Hex on the Beach (The Magic & Mixology Mystery Series Book 1) (7 page)

After a rigorous morning session, in which we reviewed the first lesson twice, and finished a second, third, and fourth lesson—all of them more grueling than the last—I was
more
than ready to climb back into my hammock, curl up in a ball, and let the wind lull me to sleep.

I’d worked long hours and many late nights at Lions Marketing, Inc., but I had never been this exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. Even my hair sagged. Plus, the salt in the air twisted my locks into wild curls. While normally I would cinch the unruliness back into a bun, I was too tired to raise my arms.

I left my hair down and crumpled up in the hammock to wait out my lunch break, the pale-yellow sundress riding high on my thighs. I was supposed to head on a tour of The Isle, but the chirping of the birds, the splash of the waves, the crispness in the air—all of it got to me, and I fell fast asleep.

Sometime later, I took a deep breath and wondered if everything had been a dream. Maybe I’d wake up at Jesse’s bar with a hangover that’d knock me out for days before I’d have to show up at Lions Marketing and grovel for my job back.

But when I sucked in a breath that tasted distinctly salty and felt my body rocking with the steady motion of a hammock, I knew I hadn’t made it up. Lying here, the sun warming my face, until…

All at once, the sunlight disappeared and the rocking of the hammock stalled to nothing. My eyes flashed open, my heart pounding.

A face stared down at me—a male face topped with disheveled hair black as a midnight ocean, with eyes to match. They stared at me, and I felt myself tipping, swirling into their depths. I screamed, and my hand came up, swinging a hardcore punch straight to his face. My adrenaline pumped and my palms turned sweaty as I struggled to get my bearings.

Thankfully, the man was quick. Unlike me, he hadn’t just awoken from a deep dream, and his fighting moves were less groggy than mine. His hand caught my wrist just millimeters from his nose.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice a low, soft rumble. “And why the hell are you trying to punch me?”

“Do you make a habit of sticking your nose in strangers’ faces as they sleep?” I attempted to wriggle my arm from his grasp, but he held on tight, his grip unforgiving. The best I could manage was to pull myself into a semi-sitting position, uncomfortably folded into a pretzel on the hammock. “What is with people here? Have none of you learned manners?”

A lazy, slow smile overtook his face, turning his already-handsome, deeply tanned visage into a work of art. An imperfect work of art, but nonetheless beautiful. The small scar above his left eye only made him more stunning.

“Manners?” he asked. “You call punching someone before asking their name
manners
?”

“What’s your name?” I asked, my sarcasm appearing out of nowhere. “I can punch you again afterward, if that makes it better.”

The man’s eyes crinkled for a moment, confused, until he threw his head back and laughed. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against my cheek before whispering in my ear, “You can
try
.”

“Get away from me,” I said, shrinking back. “I still don’t know your name.”

He finally let go of my arm and backed away until he reached the top of the staircase. He surveyed me, his gaze traveling first from my sea-salt ’fro down to my shoulders, where his eyes lingered on the bare skin.

I self-consciously pulled the sundress straps back up onto my shoulders from where they’d fallen, but not before his gaze traveled down to my legs, which were exposed to mid-thigh, thanks to the breeze. I moved just as fast as I could, trying to pull my dress down to my knees.

But my efforts were in vain. I yanked the fabric toward my knees. But instead of covering my body, the jerking motion flipped the hammock upside down. My arms flailed, searching for firm ground, which I found all too soon. With my face.

Lying smack on the wood, nose pressed into the porch, I groaned. Then a gust of wind sent the edge of my dress sailing up and over my head.

Excellent.

When I managed to get past the embarrassment of flailing like a madwoman, the pain started to hit. I fought my dress down, sat up, and waited to die from mortification.

It didn’t happen immediately. And the handsome stud was still there a second later, so instead of facing him, I closed my eyes and willed a gigantic wave to come swallow me whole.

“Go ahead, laugh.” I waved, keeping my eyes firmly shut. “Hardy-har.”

Silence met my ears.

Mustering up my last ounce of courage, I peeked through one eyelid, seeing nothing but miles and miles of water, a beach, and the steps leading up to the porch. I stood up and moved to the staircase, scanning up and down the beach. No one in sight.

Huh.
I shouldn’t be surprised he’d disappeared—The Isle was filled with magic of all sorts—but he sort of chose an awkward time to just
leave
. I hated to admit I was a little annoyed. Didn’t he like what he saw?

I gasped, holding a hand to my mouth as I realized even I didn’t know the answer to that. I’d used the restroom once, but it wasn’t as if I’d taken a good long look.

So I did what any sane person would do. I peeked.

“What the heck are you doing?” a female voice asked.

My face flushing red for the zillionth time in the last minute, I let my dress drop back to my knees. “I just…”

“She’s
new,
give her a break,” a second voice replied. “Cripes, Zinnia. You’re so
rude
. What is it with people on this island?”

Two girls stood at the bottom of the staircase, as opposite as opposites could be. Both girls were somewhere around my age, mid-to late-twenties, if I had to guess.

The first voice belonged to a girl who could only be described as dark. Her black hair hung around her chin in a sharp bob, while her cheekbones matched her severe haircut. All angles and pointy features, she looked terrifying in leather pants, smoky eye makeup, and a tight black tank top.

“You’re Zinnia?” I asked this badass, rocker-type chick.

She crossed her arms. “Who wants to know?”

The other girl rolled her eyes. “Excuse my cousin. She thinks she’s tough. Spoiler alert—she’s
not
.”

“Am too.” Zinnia glared at the other girl.

If Zinnia was all badass dark clothes, hair, and makeup, her cousin was the picture of sunny. Gorgeous blond locks tumbled down her shoulders, bouncing happily as she walked up the stairs. A long, swishy skirt danced about her ankles, covering a one-piece neon-orange bathing suit that showed off her plump physique.

“I’m Poppy, the nice one of the two,” she said, extending a hand. “This is our cousin Zinnia, the mean one.”

I shook her hand, my face twisting into a confused smile. “Our cousin?”

“Oh, right.” Poppy smacked her forehead. “I’m Mimsey’s only daughter. Zinnia there, she belongs to Trinket. She’s the oldest of seven.”

“Your parents are Mimsey and Trinket?” My jaw hung open. “So that means—”

“We’re cousins.” Poppy nodded, helping me along. “Yep.”

“And you…” I looked at Zinnia. “
Six
siblings?”

Zinnia gave an exasperated sigh. “Tell me about it.”

“I have a theory that’s why she acts all tough, trying to get attention from Auntie Trinket in that herd of children.” Poppy pursed her lips. “It’s the only explanation.”

Zinnia, with a murderous glare, ascended the staircase and gave her cousin a punch on the shoulder.

“Ow!” Poppy cried. Looking over her shoulder at me, she smirked. “I’m just kidding. That didn’t hurt. I’ve got about fifty pounds on Zin the Twig.”

Where Poppy was all soft round curves, Zinnia was built from thin, bony features. I fell somewhere in between.

“So we’re
related
?” I was still getting used to the idea of having a family. I’d longed for siblings ever since I knew what a sister
was,
but without a mom, that wish had never come true.

“Get used to seeing us around.” Poppy enveloped me in a huge hug, a wave of floral perfume drifting pleasantly around us. “Welcome to The Isle. In fact, we’re here to give you the official tour.”

Still processing all the new information, I managed only to nod.

“What
were
you doing though?” Poppy asked. Lowering her voice, she leaned in close. “Checking your undergarments? I know how that goes. Sometimes I forget if I have on my nice ones or my workin’ ones.”

“You have working underwear?” Zin asked. “Gross.”

“Don’t pretend you
don’t
.” Poppy rolled her eyes. “Everyone does. Who dresses to look good for work? That’s all about comfort. Right, Lily?”

Zin shook her head while my face remained frozen, eyes wide, lips sealed tight.

“See?” Zin said. “You’re just weird.”

“Yeah, my mom says unique.” Poppy grinned. “You know my mom, right? Mimsey?”

“Yes, she’s very sweet. She made me breakfast this morning. In fact, she might still be here.” I glanced behind me, but the bungalow appeared empty. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I’m ravenous.” Poppy peered over my shoulder. “Whaddya got in there?”

“You just ate!” Zin crossed her arms. “And Mother said we only have an hour to do the tour before Lily has to get back to work, so we should really get started.”

“I would love to see The Isle,” I admitted as Poppy squeezed past me and peered through the windows into the store. “If that’s okay with you two.”

“Of course it’s okay. And Poppy is
always
ravenous, so that’s normal.” Zin’s lips flattened into a straight line. “Let’s
go
.”

“Fine.” Poppy straightened. “Where to first?”

“I haven’t seen anything yet.” I shrugged.

“Follow me.” Zin stormed off, her black everything contrasting against the white sand.

I wondered how she didn’t sweat to death in all that leather and latex.

“She puts on a tough show,” Poppy whispered as we followed Zin. “But her bark is louder than her bite. Literally.”

“Not funny,” Zin called over her shoulder. “Just because your
bite
is worse than mine at the moment doesn’t mean it’ll always be that way. Just you wait…”

“She’s mad because she can’t control her forms yet.” Poppy shook her head. “
Slacker.
”

“I’m not a slacker!” Zin turned to me, her face so white she looked nearly transparent. Ghostly white. Which reminded me…

“Are you guys witches like your moms?” I asked.

Poppy snorted. “No.”

Zin spoke through gritted teeth. “Neither of us is a witch, which is why there’s no hope for us taking over the Mixology business. They had to bring you in for that.”

“So human, then?” I asked.

“Nope, not that either,” Poppy said. “But this game is fun. Guess again.”

I looked between the two. “Really, this magic stuff is all new to me. I have no idea.”

“Sure, you do.” Poppy poked my shoulder as we walked down the beach. “Think of all the books you read.”

“I mostly read mysteries,” I said. “Featuring humans.”

“Fairy tales, then,” Poppy said.

I thought back to all my fairy tales, but except for the witch in
Hansel and Gretel
, I was drawing a blank. Biting my lip, I ran through a list of supernatural creatures. “Fairies?”

Zin wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Elves?” I asked.

Poppy stopped, putting her hands on her hips. “Do I
look
like an elf to you?”

“No, but the only other things I can think of are giants and trolls, and you
really
don’t look like either of them,” I said, my voice weak. “I’m sorry, I need a clue.”

Poppy put a finger to her lip as if in thought. Then she withdrew her hand. “Fine, here’s your clue.”

When she didn’t say anything, I looked up from the sandy beach. Poppy had stopped a few feet back, curling her lips into a sneer that chilled my blood. Fangs as long as my middle finger extended from her teeth.

“Holy moly, you’re a saber-toothed tiger!” I stumbled backward until I collapsed into a heap.

Poppy burst into laughter, her teeth receding into her mouth. “No, silly. My kind get a…
sparkly
rap thanks to a current pop culture movie.”

“A vampire?” I gasped.

“Nailed it!” Poppy held up a hand. “Poppy the vamp, at your service.”

I glanced at Zin, who appeared bored with this game and not at all frightened. I looked back at Poppy. “Should I be worried?”

“Oh, no.” Poppy waved a hand. “I’m blood-intolerant.”

I scrunched up my face in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Sucking blood gives me real bad gas. Bloating, cramps… you don’t wanna hear what else.” She winked. “Seriously, it’s gross.”