by Nic Saint
“Yes, they did,” I said with a wan smile.
In spite of Skip’s fears, his dad had decided that the show must go on, and had opened up the bakery again. And Skip, true to form, had taken up his usual round, and had delivered an extra bulky bag of Brown’s best and most delicious. I wondered who was doing the baking now that Skip’s uncle Gus was no longer amongst the living. Then again, there were so many Browns it was hard to keep count. As far as I knew Skip had at least four more uncles and countless cousins, and they all worked at the family bakery.
Helmut took a seat at the table and gave Jerome his best cheerful smile. “Hey, buddy. You’re looking awfully glum this morning. Have a bad night?”
Jerome darted a sideways glance at Helmut that would have left a lesser man reeling. “You know perfectly well what kind of night I had. You came into my room last night and tried to get it on with me!”
Helmut performed a perfectly executed double take. “What? No way!”
“Yes, way. I heard you breathing. I know the way you breathe.”
“But I didn’t come into your room. I swear on the head of the king of Belgium.”
“Belgium doesn’t even have a king. You were in my room last night. Admit it.”
“Belgium does have a king,” I told Jerome, even though I should have probably stayed out of this discussion.
“Look, I recognize the way Helmut breathes. It’s that typical musician’s wheeze.”
“I don’t wheeze!”
“Yes, you do. You wheezed all over my room last night! And the only reason you didn’t jump into bed with me and put your hands all over my body is because I told you in no uncertain terms to leave me in peace.” He fingered his combover with a trembling hand and adjusted his glasses. “I can’t deal with this right now, Helmut. I’m in a very vulnerable state. I know you find me irresistible, and I don’t blame you. Most men do. But I’m working through some personal issues and…” He broke down and hung his head, the picture of a broken man.
“I’m so sorry, Jerome,” said Helmut, always the tenderhearted soul. He placed an arm around Jerome’s shoulders, which the latter shrugged off as if stung.
“I can’t trust myself around you, Helmut,” he said with a choked voice. “For a Belgian you’re very attractive. Very attractive and very sexy. If I’d allowed you to join me last night, we would have had a long night of very hot, very steamy, very unsafe sex and then we would have cuddled and declared our everlasting devotion to each other.” He raised a feeble hand. “I simply can’t be in a relationship right now, Helmut, darling. Can’t you see that?”
“But I never—”
“Hello you lovely American people!” Fonzie caroled as he waltzed into the kitchen.
“Hello, Fonzie,” I muttered, the coffee failing to perform its usual magic. I probably needed a few more cups before I’d be halfway human again. And I didn’t even like coffee!
“Not now, Fonzie,” said Jerome. “Helmut and I are discussing a very private matter.”
“Oh?”
“Jerome thinks I was in his room last night,” Helmut explained.
“You, too, huh?” said Fonzie, taking a croissant from the basket and taking an eager bite.
“What do you mean, ‘You, too?’” asked Jerome, visibly annoyed.
“Well, I was in your room last night. I didn’t see Helmut, though. Must have just missed him,” he said with his mouth full of croissant. Then he closed his eyes with relish and exclaimed, “I love American pastry! Nothing else tastes like it.”
“Croissants are French,” I told him. “Not American.”
“Try a blueberry muffin,” said Helmut. “They’re very American and very tasty.”
“Wait a minute,” said Jerome, rising from his seat. “Now just wait a damn minute!”
We all waited, Fonzie with a muffin raised halfway to his mouth, Helmut frowning at a croissant, probably wondering what was so French about it, and me with my coffee cup.
“You were in my room last night?” asked Jerome, clearly intent on threshing this thing out once and for all.
“Sure,” said Fonzie, stuffing the blueberry muffin into his mouth and producing a noise of pleasure.
“And what,” Jerome thundered, his face reddening, “were you doing in my room?”
“Borrowing a sleeping pill. I know how much you Americans love to share, and I decided that if anyone in the house had a sleeping pill, it would be you. You’re big on pharmaceutical stuff, right? Heck, you’re Pharma guy. The guy who’s into everything Pharma. And I was right. I found some great sleeping pills in your bathroom cabinet. Slept like a baby.”
Jerome’s lower jaw had dropped somewhat, then his eyes swiveled to Helmut. “So… that wasn’t you last night?”
“Told you,” said Helmut. “I don’t snoop around other people’s rooms.”
“But…” Jerome hitched up his lower mandible, his lip trembling. “But I thought you liked me.”
“I do like you, Jerome, but not like that,” said Helmut.
“Like him like what?” asked Fonzie.
“Jerome thought I’d come into his room last night to have hot, steamy, unprotected gay sex all night long,” Helmut explained for the prince’s benefit.
“Oh, right,” said the prince, nodding. “I know how much you Americans like gay sex. It’s something we can all learn from in Khameit. In fact when I’m king I’m going to change the law and promote gay sex the way you do in America.”
“Change the law?” asked Jerome.
“Yes. We don’t condone gay sex right now in Khameit, unfortunately.”
“What…” Jerome gulped slightly. “What happens when someone engages in gay sex?”
“Firing squad,” said Fonzie, and chomped down on the last piece of blueberry muffin.
Chapter 21
Gran shuffled into the kitchen, looking pale and drawn. I gave an involuntary gasp when I saw her. She appeared to have aged a decade overnight. Her face was lined and I could even see a few stray strands of gray mixed in with the platinum. It suddenly appeared as if all the tricks she used to look young had failed and, like Dorian Gray’s portrait, her true age was shining through.
“Gran. Are you feeling all right?” I said, practically overturning my chair getting up.
“I’m fine,” she said, but even her voice sounded weak and weary.
She made it to a chair and heavily sank onto it.
“You boys have got to stop making such a ruckus,” she said.
“What ruckus?” asked Jerome, still reeling.
“I could hear you all the way upstairs.
“Well, I was simply having a private conversation with—”
“Jerome—please accept the fact that you are a gay man. You have always been a gay man. No pharmaceutical product made you gay. And Fonzie—respect people’s privacy. No one appreciates people coming into their rooms in the middle of the night to ‘borrow’ stuff. Oh, and Helmut…” She gave a smile and patted the Belgian singer on the cheek. “You are such a darling boy, aren’t you? But please don’t string my granddaughter along. We all know Strel can’t sing. She never could and she never will. So don’t play her for a fool.”
“I was just trying to be polite,” Helmut muttered.
“I know you were. You’re Belgian. You can’t help it. But please stop.”
Jerome, who looked both shocked and appalled, drew himself up to his full height. “Well, I’ve never been so insulted in my entire life. My dear Mrs. Beadsmore!”
“Oh, please cut the sanctimonious crap, Jerome. You are who you are, and that’s perfectly fine. Now can someone pour me a cup of coffee? I just had the worst night ever.”
Jerome sat back down, and said softly, “I had the worst night ever.” He then poured Gran a cup of coffee—actually the first time I’d ever known her to take coffee over tea. “You are a very formidable woman, Mrs. Beadsmore. And I’ll take your advice into consideration.”
“Please do. And drop this laws
uit nonsense. No pill can make you addicted to gay sex and gambling unless you already enjoyed gay sex and gambling long before you took that pill.” She fixed him with a motherly look. “It’s all fine, Jerome. And please call me Cassie.”
Jerome swiped at a tear that had stolen into his eye. “No one has ever spoken to me like that before, Cassie. Thank you for your surprising candor. And your compassion.”
She patted him on the arm. “Just live a little, Jerome. You’ll feel a lot better.”
“Yes. Oh, yes,” he said, laughing and crying simultaneously. “Oh, I love you, Cassie.” And then he moved in for a hug. She patted his back as he burst into a riot of tears.
Gran caught Fonzie’s eye and gave him a smile. He returned the smile. “I also want to thank you, Cassie,” said the prince. “I never stopped to think Jerome might not appreciate my entering his room in the middle of the night. I thought Americans loved to share, and—”
“Of course we love to share,” she said, returning Jerome to perpendicularity. “But there are limits. Limits you want to learn to appreciate if you’re going to spend time in this country.”
He nodded deferentially. “Of course. I understand.” Then her words registered. “Wait, you think I’ll spend time in this country?”
“Of course you will. You love it here, don’t you?”
His eyes had widened to their fullest extent. “Why, yes, I do. I’ve always loved the US of A and now that I’m here I love it even more. In fact I adore it with a perfect passion.”
“This country is made for you, Fonzie.”
“But what about my kingdom?”
“Don’t you have siblings who can take care of Khameit while you’re here?”
“Of course. I have thirty-nine brothers and sisters.”
“I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to keep an eye on your country for you.”
The young prince’s face lit up. “Cassie Beadsmore, you are a genius!”
Gran smiled as she took a sip of coffee, then grimaced at the bitter taste. “Yuck. I think I’ll have to go with tea. This stuff tastes terrible.”
I stared at my grandmother. In one fell swoop she’d solved three issues. In spite of the fact that I was worried about her, she was still the same formidable woman I’d always known and loved. She must have felt my gaze, for she turned to me and gave me a wink and a smile. I returned the smile and the wink, feeling a terrible weight lift from my heart.
Gran was fine. She hadn’t been lying. Snakes or no snakes, everything was fine.
Just then, a loud scream sounded, and Gran’s smile vanished as if wiped away with a squeegee. The next moment, Stien came barging into the kitchen.
“The snakes!” she cried. “They’re all over the greenhouse! They’re everywhere!”
Chapter 22
We all raced out and into the greenhouse, which was located just outside, to the left of the kitchen. The large glass structure was Gran’s pride and joy, where she lovingly nursed her greatest creations. Once, the greenhouse had been demolished by an actual warlock, and had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Now it seemed as if it was under threat yet again.
When we arrived, it was clear Stien hadn’t exaggerated: snakes were crawling all over the place. In fact the floor seemed to be moving, as a large mass of slithering snakes had taken over. They were dangling from the metal rafters, pouring in through the few glass panes that were cranked open to allow fresh air in, and covering every flower and plant inside the greenhouse, flattening and destroying everything.
Gran uttered a startled cry, and clasped a hand to her chest when she saw the destruction the serpents were causing to her precious blooms.
Fonzie muttered, “I wish I’d brought my carving knives.”
But in this situation, knives weren’t going to do the trick. Not by a mile. We’d need dozens of knives handled by dozens of people to get rid of this lot.
And then Gran pulled us aside and whispered, “I’m going to allow you girls a chance to redeem yourselves.” And at this, sparks shot from her fingers and jumped into ours. Suddenly it was as if our hands were charged with electricity, eerie blue and yellow light snapping between our fingers and making a sound like a power station crackling to life.
I had no idea how to do this, so I decided to follow Gran’s lead. She directed her hands at the thousands upon thousands of snakes, and magic shot from her fingers to the floor, and began to make short shrift of the serpents that had taken over the greenhouse.
I briefly wondered what our guests would think of this, but then I saw they were no longer there. Gran must have subconsciously urged them to skip out and leave us.
But then I was too busy eradicating Tisha Lockyer’s horrible breakfast surprise. And for the next ten minutes or so, the four of us busied ourselves with cleaning up the greenhouse, taking care that every last snake met its maker in a witchy sweep that could easily go down as one of the greatest acts of witchcraft my sisters and I had ever performed.
For Gran this was probably a walk in the park, but it had been a long time since I’d actually had access to my full witchy powers and not a few measly spells, and it felt great!
The snakes were a terrible, horrible intrusion, but at least it gave us an excuse to be ourselves again, if only briefly—and to access our amazing, wonderful and unique gift.
We swept our hands back and forth, flashes of greens, yellows, reds, purples and blues shooting from our fingers and crackling all across the greenhouse as if it had been lit up by a lightning storm. The snakes jumped and jerked as they were hit repeatedly, then dematerialized before our very eyes. As they did, they made loud shrieking noises, their demise deafening once we were going well and the four of us had joined forces.
We advanced through that greenhouse like an invading army—though in actual fact the snakes were the invaders, and we simply took our property back from them.
It took long minutes to clear the place out, and when finally the last crackle and pop had faded away, the acrid scent of burned flesh, sulfur and brimstone hung heavy in the air. A yellow fog drifted towards the ceiling, and then lifted, and when I looked around, I saw that we’d done a great job: not one snake had survived. The greenhouse was finally serpent-free again. The only problem was that none of the flowers had survived either.
Gran’s Amazon Lilies, African Violets, Chenille plants, Chinese Hibiscus, her roses, orchids and some of her more precious and rare species had all been flattened and reduced to mush by the weight of the thousands of snakes bearing down on them.
Gran uttered a distraught cry, and then collapsed to the floor.
We raced to her side, and saw that this time she’d slipped into unconsciousness.
“Gran!” cried Strel. “Oh, Gran. Please don’t go.”
“She’s not going anywhere,” said Stien, who abhorred drama. But she looked just as worried as Strel and I were feeling.
Just then, our three guests came racing into the greenhouse again, each holding an item of snake destruction. Fonzie had availed himself of two very large butcher knives, and was wielding them with dedication. Jerome was hoisting a fire extinguisher and aiming it this way and that. And Helmut came charging in with… two meat tenderizers, one in each hand, fully convinced flattening the snakes was the way to go.
They were ready to get down and dirty, but when they saw Gran collapsed on the greenhouse floor, they quickly abandoned their weapons and joined us by her side.
“We have to call an ambulance,” said Jerome—repeating the same chorus he’d harped on the night before, when Gran had collapsed after battling three snakes and destroying one. This time she’d battled thousands of the foul creatures, which was worrisome, as they seemed to have a draining effect on her.
“No ambulance,” suddenly Gran’s voice sounded. Weakly, she brought a hand to her face. I couldn’t help but notice her hand was shaking, and when she opened her eyes and looked around at the devastation the snakes had wrought, she expelled a shuddering sigh.
Gran gave us a sweet smile and murmured, “I’ll be fine. Just… need a little rest.”
And then she fell into a deep sleep that could have been mistaken for a coma.
Chapter 23
“This can’t go on, you guys!” Strel cried, plunking herself down on my bed and bouncing once or twice.
“Strel is right. We have to do something,” Stien agreed.
We were in my room, holding an emergency meeting, while Gran recovered downstairs. We were loath to leave her there—in case the snakes returned—but had placed Jerome, Helmut and Fonzie on guard duty. They were taking turns to watch Gran and warn us the minute something happened.
Jerome had insisted we call an ambulance—in spite of his aversion to the pharmaceutical industry, he seemed to place a great deal of trust in the medical profession. We’d overruled his request. If Gran didn’t want an ambulance, we had to respect her wish.
I was pacing the room, kicking an old View-Master out of the way.
The walls of my room were bedecked with posters of eighties new wave stars like Soft Cell, Spandau Ballet and Depeche Mode, and rediscovered treasures like Walkmans, Gameboys and even an Atari computer were littering the floor and overflowing from shelves and closets, along with Monchhichis and Star Wars action figures. What can I say? I like the eighties, even though I hadn’t even been born in that wonderful era (I just wish I had).
“I told you guys—we’re up against a witch,” I insisted. “A witch who’s waging war against our grandmother.”
“I thought we all agreed that Tisha is sending these snakes our way?” said Strel.