“It is.” I saw no reason to lie. It was something the woman could easily confirm. “We don’t open for a few days, but you should come down when you get a chance. You’ll probably have a good time.”
“Oh, we definitely will.” Sarah smoothed the front of her shirt, seemingly mesmerized by the design. “You have no idea how bored we are stuck in that house with those other writers. As far as bad ideas go, this could be one of the worst we’ve ever agreed to.”
“It’s not that bad,” Lily countered. “If we had more writers we liked with us, it might be fun.”
“Yes, but we’re not with the people we like,” Sarah reminded her. “We’re with people we hate.”
“To be fair, we didn’t know we would hate them when we signed on,” Lily explained. “We knew them online from various writers groups, but hanging out with people in person is vastly different from message boards.”
Even though my mind should’ve been on attacking sea zombies and keeping my people safe, I couldn’t help being amused. The women were entertaining. It was clear they had a unique rapport and didn’t care whether we liked them or not. I appreciate people who are comfortable in their own skin.
“How so?” I asked. “I mean, do you not like the people you’re with? Where are you staying?”
“Up there.” Sarah pointed toward a house on stilts.
“That’s a big house,” I noted.
“It has to be. None of us are willing to share rooms,” Sarah said darkly. “No matter what that bearded bastard suggests.”
Now I was trailing behind the conversation. “Excuse me?”
“Ignore her,” Lily said. “She hates one of our fellow writers. To be fair, the guy is an uber-douche. He thinks sexist comments, like announcements that he’s giving free mustache rides, are still funny. If you call him on his behavior, he completely melts down.”
“He’s a total baby,” Sarah volunteered. “He writes space opera, and apparently women can’t be captains in space because ... you know ... hormones.” Her gaze was dark. “I hate that guy.”
Lily smirked. “I hate him too. I’ve come to the conclusion that writers are dramatic because they’re creative. They can’t help themselves. We’ve certainly witnessed that more times than I can count since we started attending conferences and retreats.”
I could see that. “Drama wherever you go, huh?”
“Pretty much.” Lily clapped Sarah on the shoulder and tilted her head. “There’s a restaurant over there. I bet they have the grits you want. We should get something to eat before we head back.”
Sarah brightened considerably. “That sounds good. Can I have a mimosa with my grits?”
Lily shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” She offered me a small wave. “We’re looking forward to visiting the circus when it opens. Don’t be surprised if we come with questions. We might be fiction writers, but we like to get the details right.”
“No problem. We look forward to seeing you.” I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should warn them about the sea zombies. I knew there was no way I could explain it without looking like a loon. “Enjoy yourselves. I hope your housemates become more tolerable.”
“From your lips to the goddess’s ears,” Lily intoned. “Have a nice rest of your morning.”
“You too.” I watched them go, amused. “They’re fun, huh?”
Kade didn’t look nearly as amused. “Yes, they’re great. Can we go back to talking about the zombies? Like ... if I get scratched, will I turn into one?”
I managed to contain my sigh, but just barely. “Sometimes I forget how much you still have to learn.”
“So, teach me.”
“I’ll get right on that.”
5
Five
We spent another hour walking the beach. Even I wasn’t certain what we hoped to find. Ultimately, it turned out we didn’t find anything.
Because working for the circus meant we performed no matter what — rain or shine, monsters or no monsters — we had a schedule to stick to. Grocery shopping was next on our agenda. We swung back to the fairgrounds, picked up Cole and Luke, and headed for the first grocery store we could find on the map.
This time Luke climbed in the backseat without hesitation. He and Cole appeared to be in good spirits as they held hands and talked in hushed voices. Even though I wanted nothing more than for Luke to be happy, I found their fervent whispers annoying.
“Kade and I met some writers on the beach this morning,” I announced in my loudest voice, causing those in the back to jolt. “They’re staying in a beach house. I think they might be the only people we have to worry about being attacked, at least for now.”
Luke’s scowl was pronounced. It was obvious he recognized what I was doing. Cole, however, seemed amused by the interruption.
“What kind of writers?” the elemental asked. “Are we talking journalists? If so, they could cause problems if they decide they see something worth a story.”
I shook my head, my eyes scanning the scenery as Kade followed the GPS instructions to the market. “Novelists. It sounds like they’re fiction writers.”
“That could be even worse,” Luke noted, his eyes dark. “If they see monsters on the beach, they might decide to write about them.”
That had occurred to me. “The ones we talked to write paranormal stuff. They seem pretty chill.”
“They also seem to dislike most of the people staying with them,” Kade noted, hitting his turn signal. “It sounds to me as if they signed up for this retreat and are now having second thoughts. Maybe we can push them to want to leave.”
I cocked my head, surprised. “Why would we want to do that?”
“Because then we’ll have fewer people to protect.”
He had a point, but I wasn’t ready to go that route. “If we ask them to leave, they’ll become suspicious. They’ll wonder why we’re sending people away when we run a business that requires visitors paying entrance fees.”
“True, but it might be worth it to make them suspicious if it means we can save them.”
“Except they strike me as the type who would start hanging around all the time if they thought we were covering something up,” I argued. “The blonde writes mysteries. She wanted to learn more about our day-to-day operations. I think we’re better off not engaging.”
“I guess.” Kade didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t protest. “Have you ever considered writing a novel?”
The question threw me for a loop. “Me?” My eyebrows hopped. “Why would I possibly want to write a novel?”
He shrugged, noncommittal. “You’re good at telling stories. You have a lot of them. It was just a suggestion.”
“I have a job,” I reminded him. “It keeps me busy forty-eight weeks out of the year.”
“I’m well aware. But based on what we discussed last night, I thought maybe you would be open to the idea. My bad.”