Speedo Down

by Winnie Winkle

  “Silence!” Loboli roared, and the bar, except for Parker’s ragged breath, grew quiet.

  “The Keeper lies incapacitated and cannot fight. Our actions stand separate from his life’s end. We are proud of our culture and laws, and bound by en venterim. There is no death today.”

  The cats wound back and forth, snarling, and the leader leapt onto The Boogey’s bar, staring at Loboli, unblinking, as seconds ticked. A bear crashed a meaty paw on the bar, smashing the big cat’s tail as it yowled in anger, swiping at the offending bear and raising a ribbon of blood across its snout.

  Loboli grabbed Parker by the scruff of the neck. In three long strides, they reached the office door.

  “Open it or die,” Loboli hissed.

  Parker laid a palm on the door, and Loboli yanked the handle, tossed Parker like a bag of trash, and slammed it shut to his screech of pain as he landed on the shattered ankle.

  “At least you live,” Loboli muttered, shifting, unleashing a howl of the damned, and entering the fray.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Parker blinked, staring at the floor and assessing his body. Ankle hurt like a mother, not too much flowing blood, and he was alone.

  “Halle-freakin-lujah, I’m not dead!”

  With a flip onto his least mangled side, he scrooched toward the desk, leaving bloody smears on the decking, and eyed the climb. In an awkward chin up to the desktop, he got a knee under him and grabbed the chair, which obliged with a squeaky roll and slid against the wall as he flopped to the floor, gritting his teeth.

  “Come on, Parks, you gotta do this. Grab the damn chair, get to the cupboard, and write. Let’s go.”

  Fingertips stretching, he gripped above one wheel and tugged, rolling it toward him and wedging the chair’s back against the desk.

  “OK, one hand on the armrest, grab the seat. Dammit!”

  Pain ricocheting through his body, he stared at the ankle.

  “I gotta immobilize it.”

  Patra’s dirty clothes bag gave him an idea, and he yanked it closer, grabbing tee shirts and binding the foot and ankle into a neon testament to beach bondage.

  “Better.”

  Eyes on the cupboard, he pulled his body up, slid onto the chair, and lay with his head on the desk, waiting for the wound’s screaming to tone down a hair. He palmed the door and removed the record.

  “Show me Keeper Patra’s last entries.”

  Gears turning, he read.

  “OK, so if witches experience emotion, what’s happening with these shifters? Well, hell, it’s balance. If the witches move forward, something else moves back. A regression,” he muttered, dipping the pen.

  Patra, the wolves, bears and cats are growing more wild, the balance to the witches’ emotional growth. They’re turning on each other; a howling battle rages in The Boogey as I write this entry. If this keeps up, their alliances will not hold, but feral shifters are fucking terrifying, and en venterim is headed out the window.

  From the cupboard’s recesses, he pulled the silver bell, hoping like hell the cavalry came. After securing the book, he rang it three times, and with a groan, passed out cold.

  “Parker rang the bell,” Chelsea reached for Sadie. “Don’t move, Patra, back in a minute or three.”

  Gripping Sadie’s hand, Chelsea snapped.

  My skin prickled, and I stood, ready. For what didn’t matter; at least I’m upright and trying.

  “Hello, Keeper.”

  I made an unhurried turn. Dracena was, in her way, as rogue as Drago, and damn near as unpredictable. But it takes a lot to scare me and awful hair wasn’t getting it done today.

  “Dracena.” I omitted her title and saw the irritation. Good.

  “Where is the reader? I wanted to chat with her.”

  “Sadie’s beyond your reach. Guess you’ll have to settle for me.”

  “Settle is the word, isn’t it?”

  “Seat?” I kicked an aluminum chair toward her, hoping my timing was right. It was; lost in the scrap of metal on concrete, Chelsea’s return pop went unnoticed. Hands raised, she drilled a blasting spell into Dracena’s back. Unconscious, she dropped as Chelsea beckoned.

  “Hurry!”

  I gripped her hand, and she snapped, leaving Dracena’s still body on the patio.

  “Parker! Oh the gods, you’ve lost so much blood!” I eyed the colorful assortment of dirty tee shirts wrapped around his ankle. “Interesting bandage.”

  Parker cracked an eye. “Hey Boss. I’d avoid The Boogey, it’s a feral brawl fest in there.”

  “Take him to Glenna. I’m closing the human side before the insanity spills over and people get hurt.”

  “Done.” Chelsea nodded. “Here, Parker,” she pulled a potion vial from her waist sack, “drink this, it’s anti-vertigo.”

  “Thanks, Witch Chelsea.” Parker slugged as she gripped the least bloody wrist and snapped.

  Staff tucked away in my office, I eased into The Boogie, unsurprised by the lack of customers. The shifter magic colored the air and humans, instincts dialed on high, were in full avoidance mode. I beckoned to Gloria, who looked sick and determined.

  “Now what? Where’s Parker?”

  No need to sugarcoat it with Glo. She’d seen way more shit than most humans.

  “Attacked and being treated by a witch; he’ll recover at my condo, it’s secure.”

  “Attacked by what?” Gloria was having none of it.

  “Wolf, big cat, maybe a bear. Could be all three. I don’t know, Gloria. I can say he’ll survive and he’s receiving the best possible care for magical injuries.”

  Gloria’s shoulders slumped. “I love that boy to pieces. I can’t believe he’s another Keeper. Was that my fault for getting him this job?”

  “What? Oh, no, Glo, never in a million years was his selection on you. Parker is special, and he’s a great Keeper. I love him too.” I pointed toward the restaurant. “For everyone’s safety, I want to close, right now. We’ll eat the tabs, just give them boxes and get our customers out of The Boogie. Tell them there’s a magical disturbance, and it’s best if humans leave while the Keepers handle it.”

  “Well, I know I’ll be glad to head home. It’s weird in here today.” Glo grabbed a stack of containers and worked the tables while I shut the windows, closed out the POS, and secured the booze.

  Within 20 minutes, the last patrons plied with to-go cocktails, too — because nobody in Daytona or Boogie Beach would enforce the open container law with the atmosphere we’re emanating — headed down the dock and into their cars.

  I stared through the blood spattered magical wall as a big cat yowled and lept onto Loboli, whose snarling jaws ripped at the cat’s throat.

  “They’re in a frenzy,” Chelsea announced, landing next to me. “I popped inside and observed for a moment. Two bears and one cat are dead. The wolves attack in unison, and they’re winning. Parker said that Loboli saved his life just as the fight started.”

  “If Parker showed no disrespect, Loboli can’t kill him and remain within the law, right?”

  “And that’s what happened. Glenna’s working on him, but Patra, he’s a mess. Not only is he dealing with scores of wounds, they’re horrific. He’s a hundred percent out of service, except for writing. Mom is my best talent for healing; one look at him and she called books from the sacred space to help. It’ll take days, not hours, to heal.”

  My hands landed on my hips. “To be truthful, it’s a relief. The lineage of Keepers remains intact, a critical piece while under siege.” I blew out a sigh. “Chelsea, even if the dragons are peacekeepers, it’s still a war with huge stakes. I’m grateful Parker isn’t in the middle of the mayhem because he’s brilliant, and the line can use his resourcefulness after the soot settles.”

  “Besides,” I leaned in, “Zeus’s beef is with me. But it appears he’d like both Keepers out of the equation. Permanently.” My arms lit with symbols. “He’s in for a lesson.”

  “Yet again,” Chelsea snorte
d. “Not the sharpest tool in the god box.”

  “Vengeance and power lust are clouding judgments on several levels, including Drago and Dracena. War, whack-a-mole style. Beat down one and others pop up unscathed. My best weapon is that Zeus doesn’t know we’re onto him. We need to keep that information close.”

  Green eyes flicked to mine, assessing, followed by a curt nod. Good.

  “Stop worrying, and don’t save me,” I continued. “I’ve got more power, between the Vapor within me, the knowledge you shared, and the insider tidbits from dissatisfied Olympians, than I’ve ever possessed going into a fight. This will shake out as intended.”

  I gestured to my arms. “Internal guidance is on deck, but Parker discovered something important.” I pulled the journal, raised the entries and passed it to her, watching her face. Emotions flitted across features unused to displaying them.

  A tear formed, and I reached over to wipe it away. “You’ll feel fear, and it’s OK. Remember, you haven’t lost your edge or ability, but you’re gaining empathy for your opponents and their struggle. Embrace this as an unexpected avenue of learning, one the coven can study and discuss for centuries.”

  Chelsea squared her shoulders. “Any fresh path of knowledge is a gift.”

  A quick hug and grins. If we survive this, the possibilities are huge.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Who did this?” Drago ran a finger along the edges of the hideous bruise covering three quarters of Dracena’s back.

  She tipped the potion, swallowed, and shrugged. “No idea. I snapped there to grab the reader and Poseidon’s unborn kid, but the Keeper was there alone. My guess is Bitch Chelsea did it, but I didn’t see her. I can’t detect my coven, and it’s frustrating. Unplugged for a bull shit reason.”

  Drago pulled her close and kissed her neck. “I know how to fix frustration. Climb on top and rest your spine.”

  “Not yet; I must take these potions in order and within a timeframe to heal.”

  Drago blew a few irritated sparks. Dracena cocked an eyebrow, then smiled.

  “I’m not saying no.” She swallowed the second potion and the blast mark’s edges softened to a mustard yellow.

  “It’s working.” Drago touched the massive bruise. “Does it hurt?”

  “Inside and out,” she muttered, handing him a foul smelling ointment in a small stone mortar. “Rub this only on the wound, not on unaffected skin.”

  Drago returned the pot and stared at her healing back. “That’s sealing the blast marks.”

  “Good.” Dracena selected another bottle and admired Drago’s physique. To her assessing eye, in the short time they’d been together, he changed by the minute. Muscles throughout his chest and upper body, pushed by the effort to fly, bulged. Drago’s legs and ass, from the workout of managing a tail, were superb.

  She’d barely survived their first sexual encounter, but now she had protections in place to conceive and thrive. How his mere human mother managed was a mystery.

  “It’s fading away and the skin below is smooth! How the hell did you learn this stuff?” Drago, seated on a fallen tree, swung his legs over and stood, flexing, as the forest quieted around them.

  “Mastery and hoarding knowledge are key to a witch’s survival. And belonging to a coven, because the power of twelve multiplies the magic. Once I find eleven cast offs, I’ll rise as High Priestess, and we will show this world that magicals are not equal, but superior.”

  “If adding more women makes you happy, babe, call in the troops. But right now,” Drago’s thumb and forefinger pinched Dracena’s nipple, “I wanna fuck.”

  Dracena leapt into his arms, eyes locked on his. “We’ll make the most powerful alpha offspring the world has ever seen and rule this rock, Drago. You enforce, and I’ll rewrite law and lore to reflect the correct order. Together, we’ll set this world to run to our advantage, forever.”

  “Pacing won’t alter a damn thing, Sea Pup. Looks like your Keeper failed, died, or maybe she took the Nereids’ advice and Loboli ate her. Regardless, the wall speaks for itself.” Nereus tapped the opaque crystal, and a singing tone pinged within the chamber.

  Heavy eyebrows shifted in Nereus’ direction. “The problem with you, you barnacle covered bait bucket, is your intellect is flabby. You perceive the world through a lens scoured with salt from the ages and embrace your myopic worldview as a truth.”

  “Regale me with your convoluted explanation, Fuckwit. I’ve never seen you use your big head. Entertain me.”

  “This wall,” Poseidon tapped, and it responded with a chiming song, “isn’t supposed to fade to water to regain freedom. The sides solidify as the battle lines grow clarity. Crystal,” he knocked harder, and the barrier rang with a robust tone, “breaks.”

  “When the clash is over, I’ll break this and free us both. You chose the losing side, Crust Curmudgeon. In time, you’ll reap the results.”

  Nereus laughed as Poseidon resumed pacing. “We’ll see, Mer Pappy, oh, I meant Mer Persona non grata. Don’t count on prevailing. For as long as gods gazed on the Earth, shenanigans ensued. We’re reading one more chapter, and you cling, an avid reader yearning for a happily ever after ending. Life isn’t a story, Speedo Cheeks. You are a pawn as much as your puny Keeper. For now, keep those happy thoughts tucked in your tired red rag. I understand the world’s ways far better than you. A stint in ol’ Tartarus will season your sass.”

  Nereus hunched over his game of solitaire as a faint formless shadow dappled across crystal, writing in reverse, letters fading as new ones appeared.

  Both Keepers live.

  Poseidon grinned, watching the ‘v’ and the final ‘e’ fade, then tapped the wall, making it ring in a joy-filled acknowledgment.

  “Do you mind?” Nereus grunted. “I’m trying to win.”

  The Boogey, bloodied and silent, reeked. Chelsea wrinkled her nose and surveyed the scene, her presence invisible to the shifters. The death toll stood at three cats, two bears, and a single wolf, and the musky carcasses added to the urine parfum.

  “Are we in accord once more?” Loboli shook his fur out and snarled, his snout bloodied and torn.

  A cat, pacing near a female’s body, yowled, then sat and licked the still face.

  “If so, collect the dead. It’s best to return to the forest and reconvene with the dragon and the witch.” Loboli tapped the air in front of him and a message appeared in elegant script.

  This directive is your final assist. The Thundra moves to intercept. ~ Apollo.

  One by one, beginning with the cats, the shifters returned to human form and lifted their dead, moving into the night, a strange procession fueled by changes none understood. Loboli, the last to leave, turned at the snap as Chelsea revealed herself.

  “You are growing wilder in counterpoint to transitions within other magical races. To save the world, refusing the feral choice pulls shifters into a tighter balance. Only you can decide, Loboli. Annihilation is on the table.”

  Loboli grunted, turning from the witch. “Destiny flows in our blood and violence sings. Battle and victory beckon.”

  “Survival is the pathway to thriving. Save your races, Loboli. You must sense the shift coming.”

  He paused, facing Chelsea. “I’m swept in ways I can’t control, an arc greater than my desires.”

  “The crossroad is there, but you must take action toward the path. Your culture is worthy of growth and continuance. Neither lie on the commitment to fighting the dragons. Let them exist, and your races will too.”

  “Never. They want us gone and we’ll not allow it.”

  “What body of negotiation forms this knowledge?”

  “My blood speaks, and it is enough.”

  “Then you’ll perish. Both for the reasons you conjure to dissuade yourself, and because of your reluctance to learn and question. How ironic you realize your place in the creation, with lands, visibility, and freedom, and you toss it for an ancient lie you love more than your own people. Hist
ory will show that stupidity ended the noble shifters, and the unwillingness to try a new solution is on your head, Loboli.” Chelsea’s eyes blazed green with anger, tempered with something softer. Compassion.

  “What do you care? Each race self determines,” Loboli growled.

  “Empathy arrived, moving witches forward, while ferocity, a step backward, surrounded you. The balance continues the dance. Draw away from the push to feral, Loboli, save the creation and your status in the budding Triune. Your piece is important, the part of a bigger whole. Accept the dragons are sovereign and help determine how every shifting race moves in a tightening balance. Pick up the true power, the harder task, the path to grow and become more. This is your moment.”

  Ragged breath filled The Boogey. Loboli shrugged, turning toward the door to the sound of Chelsea’s snap.

  “Even if I agreed,” he muttered to the empty bar, “I’d never get the accord to make the attempt.”

  Parker stared at the mangled ankle. “I’m nineteen, Glenna; I can’t lose my foot.”

  “Oh, I’m trying, Keeper, but that bear chomped you good. Impressive that you kept your cool and held onto en venterim. They wanted a reason to end you.”

  “I had help. The Vapor had a grip of sorts, a layer of calm. The long game is their jam.”

  “No doubt there, Kid.”

  “Do you always feel them?” Sadie asked.

  “No, but their sense was strong while the shifters attacked me. I had clarity, and the terror muted. They made a difference.”

  “Parker, I’ve got one more trick up my tank top, and it’s a doozy, but if it doesn’t take, your foot is toast.” Glenna patted his hand.

  “Then it better work,” Parker grunted. “I love surfing, and I won’t last long as a one-legged Keeper.”

  “Not the greatest odds,” Glenna grinned. “But death is permanent. Anything else in life is an opportunity.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six