by Tegan Maher
© 2018 Tegan Maher
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, in any form, by any means electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system currently in use or yet to be devised.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or institutions is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Author’s Note
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Thank You!
Connect with Me
Other Books by Tegan Maher
Sneak Peek at Sweet Murder
Author’s Note
Thank you for joining me for my first adventure on the Enchanted Coast! This book was a ton of fun to write, and I’ll be following up with Book 2, The Surfboard Slaying, soon. These books are a little lighter than my other series; my goal was to create a quick, light read great for an afternoon at home, or to bring some magic to your own Enchanted Coast vacation.
Enjoy!
CHAPTER ONE
"STAN, WHAT HAVE I TOLD you about bringing the Cupid's bow into the bar? And adjust your diaper. None of us want to see what's under that."
I heaved a sigh of exasperation. I loved my job, but sometimes I felt more like a babysitter at a daycare center than a cocktail waitress at a magical beach resort.
He scowled as he reached for his margarita. "It's a loincloth. And what do you want me to do—leave my bow and arrows in my room? They won't fit in the safe."
Cyri, the fairy sitting one table over, turned to look at him. "That's easy enough to fix," she said, adjusting her lavender ponytail. She dipped her finger into a waterproof pouch hanging from the pink lanyard around her neck, then sprinkled a small pinch of sparkling dust over the bow and quiver.
Stan watched in fascinated horror as the tool of his trade shrunk to a tenth of its size. "You can't just do that," he said, indignant. "What if I get called out to a job?"
She snorted. "That's like your fourth margarita. You're in no condition to fly, anyway. And I've only been with Aiden a few months. It would be a disaster if he accidentally knicked himself with one of those arrows on his way to the bathroom. I'm not ready for the whole L-word scenario."
I smiled as I walked away. Stan was in the middle of an existential crisis. His problem was that he was a romantic at heart, and his job wasn't just a job to him—it was his passion. Between the free-love movement and easy, DIY divorces, he was having a hard time believing he hadn't outlived his purpose.
So, he was on an extended vacation to find himself and decide whether or not he should retire. But just because I felt sorry for the guy didn't mean I could give him a pass on the bow. Can you imagine how the I love you, man phase of intoxication works when a cupid wants to make the whole bar happy at closing time? Yeah, no love-laced arrows allowed.
I delivered the last drinks on my tray to a group of sunbathing selkies that were regulars, thinking how hot their seal-skin beach blankets must be. Before you get upset about animal cruelty, selkies are seals in the water, but shed their skins to become human on land.
I couldn't blame them for keeping them secure though. Julius, their leader, had left his skin unattended at the bar when he'd gone to the bathroom a few years ago, and we had to lock down the whole resort for a couple hours.
A beach attendant had mistakenly picked it up and thrown it into the laundry, and since I'd been the one to call for the lock-down and the one to find it, he'd granted me honorary membership in his pod. In short, when they came every few months, they requested me, and they always tipped generously. It was job security, but it made me feel good, too.
Angie, Julius's wife, passed the martinis down the row, taking a sip from the last one.
"Divine as always," she said, licking the vodka mustache off her upper lip. "Tell Bob he used just the right amount of anchovy juice."
I bit back a shudder at the phantom flavor and assured her I would. As I picked my way through the tables back to the shade of the tiki bar, I picked up a few more drink orders along the way.
Plunking my tray down on the server's deck at the bar, I leaned over and rested my chin in my hand while I waited for Bob, the Bigfoot bartender, to finish telling a joke to a broody werewolf. I don't know why he bothered—the guy hadn't cracked a smile the whole week he'd been there. He'd eaten his weight in steak and was a fat tipper, though, so I guess Bob felt obligated.
The big lug tended to be a people-pleaser anyway, so the more somebody rejected his efforts, the harder he tried. That alone kinda made me want to crack the shifter with my tray for being such a buzz-kill.
I shifted over a couple feet and turned a fan so it was blowing in my face. The heat was brutal and there hadn't been a mermaid or water nymph around all day. I liked it when they came, because it gave me an excuse to wade out to the water bar to wait on them—a definite plus when the thermometer pushed past ninety.
We also had a huge salt-chlorinated, zero-entry infinity pool that had a direct-connect to the ocean so it was available to everybody, but it was closed for cleaning. A group of unicorns had their son's birthday party in there the day before and ... kids were kids.
Bob lumbered over to pick up my drink ticket. "Man, that guy's tough," he whispered. "I'm throwin' my best material at him, and nothing. I can't get him to hardly look away from that laptop.”
I tilted my head and examined the guy in question. Good looking, as most werewolves were, but he lacked the lightheartedness that marked most of his kind.
"What's his deal, anyway?”
"No idea," Bob said, muddling mint and simple syrup for a mojito. "He's met with Cass a couple times, but that's it. And every time he has, his mood's seemed worse."
That wasn't an atypical response to dealing with our boss, though, so it didn't add anything to the speculation. It would have been more unusual had he come away smiling.
Speaking of ...
"Maganti!" A voice bellowed my last name from behind me.
Before turning, I pulled a deep breath in through my nose and blew it out through my mouth, counting to five as I did.
My boss, Cassiel—otherwise known as the disgraced Angel of Temperance—was a blow-hard and an idiot. I wasn't sure who'd assigned him to be the figurehead of that particular quality, but appare
ntly they hadn't been practicing it themselves when they'd made the call.
It had taken a few millennia, but he'd finally pushed his luck one too many times and was tossed out on his ear, much to the chagrin of everybody in the mortal realm, or at least those of us who lived on the Enchanted Coast. Managing the beach bar was his booby prize, and he lorded over it like the planet owed him a living.
As usual, he was already half in the bag, which meant he was gonna be even more horrid than he was when sober. He was the only downside to this job. Well, him and sand in awkward places, but the latter was an easy fix.
Bob finished making the last of my drinks and ambled the couple of steps back to me, a concerned expression on his heavy features as he set them down. "Don't bait him, Destiny," he pleaded under his breath. "Just find out what he wants, do it, then ignore him. He's just looking for an excuse to can you. Again."
"He can try," I said, lifting a shoulder. He'd fired me the previous summer, for three weeks until word spread to my regulars. It seemed I had a following that had some pull with the higher-ups, because not only had I been reinstated, I'd gotten a raise. Needless to say, that hadn't gone over well with Cassiel.
Still, I loved my job, and goodwill was a fickle beast. As a people person and a water witch who didn't want to live in the closet, the Enchanted Coast—a magical vacation resort on the Gulf of Mexico designed to meet the needs of paranormals only—was the best of all worlds. So, in the interest of keeping the peace, I pivoted toward him, gritting my teeth and pasting on a smile.
"Yeah, Cass?" I said, putting everything I had into being pleasant.
Not even attempting to return the courtesy, he gestured toward the outside tables. "The place is a mess. That table needs bussed and there are empty cups everywhere. And those fans are for guests only—not lazy waitresses."
I glanced around the area and ran my tongue over my teeth. "First," I said, still trying to maintain my fragile mask of civility, "that table is occupied. They're in the water. Second, there are exactly two empty cups, both of which just blew out of the trash can when you stormed by it and flexed your wings." I decided to let the fan comment drop. "But I'll get right on it."
I had no idea what the reason was for his animosity. He'd despised me from day one, even before he had to eat crow and hire me back. I could get along with the devil himself if he was willing to meet me half way, but despite my efforts, Cass refused to play nice.
After a while, I'd given up. The only thing I could figure was I'd been offered his job before he got it but turned it down because, with my tips, it would have been a pay cut.
"And since you have time to stand around," he sneered, foul as always, "Go clean out the unicorn pen. People can see those rainbow turds from the hotel, and the cotton-candy smell is disgusting."
Bending over to pick up the cups, I muttered an anatomically impossible suggestion for what he could go do.
"What was that?" he asked, narrowing his bloodshot eyes at me.
I heaved a sigh. As usual, I was gonna have to be the bigger person. "Nothin' Cass," I said, waving him off as I went for the shovel. "Just ... have another drink."
With one stroke of the ginormous ashen wings that marked him as a fallen angel, he was towering over me, swaying a little, the smell of old whiskey seeping from his pores. I straightened my spine as my magic surged—the last thing I was willing to do was give in to a bully, even if he was a son of a deity, and my boss to boot.
"Hey Cass," a centaur named Evan called from behind him, "cut her some slack. My drink hasn't gone empty all day, and she just finished busting her ass keeping a ten-top of gorgons happy. She's earned a minute in front of the fan."
Fiona, the leader of the gorgons he was referencing, exited the bathroom in time to hear Evan's comment, patting her turban to make sure all her snakes were safely tucked away. She glided over to me and handed me an extra fifty, assessing the situation as she did so. Cass was no stranger to her.
"Thanks, sweetie. You were a doll as always." she said, giving me a faint smile.
She peered down her nose at Cass, her lip curled in disgust. "Bitter angel. Unless you'd like a peek at my girls, I suggest you be nice." She was talking about the ones under her turban, not the ones under her bathing-suit wrap—you know, the ones that could turn him to stone. Fascinated as everybody else was with the exchange, they turned away just in case.
"That won't be necessary," he ground out, glaring at me.
"Pity," she said, flapping a hand. "The resort could use an angel statue and it would be my pleasure to donate one." She maintained eye contact for a couple seconds, possibly hoping he'd give her a reason, then turned and strode away.
Cass turned to me as I picked up the cups and pointed an angry, albeit shaky, finger at me. "One of these days, I'm gonna find a reason to fire you for good."
My thin veneer of respect slipped and I spun on him, my sense of fair play offended beyond reason. I hadn't done anything to deserve his attitude.
"Yeah," I said, shoving the cups down in the can with more force than was necessary, "and one of these days, I'm gonna get my wish and you'll drop dead for good. But until one of those days arrives, I guess we're stuck with each other."
It wasn't even an hour later that I regretted those words. Not because I suddenly developed a case of the warm-and-fuzzies for him, but because I was the prime suspect in his murder.
CHAPTER TWO
AFTER MAKING HIMSELF a Jack and water, Cass strode past the werewolf as if he didn't know him, and out to a table where two of his minions, a couple shady-looking gargoyles, were sitting.
Amber and Dax, a local mermaid couple who stopped by once or twice a week, showed up right after our encounter.
"Hey guys," I said, thankful for the chance to wade out into the cool water. "Your usuals?"
"Yes, please," Amber replied. "Can you ask Bob to put it in a tall glass? I have to pick the kids up later, so I need to keep it between the water markers."
"Sure thing," I grinned. She was one of the sweetest people I'd ever known, and they were fat tippers, to boot. I loved to see them pop up.
When I got back, Dax was giving Cass the stink-eye. A couple months back, my lovable boss had hit on one of Amber's sisters when she'd been in town for vacation. Of course, she'd gone full mermaid on him and had missed getting ahold of a wing tip by inches, which would have gone badly for Cass. Dax was still holding a grudge.
"Just ignore him, sweetheart," Amber told him as I handed her a coconut rum a pineapple. "He's not worth it, right Des?"
"Right," I agreed as Dax took his draft beer from me. "Though I'm not gonna lie. I've daydreamed about killing him myself in a hundred different ways."
"I don't get it," he said. "I mean, I know this is supposed to be his punishment for being the family embarrassment, but what did we do to deserve him?"
I'd asked myself that so many times I'd lost count. "I don't know. They probably didn't consider us little people when the decision was made. They just got a kick out of forcing him into servitude."
"I guess," Dax said, then changed the subject. I chatted with them for a few minutes, enjoying the coolness of the water seeping into my crocks. The water bar extended out into the water several yards so that water creatures of all kinds could visit, and was one of the resorts biggest moneymakers.
Sort of like a floating, covered dock, it was a long oval, with an elbow rest built all the way around it. Stools were attached sporadically as it extended farther offshore, so land dwellers could enjoy their drinks in the water if they wanted. Most of the servers hated it because it required extra walking, but I loved it. It soothed my innate love of water and felt like heaven on my feet when the temperatures extended beyond hellfire.
A couple elves were making their way from the hotel to the tiki, so I left Amber and Dax to enjoy their drinks. One of the gargoyles snatched me by my wrist on my way past their table. I glared pointedly at his hand, then looked him in the eye.
"Three,"
I said.
"Three?" he queried, confused.
"Yeah, that's the number of seconds you have to let go of me if you want to walk away with that hand still attached."
As I said it, I sent a little jolt of electricity skittering over the surface of my skin.
He jerked his hand back, glowering at me, but I didn't care; I was within my rights. According to resort policy, I had the right defend myself and to refuse service to anybody who became physically or magically aggressive with me.
"Now that we've all agreed to the basic playground rules of keeping our hands to ourselves, is there something I can get you, gentlemen?"
"Yeah," the one who hadn't grabbed me growled in a gravelly voice. "We want a round of strawberry daiquiris."
I furrowed my brow, wondering if he was being sarcastic. They weren't exactly daiquiri kinda guys. "Are you serious?"
"They said strawberry daiquiris, Maganti. Now!" Cass snapped, and my irritation bubbled. "Make mine mango, but bring five strawberries." He leered at his buddies. "We're expecting company."
"Well, then" I said, droll. "I'll hurry. I don't know the hourly rate of company, but I'd hate to waste your money."
"Speaking of hourly rates," Cassiel called as I spun on my heel and walked away, "How much were you making before you slept your way into one of the best positions on the island?"
I froze in place, rage tearing through me. Soft fur wound around my ankles.
Let it go, Destiny.
Tempest, my black and white fox familiar, nudged the back of my legs with her head.
You baited him, and you know he always has to one-up you. That was about ten up, but keep walking.
She was right, of course. I needed to learn to keep my mouth shut, but between our earlier exchange and the handsy incident, I wasn't feeling the love.
Fine. But I'm picturing him being consumed by a tsunami.
I'm okay with that as long as you don't actually conjure one. I hate getting wet.
I snorted. She never failed to make me feel better.