Hex on the Beach by Kelley Armstrong

Chapter Seven

After Misty, the vacant-eyed spa guide watched us put on our shoes, she announced in an unsettlingly calm voice, “Who will be steaming?”

“Steaming?” Sera echoed.

“Hot steam will open your pores and soul,” Misty explained. “Calming scents will add to the rejuvenation.”

“And we keep a towel?” Christy clarified.

“Oh yes, you can sit on it or cover the softer parts from steam.” The young woman looked so earnest that I wanted to ask if they were steaming high grade marijuana or something else in the vents, but I was really trying to believe that this place was just extra-eco, extra-earthy, not corrupt. It was San Diego, for goodness’ sake! They didn’t even have draugr here.

“I’ll do the hot springs,” I said. “See you two after.”

Sera and Christy opted for the sauna, but I felt relatively certain that one of us ought to investigate the hot pool. I hoped I was being paranoid, but I was starting to have a strong suspicion that the employees were all high or drugged. I kept trying to explain it away as hippie-dom gone wild. But . . . Maybe it wasn’t simply extra. Maybe something was actually off here, and although I had no idea what it was, I wanted to ease my potential paranoia.

I waited in my robe and tissue paper shoes until Misty returned. Then, I followed her through a pair of wooden doors into a freezing cold room with a burbling steamy pool about the size of an extended, rectangular dining room table. The room was absent of plants, but the scent of something sweet was just this side of nauseating. Was that the drug? It was so sugary that I could taste it in the humidity.

I walked over to the hot spring and dropped my robe.

The smiling spa guide said, “When your shoes fully melt, you are allowed to exit.”

“Allowed?” I echoed.

She just nodded, even as I gave her a questioning look. Paper shoes in near-boiling water? They’d melt as soon as I entered the pool. But whatever. There was a hot spring, and flaky spa staff or not, the feeling of sinking into that hot water was like dropping into peace.

Within moments my muscles relaxed, and I sighed.

For the first time since we left the resort lobby, I felt truly relaxed. The extra-hot, bubbling water seemed to sluice in and out around me like waves. Giant rocks rimmed the pool like strange seats. And whatever that scent was, it was calming. Not too sweet. Not too anything. It was like inhaling peace.

I stayed like that, submerged up to my shoulders and feeling calm enough to nap, right up to the moment that my head slipped under water and hit a rock hard. The shock and pain of it jolted me upright and out of the stone tub.

Why was I here? Why was I relaxing so much? Something was definitely wrong. Whatever peace I’d felt quickly vanished.

Naked as the day I was born, shoeless and dripping wet, I walked out of the hot springs room and to the front desk. As I did, I saw an older suit-clad man dart away.

No. Not dart. I saw a man flow. Only one creature did that.

Draugr. There was a draugr here.

My peace was all sorts of gone.

Misty the spa guide stepped up to me in a flurry. “Are you unwell? Would you like a soothing glass of cucumber water?”

“Who was that?” I asked, nodding toward the doorway where the man had vanished.

“There was no one here.” Misty frowned, giving me a baffled look that seemed genuine. Had she not seen him?

“Dead guy in a suit,” I clarified. “Draugr. Right here, plain as murder.”

“No. There are no draugr in San Diego.” Misty shook her head. “How could there be? We check everyone at the gates.”

“I saw him.”

“No.” She glared at me and repeated, “There are no draugr in San Diego.”

I couldn’t tell if she was afraid or angry. Either way, she obviously wasn’t a fan of questions.

I looked around, cursing my continued lack of necromancy. I wanted my magic back. All of it. It shouldn’t still be an empty reserve inside me. Weeks of this had worn on me—enough that I was apparently on a hell-vacation.

“There was a draugr here. Just now,” I said calmly. “You were just talking to him.”

“Draugr don’t live in San Diego.” This time, Misty laughed like I’d told a joke, but then she said, “Were you in the spring too long, ma’am? Oh no! Let’s get you hydrated, mmm?”

She tried to reach out to check my temperature, like a mother putting a wrist to a child’s fevered forehead.

I swatted her away. “Stop that.”

“You must have been faint. Drink this!” She poured a tall glass of that now-tepid water.

“You drink it.” I stepped back.

And she did. She blinked. Then she lifted the glass and drained the whole thing. Then she re-filled it and held it out.

“Cucumber mint water?” She gave me another beatific smile. “Or I have celery if you’re hungry.”

“Hop.”

Still holding the glass of tepid water, Misty started hopping. “Drink the water, ma’am. It’ll clear your mind of all troubles.”

“Sauna,” I managed to say.

Misty scrunched up her face like I’d confused her, and then she started hopping toward the sauna.

“Stop hopping,” I whispered.

“I thought . . . weren’t you going to the pool?” Misty blinked at me several times before whispering, “You’re all wet, you know?”

I bit back my frustrated yell and said, “Misty, I am looking for the sauna. “Walk me to the sauna.”

“Oh. Are you scheduled for it?”

I paused. I hoped she was drugged, not naturally this daft. I smiled as calmly as I could. “Why yes, I am scheduled for it. I was late. Swimming, you know.”

A flicker of terror went over her, and her mouth opened wide like she was going to scream, but then she blinked. The fear and pending scream vanished. The words looked like they were a struggle to get out, but she managed to say, “Stay away from the beach. They’ll get you.”

There was something wrong here—beyond the celery and carrots and weird-assed shoes.

Just then, Allie burst through the door, purse bulging, a trash bag over her shoulder, and bloody hands gripping what looked like a broom handle. Her feet were bloody, and all she said was, “Boss! Weapon.”

She tossed me her back-up gun, a tiny .22 that was perfect for concealing in your cleavage, but not exactly high-powered.

“News?” I gripped the gun, just as Allie swung the broom at Misty, who dropped the syringe she’d had concealed in her hand.

“I’ll take that.” Allie scooped up the syringe, wrapped it in a couple pairs of the tissue paper shoes, and stuffed it all into what looked like an empty blood bag.

She met my gaze and announced, “Draugr. Witches. I don’t even know, but talking to the staff was like talking to a bunch of drunk bunnies!”

I nodded; not-interrupting was often best with Alice.

“They locked me in a supply cabinet. Can you believe that? As if that would cage me! I whacked my head hard when they shoved me in there. But that meant I was clear-headed long enough to grab some stuff before escaping.”

“Are you—"

“I figure I bought the resort already, so I’m not actually stealing!” Alice tapped her broom handle on the floor like she was some old, wizard with a staff. “Let’s get the others.”

“Right.” I sort of blinked, realizing that I was still a little woozy from the hot spring. “Get them. Go outside to get fresh air.”

We walked through the spa center, guns and broom handle at the ready. No one was there. Anywhere. The first few treatment rooms were empty. As we walked further, we discovered that a few rooms had people--comatose people--stretched out on the massage tables. They all seemed alive, but more than a few had been there long enough that their muscles were significantly atrophied.

“They won’t wake,” Allie said. “I tried to wake one I saw beside the pool on a lounger.”

“What in the name of duck gizzards is going on here?” I muttered.

Allie shook her head. “We need to get out of here, and . . . I’ll need a well-armed cleaning crew for this place. First, though, it’s rescue-and-run time.”

After several more minutes, we found Sera and Christy, giggling uproariously in the vanilla and fruit-scented sauna.

“Gen!” Sera yelled cheerily.

We tugged them out of the sauna, but they were giggling like they had been smoking all the drugs at the same time.

“Why are you taking out trash?” Christy pointed at Allie’s bag. “Are there chores?”

“Pain helps shock you out but . . . I cannot hit them,” Allie motioned at them.

“Bee!” I yelled. “Get it, Sera! On Christy’s cheek.”

Sera slapped Christy’s face, and Christy shoved Sera backwards. Sera kicked Christy, taking her legs out. I let one friend smash into the wall, and the other crumble to the ground. I felt a flicker of guilt.

Then Sera blinked. “What . . . where? Huh?”

“Why are we naked?” Christy asked, wrapping a towel more firmly around her.

“Draugr. Possibly magic. Drugs in the steam, I think . . .” I ticked it off. “The flowery, fruity scent.”

Sera grabbed robes and handed one to Christy—and then she started going through cupboards until she found one for me. “Clothes, Gen.”

I grinned. Right. Fighting while naked could get super awkward.

Allie had opened the trash bag, although her gun was still in reach if she needed it. She pulled out several cans of aerosol cleaner. “Here. Aim for the eyes.”

Sera and Christy each stuffed cans of cleaner into one of their robe pockets. Then Allie pulled out a long-necked lighter. Grinning, she held it up. “Fire balls, anyone?”

She pulled out several glass jars, each filled with a yellow liquid, thumb tacks, nails, and a floating candle. The candles’ wicks were sticking out of holes at the top and black electrical tape covered them. “Pull off the tape, light, toss, and boom.”

Christy shook her head. “You and me need to have a long chat, Tennessee.”

Allie beamed. “Nicknames imply friendship.”

“Give me the bombs, Tennessee. I played softball.” Christy held out a hand, and Allie, smiling widely, gave her the three improvised bombs.

“I’d feel a whole lot better with my swords,” I admitted.

Allie looked at me. “I can’t give you my favorite gun, but you can have my staff.”

Now someone who had no martial arts training might not realize that a broom stick—a staff—was a worthy weapon, but a staff was able to execute all the primary blows a sword was. The difference was that the sword would slice flesh, and a staff would pummel the bones and organs.

I twirled my new weapon. Up close, a staff was just as good as a sword. And at a distance, we had improvised bombs, two guns, and homemade fire balls.

“Shall we go get our clothes, and get up out of this place?” Sera asked.

“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed.

“But, you know, try not to set it all on fire,” Allie said. “I did buy it.”

“Come on, Tennessee. Let’s test your bombs.” Christy grinned at Allie.

And while it wasn’t exactly a weekend that matched our plans, I felt good seeing them get along. It was a Girls’ Weekend . . . but our way.