Seas the Reckoning (Carolina Magic #3)

TAIL WAGS & TRIVIA

Pickles has his snout to the ground, snorting and sniffing. The basset hound’s ears drag through the grass. When he hauls in a particularly deep breath while examining a dandelion, he lets out a sneeze along with a puff of smoke.

Anyone could see him. What if he’s found o—

Jackal’s hand closes around mine, and the thoughts about my fire-breathing dog begin to settle. A hyena shifting mate, even one as caring as Jackal, is not a cure for OCD, but he does wonders for relaxing me.

“No one is around to see, love. That’s why we took the dogs here for the day,” he reminds me, gesturing at the secluded area of beach where we’re roaming. He’s right. Late fall is far from high season, and it’s windy to boot.

It’s the first day of December. I take a deep breath.

The chilled sea air braces me. Since we faced Leon Stone and his men, things have been calm, relatively speaking.

I still need to break my siren curse, and we still have to track down the supernatural who gave Leon the idea of transferring magic to humans through grotesque experimentations, but I’ve had a couple months to relax, and it’s been an immense help to my nervous system.

Having a handsome hyena by my side hasn’t hurt, either.

Jackal’s holding the end of a blue leash and walking a dog that’s currently up for adoption through the Carolina Beach Humane Society.

After my lackluster volunteer schedule earlier this year, while Starla and I were chasing down a kidnapper and murderer, I’m only too happy to be making up for it now.

Jackal even went with me to man the adoption table at an event this past weekend.

Hopper, the mixed-breed dog sniffing next to Pickles, is one of the holdouts, but I know a few families showed interest. I’m hopeful they’ll return for him. He’s much taller than the basset, slender and quick, with his tail curled up. I look down at the pups.

“They’re having such a good time, but we should head back soon.”

Jackal nods.

“We promised Starla we’d be at the bar for trivia night, and I don’t dare let the witch down.”

Particularly not with my best friend owning the bar. She could very well cut off our cocktail and appetizer supply if our absence tanks the trivia team. Starla has no compunctions about playing in her own bar events, and she’s gotten rather competitive with the weekly tradition.

She’s got larger prizes than normal planned for the last few trivia nights before Christmas and aims to win at least one for herself.

She’s likely to do it, thanks to her choice of teammates.

While neither she nor I are particularly adept at trivia, Exos is a master.

The gargoyle has proven incredibly studious, learning all he can about the human world after spending most of his life in Fae, and he’s got the memory of an elephant.

The dogs give the sand a few final sniffs before we make our way to my car and head back to the humane society.

When we arrive, Vivian gives me a wave from behind the front counter.

The dark-haired woman manages the shelter, and she’s got a huge smile in place as we drop off Hopper.

There’s a couple waiting up front, along with a boy who I’d guess to be nine or ten. They were at the event this weekend.

“The Jacksons were just finishing up their application for Hopper,” Vivian tells us.

My own smile breaks out as the dog in question begins to wag his tail furiously.

In a matter of minutes, Hopper is off with his new family. As he makes his way to their car, the boy presents him with a stuffed toy.

Jackal puts his arm around my shoulder and we walk back to my car.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“I’m thinking it’s already been a very good day. And it’s only up from here.”

Just saying it aloud threatens to release a deluge of intrusive thoughts, but I keep that at bay with a few deep breaths and a maybe.

One of my many coping mechanisms. When I have a thought about something going very, truly, horribly wrong, I respond with maybe.

Maybe it will work out, maybe it won’t. Maybe things will go downhill, and maybe they won’t.

Living with uncertainty is tough, but it helps to accept that I can't control everything.

Although I am hoping to have some impact on tonight’s trivia outcome. Starla promised a category on sea life, and even in a town of ocean-lovers, a naiad is bound to excel.

We pull into the Sea Wench parking lot for the evening, and I turn to Pickles.

“All right. Best behavior and no flames in the front of the house. Deal?”

The basset hound yips in response.

“Good. And if you need a smoke break, you can hang out in the kitchen with Keegan,” I remind the pup.

The volmander and chef for Sea Wench is always ready to play a game of ‘fetch the fireball’ with my dog. And Pickles’s inability to get burnt comes in handy, since volmanders’ skin is covered in lines of lava when they’re shifted.

We make our way into the bar, and the cook in question comes out of the back, carrying a tray with a few pimento bologna sandwiches.

“Hey, Leena! Jackal! Let me set these down really quick.” Keegan makes his way to a table with a few locals, who smile and wave at the chef.

The Sea Wench was already known for tasty treats and an amazing ocean view, but Keegan has increased its popularity even more.

Now that he’s had a couple of months to work without his safety being threatened, he’s come up with some great ideas for the menu.

Each of the pimento sandwiches is accompanied by fries covered in what has become the house seasoning, which he came up with.

He strides back over to us, wiping his hands down on his apron.

“It’s been slow tonight, so I let Harper head home early. Brody and I can handle these tables ourselves.” The volmander nods his head toward Brody, who is manning the bar.

The red wolf shifter raises a hand in greeting before going back to mixing up a cocktail for a couple who are sitting and watching the ocean waves from the relative warmth of the open-air space.

While the trivia nights draw in a decent crowd, the numbers are nothing compared to the beach bar during high season, when the summer air draws people to the beach. A slimmer staff should be able to handle even the rowdiest crowd of trivia-loving locals.

“Mind if I take Pickles with me?” Keegan asks. “I’ve been working on these fire arcs that I think he’ll enjoy. They end up looking like mini-flame rainbows, and he could jump over or under them.”

“A specialized dog agility training.” Jackal laughs.

“Well, so long as they aren’t too high. I don’t want him to jump too much and hurt his back,” I allow, well aware how silly I sound since I’m worried about the height of my basset hound’s vertical leap and not the fact that he’ll be jumping over an open flame.

Keegan nods enthusiastically, not at all put off by my hesitation. Pickles is happily transferred into the volmander’s arms, and the two of them head to the kitchen.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my two favorite trivia players!” Starla sashays over to us, smirking and holding out her arms for a hug. My best friend’s blue and blonde streaked hair is loose and freshly cut, swinging just over the edge of her shoulders.

“I thought Exos was your favorite trivia player,” I tease as the witch pulls back from our hug, looking over her shoulder to the gargoyle. For the moment, he’s wearing his human appearance: a large, muscular man who towers over Starla.

“She’s considering kicking me off the team,” he says good-naturedly.

She blows out a breath.

“I am not! You said you thought you knew enough now to take all of us, and I merely mentioned that you had the option of being a one-person trivia team if you were that confident.”

The gargoyle throws back his head with a laugh.

“I believe your exact words were ‘you’re being cockier than a rooster in a hen house right now, and if you’re so sure you can put your mouth where your ego is,’ unless I’m mistaken.”

Luckily, they’re both smiling and giggling, so I can tell all the commentary is in good fun. Exos rubs a hand over his chin.

“I am considering it. It could be a good test of how much I’ve learned.”

The discussion over whether Exos should in fact play on his own and whether he might be able to beat us continues. We’re in the middle of placing bets over who will actually win when a familiar face sweeps into the bar.

Shanell.

The witchy police officer has been elevated to captain since our friend Harold was killed while trying to help us. Her features are drawn, her expression stern. But that’s her default look these days. She hides her burned features with her illusion magic, but she doesn’t bother faking a smile.

She’s even stopped talking about her countdown to retirement, and I’m suspecting she might actually stay on the force, if only to take out her anguish in a way that lets her dole out justice.

She looks as serious as ever as she makes her way across the bar.

“I have news,” she starts.

Starla steps in front of her, waving her arms before the older witch can finish.

“Oh no! Not here! Not today! There’d better not be any more kidnappings or cases being announced in my bar!

I’m starting to think it’s bad luck.” My best friend’s business has been the site of more negative moments than she’d like this past year, and I can understand her desperation to prevent a repeat.

“All I was going to say is that I brought along a guest.”

Shanell steps aside.

I hear a resounding crack on the floor. The sound repeats, and Grammy Pearl smacks her cane one final time before coming to a stop in front of us.

Now I know something big is brewing.