Jacob Michaels Is... The Omnibus Edition: A Point Worth LGBTQ Paranormal Romance Books 1 - 6

by Chase Connor

  “I don’t—”

  “Shut up.” She cut me off. “Obviously, everything is gettin’ back to what passes for normal around here. Just let sleepin’ dogs lie, damnit.”

  “No pun intended, I’m sure.”

  “Look here, ya’ smartass,” Oma growled at me as she stomped towards the stove and I finally swallowed the mouthful of mostly masticated food. “Why are you gonna go stir the pot when the burner ain’t even on yet? You start the attackin’ first, and he’s gonna bring down any trouble on our heads he can conjure up. Is that what you want?”

  “That’s a…messy metaphor.” I rolled my eyes. “Besides, all he has right now is that pack. If we can deal with them, that’ll take the pot off the fire completely. At least for a while. Don’t you want some peace and quiet for a while, Oma?”

  “Sure, I do.” She shrugged as she filled the plate and stomped back over to slap it down onto the table in front of me. “But if you go rilin’ up the pack, we ain’t gonna have no damn peace.”

  “So,” I was shoving my fork into my food immediately, “you’re suggesting we just sit around and let Jason and his pack expand and see what happens? That’s not very ‘Esther Jean Wagner’ of you.”

  I scoffed as my mouth got stuffed full of more of Oma’s delicious cooking. As I ate, all I could think of was how food hadn’t tasted as good since I was a child. Having my memories back reminded me how much I had missed having homestyle cooking. How all the fancy foods in the world, all the expensive plates of…whatever…all over the world never compares to food made with love and attention by a grandma. Even something as simple and humble as eggs, bacon, and hash browns beat nearly anything else in the world if it was made by your grandmother.

  “How do you know that doing that won’t help him be released, Robbie?” Oma asked gently, sipping her coffee as I stuffed my face. “How do you know that sliding back into your old self so effortlessly isn’t exactly what he needs you to do? Maybe that’s why he threatened you? How do you know if he even has the power to summon the pack right now, anyway? If he’s trapped, how’s he gonna sic the dogs on ya’? Did that ever cross your mind, ya’ idiot?”

  Looking up at my grandmother, my cheeks like a chipmunk’s, I had to admit that those thoughts had never occurred to me. Luckily, since I couldn’t have with the mouth full of food, my eyes did my talking for me.

  “That’s what I thought.” She frowned. “You wanna load up for bear and go on the hunt, and you ain’t even thought it through completely. You just want to go off half-cocked.”

  I swallowed the lump of food painfully. “Says the lady who shot at paparazzi—not to mention the Irish—with her shotgun?”

  “One of them was your idea.”

  I shrugged and went back to my food.

  “Worked out, though, didn’t it?” I quipped.

  Oma was waggling her head again as she brought the coffee mug to her lips. Luckily, she stopped her head movements before trying to take a sip of the scalding hot beverage.

  Sitting there, I finished my second plate of food at a slower, but still record pace, contemplating Oma’s viewpoint on everything. My mind was reeling somewhat from the events that had unfolded in the previous (not quite) two days. Something inside of me, a nagging thought, was telling me that I should be stark-raving mad, cackling, flailing, completely broken, by what had happened. Memories that had been stolen from me, events that had been warped in my mind, magics that had been used—just so I could survive—were suddenly un-warped and returned. Within the time it took to snap one’s fingers, everything had been unraveled. My life had been returned to what it had been before I had jumped into the well in Oma’s cellar a decade prior. Should I be falling back into line with my previous life so easily?

  When I had been a young boy, my life had been pretty simple. Eat, sleep, go to school, take a bath, play with Ernst, watch T.V. Then repeat everything the next day to some degree or variation. I hadn’t had my mom and dad around since I was very young, but I had had Oma. I always felt loved, cared for, and protected. It was an odd way to grow up, or so I thought at the time, not having a mom and dad, but it was good. As I got older, I realized that a lot of people had different looking families, so I settled into my belief that my life with Oma was no stranger than anyone else’s home life.

  Instinctively, I knew not to mention the Kobolds to anyone who did not live in our home, though I would later break that rule with Lucas. I knew that anything unusual—erm, magical—that happened at Oma’s had to be kept a secret. Though I knew this without being told, Oma told me once to keep certain things to myself, and I only had to be told once.

  When my teenage years came, and I found that Oma and the Kobolds were not the only magical beings in the house, things got more complicated. At first, the magic was slow to reveal itself. I’d think of wanting a glass of water when I’d awake in the middle of the night…and a glass of water would be on my bedside table. I’d wish that my room wasn’t so dark as I tried to drift off to sleep and suddenly it would seem as though there was a nightlight somewhere in the room when I knew there was none. I’d wish for the hours to go by quicker in school…and before I knew it, the last bell was ringing. Strange, inexplicable things began happening to me, and before long, Oma had to give me “The Talk.”

  Not the normal talk teenagers get from their guardians—a much different one. I had known that the strange happenings in Oma’s house, the Kobolds, the displays of magic—all of it was unusual. But I had accepted it. When Oma had pointed out that magic was something passed down to me, it wasn’t hard to accept initially. At first, it was just a fun thing that I could do. Hold out my hand, and the salt shaker would slide across the table towards me. Think really hard about the lights shutting off and they would. Simple, harmless, amazing things. But, then again, Oma had only given me half of “The Talk.” She hadn’t explained that a man in a long, black cloak with a hood would enter our lives. Oma hadn’t said that it was something I should expect. Especially with my parents gone.

  That’s when everything went to shit.

  Unfortunately, it was after I had drug Lucas into it.

  “You know,” I sighed and sipped my coffee as I stared across the table at my grandmother, “if I understood things as I understand them now, this would be a non-issue, Oma. One, I never would have given Lucas a second glance. I certainly wouldn’t have allowed him into this…mess. And I would have just faced…him.”

  Oma stared impassively at me.

  “But even magic can’t fix that.” I shook my head. “Oh, that it could. Or…maybe if I had been better prepared. Shoulda, coulda, woulda, right?”

  Oma smiled sadly at me.

  “We’re here, this is the problem, and we have to fix it.” I shrugged. “And I think going after Jason is the best course of action.”

  “You sure you’re not doin’ this for other reasons than ensurin’ our safety for a little bit longer?” Oma asked gently.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Revenge for him tryin’ to turn your boyfriend into one of his puppies back when?” Oma gave me a look that let me know she wasn’t falling for my attempt at deflection. “Two enemies with a long history will find any ole excuse to come at each other, ya’ know.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Ya’ sure?” She asked. “’Cause, if someone went after my boyfriend like Jason did yours, well, I’d have lit their ass on fire at the very least. So…you sure ya’ ain’t just jonesin’ to get some revenge?”

  In response, I just stared at Oma blandly.

  “Well?”

  “Look…I may have been confused about what Lucas is—what’s hidden in his family tree—for the last few weeks, years, whatever. But I remember what Lucas is now. I can understand why he was such a desirable target for Jason. I mean, who wouldn’t want to add Lucas to their pack?”

  Oma smirked.

  I ignored the expression.

  “So, I understand why Jason tried to recruit him and
don’t hold that against him, okay? He would have been a desirable addition to the pack. I get that.”

  “That’s mighty reasonable of ya’, Robbie.” Oma smiled widely. “Gee, that’s kind of you to see things from Jason’s point-a view.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “You’re pissed off.” Oma jabbed a finger at me, which made me want to jump, now that I fully understood what a finger jab could do. “You can pretend that all these memories floodin’ back into your thick skull ain’t got your hackles up, but we both know better.”

  “It’s not—”

  “If you want to go mark your territory in blood, well, you just feel free.” Oma snapped. “Don’t bring none of that to my doorstep, ya’ hear? I won’t get you out of no trouble you started without cause.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  “Of course, I will.” She snapped again. “I ain’t lettin’ the damn wolves have their way. But I’ll take you over my knee the second I have to clean a damn bit of your mess up.”

  Rolling my eyes, I slugged back the rest of my coffee. It wasn’t quite cool enough to do, but I managed to not choke as I swallowed it down and set my coffee mug on the table. Oma stared at me, her arms folding across her chest as she examined me, trying to figure out which way I would fall on the issue.

  “Tell me what we do if the pack grows, Oma,” I said. “If you can tell me you have a plan for what to do in a worst-case scenario, I won’t do anything to anger Jason.”

  “If that pack starts gettin’ too big for its britches, I’ll take care of it my damn self.” Oma nodded firmly. “And it won’t just be Jason whose ass is smokin’, either.”

  “They’re already mad at me for all their wolves I’ve hurt,” I added. “Even if they don’t remember everything in our past. And they want to punish Lucas for Andrew getting hit by his truck, and—”

  “We done settled that.” Oma waved me off. “We’ll send them a nice big bundle of cash—your cash, not mine—and that should keep ‘em out of our hair at least for a while.”

  “Can’t wait to call my accountant for that.”

  “And in the meantime, while they’re over there plottin’ their little schemes and watchin’ for a reason to be mad—while he is out of commission—we’ll get you up to snuff. That’s the only way you win a war—plannin’, preparin’, and plottin’.”

  “Those are all kind of the same thing.”

  Oma sighed.

  “Do you really think there’s any way that this will end well, Oma?” I asked. “For me, I mean?”

  “Not if you go off half-cocked, no.” She snapped once more.

  “Fine.” I rose from the table, the legs of my chair squealing on the linoleum. “I won’t go after Jason and his pack unless they come after me first.”

  Oma looked up at me, her eyes squinting at me, disbelieving.

  “The Toledo LGBTQIA Center oracle sends her regards,” I stated evenly.

  Oma’s looked like the cat who caught the canary.

  “Drag queen.” Oma shrugged. “What else would you expect?”

  “What is he when he’s Carlos?”

  “Robbie, Carlos likes to be Carlita,” She said. “Carlos is an oracle, and Carlita is an oracle. The rest is makeup, wigs, and shoes. Ya’ live long enough, you need a few hobbies.”

  “Drag is a hobby?”

  “Well, not really.” Oma shrugged. “But it ain’t been but half a century or so that Carlos has been able to be Carlita. So, he’s takin’ advantage of it. I think that’s probably his favorite thing about livin’ this long. He finally gets to be himself when he’s her.”

  “Must be nice.”

  “You bein’ snippy with me?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m glad that Carlos—or whatever his real name is—lived long enough to be able to be Carlita, too. I’m happy for him.”

  Oma nodded slowly.

  “I’m glad I got her the shoes.”

  “I know she appreciates it.” Oma gave a firm nod. “Oracles have a hard time makin’ a livin’ as it is nowadays.”

  “Not many people believe in them anymore.” I snorted ruefully. “Hard to get a job when your main skill is advice and prophecy, huh?”

  “You could say that.” Oma smiled. “But she sure can sing and dance, that Carlita.”

  “That she can.” I agreed. “I’m going to call some people.”

  “Who?”

  “Nosy.” I waggled my head. “One, my accountant. Need a wad of cash for Jason’s pack, don’t we? Two, my agent, manager, and assistant. Letting people know their services are no longer needed is best done face to face, but I’m not going back to Los Angeles. Three, I guess my lawyer. Gotta figure out what to do about…everything.”

  “Point Worth is your home now?”

  “That was an inevitability, Oma.” I sighed.

  “Don’t you think you should go out there to California if you want to fire people?” Oma suggested. “Gettin’ told you ain’t got no job anymore is even worse when the person tellin’ you don’t bother to look you in the face.”

  “Fine.” I shrugged. “I’ll call my accountant and lawyer. I’ll save the rest for when I can ‘go out there to California’ and do it in person.”

  Before anything else could be said, I left the kitchen. I’d already let Oma have her way enough.

  Chapter 9

  Jason was more than a little surprised to see me when he swung his front door wide. Of course, when you come to your own front door in nothing but basketball shorts at dusk and find your archnemesis standing there, it’s reasonable to be surprised. Outstretched in my hand, I held a thick envelope from the bank, my eyes staring into Jason’s as he fumbled with what to say to me. I could sense, without having to look around, that Jason was all alone. His pack wasn’t there to back him up if he decided that he wanted to fight for whatever reason his mind pulled out of his ass.

  Oma had asked me not to take the money over to Jason and his pack alone once my accountant had arranged for it to be wired to the First Bank & Trust in Point Worth. She was suspicious of my motives. Coincidentally, the teller, and then the manager, at the bank, had been suspicious of me and my twenty-thousand-dollar cash transfer. When it became apparent who I was—Jacob Michaels, not Robert Wagner—they were less suspicious. Throwing in that Esther Jean Wagner was my grandmother had sealed the deal. Apparently, they were used to dealing with crazy from her, so my twenty-thousand bucks were no big deal in the grand scheme of things.

  Being suspicious of me taking the money to Jason alone was not entirely wrong of Oma if I was being honest. Having Jason by himself to talk to any way I wanted, about anything I wanted, was a big motivator for me. Knowing that I might say or do something that Oma might not approve of meant that I needed to keep her away from the meeting. Besides, if things did get hairy—every pun intended—I figured it was best to keep Oma out of it. Oma had power, but she didn’t have discretion. Thinking of Point Worth being on fire in my dreams flashed through my mind before I decided she should not be involved in any way.

  Jason sized me up, angry heat in his eyes as he stood in his doorway, one hand still clenched against the door itself. His whole body seemed to be quivering with pure, unadulterated animosity as he stared out at me. Of course, surprising him at home as the sun was going down, when he didn’t have his pack to back him up, and he was not fully dressed for a fight probably didn’t help. None of that concerned me since Jason’s feelings about being surprised at his home by me and my envelope of money were the least of my problems. However, I had to do my best to not look concerned for my own safety. While I knew that I could probably take Jason in a fair fight, Jason and his pack were not known for fair fights.

  “Funeral money,” I stated evenly as I held the envelope out to Jason.

  Jason was muscular but lean, not pasty nor tan, his eyes human, not glowing red. Stylish short hair, the shorts hung just so on his hips. Big hands, strong arms. Tall. He looked like the type of guy any Hollywood cas
ting agent would choose as “Werewolf Number Twelve” in some movie where a teenager has to choose between an immortal and a werewolf. I’d met plenty of those guys that I felt comfortable making that mental generalization.

  “What?” He glowered at me once he shook off his surprise.

  “For your friend who attacked me and I had to defend myself against,” I explained slowly like he was an idiot—because he was. “This is the money Oma promised you for her funeral.”

  “Her name was Katie.” He squinted as he snarled back at me.

  He hadn’t reached out to take the envelope from me, so I held it at chest height between us.

  “Katie,” I replied simply.

  “You killed her.”

  I stuck my bottom lip out and batted my eyes.

  “And it hurts my soul so much that she got hurt while trying to attack my friend and me in my grandmother’s backyard unprovoked.” I faked a sob. “Whatever will I do to feel better about this?”

  Jason actually growled at me. Not the way a human growls when mimicking a wolf, but the way a wolf growls. Period.

  “I really wish you would.” I snorted, still holding the envelope out. “I only need one reason to light your ass up, too, Jason. I’ve been waiting a long time to do just that. And I’m a big boy now.”

  “Fuck you.” Jason leaned forward slightly to growl again. “Don’t talk to me like you know me.”

  Jason growling at me reminded me that he didn’t remember the things that I remembered. Of course, it was obvious that losing his memories hadn’t made him lose his feelings about me. I shook the envelope playfully.

  “Twenty-thousand bucks, Jason,” I said, ignoring him. “That will do plenty for Katie’s family.”

  “That’s how much a life is worth to you?” He snapped before stepping across the threshold and onto the front porch.

  I’m no idiot. I took an equal sized step backward.

  “No.” I shrugged. “Her life is worth nothing to me. Neither is yours. But a promise is a promise, so here’s money to bury her.”