Hex on the Beach (The Magic & Mixology Mystery Series Book 1) (8 page)

“But… won’t you die without blood?”

“Your grandfather was the Mixologist when I was born. As soon as my mother realized I was a vampire, she hounded him to come up with a synthetic cocktail that takes care of all of my nutritional needs. She thought eating blood was just
vile,
so she tried to stop me from ever trying it. But I snuck a gulp once, and I got really sick.” Poppy grinned. “Anyway, the cocktail’s like a Bloody Mary. He always called it my Vamp Vitamins. I suppose that means now you’ll be in charge of making it.”

“I haven’t made anything yet,” I said as the three of us resumed walking. “Gus is making me memorize everything before I even touch a mixer or an herb.”

“Well, Gus is a crank.” Poppy stuck out her tongue at an imaginary Gus. “If I run low on my backup stores of the Vamp Vites, I’ll have my mom pester him until he lets you mix up a batch. I think Gus holds some sort of weird torch for her, which is cool and all, since I don’t know my dad. Plus, it might be good practice for you. The Vamp Vitamins are easy—that’s what the last one said.”

“The last one?” I asked, trying to pull information from them without giving away what I knew.

Zin and Poppy exchanged a glance heavy with meaning.

“The last Mixologist,” Poppy answered.

“What happened to him?” I asked.

“We’ll tell you later,” Poppy said breezily.

My inner alarms went off—buzzing with suspicion. So far, Poppy had been forthcoming with all sorts of information—sometimes
too much
information. Her eluding my question had my mind zipping with possibilities.

“You never guessed Zin’s type. I’ll give you a hint—it’s
not
human.”

Zin scowled. “I don’t have to say my species if I don’t want.”

Poppy made a face at her cousin. “Lily can guess, then, and I’ll just nod when she gets it.”

“Also a vampire?” I asked.

Zin looked far more like a vamp than sunny, sweet Poppy. I wouldn’t have been surprised if fangs the size of my arms popped out of Zin’s mouth. I had the sneaking suspicion that Zin would enjoy terrifying anyone around her with a peek at a set of monster incisors.

“Ha, she wishes,” Poppy said.

“I do not,” Zin hissed. “And she’ll never guess.”

“Probably not,” I agreed. “Another clue, perhaps?”

“What’s furry?” Poppy asked.

“Um… a dog?”

“Bad clue, Poppy,” Poppy said to herself. “C’mon, Poppy, think.”

“She talks to herself.” Zin shook her head. “And people think I’m the strange one.”

“They howl at the moon.” Poppy raised a finger.

“A werewolf?” I asked, looking at Zin. I didn’t want to admit it, but I could see that. Zin seemed vicious enough.

“You’re only about half right.” Poppy blew her cousin a kiss. “Ain’t that right, Zin?”

“Shut up,” Zin said, marching forward and leaving us behind.

“What did I say?” I asked.

“Nothing, nothing.” Poppy patted my arm. “She’s just sore. She’s a shifter, but she hasn’t managed all her forms yet. She sort of… spontaneously combusts into different forms.”

“Oh my gosh, that sounds dangerous,” I said. “No wonder she’s sensitive about it.”

Poppy smirked, shaking her head. “Just the opposite. Zin tries
so
hard to shift into something like a werewolf or a dragon—something badass.” Poppy gestured for me to stop walking, watching to make sure that her cousin was out of earshot. “The last three things she’s shifted into are, not in this order: a kitten, a mosquito, and a penguin.”

I held up a hand to cover my mouth. “That sounds adorable.”

“It is.” Poppy laughed. “That’s why she hates it.”

We continued walking.

“You said at some point she’ll be able to master it?”

“Most shifters have only one form by the time they come of age—about sixteen years old or so. She’s about ten years late and
still
has no idea what her final form will be.”

“That’s got to be tough. Like getting your driver’s license ten years after everyone else.”

“Driver’s license?” Poppy’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s that?”

“Never mind. I just mean… I’m sure it’s hard on her.”

“Yeah, a bit.” Poppy shrugged. “I think that’s why she dresses like a warrior princess, but whenever I suggest that theory, she snaps at me. And it’s not
always
cute. When she was a mosquito, she bit me right on the ass.”

I laughed. “Ouch!”

“Tell me about it.” Poppy shook her head. “Enough about that, anyway. How are you adjusting?”

“It’s a whirlwind.” I hesitated. “A bit overwhelming.”

“Yeah, I’d imagine. But it’s not that bad once you get used to The Isle—or so I hear. I’ve always lived here. Never left.” A note of wistfulness colored her voice.

“Don’t worry.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not missing too much out there. And if you do want a tour of the real world—er, at least the Twin Cities—I’d be happy to take you.”

“Really?” She raised her eyebrows, clasping her hands to her chest. “I’d
love
that.”

I smiled. “It’ll be fun. Speaking of, what do you guys do here for fun?”

Poppy opened her mouth to respond but stopped, instead looking over my shoulder. A frown twisted her lips downward.

“What is it?” I asked.

“They need us,” Zin called, hurrying back from where she’d gone on ahead. Her serious expression churned my stomach as she glanced in my direction. “It’s an emergency. More specifically, they need
you
.”

The three of us huffed and puffed up the front steps of the bungalow, where Mimsey stood waiting, her hands twisted in front of her.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your tour, girls, but we have a bit of an emergency, and I thought it best if Lily was here.” She looked at me. “Gus will help you get through it, dear.”

“Get through what?” I asked as Mimsey pulled me inside. “I’ve only had one morning of training. I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. I can’t help. I don’t know anything about anything.”

“Chop the Cat’s Foot there. I’m grinding the Devil’s Bit here,” Gus instructed, his arms already working with fury.

“It’s not a real… uh, cat’s foot, is it?” I asked.

“You call them Stalwart and Ground Ivy,” Mimsey said. “It’s a plant, not a cat. Hurry along, dear, we have a patient coming in.”

I set to work chopping the dried Cat’s Foot. “A patient?”

“He needs a cure.” Mimsey watched the two of us work. “He says it’s the
plague
.”

Poppy sucked in a breath. “The plague? But we haven’t had an incident in over six months. I thought we were in the clear.”

“What’s the plague?” I looked up.

“Keep chopping, girl,” Gus snapped.

I moved my arms faster. “Is it a disease?”

“Of sorts. A malicious one,” Zin said, as if the prospect of a malicious plague interested her. “Very dangerous. Someone created it to kill us all off.”

Mimsey frowned. “It’s serious, Zin.”

“Of course it is.” She looked at her fingernails, which resembled talons painted jet black. “I’m just telling Lily the truth.”

“You don’t have to scare the girl.” Mimsey put a hand on her hip. “Just concentrate, darling, and follow Gus’s instructions.”

I chop, chop, chopped. “I’m concentrating, but I would
also
like to know what I’m dealing with. The truth please, or else I’ll never learn.”

Mimsey glanced uneasily at her daughter and niece. “It’s never been proven to be malicious. It could be one of many things. There’re a lot of factors involved.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.” I chopped some more. “I’m listening to any factors you want to tell me about.”

“There’s a theory,” Zin cut in, her voice dropping, “that it’s The Faction acting up again.”

“The faction?”

Mimsey held up a hand to quiet everyone down. “Here on The Isle, dear, our motto is
Maintain the culture
. What culture, you might ask?”

I nodded.

“The magical culture. Witches, mainly, but as you’re aware”—she gestured to her family—“we have an eclectic mix.”

“I’m the only vamp here,” Poppy piped up. “And Zin’s basically the only shifter. If there’re others, they live in The Forest. You’re the oldest of us all; that’s why you’re in line for the Mixology gig above Zin’s siblings. At least, that’s what we think; the whole process is a bit finicky, and sometimes a generation is skipped entirely.”

Mimsey nodded. “As I said, mainly witches and wizards. A long time ago, we all lived in peace with the human civilization, magic and non-magic worlds combined. But eventually we started butting heads with one another, first over silly things like rules and regulations. Then more and more, these
tiffs
became dangerous.”

I swallowed, torn between the two worlds. I had experienced a piece of both by now, and I could understand why emotions might fly high between the two.

“At some point, so many of our kind were killed off that we said enough is enough. We decided to remove ourselves from human civilization once and for all and set up our own culture, economy, way of life.” Mimsey spread her hands wide. “Thus, The Isle was born. A safe haven for magical folks from across the world.”

“Why would anyone be after the people here?” I looked up, but I spotted Gus watching me. I immediately went back to work, head down. “It doesn’t seem like you’re bothering anyone. I lived in human civilization—just hours away—for
years,
and I never knew The Isle’s existence was real.”

“The Faction isn’t made up of humans.” Mimsey sighed so hard, her chest rose and fell a few inches. “See, there’s a group of people out there, rogue witches and wizards, that formed a small clan. They’re the ones who believed we should forget about The Isle and… I’m quoting here, dear, I don’t believe it…”

“What my aunt is having a hard time saying,” Zin cut in, “is that The Faction thinks we should have taken our rightful place in the world.”

“Mixing with the humans?” I asked, confusion probably clouding my eyes. “As in, they wanted to keep things how they were?”

Zin shook her head. “As in… they wanted to wipe out humanity. Or most of it, at least.”

Mimsey’s eyes darkened. “These people, The Faction, they don’t listen to reason, Lily. They’re so steadfast in their beliefs that they can’t step back and look at their system from an outsider’s point of view. It’s so difficult to describe, I’m sure you can’t understand—”

“I do understand.” I stopped chopping, but this time Gus didn’t comment. He merely looked at me in curiosity. “We have human groups like that too. Except they don’t know you… er,
us
magical folk exist, so they take it out on other humans. Cults, religious extremists, things like that. They’ve done horrible things. To our own kind.”

A quiet moment of silence passed.

“Then you do understand.” Mimsey cleared her throat.

I nodded.

“The Faction wants to return to the days of Greek gods and goddesses, when us magical folks sat up on some hill they called Olympus and ruled the world.” Mimsey shook her head. “It’s appalling.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Zin said. “I wouldn’t mind being a ruler.”

“Stop changing the subject.” Poppy tapped the table next to my chopped leaves. “The
plague
.”

“Right, right.” Mimsey jumped to attention.

Gus smacked my hand, mouthing, “Snap to it.”

“So the plague is from The Faction?” I asked, brushing the powder into a small pile. “Trying to get rid of you all?”

“There’re lots of theories. Conspiracy theories, mostly,” Mimsey said. “They want us to join them. But we haven’t budged for hundreds of years, and we never will. Recently, they’ve been saying we’re as bad as the humans and they’re going to wipe us out too.”

“Everyone thought they started with the last Mixologist, though nothing was ever proven…
ooops
.”

The room went still as all eyes swiveled to Poppy.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she murmured.

A chill snaked down my spine. “If you think you’re keeping a secret from me, you’re not. Gus told me about the last Mixologist.”

“What did he say?” Mimsey asked.

“That he was murdered.”

Mimsey gasped. “That’s not true. The Mixologist wasn’t a victim of The Faction.”

“He
might
have been,” Zin said. When Mimsey glared at her, Zin shrugged. “What? It’s not like we know what happened.”

“What do you know about it?” I asked, my voice nearly silent. I tucked my hands behind my back, afraid they’d shake so hard I’d chop my hand off if I continued working.

“He made a mistake,” Mimsey said. “Lyle Walters stopped by in the morning for his daily Caffeine Cup. Supposedly the Mixologist would toss in a pinch of powder that prevented hair loss, which was why Lyle came all the way across The Isle every morning for it.”

Gus stood, forgetting his own pile of flower-dust on the table. He straightened his back, his eyes narrowed on Mimsey.

“Poor Lyle, when he came in for his daily cup of joe, found the Mixologist slumped over the bar. It was too late when Lyle arrived, and even if it wasn’t, nobody could’ve helped Neil. Gus is the only person who knows what half this stuff is, and mixing isn’t his specialty.” Mimsey looked down. “They say the Mixologist had an accident—mixed Hog’s Snout and Roaring Lions. A deadly concoction when combined with water.”

I recognized the names from my lesson this morning, but I frowned as I struggled to remember if they were toxic together or not.

“Lies.” Gus’s response slithered across the room, the anger beneath his word chilling me to the bone.

“Ex-excuse me?” Mimsey looked at him, her eyes twinkling with surprise.

“Neil, the Mixologist, wouldn’t have made that mistake. Mixing that family of herb with its deadly cousin is well known to cause instant death. Child’s play.” Gus shook his head, jabbing a thumb in my direction. “She could’ve told you that.”

I nodded, which was only a tiny lie. I’d study harder tonight. I’d only had one day on the job.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Mimsey asked. “Gus, you should have spoken up.”

“I did. Nobody listened.” Gus turned back to his table and continued working.

I looked at Gus, or rather, the top of his head, as he bent over the table. “You should’ve said something again so they could find who did this to the Mixologist, if it wasn’t an accident.”

Gus straightened, brandishing the long blade he was using in my direction. “You’re new here, girl. You don’t know how things go on the island.”

Poppy’s eyes widened, her gaze darting between the two of us.

The blade quivered inches from my chin. I raised my hands slowly. “You’re right. That’s why I need someone to teach me.”

We sat that way, Gus holding the knife just under my chin, me trying my best not to look away.

“Get that knife out of her face, Gus.” Mimsey stepped forward. “Who do you think you are, waving a sharp blade around like that? She doesn’t know any better. And anyway, she’s got a point. If you didn’t think it was an accident, why didn’t you speak up
louder
?”

“Nobody would’ve listened,” he grumbled.

“You have to give them a chance,” Mimsey said. “For crying out loud, Gus, we all thought it was a mistake. And frankly, unless you have any evidence otherwise, I
still
think it’s a mistake. Even the best of us make errors from time to time.”

Gus lowered the blade to the table, his muscles flexing as he
chop, chop, chopped
some more. “You’re right.”

“I’ll help you.” I took a chance, a huge chance, and laid a hand on Gus’s forearm. “I can help you look into his death.”

Gus looked at my hand as if he wanted to chop it right off, but when I didn’t budge, his shoulders sagged. “No. It was an accident.” But the resignation in Gus’s voice said he didn’t believe it. Only that he didn’t want to talk about it
now
.

“Fine,” I said, taking the clue. “It was an accident.”

“I don’t need your help.” Gus’s shoulders stiffened once more as he gathered the dust into a few separate piles. “Unless you’re talking about getting this antidote ready for our customer.”

I turned back at the table just as the door burst open.

“The
plague
,” a man moaned, stumbling through the door. “They got me. I have the
plague
.”

The man in question was shorter and squatter than Mimsey and sweatier than all of us combined. His red face was crinkled with pain, and his arms flailed as he stumbled for the table.

“There, there, Leonard.” Mimsey burst to action and led the ailing man to sit on the chair she pulled from…
from nowhere?
I had to learn how this magic business really worked.

“What do you need from me?” I turned to Gus, who looked as if the top of his head might pop off in anger.

“Leonard Fluffleknocker.” Gus stepped around the table, the long blade still in his hand. He stomped to where the man sat, head in hands and sweating quite profusely. “What in the tarnation are you doing in here?”

“He has the
plague
,” Mimsey said, backing away. “Treat him, Gus. Look at how much pain he’s in right now. He’s suffering.”

Instead of firing instructions in my direction, hustling to make some sort of antidote, or doing anything else that would’ve made sense, Gus put one hand on his hip and lifted his other hand—the hand with the blade. He slipped the shiny length under the man’s chin and forced the man’s face up. Gus stepped forward, balancing the knife carefully.

“You’ve got the plague, eh?” Gus asked.

Leonard’s eyes were large as saucers. He started to nod but stopped. Probably since the knife didn’t move with his head. He blinked instead. “Yes. Gus, you’ve got to save me.”

After a long, empty silence, in which Gus studied Leonard’s eyes, ears, and even took a quick peek up his nostrils, Gus let the knife down from under the man’s chin.

“Really?” Gus said skeptically. He strode around the seated man who, if possible, was sweating now more than ever. “Symptoms include stomach cramps, a burning sensation in your throat…”

Leonard nodded with enthusiasm as Gus completed his circle. “Yes, yes. Both those things.”

Gus retook his stance in front of the man. “And let me guess—a huge case of embarrassment.”