Long Isle Iced Tea (The Magic & Mixology Mystery Series Book 4)

by Gina LaManna

  “Here I am,” he said, in a gravelly, frustrated tone, “thinking I know everything there is to know about this island. I knew about Zin, I knew about X. I recognized Lumiette and knew to call Trinket. I can recite The Magic of Mixology backward and forward, and yet, I didn’t know that Poppy went missing.”

  “We don’t know that she’s actually missing. She might have gone somewhere alone, privately, to process. I’m sure that’s what it is.”

  “Process?”

  My lips tightened into a line, and I gave an apologetic shake of my head. “I’m sorry, Gus. It’s not my place—”

  “—not your place to share their secrets, I understand.”

  “Go to Mimsey.”

  “I don’t need to ask her. Between the disappearances and what I know from assisting Harvey for more years than you’ve been alive, I have a good idea of what’s going on. I know what Poppy is.”

  “Mimsey still needs you,” I said, swallowing my surprise. “But why didn’t you—”

  “It wasn’t my place to get involved in family matters then, and it’s not now, either. She obviously doesn’t want me there, or she would’ve asked.”

  “Gus.” I rested my hands onto the table and leaned forward. “Go to her. She needs you there. Don’t make this harder on her by forcing her to ask.”

  “I’m not supposed to know about it.”

  “You’re not supposed to know a lot of things, yet you somehow find out about them all. Exhibit A: Zin hiding in the cabin.”

  He moved to stand, but sank back to his chair after only a second. “I can’t.”

  “Fine.” I reached for The Magic of Mixology, hauling the book away from Gus as I tucked it under my arm. “Stay here and sulk. What do I care? Nobody listens to me, anyway. We can work more. Can you grab me the vanilla bean? I think the potion needs a balancing agent.”

  “I’m not sulking.”

  “The vanilla bean, please.” I took a seat at the table, humming as I flipped through the pages to find a particular Mix. My finger landed on the potion for Sleep Syrup. I had a feeling I’d need a little help drifting off tonight.

  I quickly memorized the list of ingredients, then moved to scanning the shelves for dried chamomile. I found it quickly, then reached for the lavender.

  “What are you doing?” Gus’s eyes followed me relentlessly.

  “Working.” I continued, pulling out a stalk of fresh lemon grass and reaching for a knife to slice it.

  “What did you mean that nobody is listening to you?”

  I began chopping, the violent motion somewhat soothing. “I’ve been offering Zin a place to stay since I showed up here.” Chop, chop, chop. “She declined. Now she’s living like an animal in an abandoned hut.”

  “It’s her choice.”

  “Sure is,” I agreed. “Which is why I’m not going to say anything more about it. I hope she feels comfortable enough to take me up on my offer to stay here. It’s not out of pity; it’s not because I think she’s helpless. It’s just because I love her.”

  “She wants to be independent. To let everyone know she can take care of herself.”

  “Great.” Chop, chop, chop-chop. “She’s independent. I didn’t know that being independent and leaning on your family were mutually exclusive.”

  “Lily, your fingers.”

  Chop, chop, chop. “What about them?”

  “Be careful! You’re going to cut one off.”

  I continued chopping to his dismay. Choppity-chop. Chop. Chop.

  “What would I even say to Mimsey?”

  Finally, I stopped and rolled up my sleeves. “Don’t say a word. Just give her a hug and let her talk.”

  He moved slowly, as if his joints creaked with each motion, but he made progress nonetheless. “Will you be fine here by yourself tonight?”

  “Yes, go. I promise everything will be fine. Take as long as you need.”

  “Thank you.”

  His simple phrase, soft and sincere, made every pain from this day worth it. Every ache, every risk, every word I’d spoken. I leaned in to him, the first tear of the day falling as I brushed a tiny kiss against his cheek. “Thank you, Gus.”

  From the doorway, I watched as he limped toward Mimsey’s place. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d find mother and daughter there, reunited as they should be, or if he would find a mother alone, wishing for her daughter to return.

  I glanced up at the sky, debating another wish as the first star blinked brighter and brighter. No, I thought, turning inside and closing the door.

  The Wishery crew had enough on their plates. Later, once this was all wrapped up, maybe the Wishery team could grant my biggest wish.

  Standing over my work for the day, I willed time to go faster. The silver glinted under the moonlight, gaining strength and resilience. Patience. It would take patience and careful planning, but in three days, we should have a solution.

  I moved to tidy up my work station and close up for the night, exhausted from the day’s work. I had yet to hear from Ranger X, but I’d left the decision in his hands, and now I owed him the time and space required to think.

  Before I reached the light switch, however, the door flew open behind me and crashed into the glow of the storeroom.

  A figure stood outlined there, backlit by the stars. The waves were loud tonight, accompanying his appearance with a dramatic flourish and a raging melody.

  “Lily,” the man said, sounding hoarse. “I need help.”

  I couldn’t find my voice to respond, so I shook my head in shock.

  His fingers trembled as he stepped inside. “I’m next.”

  Chapter 20

  “TELL ME EVERYTHING,” I said, once I’d shut the front door and set a pot of warm water to boil. “Start from the beginning. Why do you think you’re next?”

  Peter Knope, columnist of The Wicked Weekly, sat huddled on the far bench at the storeroom’s center table. His hands curled around one another as they rested on the wooden surface. “I’m sorry for barging in like this, but I didn’t know where else to turn.”

  “I’m here to help if I can, but you’re going to have to explain more thoroughly.”

  He nodded briskly, glancing over his shoulder with a hint of paranoia. The confidence he’d exuded the other night at Hettie’s had vanished, worry taking root in its place. “Yes, of course. You read about Magdalena Sprite’s disappearance, I imagine.”

  “Yes, and Manuel, and the others.”

  “I’m next. I just know it.”

  “How can you possibly know that? Do you know who’s behind the disappearances?”

  “The Faction, most definitely.”

  “We all suspect that, but do you have proof?”

  He tapped his head. “I know. I know they’re up to something, and I can follow the patterns in their recruiting. I’m the perfect candidate.”

  The kettle began to whistle, pleasing me with a break from this conversation. I hurried into the bar area and began quickly pouring two cups of hot cocoa, dotting marshmallows on top.

  Storm clouds hovered far in the distance, and the waves around the island howled in dismay. We rarely saw bad weather on The Isle. Even the air seemed to stand on end.

  Then again, everything about these past few days had been alarming. Including the fact that I had a newspaper reporter in my home, claiming he’d be the next victim of a sequence of disappearances. It was an evening ending in firsts.

  I carried the two mugs back. Plunking one in front of him, I watched as shaky fingers crept forward and circled the ceramic for heat.

  “I have a few questions for you.” I took a sip of my hot chocolate, pausing to let the sweet warmth slide into my stomach. “Why’d you come to me, anyway? Isn’t this a case for the Rangers?”

  “I went to them earlier today. They told me to get in line. Apparently thirty-four complaints came in this afternoon from people saying the same thing as me.”

  “Yikes.”

  “I’m different, I s
wear. I told the Rangers that, too, but they told me everyone said the same thing.” He blew out a breath, his shoulders sinking into the sigh. “I don’t know how to convince them otherwise.”

  “Did they say they’d follow up?”

  “They follow up on every lead, but they told me the Rangers are stretched thin—even the trainees are working overtime. They set up a time for me to come back tomorrow.”

  I frowned. “So why don’t you go back tomorrow?”

  “Because I won’t be here tomorrow!”

  I glanced outside. “It’s almost the middle of the night. Don’t you think you can wait a few more hours and return? I guarantee nothing will happen to you at Ranger HQ once you get inside.”

  “My appointment’s not until ten a.m.. If they take me, I’ll be long gone before then.”

  I took another sip, fishing around for one of the marshmallows stuck to the edge before continuing. “Why do you think you’re different, Peter?”

  “The Faction seems to be behind this, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I think it’s a fair guess, but it hasn’t been confirmed. Assumptions are dangerous.”

  “Play along with me. The Faction is recruiting for something. They’re not kidnapping us for no reason. They’re ruthless, but not unintelligent.”

  “I agree.”

  “And even if it’s not The Faction who’s behind this, my logic still stands,” he continued. “Whoever’s taking us needs us for a purpose—and it’s not to kill us. At least, not immediately.”

  “I’m following you so far.”

  “Naturally, then, if we discover the correct pattern, we should be able to predict who’s next.”

  “You’re telling me you’ve discovered the pattern?”

  “One pattern,” he hedged. “But I believe it’s the correct one.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Magdalena Sprite—kidnapped most recently. She makes cloaks for all of the Cretan folks, and she’s considered highly skilled at her job.”

  “Right.”

  “Manuel trained as a Healer,” he said. “It’s a little-known fact because he never pursued it into a full-time position. He owns a small herb business with his soon-to-be-wife, Sophie.”

  “How did you—”

  “I’m a reporter. Digging for information is what I do. The first two disappearances—Jonathon and Drew respectively, had one thing in common. A love for games.”

  “Games?”

  Despite his paranoia, Peter took a moment to preen boldly, his pride shining through as he smirked. “The two were loners to the outside world. But to the underground gaming club on the island, they were big time leaders.”

  “Games? What sort of games?”

  “Human games. Card games, board games—anything and everything that doesn’t require technology. Behind all of these games is yet another thing binding them together. Strategy. Battle strategy.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “The prerogative to many of these human games is to take over the world. Of course, it’s only a game. But the club is extremely competitive, and often the members take their gameplay incredibly seriously. Jonathon and Drew were, without a doubt, the masterminds behind it all.”

  “Why has nobody come forward with this information yet?”

  “Probably because it seems irrelevant. To everyone on the island, they looked like two loners who didn’t have much contact with others. But when tied together, and grouped with the rest of the missing persons...”

  “You are going to have to be clearer. You’re losing me.”

  “The Faction, or whoever you argue is behind the kidnappings, is building something. Something big, a framework for something more. If they wanted to kill us, they would’ve. If they were out to prove a point, they would’ve moved on it already. They haven’t, which I take to mean there’s a larger plot at work.”

  “What is it you think they’re building?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  Throughout this entire conversation, X’s words about the SINGLES program had been in the back of my mind. I had a feeling that if Peter had gotten this far with his deductions, the leap to the next step wouldn’t be difficult to make.

  “An army,” he said in a hushed voice. “I don’t know how they’re getting Manuel and the others to cooperate, but I don’t doubt it’s possible.”

  “How do you fit into the pattern?”

  Again, a smirk of confidence crept onto his face. “Well, because I figured it out.”

  “Have you told anyone else?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then how would they know?”

  Peter’s face crumpled in dismay at this. “How would they know? Because everyone knows about me. I’m one of the lead reporters for The Wicked Weekly.”

  I remained silent, unwilling to spout the public opinion of his column.

  “There’s more,” Peter said. “My parents and I haven’t spoken for years. I’m not married, not dating—I don’t have a whole lot of friends.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true—”

  “I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m just stating the facts. People think I’m off my rocker, but I don’t care. I’m on their radar, Lily, I’m sure of it. I haven’t been wrong yet.”

  I again didn’t bother to clarify that he had, in fact, been wrong multiple times over his last several articles.

  “Wrong about this story,” he said, reading my mind. “Why do you think I’m pursuing it so relentlessly? I could be next. Most of all, The Faction is looking for people who wouldn’t be missed. I’m not sure there’s a soul on this island that would miss me, Miss Locke.”

  My stomach twisted, and I shook my head. “That’s not true.”

  “Pretend it is. Can’t you see where I’m coming from?”

  “Even if I can, I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Talk to your boyfriend. I know you have a link to Ranger X.”

  “I won’t see him until tomorrow.”

  “It’s urgent; we need to find him, now.”

  “No, Peter, we don’t need to do anything. I’m truly sorry, but he’s not here right now, and I can’t just leave to go chase him down in the middle of the night.”

  “Surely you know where he is.” The winds grew in intensity outside. Peter watched me for a long moment, but even if I’d wanted, I couldn’t give him the answers he desired. Finally, he spoke again. “You don’t know where he is.”

  The truth was that I had no idea if X was out working or tucked home sleeping. I had no clue if he’d made a decision with regards to us, or not. I just didn’t know.

  “I’m tired, it’s late, and whether or not I’m dating Ranger X, I can’t abuse my relationship with him and push your case to the top of the line. It would be unfair to everyone else who has concerns, too.”

  “Are you denying I have legitimate concerns?” Peter stood, pushing his empty hot cocoa mug forward. “You’re smart, Lily. You know I’m making sense.”

  “Please, listen to me, Peter. It’s not about whether you make sense or not, it’s about—”

  “It’s about me being some quack reporter who nobody takes seriously.”

  “Peter!” I followed him as he stormed to the door and yanked it open. “Wait.”

  “Are you going to help me, or not?”

  “Stay here tonight, if you want,” I said. “You can take the couch. I have plenty of space. We can find X together as soon as the sun rises. It’s dangerous outside; I haven’t seen storms like this since I’ve been here. My duty is to remain at the bungalow.”

  “I’m not looking for pity.” He scowled, stepping outside as the wind raised his hair. “I’m looking for help.”

  “I want to help you, Peter,” I called as he strode down the porch steps and away from the bungalow. “Peter! Come back. It’s not safe to be outside.”

  My words fell on deaf ears, the angry wisps of breeze inhaling my last arguments. Even after Peter had disappeared into th
e darkness, I stayed on the porch, easing into the swing and letting it drift back and forth.

  Hair whipped over my face, and finally, the tears fell. Angry torrents of them, frustrated rivers of salt staining my cheeks as I watched the waves twist and twirl and spiral onto the shore.

  It seemed that everyone wanted my help, yet nobody wanted to listen. As much as I wanted to help them all, to assure every last person that things would work out, I was beginning to crumble.

  With Gus away at Mimsey’s, and Ranger X lurking who knew where, I no longer had someone to tell me that things would work out. Sitting alone on the porch waiting for the Sleep Syrup to kick in, my emotions, my body, my soul grew battered by the storms. Eventually, I dragged myself up to bed and fell into an exhausted slumber.

  I needed sleep. I needed rest. I needed my nightmares—the all-too-real haunts raiding my dreams—to go away.

  What I didn’t need was the shadow that appeared at my window sometime before dawn or the slither of movement outside my front door.

  And when my door blew open downstairs and banged against the wall, the last thing I needed was to be alone.

  Chapter 21

  “WHO’S THERE?”

  I hadn’t noticed the shadow outside, nor the slither of movement across the front porch. The clanging of the door, however, had woken me from a fitful sleep.

  “I have help on the way—announce yourself.” My heart pounded in my chest as I eased down the staircase from my bedroom to the storeroom.

  No sound except for the raging wind slicing through the open door and spiraling around the storeroom could be heard. A crash followed, then the tinkle of breaking glass.

  I sunk lower to the ground, listening a few moments before finally pushing my head around the corner. A dark shadow was hurtling toward the side door, exiting via the bar.

  My lungs constricted, and I couldn’t tell if the darkness came in a human form, a creature, or nothing more than smoke itself.

  I stared after it, hardly breathing, until another noise pulled my attention to the front door. A new figure stood there, bigger and darker than the last, this one in the form of a man.