried to slow down, but the cup was empty way too soon. Shiloh made me another. It hit the spot.
The bonfire was a huge, spitting mass of gorgeous flames and a bit of welcome warmth. Shiloh and I drew closer and watched the sparks fly up into the night sky. The crackling of the fire blended with the rush of the waves.
Then someone switched the soundtrack to the "Macarena" of all things. "I actually know this one from college," I told Shiloh.
She giggled at the mishmash of lyrics. "What are they saying?"
"No clue. That's not the point," I said, as our buddies around the fire started breaking out the dance moves.
Shiloh handed me her cup. "Teach me," she said clapping her hands together.
"No," I said, taking a sip of her drink. Mine was empty.
"Please?" she begged.
Oh, Lordy. "Watch," I told Shiloh as I joined in.
I surprised myself when a giggle escaped me. Maybe it was the silliness of the dance, or the squishy feeling of my toes digging into the sand. It was probably because Shiloh grinned at me like a wild child.
She caught on fast. It wasn't as if the Macarena was complicated. I think she liked the butt-grabbing part best, or maybe it was just that she looked so ridiculous doing it. Either way, Shiloh rocked the dance area. We became goddesses of the line dance. In our own minds, anyway.
"Repeat," I hollered after the last note sounded, which got everyone else going.
They didn't play our song again, but they did blast out the Electric Slide. I taught Shiloh that one as well. She was built for dancing, with those long legs and swingy hips. I liked how she improvised. We made up our own twists on the moves, because that's how we rolled.
I smelled popcorn, but I didn't want to stop dancing.
When it came time to grab another drink, I poured Malibu rum and pineapple juice for myself and a neighbor I'd never met from 14B. Christie had long brown hair, wore a cute maxi dress over her curves, and had two small kids and a baby at home, which was why we both agreed we hadn't met yet. Too busy. Right?
She never got out of the house. I gave us each an extra pour of rum and we toasted to a night out. To fun.
Then the "Cha-Cha Slide" came on and Christie insisted we had to go dance to that.
"Why didn't my clan do this in Vegas?" Shiloh hollered into the night.
"Because you were too busy trying to be sexy," I said, bumping into her as she bounced in place like an excited six-year-old. Stars lit the sky behind her.
Her head found my shoulder. "I'm always sexy. That's my problem."
"It's what got me in this mess," Christie agreed. "Can you believe my husband wants another one?"
"Tell him he's in charge of the night poop," Shiloh suggested. We busted out laughing.
It was so stupid. And kind of true.
Okay, I had to admit, I'd needed this. I'd needed girlfriends.
We danced until we could barely see straight. Or maybe that was the alcohol. Kidding. We weren't that drunk. I hoped.
S'mores were a challenge with everyone well into their cups, but somehow they still tasted good in spite of getting a little sand in them. Eventually talk around the bonfire swung into "girl talk" territory, and we got to chatting about our various sex lives.
Shiloh was surprisingly reticent for a succubus, but I couldn't believe some of the things I freely admitted about Dimitri to the group. Sometimes, you've just got to brag on what it's like to have your guy rip your leather skirt off. And there was the time we did it in the garden and Dimitri had to kick my underwear behind a bush when we almost got caught. The girls broke out in a chorus of screams. Apparently quite a few women had been admiring my husband on his morning jogs.
They had good taste. "Too bad, girls. He's mine." My face hurt from grinning.
My announcement was met with a bunch of groans and a marshmallow lobbed at my head.
I deserved it. I was taunting them. But damn, it felt good to get out. To appreciate what I had right here, right now.
To be alive.
Sarayh started in on a story about her ex and I realized exactly why she'd been so understanding when she thought she caught Dimitri and me on the beach this morning. Plus, she had some tips on how to go about doing the deed with minimal sand chafing.
"Are you taking notes, Shiloh?" I asked, mainly to watch her blush more.
"Come on, peeps," Sarayh said, c
lapping her hands. "I promised the good people of LaVista Townhomes that we'd be off the beach by eleven."
We answered her with a chorus of awws, which unfortunately didn't make a difference. Our HOA board president was a hard-ass when it came to schedules. I had to admire that.
Flappy had fallen asleep right where he'd been guarding the portal, so we left him there as the group started breaking up and everyone said their good-byes. Babydoll had amassed a small nest's worth of sticks and was curled up in the center. I let Shiloh leash the fenris as I headed toward a group of women clearing and folding the snack table.
Sarayh stood at the center, instructing. "Thanks," I said to her, genuinely meaning it. "I had a great time."
She smiled. "Good. Now take a cooler up."
Shiloh and I each grabbed an end and headed up from the beach, with Babydoll trying to break the land speed record for a fenris running uphill. I took the lead. Shiloh kept getting dragged by the beast, then bumping the cooler up against my legs, which cracked me up for no reason at all. Then laughing at something so stupid was somehow just as funny.
I wobbled my way from the beach with a permanent grin on my face. A stillness settled over the night. We listened to the soft rhythmic rush of the waves.
Sure, we could still hear voices of the cleanup crew behind us, and the lights up ahead, but it was quiet here. Peaceful. I hardly recognized it.
"That was fun," I admitted. It had been what I'd needed.
"Yeah," Shiloh said, nudging me with the cooler. "Friends?"
It wasn't a strange question, but it caught me off guard all the same. I didn't know what to say. "I guess."
"Good," she said, her voice sweet and clear in the silence of the evening. "I don't have any friends."
That struck me as unbearably sad, until I realized that since I'd left Atlanta, since I'd become a demon slayer, I'd suffered a complete lack of girlfriends as well. Yes, I had the biker witches. But as far as secret-sharing, silly-dancing, laughing-for-no-reason friends? I didn't have any either. Until that moment, I didn't realize how much I'd missed it.
The weight of the cooler pulled at my shoulder and a soft breeze blew off the ocean and tangled my hair in my face. "Friends," I said simply.
I felt it more than I saw it, but I could swear Shiloh smiled.
I did too.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning came too early. As in, my head felt like Flappy had been using it as a beach ball.
I sat up in bed, my skull pounding in time to the beep-beep-beep of our alarm. It was five fifteen in the morning. Because, you know, we had to be at the witches' headquarters at sunrise. Of all the dumb ideas… I silenced the alarm with a heavy thwack and scrubbed a hand over my face. "I'm never going to drink again."
Dimitri flipped on the searingly bright bedside light and got up as if he had all the energy in the world. "I tried to tell you the nightcap was a bad idea."
"You fixed me more drinks?" I tried to give him a withering look, but it was hard to hate a guy who wore nothing but sexy plaid sleep pants and a smile.
He shrugged a broad shoulder. "I went to bed," he said, heading over to the closet. "You and Shiloh had margaritas and danced to Abba."
Yikes. "I do like 'Dancing Queen.'"
"Good," he said, pulling out black jeans and a T-shirt, "because you appointed yourself president of their fan club."
No kidding. My head hurt when I tried to remember. "Can I do that?"
"I wasn't going to question you." The corner of his mouth curved up. "I'm glad you had a good time."
"I did," I admitted. I didn't want to repeat the alcohol part any time soon, but I had enjoyed getting out and relaxing for an evening. Sometimes, it was easy to forget to take a second and just breathe in the midst of everything that needed to be done.
My entire body protested as I lurched out of bed. Meanwhile Dimitri had gone into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Even that sounded loud—high-pitched in a way that rattled my skull.
I'd just have to make a point to hunt down a few Advil. My husband didn't take over-the-counter drugs. His system metabolized them so quickly they didn't do any good. I rarely got sick. This was an aberration.
Which meant we probably had no drugs.
Served me right.
If I didn't feel good, I'd at least look good. I stumbled to the closet and pulled out a pair of black leather pants and a blood red bustier.
Too bad my skin was puffy. And it hurt to brush my hair.
I tossed the clothes onto the bed. This morning called for extreme measures. Or at least a huge honking glass of orange juice.
After a harrowing trip down the stairs, I found Shiloh curled up on the couch, reading an Us magazine. She had every single light downstairs blazing. It was brain-piercingly bright. I started turning them off while she popped up like she had a spring in her butt.
"Look at this," she said, flipping a lock of perfectly coiffed blond hair over her shoulder. "Stars are just like us. Here's Matthew McConaughey eating a pretzel."
"I'm happy for him." Bread sounded good. I needed something to settle my stomach. It felt hollow and tender at the same time. "Did you hear from your husband yet?"
She chewed at her lip. "No. I've been up all night reading magazines, trying to distract myself. But you said the witches will have answers, right?"
"I hope so." Despite her worry, she looked good. Too good. "How do you feel?" She was smaller than me, and a pitcher of margaritas was, well, a lot.
She crossed her arms over her chest. "A little nervous about the witches."
That was understandable. But her skin looked clear; her eyes were bright. She wore a pink fitted dress. Dang.
I, on the other hand, felt like my head had been stuffed with cotton. And rolled down a hill. I searched the fridge for orange juice and came up with an old can of root beer, rough with fridge crud. Better than nothing. "You handle your booze like a champ," I said, popping open my A&W.
Shiloh's eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry. You're hungover!" She said it as if it were the discovery of the year. She clucked. "I forget sometimes because alcohol doesn't affect me. I mean, I feel it, but then poof—it's gone."
I leaned against the counter, bracing the cool can against my head. "Must be nice."
"Don't move," she said. "I can fix this." She pulled the blender out from under the sink, then started rooting around in my fridge. "This used to be part of my job," she said over her shoulder.
Great. "Listen." I had to make one thing clear, even if my brain felt like mud. "Don't worry about the witches. They just want to help, same as you do."
She chewed on her lip and nodded. "It's just that the biker witches have a"—she searched for the right word—"reputation."
"So do half succubi." I gave her a wink, which made her smile.
I paid for it when my right eye started to twitch. Son of a bitch. I was falling apart.
Shiloh didn't notice. She was caught up in her own thoughts. "No matter how scared I am, it doesn't matter," she said, as determined as I'd ever seen her. "If I can get some kind of word about Damien, just to know he's okay, it'll be worth it."
Good for her.
Shiloh was as efficient as a master chef as she filled my blender with an overripe banana, a handful of strawberries, two blackberries, a glug-glug of apple juice, and some kind of herbs from her big yellow bag.
She hit puree. Then as the whirr of the metal blades gouged a hole right between my eyes, she searched through the cabinets above the sink.
Just when I was ready to curl up on the floor and call it a day, Shiloh poured a purple-pink concoction into one of my large red wineglasses. "Drink," she said, handing it to me. "It's the super hangover smoothie. The wineglass just makes it look pretty."
If you'd asked me five minutes ago, I'd have told you I'd never drink out of a wineglass again. Good thing this particular libation smelled both fruity and delicious.
I held it up in a mock toast. "If it doesn't c
ure me, may it at least put me out of my misery," I said, bringing it up to my lips.
Oh, yum. It tasted like berries and bananas with just a hint of zing. I tried it again. It had a definite citrusy flavor, but I hadn't seen Shiloh use any oranges or lemons.
She nodded her head. "It's good, isn't it?"
Truly, it was. But more than that, the sweet, refreshing infusion seemed to travel from my mouth, directly up into my head. The throbbing in my temples ceased. My thoughts cleared. I felt grounded, awake. Peppy, even. I could feel it, soft and sweet, traveling down my body, easing the aches and infusing me with energy. Amazing. I held up my empty glass. "What is this stuff?"
Shiloh beamed with pride. "Oh, it's a little succubus secret, handed down generation to generation."
"You should bottle it," I said, only half joking.
She snorted. "Believe me, it's been tried." She took the glass from me, holding it up to the light, no doubt admiring my ability to drain every drop. "It loses its effectiveness in two point three minutes." She rinsed the glass in the sink. "I was going to warn you, but the way you were downing it, I didn't need to."
"I know what I like," I said, spinning on one foot, trying a karate chop, feeling like a million bucks. Amazing. Little tendrils of energy zipped through my veins. "I'm queen of the world."
"You are something," Shiloh agreed.
I grabbed the blender, ready to move, take on the morning, or at least help her clean up the mess. Then it hit me with a jolt. My happy morning zing started to ease a notch lower.
Oh my.
My head felt clear, my energy shot sky high, and the tingle in my body had gone from zingy to downright sex-ified. I curled my hips, unable to stop myself as sparks of desire shot down my spine. I felt empty. Needy. My breasts chafed against my sleep shirt. The pleasure of it cut through me, concentrating into a heavy throb between my legs. It was all I could do not to press my thighs together to intensify the urge.
I thudded the blender back onto the counter as I battled a raging surge of pure lust that I hadn't felt since the time Dimitri and I made love for the first time in that little roadside motel. Or the time he stripped me bare and had me wet and ready as he plowed into me on that warm desert rock. Or the time I climbed on top of him and rode him hard by the ruins of an ancient altar on his family's estate in Greece.
