Hex on the Beach (The Magic & Mixology Mystery Series Book 1) (19 page)

We walked in silence down the hallway as I considered the old woman’s nugget of wisdom. Just when I was coming to the realization that maybe my grandmother was wiser than she appeared, she had to go and shatter the illusion.

“Back to his package…” Hettie grinned. “It’s nice, huh?”

“Excuse me?!”

“I said Ranger X came in a nice package. His body, I mean.”

I frowned. “I suppose he’s okay. But I’m still mad at him.”

Hettie sighed. “That’s how all the best romances start. Through anger.”

“That seems counterintuitive.”

“Love and hate are a fine line, dear, and I despised my husband when we first met.” Hettie chortled. “He turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

I didn’t ask the unspoken question, though it burned at the tip of my tongue.
Where is he now?

“Oh, by the way”—Hettie looked at me with a mischievous grin—“I couldn’t see a darn thing about the future regarding you and that Ranger. My
Sight’s
not that great. I just wanted to give you two the opportunity to kiss.”

I closed my eyes.

“But that don’t mean I’m blind either.” Hettie patted my arm. “I see how you look at him like he’s a hot fudge sundae.”

“I do not. He makes me so livid, more angry than any person I know.” I shook my head. “It’s never gonna happen.”

“Keep trying to convince yourself.” Hettie smirked as if she knew something I didn’t. “But if I don’t get a great-grandbaby before I die, it’s your fault.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say!” I took my grandmother by the shoulders. “Aren’t you a witch? Don’t you live forever?”

“Have some shrimp poppers.” She gestured for me to step into the kitchen as we rounded a corner. “I can’t eat ’em all. I’m never gettin’ fat. Gotta keep things tight for all the suitors.”

“Mother, you hate company. If you don’t allow anyone to come to your house, you’ll never find a suitor.” Mimsey shook her head, apparently having calmed down a bit.

“You never know,” Hettie said. “At least I haven’t been flirting with that grouchy old Mixology assistant for twenty years without doing a single dang thing about it.”

Mimsey’s blush nearly glowed in the dark. “I
do not
flirt with Gus, Mother!”

“Let’s eat,” Trinket said, clapping. “Not a word spoken over dinner, unless it’s something nice.”

“Fine.” Hettie sat down, flopping a napkin over her lap. “I think it’d be
nice
if Mimsey finally asked Gus out on a stupid date.”

“
Mother!
” Mimsey and Trinket roared in sync.

Zin, Poppy, and I all helped ourselves to the basket of steaming popcorn shrimp, keeping our noses down as we let our aunts wage war against their mother.

Dinner turned into a round of homemade wine and eventually morphed into late-night hot chocolate in front of a fireplace in the den. Our chatter fell into an easy rhythm, almost friendly.

As the fire burned low in the grate, Hettie instructed my cousins to give me a tour of the guest bedrooms and choose one for my temporary stay. Though I hoped I’d only be a prisoner in my grandmother’s home for a few days, I had to admit the lodgings were comfortable, the food incredible, and the company interesting. Prison could be a whole lot worse.

Bidding my cousins good night, I slipped into the bedroom I’d chosen—a cozy room barely larger than a shoebox. A twin bed was pushed against the far wall, a white antique dresser against the other. Someone—one of the maids working for Hettie, I assumed—had laid
The Magic of Mixology
on the ancient desk in the far corner.

I climbed into the squishy bed, running a hand over my throat. Ranger X’s disgusting potion had done its job. The marks on my skin were gone, and it no longer hurt to swallow or speak.

Slipping under the covers, I replayed the day’s events in my head, from Gus’s announcement that Leonard had been found dead, to the strange incident with Harpin and ensuing rescue by Aarik. My last thoughts before drifting off to sleep centered around Ranger X’s softer side. The one I’d seen at his cabin, and I wondered what I’d have to do to see the gentle side of him once more. To see the man who’d rubbed salve on my neck with a touch so gentle it made my heart flutter, who fed me bread though I was certain it was the only food he’d had left. The man who riled me up to the point of boiling then cooled me down with a single smile—that brief, fleeting smile was the last thing I saw before slipping into my dreams.

When I woke the next morning, I found myself wrapped in a ball of sheets, my body trapped so deeply in the fluffy mattress that I panicked. Worried I was suffocating, I sat up in a rush, wiping sweat from my forehead, my palms clammy. While I’d fallen asleep with pleasant thoughts, my dreams hadn’t been nearly as enjoyable. Tea leaves—the scent of them, the look of them, the damp, dank feel of the shop—had me drowning in fear.

My hand clasped at my neck, my heart racing until I realized that it’d all been a dream. I was alive. I was safe. I was at Hettie’s in The Twist, protected by family, friends, and spells. Harpin couldn’t reach me here. Still shaky from my dreams, I leapt out of bed, practically banging my head on the ceiling at the sound of a knock on the door.

“Yes,” I muttered, “coming!”

“Check your closet for clothes,” Poppy said through the door, as if reading my mind. “Hettie set it up with your sizes early this morning. Pick something a size larger than you’d normally wear, because Hettie cooked her famous wild rice pancakes, and you’ll need a little room for waist expansion. Then get your patootie downstairs and
eat
!”

My fingers still trembling, I yanked open the closet door and found all sorts of clothes that were in my size… but not my decade. The sequins and designs were something out of a bad eighties throwback catalogue—leg warmers and leotards and all sorts of crop tops.

I groaned, eventually selecting a simple jean skirt and the least glittery tank top I could find. The other options were far, far worse. Good thing I had been instructed not to go out in public today. The sheen from my shirt would have blinded people.

“Aw,
man
, you went with the most boring option?” Hettie greeted me as I entered the kitchen. “All those leggings and leotards, and you went with
that
?”

Poppy and Zin—both dressed in incredibly normal jeans and shirts—snickered into their plate of pancakes.

I glared at them, sighing. “What’s with the eighties attire?”

“I don’t know what you wear over in human-land,” Hettie said with a grin. “I was just trying to be thoughtful.”

“Right. Thoughtful.” I plopped down at the table. “Well, thank you. It’s better than not having anything to wear, I suppose.”

“Debatable.” Poppy cough-laughed.

Zin snorted.

I ignored the two and gestured to the pancakes. “May I?”

“Next time you ask if you can eat something in this house, I will smack you,” Hettie said, turning and putting a hand on her hip. “What do you think this is, a hotel? You’re
family
. Get used to it. Make yourself at home. We don’t ask before we eat. Plus, the other girls are animals. If you don’t want to starve, you better move fast.”

“It’s too early to smack anyone, Mother,” Trinket said with a haughty expression, striding into the room dressed as if heading to an interview. At some magical job. If that sort of thing existed. “Lily, eat up. I’ve arranged for Gus to arrive in ten minutes for your lesson.”

“Spoilsport,” Zin muttered.

“What’s that?” Trinket swiveled on her daughter, who had the gall to look mystified.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t say anything. More pancakes?” Zin scooped two more onto my plate before I could say otherwise. Then she lowered her voice and grumbled, “It’s
never
too early to smack someone.”

“Is Gus here for Lily or for Mimsey?” Hettie asked, looking far too excited by the prospect. “Or
both
? Maybe they could double-date—Mimsey for love, Lily to learn.”

“
Mother!
” Mimsey stormed into the kitchen, all flowers and bright headbands and neon nails. “If you say one word to him about me or love or anything embarrassing—”

“Of course I won’t say a word.” Hettie frowned, looking around the room. “I’m discreet. Aren’t I discreet?”

Everyone suddenly became very engrossed with their pancakes.

“Lot of ungrateful kids, you all…” Hettie turned back to the griddle, flipping pancakes so high in her annoyance that one of them got stuck on the ceiling.

Everyone fell silent, each of us watching the doughy ring slowly peel from the ceiling one inch at a time. Eventually, the pancake fell straight downward and landed on Mimsey’s plate. Syrup spattered her face as she stared at the pancake.

“Breakfast is served,” Hettie said, a slightly evil tone to her voice.

“
Mother!
”

“Serves you right,” Hettie mumbled. Then she raised her voice and laced it with sweetness. “Yes, dear, is something wrong?”

Mimsey opened her mouth to respond just as the doorknocker rang louder than a gunshot, a thunderclap, and a church choir combined. The reverberations rippled through the house, shaking the entire kitchen.

“Don’t complain about the noise.” Hettie pointed a spatula at her daughters. “You’re the ones who installed that god-awful knocker.”

“She’s just upset because she can’t figure out the counter-curse to remove it,” Poppy whispered to me. “Drives her batty.”

“We wouldn’t have installed a special doorknocker if you didn’t ignore every person who knocked on your door.” Mimsey stood. “I’ll get it. You’re welcome.”

“No,
you’re
welcome,” Hettie said to Mimsey’s back. “I’m sure it’s your lover boy out there.”

Mimsey stormed off, her flowery dress swishing faster than a flag in a hurricane. She returned a moment later, her voice even. “Lily, it’s for you.”

I thanked Hettie for breakfast then hightailed my sparkle-clad rear end toward the front door, where Gus waited with an angry expression.

“I’ve been waiting here for
two minutes.
Two minutes! Who do you think you are, keeping me waiting?” He shook his head. “Let’s get to work. Just because you’re staying at The Twist doesn’t mean you’re on vacation. Where’s
The Magic of Mixology
? You better not’ve lost it. It’s unique, none like it left.”

“It’s in my room. I’ll grab it and meet you in the den,” I said, wondering if Gus’s extra-foul mood had anything to do with Mimsey.

“We haven’t got all day,” Gus snarled. “Move it.”

Turned out, we
did
have all day. By the end of the day, I was more exhausted than ever. We still hadn’t started Mixing, but I’d memorized most of the items in
The Magic of Mixology
. It’d take a few days for the knowledge to sink in and a few weeks before I was comfortable with the ingredients—knowing which combinations were for healing, and which potions could steal the drinker’s breath and leave the user for dead.

“Don’t stop studying just because I’m going home.” Gus stood, his bones creaking after the all-day study session.

The sun had set ages ago, and we’d had dinner delivered to the den. The only exercise either of us had gotten was when I paced the room, struggling to remember herbs and flowers and powders galore.

“I’m exhausted, Gus.” I flopped down on the couch. “Can’t I continue tomorrow?”

“If you want to let every single person on The Isle down, then yes. Sleep now and study when you feel like it.” Gus shook his head in disgust. “You don’t
have
a choice.”

“Just a quick nap. My eyelids weigh more than the rest of my body.”

Gus gave me a light smack on the cheek. “Stand up. Study, girl.”

I stood, tracing the same path I’d walked for most of the afternoon. If I continued at this rate, I’d wear grooves into the floor.

“Good work today,” Gus grunted, barely audible.

Just like that, a flash of warmth flooded through me. However, before I could thank him, he clomped down the hallway, smacking his cane as loud as he could, probably trying to tick off Mimsey for some unknown reason.

Sure enough, a second later, my aunt’s shout echoed down the hallway. “Shut that racket up, Gus, or you’re not welcome back here!”

“I’m using a cane, lady!” Gus shouted back. “Need it to walk.”

“Like hell you do,” Mimsey shot back. “We all know you only carry that cane to hit people with it!”

I closed my eyes. I’d never get any studying done at this rate. Thankfully, the sparring match ended after another few insults. The
click
of the front door echoed through the otherwise silent hallway.

“Rough day?”

The voice came from behind me. From inside the room.

I whipped around, my hands up in a boxing stance and my startled heart doing flips.

“Gonna fight me?” Ranger X smirked.

At first, that smirk gave me a rush of relief when I realized the intruder had a familiar face. But soon after the realization hit, a rush of annoyance drowned out the relief.
How had he gotten in here?

I lowered my fists. “It’s you.”

“Sure is, Princess.”

“Why do you go around scaring me like that?” I let my hands fall to my sides, though my fingers remained clenched in fists. “It’s annoying, and it’s an invasion of my privacy. Why are you here anyway? And
how
do you keep getting in? I thought you needed West Isle Witch blood to navigate The Twist.”

“Generally speaking, you do,” Ranger X said. “But there are
some
ways around it. For example, The Ranger team has a limited amount of SeekerSolution—something you’ll be replenishing for us once Gus shows you the proper method. It gives us immunity to the charms of the labyrinth. Before Hettie set up The Twist, the Ranger team required her to have an antidote—a master key, if you will—available in case something happened. Otherwise if
you
ladies were in trouble, how could we help you?”

I frowned. “Hettie never told me that.”

“I’m not surprised. She doesn’t make it public knowledge that there’s an antidote available.”

“Is anyone else aware of it?”

“Just the Rangers and the Mixologist, as far as I know. Hettie swore us to secrecy.”

“But could someone else get it? The solution, I mean?”

He seemed confused by my question. “In theory.”

I crossed my arms. “Interesting. What if she wants to have guests? Would she give them this antidote?”

Ranger X tilted his head. “If someone is with a West Isle Witch, they can be guided through The Twist. And I believe there’s some sort of doorbell hooked up outside the maze. A visitor could ring it, and one of your family members could come and collect them.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” I said. “I certainly wouldn’t want to throw a party here.”

“Yes, well, your grandmother is… something else.” He raised his eyebrows. “Now, for the
why.
I thought I’d stop by to give you an update on the current situation. But if you don’t want it, I can leave.”

“What happened to the Comm devices?”

“Like I said, if you don’t want to hear it, I can leave.”

I made a conscious effort to relax my fists. “What sort of update?”

“The kind about Harpin.”

My blood chilled nearly fifty degrees. “What about Harpin?”

“Do you have five minutes? Maybe we can sit. And talk.”

I eyed him suspiciously, taking the farthest armchair from where he’d perched against the desk. “What update?”