Lying
on top of a towel, I gingerly shift the fabric and try to brush away
the sand. The worst thing about beaches, I muse, is the sharp sand
that gets all over and digs into your skin. Just when you think
you've brushed away the last of it, even more made its way into
your swimsuit.
When they offered me the chance to get away
from Wolfram & Hart for a few days, I didn't hesitate to dump
my workload on some poor schlucks, drag Wesley away from his books
and get the hell out of there. Vacations are rare commodities these
days, especially when I work my dead butt off seventy hours a week
fighting the evil I used to be part of.
I stare out to the
horizon, where the sea meets the sky and am unimpressed. Compared to
Florida, Los Angeles has lousy beaches; no swaying palm trees, fine
white sand or deliciously warm waters. But Wesley refused to go to
Florida, claiming that we need to stay close to home in case of an
emergency.
"Wine?" asks Wesley, interrupting my thoughts
and holding out a tacky plastic wineglass. I would've brought my
crystal ones, but Wesley wouldn't let me. Like I care if they
break, I can always buy more.
I pull myself up, push my
sunglasses into my hair and accept the wineglass. A contrast to the
cheap cup, the wine tastes exquisite.
"Why couldn't we
have gone to Florida?" I ask him, sipping my wine. "Why did we
have to specifically go to this beach? I hate Los Angeles
beaches."
Wesley shrugged. "I already told you they may
need us."
"This is a vacation. That means we can go
wherever we want, and it doesn't matter if they need us."
"Haven't
we already argued about this?" says Wesley tiredly. "I said I
would go shopping with you to make up for it."
"Yeah, and
not only are you getting a new jacket because you're going to toss
your old one, you're getting a new wardrobe. Now do my back." I
put down the wineglass and hand him the sunscreen. I burn more easily
now than I used too. "And don't get any sand on me," I say,
looking pointedly at his sandy feet, a contrast from my clean
manicured toes.
I lie back down on the towel and loosen my
bikini top. I'm wearing a black bikini, an eternally classic choice
that Wesley loves seeing me wear. He's wearing a simple pair of
shorts and has that just-rolled-out-of-bed look that looks so good on
him. We make a very attractive couple.
Wesley squirts
sunscreen all over my back and starts to slowly spread it with his
fingertips. Not only does he apply the sunscreen, he gives me a great
massage.
"Don't forget the back of my neck," I tell him,
my voice slightly muffled by the towel. He pauses almost
imperceptibly, then his hands travel up to my neck and rub in
sunscreen, avoiding the black ribbon covering my beheading scar. He
managed to secure my head on firmly after finding an adhesive spell,
but he still hasn't found a way to bring me back to life without
calling on seriously dark magick powers that he doesn't want to
mess with.
"Done," he finally says, cleaning his hands on
the towel. I roll over, holding my bikini top to my chest and look
down. A very large quantity of sand has made its way onto the towel
again. I glare at Wesley.
"I didn't do it," says
Wesley.
"But you're the only one who could've," I
argue. "There isn't even wind that could have scattered it
there."
Wesley shrugs. "The sand is like a monster with
many tentacles. Even when you hack off one, it keeps on growing new
one and continues to attack." He puts his arms around me and starts
to retie my top. When he finishes, he keeps his arms around me and
pushes me back onto the towel, onto the pile of sand.
"Wes,
no!" I wail. But it's too late; he starts kissing me hard and I'm
lost, even though the sand is sticking to my freshly applied
sunscreen and will need to be washed off.
A sharp "harrumph!"
startles us and Wesley breaks the kiss and slides off me. A little
old lady dressed in an old fashioned bathing costume is peering at us
and making disapproving sounds.
"There are children here!"
she hisses at us. I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to retort- and
get a mouthful of sand.
"Who threw that?" the old lady and
I simultaneously snap.
Other people have been hit by sand, and
our section of the beach is in an uproar. A huge cloud of sand rises
and everyone starts coughing. A strong wind starts to blow, creating
a miniature tornado. There's a large shape in the twisting sands
and I turn to Wesley- who's got a piece of paper in his hand and is
reading off an incantation.
The shape becomes clearer and the
winds start to fade. The beach is silent as the sand monster steps
forward- and crumbles into a pile of sand.
A lifeguard shoves
her way through the crowd and yells at everyone to disperse. I glare
at Wesley. "You knew this was coming! You made us come here so you
could take care of some demon! This is our vacation!" I yell at
him.
"I'm sorry, Lilah. I was informed of the rising of a
sand demon this week. It needed to be taken care of," apologizes
Wesley.
"Do you have anything else you need to take care
of?" I ask.
"Not really."
"Fine. We're going
to Florida for the rest of the week where there had better not be any
demons and we're going shopping there. Any objections?"
I
see him opening his mouth to respond, and I toss a handful of sand at
his chest.
"But first, we take a shower."
