Hex on the Beach by Kelley Armstrong
Chapter Five
“We could land in Long Beach,” Allie said, jarring me to wakefulness.
I blinked up at her. Apparently, I had dozed off in the comforting fluttering movements of the plane. The pilot had called it turbulence, but it felt a bit like the few times I’d been on a small boat in the Mississippi River, rolling and jolting. It had lulled me to sleep the same as the river’s waves had done.
“Context?” I asked.
Allie held out a cocktail with a proud flourish. “Spicy breakfast.”
My assistant had a fondness for naming the blood concoctions that she procured. I sipped, paused, and sipped again. “Not Allie juice. Whose blood is this?”
She sighed. “I told her you’d know!”
I sipped again. “Not my grandmother either. Not Eli . . . not human, though.”
“Lady B’s assistant.” Alice patted her purse, where I knew a large handgun and lipstick and itinerary were stored. “I added cayenne, cumin, tomato juice, vodka, probiotics, garlic; it’s, sort of like a Tex-Mex Bloody Mary, heavy on the blood. I told them you’d know it wasn’t my blood.”
“Why?” I sipped. Tomato, contrary to many opinions, was a kind of fruit. I knew that with certainty because I was getting a breakfast-drink buzz.
“Oh, well, in case you needed more blood than I have.” Allie was chipper as she announced this as if my leechlike appetite wasn’t exhausting. Before I could object, apologize, or lament, she patted her giant handbag. “It’s like preparation for if I ever need to carry baby formula. I mean, except for the vodka . . . and the blood . . . and—”
“Long Beach?” Sera interrupted. She did not look like she’d slept, more like she’d developed a distinct case of air sickness.
“So, the guards will be at San Diego Airport, but we could land at Long Beach—like an hour on the freeway this time of day—and drive there. No guards. No armored cars. Just us.” Allie grinned.
“Do it.” I didn’t even pause. Maybe Eli could call off the guards, but if not, the fact was that an armed entourage drew attention, and I was not interested in that. I wanted to lose myself with my friends and sit on a beach.
“They’ll still meet us at the spa,” Sera pointed out.
“My spa.” Allie rummaged in her purse and held up a little packet. “Electrolytes. Great for hangovers and flights.”
Sera gratefully accepted, and then Allie went off to talk to captain.
“She’s terrifying,” Sera muttered.
“You’re not wrong.” I sipped my breakfast. The fruit would leave me vaguely tipsy, but wasn’t that the point of the weekend? Girls’ Weekend. Fun, freedom, and frolicking.
By the time we’d landed, I was both excited and tipsy. Sera was even more motion sick. That left Christy and Allie in charge of decisions for car rental, luggage gathering, and navigating. We all showed travel cards—and everyone except me had a temperature and pulse check.
“Would you like to volunteer to have yours recorded?” the man asked.
I laughed. “Witch melded with a faery. My readings would be too weird. Plus, I have this.” I shook my diplomatic passport. “Wouldn’t want to anger the faeries, would we?”
He walked away quickly, much to our relief. I had no idea what readings I’d get. I was not just witch and fae, so I’d register in potentially dangerous ways.
Allie swept away to get a car, and Christy stared after her, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” I prompted.
“I may like Alice if she keeps being so . . .” Christy waved her hand in the direction of my cheerful assistant who was clapping her hands at something the rental car agent said.
I nodded. “That’s what happens. You’re going along minding your business, used to finding chirpy women irritating, and then she pulls out a gun or stocks your drawers with really useful lingerie, or runs over a draugr with her car. Then you realize you actually like her.”
“Lingerie?” Christy echoed.
“Or she sings,” Sera said. “Honestly, if she sang all her prattling answers, I’d listen to whatever she was going on about.”
I patted Christy’s shoulder and offered her my drink, forgetting the blood part until Christy winced. “Strictly non-blood, Gen.”
“Sorry.” I fired off a quick text to Eli, letting him know our changed plans.
When Allie returned, she refused to tell us what she’d rented until we rolled our bags to the car. There, gleaming like a bright, beautiful bad idea was a cherry-red Mustang convertible.
“Seriously?” Christy looked at Allie.
“Yep.” Allie popped her “p” like it was bubble gum. Then she tossed the keys to Christy. “You said you loved convertibles, and”—she motioned around us—“ocean.”
“Damn it.” Christy looked at me. “I’m done for.”
Sera and I laughed, and we all stowed the luggage and clambered into the car. No guards. No work. Four women in a convertible at the beach.
What could possibly go wrong?
By the timewe reached the spa, things were so ideal that I expected the spa itself to be a dump. However, it was anything but low-brow. Christy pulled the car up to the lobby area, and bellmen swooped out to collect our bags and open our doors.
“I didn’t tell them I was coming,” Allie whispered quickly. “It’s like a stealth inspection.” Then she raised her voice and said, “Reservation for Zehr, party of four. Full deluxe package.”
“Of course. Right this way.”
We were ushered to the front desk, and I was glad I was sober enough to take in the lobby. A massive pedestal fountain, surrounded by tiers of flowers, dominated the high-ceilinged space. Some sort of soothing music, acoustic and earthy, filtered into the room. And the entire space was perfumed with some sort of—lavender? vanilla?-- earthy fragrance. I couldn’t identify it, but it was very relaxing.
A uniformed man approached with glasses of what looked like pink champagne, despite the early hour. Apparently, they took relaxation very seriously here.
I accepted a glass and glanced at my phone.
“We have no cell signal on the main grounds,” the man said in a low soothing voice. “Jarring things are not permitted, out of respect for the other guests. Phones will not work here.”
I expected a reply from Eli, but nothing came up. I frowned and tapped off another text to Eli. Sooner or later, he’d get the message when we hit a hotspot or I caught the wifi in the room.
At the desk, Christy was filling out paperwork. She paused, glanced at me, and slid a black credit card over to the woman. “For all expenses.”
The young woman took the card, ran it, and in short order, we were being whisked away through a maze of halls and across courtyards, each with burbling fountains and flowers. A young man with the sort of timeless beauty that spoke well of the spa’s service strolled through the grounds, leading us. It felt a bit like we were walking in circles, a labyrinth of landscaped beauty that I presumed he was showing off.
The group of us exchanged a few looks, pointing at flowers—especially the sheer number of Birds of Paradise. They could grow in New Orleans, but here they were seemingly cropping up like bright flocks around fountains.
“Through the statuary garden, you will find trails.” Our bellman--staff guide, whatever he was--motioned. “Beyond the spa rooms you can reach the ocean. Our facilities offer the best of Southern California without the inconvenience of driving or ever leaving the estate grounds.”
“It’s beautiful,” Allie said with a grin.
The bellman finally stopped beside a building. “Your casita.”
Sera stepped forward, but he put his hand up.
He slipped off his shoes, standing barefoot inside the door. No, at closer look, he had on what looked like thick gauze socks. “We want nothing outside to contaminate the cleansing energy of the casita.”
When none of us reacted, he added, “We don’t wear shoes inside.”
Once we all took off our shoes, he opened the door for us to walk inside. It felt a bit like the home I shared with Eli, as if nature had come inside. Another fountain. More scented air. This time, the earthy fragrance reminded me of jasmine.
Our guide walked to a large dinning table. On it were several carafes of chilled water condensation trickling down the bottles. And at the head of the table were four folders.
“Each client has a spa rejuvenation and detoxification schedule,” he explained. “This schedule will enable you to purify your body and soul.”
He pointed to wall where a color-coded “group schedule” was written out in lovely penmanship. “As you can see, meals are also scheduled. Your optimal nutrition for your age and fitness will be provided. No sharing of entrees, please, as it complicates the chef’s creative process.”
At that, Sera snorted.
“Can anyone enter the facility who isn’t a registered guest?” Allie prompted.
“Absolutely not,” he said sounding aghast at the thought. “We are an exclusive, private spa.”
“Excellent.” I wandered toward the kitchen, and then the living room, and finding nothing, paused. “Where is the bar here?”
“The casita is not stocked with alcohol.” Again with the appalled tone. “It’s dulling.”
Allie scowled. “So, it’s only served at the restaurant?”
“Restaurant?” The man pressed his lips together briefly. “Each guest will have a personally selected meal. We do not burden our guests with making decisions on meals that they may not enjoy.”
I exchanged a tense look with Allie. Somehow, I doubted that they’d have my preferred meals available, but we could always go out into San Diego and shop.
Christy shooed the man out. Once he was gone, she met my gaze, “Plan?”
I shrugged, determined not to let a teetotaling stance at the spa ruin my weekend. It was a minor inconvenience, but the resort was lovely, and the spa experience sounded destressing. “Spa visits, and then we can go out in the morning to grab my food.”