Pixie Prick: The Record, #4

By Winnie Winkle

I'm Cleopatra O'Keefe, and I'm tired AF.

 

In the past year, I've managed to keep a pile of unappreciative gods and magicals on track, and now a rogue, full-on-jerk pixie king I didn't know existed is determined to burn the world—and take me out with it. Normally, I'd see this as a shrug and slug back proposition, but the past year's ginormous battles had a price.

 

I need a freaking miracle. The entire world is ready for a drink. And that pixie's gotta go. So far, the cocktails are the only part I've got handled. My rock, my forever love, is on the other side of the globe working to help me, but the distance limits what he can do. We're all in survival's countdown, but I'm not down for the count. Yet.

 

The pixie king's army just blew my safe harbor to smithereens, and everyone I love is at risk.

 

Time to pour a fat glass of payback.

~~~

Reviews for The Record Series:

"A magnificent experience following a magical introduction to the Keeper. An urban magical sci-fi that will rock your socks bringing a new look at the lives and levels of gods, magicals of every form and the role of mankind. Reading this magically woven tale brings both warmth and sadness into your heart. It is sooo well written. I believe it is a tale to be kept once finished to read again and again when joy is needed in your life. So acquire "Boogie Beach: The Record, Book One" as soon as you can, because truly it will blow your socks off." Goodreads Review

"I did not know what to expect going into the book and it was a wild, unexpected and fun ride! If you love snark, paranormal anything, and well-written, you will love this book." Verified Amazon Review

"I loved this second book in the series because it really kept me guessing where things were going. I wasn't crying through this book, instead I was on the edge of my seat. Loved the ending in this one, but I still can't wait to see what happens in the next book!" Verified Amazon Review

"Overall, it's a breezy fun novel that kept me guessing, laughing, and wanting more." Verified Amazon Review

Praise for Winnie Winkle's story telling:

"Smart writing full of dark humor that compels you to read page after page to see who, or what comes next." Barnes and Noble Review

"Winkle's extraordinary way of narration is absolutely remarkable. Every detail was neatly arranged and as the plot began to unravel there were so many moments of surprising twists." Goodreads Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Winnie Winkle
• Release date: Mar 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985961003

Winnie Winkle

Winnie Winkle is a fabulous Central Florida broad who swills bourbon, likes dogs and cats, and practices yoga, but not with any degree of grace. Supporting live local music is a pretty big deal to Winnie, so if you pass a gravestone that admonishes, 'Go see the band and hit the tip jar', it's probably hers. But, since she's not dead yet, she'll keep penning fun stuff to rock your reading chair. Winnie has lived in Florida for 30 years and splits her time between South Daytona Shores and the Mount Dora area. She prefers writing beach-side as much as she can because, if we’re baring our souls here, the ocean is a mighty muse and there’s only so much that coffee can do. Winnie writes humorous fiction with a new series, "The Record" releasing three titles in 2021 )Boogie Beach, Slat Shaken, Speedo Down). She also released a literary fiction, "To Walk in the World: Twin Tales of Inception in 2021. Winnie also writes (6 books so far)  paranormal and sci-fi romances for the series "The Worlds or Magic, New Mexico".

Book preview

Chapter One

The pseudo-blond woman, who’d perfected awful decades ago, wasn’t budging. Lips pooched into an angry pout, she stared at me, unblinking.

Honey, I hang with cyclops. Three of them. Take a seat.

"Ma’am, I am The Boogie’s owner. Despite my willingness, hell, extreme desire to send you elsewhere, there’s no one over me to express a complaint, I let the faintest tone of sarcasm edge the word, about your food."

It’s ridiculous that you won’t waive our bill!

The meal you ate? In its entirety, followed by three additional margaritas apiece? From where I’m standing, that means you’re happy. Customers who dislike their crab legs don’t wolf every morsel pre-complaint. I will not comp a thing for your party.

Wait until I ruin you on Yelp!

Since I have a witch or seven who keeps The Boogie’s social reputation sailing along at a solid 4.8 stars, I smile.

Do whatever you feel is fair. That’s how I’m handling it.

Karen’s sunburnt nose, shading purple with frustration, wrinkled. You are a total bitch. You think you’re so important, Keeper lady, but you just run a bar, and not well.

Speaking of that, I need to care for the rest of my delightful customers. I handed her back the bill for her table and shifted my weight, arms crossed under my breasts.

No dine and dash tonight, Karen.

With an Oscar-worthy display of huffiness, she produced her credit card, an American Express Platinum. It drove me nuts when people winning the cash acquisition game were the cheapest. I mean, I sat on a pile that I pushed out to my employees, my community, and anywhere I saw a need. Tightwads made me tired.

I’ll be right back.

If you think we’re tipping a damn thing, you’re wrong again, Karen hissed.

With an internal eye roll, I glanced at the tab. Three hundred and twelve bucks for four orders of crab legs and sixteen jumbo margaritas. Karen and company could hold their tequila; I knew how Charlie, my bartender, poured. Jamming two fingers into my pocket, I pulled out a fat wad of green and peeled off four twenties.

Oh look, you just tipped twenty-five percent cash. I take care of my people. In fact, as a Keeper, I watch out for you, too. You’re welcome.

I slid behind the bar, catching Charlie’s smirk, and ran the card. Eureka, it worked. I returned, stood while she signed it, jammed the eighty bucks into the bill book with her receipt, and tapped a finger to my forehead.

You aren’t more important than anyone else. Money is not power, not since we watched the world shift. Spend time thinking about others. I promise it won’t kill you. Change is here to stay and being a jerk doesn’t stop progress.

Exhaustion curled foggy fingers around my heart. Humans, processing their new footing as a minor cog on an Earth containing magicals, Vapors, and gods, had turned, en masse, into total turds. The more time that passed, the less they liked it.

Which I expected, but the actuality of it was seldom esoteric and stuffed with shitty moves like Karen’s, a throwback to the days when she thought beating up a restaurant gave her a crumb of power. Now her world was full of people who operated beyond money’s realm.

The new magical construct frustrated human beings to no end. If a witch wanted something, she snapped and kept moving. Shifters had plenty of money, but only for dealing with humans. Their cultures were based on an intense system of power and ability. The mer did their thing under the sea, the fae ran the world’s forests unseen and liked it that way, and the dragons, now that they weren’t under arrest, were clanning it up, making baby dragons, and ignoring everyone.

Well, there’s a few issues left to sort with the inferno wunderkinds, but today’s pile was plenty high, thank you very much. As for the gods and the Vapors, they remained self-sufficient and silent. Unless they needed me for the dirty work. Or cocktails.

These days, everybody on the planet knew who I was, a disconcerting reality. For years I operated as a complete unknown to humans, busy living blithe yet blind lives alongside a magical community they neither saw nor believed existed. Now I couldn’t change my shirt without it being front page news, and my role, depending on the news outlet, careened from savior to villain, often in the same news story. Thanks to me, every beer got pissed in, and in the immediate, damned few heeded my pleas for unity. The future wasn’t much brighter.

My pier bar, The Boogie (or The Boogey as my magical patrons knew it), lay on one of the lines between the worlds. For centuries, magicals entered the human world on the new and full moons, either to party or stay and gawk. Now they crossed and set up lives alongside humans. Good from a business perspective, but weird from the Keeper’s.

Which was me. Keeper Cleopatra O’Keefe, chronicler of the line and forger of the Triune. To craft a three-way balance of coexistence between the entities was my current primary task. Well, when I wasn’t tending bar, arguing with Karens, or training my number two. That’s Parker. He arrived, exuding every iota of nineteen-year-old scrappy confidence, and when Zeus over-reached, became a permanent fixture at The Boogey. Which helped, because the problems landing in my lap weren’t losing weight. One of these times, they’d kill me, which was also part of the job.

Yay.

Plus, once the record chose a Keeper, you were it for life. No backsies. Whatever cropped up and threatened the line, it’s me, Parks, a decent library, and a modicum of luck who waded in to save the day, the planet, or any other damn thing sliding off kilter. It’s a weird existence.

So far, I've pulled off three wins. But lately, maudlin joking aside, tiredness owned my bones. And a dull Keeper had an excellent chance of becoming a dead one.

C’est la vie.

Behind Charlie’s bar was a transparent wall, visible only to Keepers and magicals. It let me see, in real time, both bars. I peeked into The Boogey. Witch Glenna’s gap-toothed grin flashed. She usually pours her own, but a finger crooked my way got my feet moving. At a trot, I headed into my office, laid my palm on the secret door, and entered The Boogey.

Bat Fizz? Glenna’s favorite drink was fun to make, and I reached for the first bottle.

No. I’m feeling nostalgic. This is a gift for you, Patra, complete with a refillable spell. Pour it when a human gains entry to The Boogey.

Yeah, that’ll happen.

I contemplated the green bottle and pulled the stopper as the faint scent of anise filled the bar.

Neat?

Of course. Cut it with water for a human, though. Not a beverage for the timid.

It’s absinthe, isn’t it?

Very good! Yes, my original recipe. I was young, just twenty years into my coven and visiting Switzerland, when I started messing with wormwood. A French doctor, Pierre Ordinaire, sampled my brewing in the guise of wooing me, and the rascal stole the recipe. I worried he’d kill a passel of humans; they were all sots in the late 1700s. A few died, but overall, people tolerated it well.

Glenna, you invented absinthe? I eyed the bottle, shrugged and poured a finger in a glass, topped it with an equal amount of water, and sipped. Interesting.

"It never bothered me that Pierre found money and fame, and I followed him to Paris. Oh, I loved everything about the city. Stayed over a hundred years. La Belle Époque was a fabulous period. The simple time of mills and farms, chickens everywhere, and horse-drawn carts and wagons gave way to brightly lit streets dotted with carriages and shiny motor cars, incredible art and dance, and a thirst for frivolity. It was my kind of town."

Is that when you met Apollo?

Oh, toward the end. Glenna’s eyes twinkled. His attention adjusted my timing, but he sure was fun.

She swirled her drink, inhaling the fragrance before downing the entire thing. Magicals drank on a whole different level; I’m impressed on the regular. She pushed the glass in my direction and leaned forward as I refilled it.

Do you have time? I’m in the mood to tell tales.

Um, I’m confident there’s another angry human waiting to rip me a new one. Lately, they’ve been lining up and taking a number.

That’s got to be getting old.

Yeah, considering it’s me against billions, Glenna. The media’s amplification isn’t helping. And changing minds on an expansive scale isn’t happening with any speed, plus it involves a ton of grousing.

If I were a Keeper, I’d stick a spanking spell on the jerks and let them figure it out.

The vision of humanity trying to outrun an invisible hand slapping their collective asses meandered across my mind, and I started laughing, shaking in silence until endorphins on overdrive shook me loose and I guffawed, wiping tears before regaining control.

Damn, I needed that.

Glenna cocked her head to the right, then waved a complicated gesture toward The Boogie.

A merriment spell. Everybody's having fun for a couple of hours. Sit, Keeper. You look beat. She leaned forward and swirled the absinthe, a tiny green tornado. Let me tell you the true history of the Moulin Rouge.

Chapter Two

"L ike the greatest stories of Paris, it began with a love affair. Glenna was on her fourth absinthe. At the Exposition Universelle in 1889 I found an elephant, in the Colonies Anglaise section. One look and I was smitten."

I raised an eyebrow.

English Colonies. India, you know. The elephant stood before the hall’s entrance, but I could tell issues were in play. I chatted with the workers preparing to remove the scaffolding. Each man was delighted to flirt with me but unwilling to discuss the elephant’s origins or how it arrived in Paris.

As you’ve noticed, I’m all about a well-placed potion. Her grin wrapped around the rim of her highball and she sipped with appreciation. One worker, Jacques, over a glass of enhanced absinthe, shared the story. An extreme magical signature blasted off that beast the moment I got close, and the worker’s tale, of leaving one day to a pile of lumber and returning the next to a fully scaffolded elephant, made sense.

I paused, considering, then poured another finger of green magic and water. What was it?

"A domicilium magicae! They’re very rare. In my extensive travels, I’ve only encountered two. You’ve been in one of them, Keeper." She twinkled and sipped.

Domicilium. Latin? Dom. Domicile.

Brain whipping, I stared at her. Waldo’s?

Not every house holds a portal to the space between time under its rug.

And this elephant? How? Whose?

Good questions; I asked them as well. A simple invisibility spell and a pleasant lunch of crusty bread, excellent cheese, and an above average wine passed the afternoon. At sundown, after the workers left for the day, I approached the creature and introduced myself. A truly remarkable face, wise, albeit pissed. The scaffoldings were a fine idea; he wanted to stomp me flat initially.

Is there a potion for that, too?

She snorted. "Hardly. Domicilium magicae are, well, not alive in the way you or I consider life. Rather, they are sentient in a manner similar to the record. Able to think, reason, interact, educate, and manipulate. It’s not an existence that ends, Keeper. They’re ancients with a purpose beyond the small visions of the entities we consider ‘alive’."

Are they controlled by the Vapors the way the book is?

More of a co-exist quality. The universe is full of magic, an energy form in its own right.

Since you’re here, you didn’t get stomped. So, what happened?

Nothing. I lived, and he was stuck, stationary, for six months, while hoards of humans wandered under his feet, into the pavilion, and for a fee trudged up a staircase in his leg and gazed upon the expo. It gave him time to think about my offer.

Which was?

Why, to be my house, of course. Glenna’s side eye was uncomplimentary. These opportunities are rare, remember? How tired are you?

Pretty. I wasn’t expecting that you and the structure could hold a conversation, I suppose.

Magic is never predictable. How you stay alive boggles the mind.

Paris, 1889

The great feet shifted on the piles of gravel used as footers to prevent their sinking into the newly thawed earth.

I am young, but rising fast within my coven, Glenna called from ten yards away, fists jammed into the small of her back as she tipped her face upward. May I approach?

The noble head inclined, bumping into the heavy beams around his forehead, and with a wave, Glenna’s shoes rose from the grass, her body elevating until reaching the beast’s eyes.

What do they know of you? Is your arrival because of a magical intervention?

Perhaps an assist. I was unaware of this wood that prevents my leaving. Ears flapped in irritation. The installation occurred while I rested, although it’s rare I rest.

Has another magical made an offer to align with you? Glenna fought to keep her tone matter of fact. Despite her dedication to the path of logical thinking, her heart raced within her chest.

No, and if one did, I’d decline. A point will present, and I’ll be able to move again. Leaving is my sole desire.

The predicament is not as simple as you surmise. Humans placed you into their Expo grounds and you’ll stand here six months once it opens, seen by millions of humans.

The beast blinked. Expo? Millions?

Yes. A showcase where you’ll be recognized and valued. The magical that transported you away did you no favors.

A plan to coerce? Intended to force an alliance? That will never happen.

That was my thought as well. I’ll devote my studies to the task of transporting you anywhere in the world, an aid without conditions, but I’d ask that you consider aligning with me. Protected, we could dwell for hundreds of years while the humans who saw you became Earth’s dust. A time of collaboration, magical advancement, and dedication to learning.

A slight horizontal shake, constricted by the scaffolding. I am my destiny and purpose.

A respected answer. Glenna cocked her head to the right. I will come by and visit with you. The expo’s crowds will wear thin.

I will rest while they wander. A visitor is unnecessary.

I'm not coming to visit but to share time as a fellow magical, dedicated to deep conversation and learning, nothing more.

As you wish. This span passes, as all do. I am forever.

What is your name?

The elephant’s forehead wrinkled in surprise. None have asked in centuries.

Glenna floated, cross-legged and patient, hands held with palms up before her heart.

Very well, Witch. I am Agastya. Sages of the world bear my name.

She grinned. Agastya, meeting you is an honor. My name is Glenna, of the Coven Oram Potentia.

Oram Potentia? You’re a long way from home, Witch Glenna.

Yes, and knowledge flows through my travels.

A creak from a metal gate announced the watchman as she faded from view.

Rest, Agastya. I’ll see you soon.

Well?

It is done, Lucien. You are incredulous of things you hold no knowledge of, and believe only what you see. Regnault’s smarmy smile stopped before reaching his eyes. As promised, I placed the elephant in a prominent position within the Expo. Millions will view it and be astonished. Upon the Expo’s conclusion, I’ll move it to the Moulin Rouge to the acclaim and delight of wealthy Parisians. A handsome profit awaits from my help and from the opium sold within the beast.

Your price, Lucien began before Regnault cut across him, a chill creeping into the air in the Rouge’s darkened garden.

Is non-negotiable. When the Rouge no longer wants the elephant, it’s mine alone. We are clear, no?

But of course. Lucien maintained Regnault’s gaze with difficulty. You held your end of the bargain; how could I do less?

You would be wise not to test my honor.

"Mon grand ami, we are business partners. And soon, new delights await the curious at the Moulin Rouge. A wondrous time for both of us, Lucien gestured toward the lights, and for Paris."

Regnault strode from the garden, fading to black, as Lucien shivered.

I’m uncertain I’ve not made a deal with the devil himself, but that elephant! Oh, the fame and fancy it will impart, the lasting sense of an unforgettable evening spent in dance, wine, and frolics. I’ll be set for life. He eyed the spot where the magnificent beast would reside, facing the garden partiers, while those both important and rich enough to matter gained inside access, even to the cupola on the beast’s back, gazing across the lighted city. The opium is trivial. That a huge exhibit at the Expo became part of my Rouge is the key that unlocks the titillation of destination. The red windmill beckons and the elegant will follow.

The cool April air blew through the garden’s first, fragrant blossoms. Lucien rubbed his hands, wishing he could banish the prickling unease of missing something in the bargain.

"How can I lose? When