Hex Type Thing

by Amanda M. Lee

  “He’s still their favorite son,” Booker shot back. “As for Alastair, he’s all talk. It’s not as if the DDA likes him any more than the rest of us do. That guy has the top entry under the word ‘tool’ in the urban dictionary.”

  “You’re the second person to use that word when talking about him with me today.”

  “Who was the first?”

  “May.”

  “Well, she had more reason than most to hate him,” Booker supplied. “My understanding is that he pushed her best friend to commit suicide. It was before my time, but people are still talking about that, and most of the residents of a certain age honestly can’t stand that guy.”

  “So ... how did he get involved with the festival?” I asked. “I don’t understand how something so important was put under his care. If nobody likes him, why are they rewarding him?”

  “I don’t think you’re reading the situation correctly,” Booker countered. “The town isn’t hosting the festival. Alastair is. He put his money up to front the event. He pre-paid for all the food, water, clothing, souvenirs ... you name it. He’s easily got several million dollars into this event.”

  I was stunned. “How is that possible?”

  “He’s rich.”

  “I know that. I just ... why would he do that? It makes no sense.”

  “Of course it does,” Lilac volunteered. “For every million dollars invested in this festival he expects to make five million back. It’s not as if he’s an altruistic soul who wants to give out of the goodness of his heart ... or a gambler, for that matter. He thinks he’s got a line on money and he’s going to follow the thread for as long as he can.”

  That begged another question. “If he’s so rich, why does he need the money from this festival? I mean ... can’t he live comfortably forever without making another cent?”

  “I guess in theory that’s true,” Booker confirmed. “The thing is, he lives a pretty fancy lifestyle. He has a private jet. He has a yacht. He has a multi-million-dollar house. He has groundskeepers, maids, personal chefs and trainers. The upkeep is exorbitant.

  “My understanding is that he took a beating when the stock market fell in 2008, but he came out the other side and survived,” he continued. “He’s still rich. By our standards he’s filthy rich. By his standards, though, he might feel he needs to add to his coffers.”

  That sort of made sense. “Did you know that skyclad means naked in the pagan language?”

  Booker’s eyes lit with amusement at the way I lowered my voice. He looked genuinely tickled, which made me distinctly uncomfortable. I hated it when I made a ninny of myself and I was starting to suspect I’d done just that.

  “Technically there is no such thing as the pagan language,” he started. “Most creatures have their own language. Some adhere to the languages of the countries they live in. If you run into a really pretentious vampire he might speak Latin because he thinks that makes him sound important. But there is no such thing as a pagan language.”

  “Oh, well, thank you for the history lesson,” I drawled.

  He ignored the sarcasm. “Secondly, skyclad means naked dancing, and is less formally known as something that happens under the full moon. I think the organizers named it that as a nod to the paranormal roots of this community. While I haven’t heard anything overt mentioned in the advertising that’s been hitting the internet and radio stations, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there aren’t whispers tearing through certain circles about this being a magical island.”

  I swallowed hard, surprised. “Seriously? What does that mean?” I glanced at Lilac. “Are we in trouble? Should we lay low?”

  She snickered at my discomfort, which made me want to pinch her. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Most people who visit here do so for that specific reason. They’re paranormal in nature and want a place to relax where they can be themselves and not constantly have to worry about who may be looking over their shoulders.”

  That brought up another question. “Does that mean those coming to the island are paranormals?” Until this moment I hadn’t even considered the possibility that paranormals would outnumber the “normal” human beings. “Are we about to be invaded by witches?”

  “I think witches are one of the groups that will be well represented,” he confirmed. “Vampires might be hanging around at night, but it’s not as if they can risk sleeping in a tent on the beach. They probably won’t be a concern.

  “Shifters, reapers, sirens and leprechauns should be well represented, too,” he continued. “There might even be some pixies, but I’m trying not to get my hopes up because they’re fairly rare.”

  There was so much packed into that statement I didn’t know where to start. “Leprechauns are real?”

  Lilac giggled at my incredulous response. “Yes, but they don’t look like they do on television. They’re not little or anything. They’re regular-sized and only turn green when they’re ... you know.”

  It took me a moment to understand what she was saying. “Oh, gross! I’ll have to take your word for that. I mean ... they turn green?”

  Her grin widened. “They’re magically delicious.”

  Booker laughed so hard I thought he might spit into his fresh iced tea. The waitress had delivered it, loitered at the side of the table for a full ten seconds to see if he would say something to her, and then stalked away in a snit. He really did have a “special” way with people.

  “I don’t understand how I didn’t realize this was going to be a festival full of paranormals,” I admitted after a moment’s consideration. “I mean ... it makes sense. In hindsight, that should’ve been my first inclination. I just assumed it was going to be a festival of mostly normal people with the occasional paranormal thrown in for good measure.”

  “There’s no such thing as normal people,” Booker countered. “Everyone has their own freak flag to fly. We just happen to be more open about it here. As for the festival, it’s turning into a righteous pain. I was down there all morning and things are about to get rough.”

  My interest was officially piqued. “How so?”

  “Alastair’s assistant is freaking out because Galen is demanding twice the number of Porta-Potties. I think that number is still low and they’re just begging for trouble, but nobody asked me. He’s also making noise about Salma’s death and wants answers on why she was down there, but he doesn’t seem to be getting much cooperation.”

  “Did she have anything to do with the festival?”

  He held out his hands and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m only helping because the money is good. I’m working in a freelance capacity, though, and the second that stupid assistant says something to annoy me I’m out of there. He knows it, too. I warned him.”

  “But the festival is still on, right?” I pressed.

  He nodded. “It’s on. There’s too much publicity surrounding the event to cancel it now. Golden boy or not, Galen won’t be able to wrangle the support he needs to shut it down if it becomes necessary. He’ll be hung out to dry, expected to maintain law and order, and blamed if things go wrong.”

  My heart gave a little jolt. “Will things go wrong?”

  The look he shot me was amused. “What do you think? We’re dealing with thousands of paranormals — or humans who want to hang around with paranormals — and there aren’t enough bathrooms. There’s going to be a steady stream of alcohol, and Galen has, like, six cops ... and that includes his two weekend warriors. There’s no way this thing isn’t getting out of control.”

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “Well ... crap.” I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. “I was hoping you would give me good news.”

  “I have no good news to give you. Sorry.”

  “Ugh.” I rubbed at the tension starting to build in my sinuses. “And I was having such a good day. I mean ... finding the dead body last night was jolting and there are better ways to spend an evening. Before that, though, I tried an oyster and it tasted like s
not. Despite that, I didn’t die. Galen and I had plans for romance that the body derailed, but it wasn’t the end of the world.”

  “When don’t you and Galen have plans for romance these days?” Lilac asked dryly.

  “You’re just jealous,” I teased, wagging a finger in front of her face.

  “I am jealous,” she agreed. “I’m on the dry spell to end all dry spells.”

  “I think you’re just picky. I wasn’t done telling you about my day, though. I had a lesson with May this morning and guess what.”

  “It’s too hot to guess,” Booker replied.

  I wasn’t really expecting him to guess anyway, so I pretended I didn’t hear him. “I learned to read minds this morning. She taught me. It’s my first step to opening my own business.”

  Lilac blinked several times. “You learned to read minds? In one morning, to boot.”

  “I did.”

  “Give it a try,” Booker suggested, exchanging a quick look with Lilac that wasn’t lost on me. They didn’t think I could do it.

  “Fine. Make sure your mind is empty of anything you don’t want me to know, though. Booker, if you have any deviant sexual fantasies it would probably be best to bury them deep. I’m only going after surface thoughts. Just a simple message to start things off.”

  “I promise you won’t see any dirty thoughts in my head,” he said dryly.

  “Great. I ... .” It didn’t work. I’d barely begun my descent into his mind when I ran into a brick wall. It wasn’t a metaphorical brick wall. The thing that I smacked into looked like a real brick wall. “Hey!”

  Booker smirked when I pinned him with a dark look. “What’s wrong?” He adopted an air of innocence. “I thought you were going to yell at me for those dirty fantasies.”

  I was legitimately confused. “Why can’t I see inside your head?”

  “Because I’m a cupid.”

  I glanced at Lilac. “Will I have the same issue if I try to see inside your head?”

  She nodded. “Booker and I are paranormals. We can shutter. Not all paranormals are as adept as we are, but there’s no getting inside our heads if we don’t want you in there. I guess, if we were drunk enough and incapable of shuttering, you might have a chance of slipping inside. But if we’re aware and present, you’re fresh out, honey.”

  Well, that was disturbing. “What good is this ability if I can’t use it?” I felt deflated, as if I’d just wasted a monumental amount of time and hope. “This really sucks.”

  “It’s still a good ability,” Lilac countered. “You can’t use it on us because we’re strong paranormals. Like you, we sprang from the original elementals. You’re not going to have much luck with us. As for other paranormals, there’s always hope. You’re probably powerful enough to steamroll some of the others even if they try to stop you.”

  Oh, well, that was encouraging. “I need to find some of them to practice on.”

  “I would start with a standard human,” Booker supplied. “Very few of them have good mental blocks. You need to build from the bottom up. There’s no such thing as mastering mind reading in a single morning.”

  “Thank you. You’ve already rained on my parade. There’s no need to keep harping on it.”

  “I was just voicing an observation.”

  “Yeah, well ... .” I trailed off, an idea popping into my head. “A normal human, huh? I think I know just where to go to practice.”

  7

  Seven

  Invading the minds of those I was close to seemed a bad way to practice. Galen would’ve let me try — although I predicted that game would’ve turned dirty really fast — but Wesley was likely to shut me down right out of the gate. He loved me, but we were still getting to know one another. Reading his mind held certain risks.

  I could’ve asked June. She was a “normal” human. That also seemed dicey, especially because I knew about her crush on Wesley. That was something I brought up to May during our training session. She didn’t seem surprised by the admission. In fact, she appeared tickled. When I brought up that I was worried about Wesley spending all of his time with a ghost she took me completely by surprise and said she would broach the subject of him dating June. I wasn’t expecting that response, but she said she was mildly worried about him, too. Of course, she also warned me not to get my hopes up. Wesley was set in his ways and unlikely to change. If May really was heading out to whisper in his ear about June, that probably meant he would be in a foul mood the next time I saw him. I didn’t want to risk that today.

  What did that leave? The docks, of course. Ships were due to arrive throughout the day. Thousands of people from all walks of life would be arriving in a steady stream. They would be so focused on the festival they would have no time for me, which meant I could practice without drawing attention.

  With that in mind, I bought an iced tea from one of the vendors and picked a spot in the shade. It was a corner table, a nice breeze billowing in from the water and ruffling my hair. There, I pretended to be relaxing even as I practiced invading people’s minds.

  The first time I successfully managed it was with a woman named Minx Martin. I doubted that was her real name, even though it was the one on the surface. I dug deeper and found that her parents named her Mary and she’d always fancied herself a sexy witch. So, when she was an adult and sick of their crap, she changed her name to Minx. She was looking forward to the Skyclad Festival because she was convinced she would find a coven. She’d spent her entire life savings to come ... and I couldn’t help thinking she was going to be disappointed.

  Up next was Rance Maynard. Unfortunately that was his real name. His parents were farmers and thought he would work the land in Idaho and keep up family traditions for a whole new generation. They were sadly mistaken. Rance was a grifter. It was the only word that seemed to fit him. He pretended to be psychic, read tarot cards and palms, but was actually simply observant. He could read people well and told them what they wanted to hear. He was on the island because he thought he could make a small fortune offering his services. He also believed, if he hit it just right, he would be able to parlay this appearance into a job as a psychic to the stars. He seemed like someone who should be watched, so I jotted down his name and made a mental note to turn it over to Galen later.

  I continued rifling through the minds of the new arrivals. Most of them were simply so excited to be on the island they could think of nothing else. A few had plans to monetize their appearances. Others just wanted to get stoned and were eagerly scanning faces to see if they could find a local connection.

  I was so lost in what I was doing I didn’t notice when a shadow fell over me. When I finally did register it I almost jolted out of my chair.

  “You scared the crap out of me, Galen!” I lightly slapped his arm as I caught my breath. “Make a noise next time.”

  “I said your name.” He looked amused, and also curious. He dropped a kiss on my forehead before sitting in the chair next to me. “What are you doing here? I thought you were spending the day taking lessons with May.”

  “I already finished my first lesson.” That was true. “Reading minds is easier than I thought it would be. May taught me a neat trick. I went to Lilac’s bar to practice on her and Booker — I heard some interesting stories about Salma there, for the record — but apparently I can’t practice on them because they can shutter.”

  “Ah.” Understanding dawned on his face and his grin widened. “I think it’s best you don’t venture into Booker’s mind anyway. That’s a dangerous place to visit.”

  “He says it’s a perverted place.”

  “That’s another reason I don’t want you visiting.” He collected my hand and flipped it over so he could idly trace the lines on my palm. He seemed distracted, as if he was grappling with something and trying to work it out in his head. “Did you come down here to try to read the tourists’ minds?”

  I nodded, sheepish. “Yeah. You probably think that’s invasive, huh?”

&nbs
p; “On the contrary. I think it’s a good idea. Here you’re going in without any preconceived notions. Anything you dig up is bound to be real. With Lilac and Booker, you might’ve assumed things even though the facts didn’t back it up.”

  “That’s pretty smart.”

  “I’m more than a pretty face.” He leaned closer so he could kiss me. “I missed you this morning.”

  That was an odd thing to say. “You saw me a few hours ago.”

  “I know, but it’s been a long few hours — it feels like days — and I really wish I had stayed in bed with you this morning.”

  I sensed trouble, which wasn’t saying much because the truth of his emotions was written all over his face. “What happened? Did Alastair threaten you again? May told me a story about him, by the way, and I hate him on principle. I can try to invade his mind and get you some dirt to work with ... if you’re interested, I mean.”

  His lips curved into a legitimate smile. “That’s a nice offer. I’ll consider it later. For now ... I don’t want you worrying about Alastair. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s not a threat to me.”

  “Is that because you’re the golden boy?”

  His eyes narrowed speculatively. “How much time did you spend with Booker this afternoon?”

  That was a thorny question. Booker and Galen had known each other most of their lives. They’d been pitted against one another competitively the older they got and, even though they were willing to work together on big projects, they were still at war in some ways. It honestly made me laugh. Testosterone is an odd, odd thing.

  “I was there a grand total of twenty minutes,” I replied. “When I found out I couldn’t test my new toy on him he became odious to me.”

  “He should’ve already been odious to you,” Galen grumbled, flicking his eyes to a group of women heading in our direction. They were young, pretty and exuded a hint of power that made me sit straighter in my chair.