Boogie Beach

by Winnie Winkle

  “You having The Boogie inspected?”

  “Yup. Right after we nail it together. Then if I need another permit, I’ll pull one. Sometimes it’s better to beg forgiveness, Charlie.”

  “I think you should let me put a smile on your face and test that theory with Ballard.”

  Jeez.

  “Not gonna happen, Charlie. You’re the best bartender I’ve had and I need you there,” I waved at the bar in front of us, “more than here.” My fingers swept toward my body.

  “Short-sighted. Why not have both?”

  “Because I won’t do that to Ballard. He’s my guy, Charlie. I’m in a hundred percent.”

  He shrugged. That gesture alone reminded me of my suspicion that Ballard might have a side chick. Which, I realized, bothered me more today than last week.

  Dammit, Patra. Stop loving Ballard. Stay in the lane you made.

  “Just roll with me Charlie and let’s get The Boogie together. We need the pier to reopen and start grinding out money.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Jerk. Did he just ma’am me? I’m not that old. My eyebrows settled in a straight line and I signaled for the check, a flicker of amusement chasing across Charlie’s face.

  Little shit.

  He slid off the barstool, sexy without effort, and grinned.

  “Thanks for the lunch, boss. My offer to nail you still stands.”

  “Let’s go nail The Boogie, Charlie. That’s the priority.”

  By six-thirty, I had a screaming shoulder, but the bar dining area and bar itself were tight. The big dining room was on deck for tomorrow. The Boogie looked a ton better. From the parking lot, at least, code enforcement wouldn’t raise an alarm. The bulk of the building and the fishing pier were a hot mess, but that’s Wednesday’s work.

  “Tomorrow? Nine?”

  Charlie, bare chested, reached for his Tee shirt and pulled it on slow, which I knew was deliberate, so I kept my face neutral, waiting for his answer.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” His emerging grin from the neck of the tee warmed me up and I crossed my arms under my breasts.

  “See you in the morning. Thanks, Charlie.”

  He headed along the pier, thin hips and a great ass moving in fluid power and I leaned back against the big glass doors. Not a dalliance needed or wanted. What did he mean by that shrug? I can’t ask Ballard because I didn’t want to entertain questions on what I did with my crazy life. Why should it bother me that Ballard was doing what I asked and not taking us seriously?

  I palmed my way into the magic side and found my Bourbon, pouring a hefty measure. Medicinal. My shoulder is on fire.

  “Liar.”

  “My shoulder is too on fire,” I protested to Chelsea.

  “Glenna will give you something when you get home.”

  “Until I finish nailing this place back together, I may never sleep again. Are you watching over me since Poseidon is gone?”

  “That task has fallen to me.” Clep’s deep voice filled The Boogey. “You require more than a mere witch.”

  Chelsea’s face pinched, but she reached for the drink I slid over and sipped in silence.

  “What’s your pleasure, Asclepius?”

  Dark eyes twinkled, and I remembered the green tendril he shot under my panties. Poor word choice, Patra. Get a grip.

  “A twelfth tide will do… for now,” Clep replied.

  Twelfth tides were a knockout drink, even for a god, containing twelve different spirits, and a complicated mixing process that ensured each of the twelve sips it took to down the concoction tasted unlike the next, but they complemented. I understood this request was a test, but I enjoyed making this cocktail, so I began, humming under my breath, to build one.

  I pushed the drink, twelve neat layers of different colors, with alternating spirits spinning clockwise, while the rest spun counter-clockwise, across the bar. Clep cocked an eye at me and lifted his glass, sipping the first layer.

  “Not bad, Keeper.” His voice was low, sexy and intentional.

  Crap.

  I left him to work through the tides and freshened Chelsea’s drink. The first one went down quick; I suspected drink number two would suffer the same fate.

  Chelsea’s face was set in straight lines. The relationship between gods and magicals, often amiable, was complicated. Ego, for the most part. Gods were irritating, inflexible and mocking. Magicals were arrogant, quick to judgment, and impatient. This was a recipe for head butting of epic proportions. Dancing between them had its moments, but I wasn’t an integral part of the equation. Magicals overstepped and gods destroyed; it’s a different world. They didn’t form relationships or friendships the way humanity did. Self-sufficiency was a significant piece of that. Humans had to help each other, but bending physical law was isolating. And, if your ego grew bigger than you were, a god would provide a lesson. Sometimes, a permanent one.

  “Another, Keeper! That was an adequate effort.”

  I risked a smile, then mixed Clep’s twelfth tide and slid it over as a green tendril popped from his forearm and wrapped my wrist. Uh oh. I know what that portended and I didn’t need sexy time with Clep, no matter how smokin’ hot.

  The door was my savior, opening to Pook, Bingo, and three incredible women with waist-length glowing white hair, aqua blue eyes, and an attitude that added a hundred pounds of lead to my feet. I’d never seen them before, but I recognized what they were from the book.

  Muses. Shit. They are muses. Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck.

  Billy’s voice trotted across my heart. “Run it clean, Patra. Don’t be sloppy. If a muse shows up, do whatever she says, even if you think it’s idiotic. Muses are the cops of the gods; they do not screw around. If you get a muse in your bar, you are a flea on an ant’s ass. Let her do her thing and fade into the background. You’ll live longer.”

  One muse, Billy? I’ve got three!

  “We seek the god Poseidon.” The muse’s melodic tones addressed Clep, who looked up, uninterested.

  “Not here.”

  The second muse moved to Chelsea, shifting from deference to authority. “Where is the god, Poseidon?”

  Chelsea swallowed but met the muse’s gaze. “He is in the space between.”

  “Why?” The third muse, whom I guessed was the leader, blazed a gaze at Chelsea.

  “The Vapors threaten the line.”

  “Why were we not called?” This to Asclepius, who shook his head.

  “That is a question for Poseidon. I arrived a few moments before you three.”

  Her glance turned to me. “You are the Keeper?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Where lies the sacred book of the line?”

  “Secured in my office.”

  “Take me there and produce it.”

  I slid an eye to an unhelpful Clep.

  “Now!”

  The concealing cabinet opened, and I lifted the book, setting it on the desk as the muse sat in my seat.

  “You may go.”

  “No. I am bound by Keeper’s law to remain.”

  She grunted but did not pursue it, so I guessed it was a test. The book flipped to the newest entries. After she’d read everything, she looked at me, shook her silvery white hair, and rose as I secured the book.

  “It’s amazing that you aren’t dead yet.”

  I thought it prudent to let that pass without a response. Muses could send anyone they considered a disruption to the balance of good and evil to hell. No judge, no jury. If you or your actions didn’t add up to a muse, boom, off you went. It’s nuts.

  I followed her and locked the door, feeling tense. I didn’t understand why they were here. What was Poseidon doing? Muses maintained the balance of dark and light. Was he shifting things too much? What was the Vapor’s purpose within the balance?

  The muse conferred with the others before staring at me. “We will remain in place until Poseidon returns.”

  Pook and Bingo rose, sidling out of the bar, fish ales unfinish
ed and unpaid.

  Perfect. So much for the bears, faeries, and a decent week. I’m hosting the buzzkills.

  An aqua glance met mine and my bowels squished. Shut it, Patra. Stay alive.

  The faintest nod from the muse, before she turned away, confirmed it. I had no secrets from these three. On the bright side, Clep appeared withdrawn and no longer interested in green tendril hanky-panky.

  I wished tonight was over and I was on the receiving end of morning Ballard. Solid. Intentional. Unlikely to kill me.

  Chapter 18

  As the night deepened patrons showed up, eyeballed the muses, and skedaddled, many giving me a courtesy shrug. At 3 a.m, with me, Clep, Chelsea, and the dampening dames holding a vigil for my bottom line, I’d had enough.

  “I’m closing early. At nine, I start nailing the floorboards in the human bar for the entire day, and I could use some sleep.”

  “Do you need to update the record?” The muse’s tone, perfunctory, was annoying, but I kept my mind blank.

  Clep burst out laughing. The muses exchanged a glance and rose.

  “True, it’s been uneventful,” the leader acknowledged.

  “Thanks to you three,” Clep grinned. “Besides, this Keeper knows her place, so there’s no need to police her.”

  “Based on what I read,” the muse rejoined.

  “These are not normal circumstances,” Clep’s voice cut across, and she stopped. “The Keeper makes the effort to uphold the precious balance you three swoon over, so leave her alone.”

  What? Holy crap. Did he just yank them up in front of me? Oh man, please don’t extract the price for that on my hide.

  To my surprise, the leader inclined her head. “As you wish.”

  The muses turned and walked out as I stowed the accounting ledger. Clep pushed gold over the bar.

  “Shit night. Sorry, kid.”

  “Oh, it’s fine, but thank you for this thoughtfulness.”

  Those liquid eyes flicked on and I stilled. Please don’t.

  He raised an eyebrow and leaned away from me. “Where to now?”

  “My home is a few blocks along the beach.”

  Chelsea rose. “Should I stay?”

  Yes! Don’t leave!

  Clep laughed again.

  “Very well. I’ll return in a few hours, Patra. Here’s a potion for the shoulder. In the morning I have a spell to help with the floor.”

  “Oh, Chelsea, thank you so much!”

  Her eyes remained green, but twinkled. “Get some sleep.”

  Clep snorted as she snapped and vanished.

  “Shall we?”

  Followed by a muscle mountain of gorgeous god, I palmed us out of The Boogey and headed to the car. Clep squeezed in and patted the dashboard.

  “Cool, haven’t been in a fast car in years.”

  I backed out and headed toward my condo.

  “Put the top down and crank it.”

  “You got it.” Taking a neat three-point turn in the next driveway, I lowered the canopy, then drove toward the bridge and I-95. Hauling ass beat fighting over bedroom shenanigans.

  “Whaaaa-hoooooo!”

  Cranked at 90 mph, Clep, oblivious to the bugs suiciding on his face as he towered over the rim of the windshield, laughed with baritone delight. It’s a straight shot towards St. Augustine, and the merciful lack of law enforcement was a bonus. I did not want to explain him to Ballard’s cohorts.

  Unlike Poseidon, Clep’s reception to my begging for privacy might not go well. He struck me as a god who stayed on task and didn’t play much, so when he let go, he’s down a hundred percent and disinclined to pamper paltry humans.

  “Beach?”

  Clep whooped, which I took as a yes, and we curved along the exit. I pulled into my favorite spot and hopped out, grabbing two water bottles and a beach blanket. I kicked off and scooped up my shoes before heading across the dark boardwalk to the entryway, then sank into the soft sand, shuffling toward the hard pack.

  A yawn split my face and Clep looked surprised. “When did you last rest, Keeper?”

  Hmm. Does being passed out on the couch from witch-induced vertigo count?

  “Thirty-six hours? I’m not certain.”

  A green snake wound around my wrist and Clep paused, listening, then unwrapped as he flashed a big grin.

  “Nighty night, Keeper.” A long finger tapped my forehead and I was gone.

  A seagull screech jolted through my slumber. Several were standing around Clep, who was attending one with a beat-up wing. He released it, and with a few flaps it was aloft and ready for another food fight.

  “Save and preserve is your thing, isn’t it?”

  “There are plenty who tear down. I enjoy fixing the broken.”

  We exchanged an amiable glance and I squinted at the risen sun. The Boogie was at least an hour away if I wasn’t driving maniac style. Charlie would beat me there. Ugh.

  “Clep, I have to meet the worker who is helping repair The Boogie.”

  I stood and brushed sand off my arms and shook my hair out. Clep knocked me out before I spread the blanket and I resembled a walking dune.

  “Let’s go, Keeper. I wouldn’t want you to avoid your mortal coil. Humans love their drudgery.”

  I let that pass, grateful he didn’t refuse the request. I touched a bump in my pocket and slipped out Chelsea’s vial. My shoulder potion! Yes!

  With a tip and swallow, the warmth hit the rotator socket like a toasty blanket. Nice!

  By the time we rolled into The Boogie, I was feeling fantastic, invincible, and ready to nail the pier solo. Clep shimmered and faded to nothing. He’s around, I was sure, because he’s my protector, but he wouldn’t be underfoot. Another win.

  Charlie eyed me and burst out laughing. “What d’you do last night, boss?”

  “I went out to see the sunrise and fell asleep. This manual labor gig wiped out my mojo. I also missed breakfast.”

  “Got you covered.”

  Charlie pointed to a bag on the bar, and I inhaled two sausage biscuits and a coffee.

  “Bless you, Charlie. I needed that more than I realized.”

  The hammer felt good in my hand, and with a new, high-octane shoulder, I beat the shit out of the floor. Charlie’s eyes followed me here and there, but my earbuds were in and I hummed, whacking, and covering the dining room like a one-woman construction juggernaut.

  A work boot slid into my line of sight and I looked up along the jeans, an impressive package, gaze sliding, bumpity-bump-bump over Charlie’s abs, and met his eyes. He bent, scooped me up and planted a kiss, a soft yet demanding one, the kind that gets me cranking, and it took serious concentration to shove him away.

  “Charlie! What the actual hell?”

  “Patra I’ve never met a woman like you, you’re a machine, and your drive turns me on. I know you’re wild and I crave taming you until you’re tender and quaking, sated and still… then wake up your craving for more.”

  “What the…? Charlie, I am with Ballard. Period.”

  “Like I give a shit about Ballard, Patra. He can go to hell.”

  Charlie had a death grip on my ass and another on the back of my neck, lifting me into his cock and walking my body across the room. I squirmed, trying to push back enough to break his mouth away, but this man was having none of it. Shit. The fact I was responding didn’t help.

  The boards of the kitchen wall pressed against my back and his hands were under my tee shirt before I could raise an elbow high enough to knock his jaw off my face, hitting him with everything I had.

  Crack!

  “Stop this right now. I said no, Charlie. Respect it!”

  Angry ragged breath ran between us, which I pretended was his but knew held sparks of commingled lust. I wasn’t fooling myself.

  “Put me down. NOW.”

  Charlie’s pause lasted a millennium, but he stepped back as I plopped down to the deck, wriggled away from the wall, and faced him, shaking. He’s rock hard and I swore hi
s desire shimmered like an aura around his body.

  “Dammit, I should fire your ass right now.”

  “Zero fucks given, Patra.” His chest heaved but his face had an air of puzzlement.

  “Shove that lust in a box. Be a pro, Charlie. Work or leave.”

  He ran big hands through his hair. “I can’t change how I feel, Patra. Step away from Ballard, and your foot won’t hit the ground before I have you.”

  Jeez.

  “Me leaving Ballard isn’t happening, Charlie. Let’s get this damn floor nailed.”

  Another unfortunate choice of words, Patra.

  I set my face on mutiny and glared like the mother I’d never be until he turned toward the dining area. We continued to work in tandem, with me a few feet behind, nailing the next row, but when we got to the end, I paused until he started and fell in behind him. I wasn’t letting Charlie watch my ass clench while I swung a hammer.

  At 1:00 we stopped for food and drove to The River Deck for fish sandwiches and beers. It wasn’t fun like yesterday. The rejection riding shotgun was screwing with his head and I was not in the mood. Charlie’s jump on me was hot and sexy, but I expected to be asked, not attacked. I was mulling his future with The Boogie when he cleared his throat.

  “Patra, I want to apologize. I’ve never acted like, well, with that degree of aggression. It’s weird, I’m not sure what came over me, but I mean this; I’m sorry.”

  That degree of aggression?

  Chelsea drifted across my mind. She had a spell… oh, my god. That aura. Dammit.

  “Charlie, I like your work. If you’re being sincere and keep it professional, The Boogie can continue to employ you. Never again. Understood?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Patra. I appreciate the chance. I still can’t understand what… like I lost my, um, way? Dunno. It was freaky. I mean, I respect women, you know?”

  “Then let’s finish the decking and start fresh, Charlie.”

  When we arrived at The Boogie, through the glass to the magic side, I saw Chelsea sitting, drinking something free, and smirking. Crap, I knew this was too easy. Chelsea was super pissed and witches weren’t pushovers. This was punishment; if it happened as intentioned it could have been a doozy, taking down three humans and messing up the human side of the bar for months. Shit.