Hex on the Beach by Kelley Armstrong

Epilogue

Ileft Elphame and returned to New Orleans with a bounce in my step that I attributed to the holiday as much as the return of my magic. It was evening, so Christy and Sera headed to their jobs.

Allie and I exchanged a look, but she didn’t ask any awkward questions.

“Can I borrow a car to go to the Outs?” I asked Allie. My first order of business was visiting my grandmother.

My assistant gave me another odd look, but she handed me her keys. “Try not to break it. I’ll get Tres to fetch me so I can go home.”

I nodded. I hated keeping the secrets I was—not just about Marcus’ interest in her and what that meant, but the Chester situation, too. Hopefully, no one would need to know about the odd man, but if so, I’d tell them when it was necessary. Not today. This was my work: figuring out threats and handling them.

As I drove toward what was once called Slidell, I tried to think of ways that the Chester situation wasn’t alarming. There weren’t many. He was a stranger who knew far more than he ought to about me.

When I arrived at the castle that Beatrice called home, I stepped into the familiar humid air, loud with the chorus of frogs singing and mosquitoes buzzing.

“Lady Beatrice is expecting you,” my gran’s assistant said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Eleanor was maybe fifteen upon her death, and she was dressed in her usual Renaissance garb.

Inside, Eleanor guided me to a library where Beatrice was standing in front of a giant fireplace. She didn’t turn to face me even as she greeted me: “Geneviève. Daughter of Mine.”

I was usually patient with her, attempting to forge a relationship. She was, after all, my ancestor and one of only two blood relations in my life. Tonight, though, I was tired of etiquette.

“Did you know about the spa?”

Beatrice didn’t insult me by pretending not to understand. Her back was still to me. “I did.”

“And you didn’t think to warn me?” I asked.

The fierce ruler of the fanged monsters that plagued my city--my world in fact—finally turned to face me. Her eyes were swollen and blackened. Her lips were bruised and cracked, and her left arm dangled at an angle that was far from natural.

“I could not,” she said.

I was across the room in a blink, flowing to her. Gently, I steered her to a chair. “Who did this? Did you kill them? If no I w--”

Her hand covered my mouth, stopping the word. “I am fine. Healing. Chester was most upset that I ruined his little seaside venture.”

“Who is he?”

Beatrice offered me a terrifying smile. “My creator. The one who saw fit to hand me to a group of draugr to create a hybrid.”

I froze, pondering the appearance of humanness in the suit-clad man. He had seemed innocuous. Human. Weak. Uninteresting.

“He did this?”

She gave a single nod. “He’s the oldest living human, Daughter of Mine. An alchemist who made a crossroads deal if you ask him. I don’t honestly know, but I know you need to stay away from him. If I’d known that it was his business . . . I didn’t though.” She took my hand in hers. “Please, Geneviève, heed me on this. The last person to cross him was Iggy. And he died for it.”

Iggy. The Hexen I’d restored to life.

“Please?” she repeated. “I’m fine. Healing . . . I was simply not expecting him. Chester brings up difficult memories. You must stay away from him, Geneviève.”

“I hear you.” I felt a wave of tenderness toward her. Sure, she was a monster in her own right, but she was my family, too.

“I’ve asked Lauren to stay with me,” Beatrice mentioned, tone falsely calm. “You and Eli, Alice, you’re all welcome here. Tres is watching over Allie for now, but . . .”

“I’ll talk to Allie. Is Mama Lauren here?” I sat on the floor at Beatrice’s feet.

Beatrice, again, smiled, but this—despite the bloodied mouth—looked happier. “She’s working on a hydroponic garden I started. She’s been crafting herbal drinks to heal me.”

I nodded. If there was a garden, it was because Beatrice knew it would entertain my mother. And if there were herbs to heal the already-dead, my mother would find them.

“So . . . aside from the Chester issue, tell me about the trip,” Beatrice invited.

“Worst. Spa. Ever,” I started, offering her the distraction we both needed. “Shoes made of leaves. Pink mist. No booze.”

“I’d heard it was hellish, but it was a dry spa?” Beatrice grimaced.

“Completely.”

“Eleanor!” Beatrice called out. “Daiquiris? And the gifts?”

I regaled my great-times-great grandmother with tales from my trip as her assistant brought in a tray of Blood Daiquiris. Alongside them were two daggers that looked to be the length of my forearm.

“Magic imbued,” Beatrice said as if such gifts were minor. “For any future needs. One for you. One for Eli.”

I accepted them with the same casual tone. “Daiquiris and daggers? Maybe I ought to visit more often.”

“I’d like that,” she said, and we left it at that. I may have no choice. For now though, we did as one must when disasters always lurked: we shelved it and shared a drink.

Later we could figure out the looming disasters, but for the moment, I was rejuvenated, magic-wielding, and my friends and family were secure. All was as well in the world as it could get.

The End