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Dressed in our suits of torture, Killian and I left the hotel room and made our way down to the ballroom. My dress was so tight, I could barely walk down the steps. I sure hoped that valet was telling the truth and they had moved all our stuff to the ballroom because I sure as hell couldn't go carrying shit around in this getup. If a vampire attacked at this moment, I was fucked.
But Killian, in typical Killian style, was taking it all in stride. Dare I say he was looking downright chipper? I think it was because he got to wear a pith helmet to hide his ears rather than the plastic fruit salad of tackiness I was balancing on my head.
The doors to the courtyard swished open. I shivered, and it wasn't from the breeze coming off the bay.
"What is it, Maggie?" Killian asked.
Someone had planted pink flamingos along the sidewalk, like a red carpet of kitsch. Strains of ukulele floated in among the cheerful noises of people splashing about in the pool.
"It's gonna be a long weekend," I said, horror and dread filling me.
So, the California tiki scene started back in the 1920s. Some dudes began gathering up souvenirs from their island adventures and, naturally, opened a string of theme bars.
Later, when the soldiers came home from the Pacific front of WWII, they clung to these places like veterans in the Midwest hang out at VFW halls. Then, as the 1950s rolled around, the 8-to-5 workday was introduced on a mass scale. Trapped at desks, people started dreaming of tropical retreats far from the dreary world of office life. Tiki bars were the closest they could get to a vacation. The orchids, exotica music, surf sounds, and umbrella bedecked rum drinks made the paper pushing seem a world away.
Then along came the hippies, who were all about "authentic realness." Not that there's anything wrong with "real", it just meant tiki bars fell outta style.
It wasn't until the mid-1990s that there was a resurgence. People had enough of flannel and jeans. Grunge gave way to glamour. Men broke out the suits and ties, women dressed in their bouffant best. Swing dance returned and the muscle cars once thought to be junkers turned into kustom cars with pinstriping and hand sewn leather interiors. It was a joyful pushback against the jaded malaise. The tacky tiki scene kicked off kitsch culture, reveling in drinks you could set on fire and music you could drink to. It was a home for burlesque, boylesque, greaser guys and gals, mods, mechanics, tattoos, piercings, the artwork of Sailor Jerry, and all things Betty Page. It was a counterculture revolution of joy.
And it was all here in San Diego.
An orchestra of ukulele players filled the stage, zinc oxide slathered on their noses ironically, as a pinup girl posed for cheesecake photos by the pool.
We were here for a job, however, and the sooner we found this hei-tiki, the sooner I could ditch the joy and get back to my normal grumpy self. I reached out with my senses to see if I could find that ping. Instead, I got a little backhanded slap of energy from something that was decidedly not the hei-tiki. Whatever was here didn't like someone poking at it.
"There's a lot of magic floating around," I muttered.
Killian's cheerful attitude began to darken. "Good magic or bad magic."
"Old magic..." I said, shivering again. "It's old and it's protective."
Killian pointed out two men in matching Hawaiian shirts walking by hand-in-hand, staring adoringly at each other. "But everyone seems so happy."
"Eye on the prize. We set up shop. We find who is selling ancient artifacts. And we get the hell out of the dodge."
"I thought it was just 'dodge'?"
"I'm honoring your addition to our lexicon. Now," I said, jerking my thumb toward the ballroom. "Our adoring public awaits. And if our outfits are any indication, I can hardly wait to see what crap Trovac has loaded us down with.
Killian sighed with defeat and followed me as we wove our way past the pool into the resort's tropical gardens. The buildings were low and between them I could get a glimpse of the blue waters of the bay.
Wild green conures were screaming in the trees at one another. They were like little feathered monkeys, hanging upside-down, flitting from branch-to-branch with social chatter.
But at that moment, I walked past a large tree and heard the tinkling sound of laughter. I pivoted sharply and thought I saw from the corner of my eye several small creatures running through the branches, but they disappeared as soon as I focused.
"Did you see something, Killian?" I asked.
"The creatures in the trees?" he asked. "Or something else?"
"I was thinking the creatures in the trees."
He shook his head in wonder. "There is magic all around us." He peered closer. "These creatures... Are they fairy?"
"They're not supposed to be here..." I muttered. "Might definitely pass on the rum punch this weekend," I said to Killian, warily. "I have a feeling we're going to need all of our senses about us for this gig."