by Chase Connor
“Rob.”
She waved me off.
“No one cares that you have no talent, and there is nothing truly remarkable about your looks.” She said. “You just have…that thing…that producers and directors are looking for in a star, dear.”
Ouch.
Well, actually, it would have been an “ouch” if I hadn’t already gotten used to the way actors got treated in the business.
“That thing…” I stopped.
What I had wanted to say, I kept to myself. Because “that thing” that Nelda was referring to, was magic. Only she didn’t know that. Casting directors didn’t know it. Producers and directors didn’t know it. The moviegoing public didn’t know it.
“I can’t, Nelda,” I said. “I’m done.”
Nelda huffed, the red slash across her face turning into what looked like the mouth on a Tragedy Mask. She snatched her cigarette case from me and stood angrily. Damnit. It was fun holding the cigarettes. I was actually hoping she’d forget that I had them and leave them with me. Then I could have one. Just one…
“You are a pain in my ass.” She snapped down at me. “I will ask them for more money if you want to play hardball.”
“Ask them for the Taj Mahal, Nelda.” I shrugged as I peered up at her passively. “But it won’t make me change my mind if they say ‘yes’ to anything you demand. Besides, if you push back, they’ll just get Vin Diesel to replace me in the sequel.”
But Nelda was already in motion, stomping angrily towards the front door. Her claw reached out and turned the knob, ripping the front door inward—which was quite a feat for someone of Nelda’s age and stature.
“We’ll see about that!” She snarled triumphantly. “The next time you hear from me, I’ll have an offer you can’t refuse!”
Then she was gone, and the door was slamming angrily, a gust of Ohio Spring air blowing into the living room to ruffle my hair. Sighing to myself, I listened for the sound of a car door opening and closing, the sound of an engine roaring to life, and then the tell-tale sound of tires crunching on the driveway. I stood from the couch and went over to the door to lock the deadbolt. I certainly didn’t want Nelda coming back inside unannounced, uninvited, and unwanted.
Back in the kitchen, Oma and Jason were still sitting at the table, glaring at each other, though they both had mugs of coffee in hand. The thought of each of them having a solid object to launch at or hit each other with made me nervous, but I went to the cabinet to get my own mug. If things started getting thrown, I wanted scalding liquid and heavy porcelain as a weapon, too. Once I had pulled a mug down from the cabinet and filled it with piping hot coffee, I strolled over to the table as though all was right as rain, and sat down in the chair across from Oma, putting Jason to my right. Since I’m righthanded, I figured that would make it easier to throw the mug at him or send a ball of fire splashing into his face.
“Talk, assface.” Oma barked before I had the chance.
Jason squinted angrily at her, but he was soon turning his attention to me.
“You owe me.” He stated simply.
“I owe you shit.”
“I hid two bodies for you.”
“What?” Oma gasped.
“You hid the bodies of two of your kind who tried to kill Lucas and me.” I brought my coffee mug to my lips and blew at it before taking a sip. “I mean, what are you going to do? Lead the cops to the bodies and tell them that you were an accessory to murder? That you hid dead bodies for the person who killed the two men out of self-defense? Good luck with that, assface.”
“Why do we have dead bodies?” Oma snapped, turning her glare to me. “Again?”
“Two werewolves attacked Lucas and me last night.” I sipped my coffee again. “One of ‘em bit Lucas. Both of ‘em got dead in the process.”
“Lucas got bit?” Oma’s eyes grew wide.
Jason was smirking again.
“Yes.” I nodded, though I wasn’t looking at either one of them directly. “And assface over here said he’d hide the bodies. So, he hid the bodies. Now he expects me to be grateful.”
“I could have just called the cops.”
“Or I could have roasted your ass, too.” I snapped at him. “Then the cops would’ve had three deaths to investigate. What’s your point?”
Jason actually snarled.
“Keep it in your pants, puppy,” Oma warned him. “Why the fuck are your people attacking Lucas and Robbie? Answer me that. I thought we already settled this shit about your quarrel with them?”
“They weren’t my pack.” Jason snapped.
“I didn’t recognize the guys,” I added for good measure.
Oma looked back and forth between Jason and me several times before she responded to what we were saying.
“Who the fuck was they?” She bellowed. “You’re telling me we got another pack of shifters in this damn town now?”
“Seems to be.” Jason shrugged, though the anger was still etched all over his face. “They weren’t my guys, so…”
I sipped my coffee.
“You’re taking this well.” Oma snarled at me from across the table.
“I don’t think we should discuss theories with assface present.” I jabbed a thumb at him.
“Stop calling me assface!”
“Oh, shush.” Oma waved him off. “What do you mean, Robbie? What theories? You talkin’ about maybe we had the wrong werewolves in mind when we was…talkin’ ‘bout what we was talkin’ ‘bout the other day?”
I nodded.
“What are you two talking about?”
“Shut up,” Oma ordered, then her attention was back on me. “Well, fuckin’ hell, Robbie. Why didn’t you come home immediately and tell me?”
“Lucas and I were busy tending to his bites.”
“Amongst other things.” Oma snorted. “I think playing Pass the Pickle ain’t nearly as important as letting me know we got another damn shifter problem on our hands, damnit.”
I shrugged.
“It is what it is, Oma.” I sipped my coffee. “Unless you have a way to turn back time, then—”
“What are you two talking about, goddamnit?!” Jason growled.
“Shut. Up. Assface.” Oma snapped.
Before I could blink, Jason had slid both hands under the table and pushed upward. As if in slow motion, the table began to flip end over end in the air between the three of us. Oma pushed back in her chair, the legs squealing against the linoleum as I dropped my mug, slid from my chair to my knees, and held my hand out towards Jason’s solar plexus. With a force of will, I sent a column of green light crashing into his gut. A loud “ooph” sound emanated from Jason as he took the full force of the blow and he and his chair slid backward until he hit the kitchen counter.
Oma raised her hand to the table in the air, and it suddenly stopped spinning end over end. She glanced at Jason, flicked her hand to right the table, and it landed back on all four legs on the linoleum. The legs of the table squealed loudly on the floor as she sent it towards Jason, effectively pinning him against the cabinet. Jason was grunting in pain again as the edge of the table bit into his sternum, trapping him against the kitchen cabinet. With anger, but also fear in his eyes, he looked up at Oma and me on the other side of the kitchen.
“Ya’ couldn’t take one of us, assface!” Oma admonished him. “Why the fuck would you mess with both of us at the same time?”
Jason growled angrily, his eyes starting to glow red.
“I see any fur, assface, and I’m burning it off,” I warned him, raising my hand once more.
An actual whimper escaped Jason’s throat, and he went still, though his hands still gripped the edge of the table. Oma let out a frustrated sigh and turned to me, a concerned expression on her face.
“You just sit there and think about what you done now.” She spoke over her shoulder to Jason before speaking to me. “Well, you done screwed the damn pooch again, Robbie, ain’tcha?”
“How is every damn thing
my fault, Oma?” I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to look her in the eyes while keeping Jason in my peripheral vision. “Everything that goes wrong, you just conveniently blame on me. You seem to forget that none of this would be happening if you had just been honest with me when I was a kid. Maybe I would have made better choices. Or…better wishes, actually.”
“Maybe you’d be pullin’ at your pud wondering what the hell to do, too!” She retorted. “You ain’t exactly reliable when it comes to makin’ decisions, are ya’?”
“Oh my god.” I groaned and looked at the ceiling. “I didn’t make two werewolves—shifters, whatever—attack Lucas and me when we were out walking along the peninsula, did I? That’s not my fault.”
“It’s your fault you didn’t come tell me that—” She froze.
“What?”
“Why was y’all out at the Maumee last night?”
“We were talking.”
“About what?” She was squinting at me angrily, and her arms were folded over her chest once more. “What the fuck did y’all need to go out to the Maumee to talk about?”
“We were at Lounge watching Carlita perform and—”
“Carlita.” Oma hissed.
I rolled my eyes.
“That bitch.” Oma actually shook her fist.
All I could do was grin evilly.
“So,” Oma snapped at me, “I guess you did what I think you did out there in the Maumee.”
“Depends on what you mean.” I feigned innocence with a shrug and glanced over at Jason, trying to warn Oma with my eyes. “I mean, all kinds of sordid things could have happened out there, Oma.”
“Oh, fuck him.” Oma dismissed the thought of Jason listening in on our discussion. “Does Lucas have his memories back now, too?”
“Oma,” I warned her again, my eyes darting to Jason.
“Assface won’t remember none of this.” She snarled. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Stop calling me that,” Jason grunted, trying to push the table out of his chest.
“Stay still, assface,” Oma growled at him this time.
“He does,” I said when Oma turned back to me.
“Who?” She hooted.
“Lucas.” I gave her a deadpan look. “Memories.”
“Fuckin’ great.” She threw her hands up wildly. “Just fuckin’ great, Robbie. I told you not to do that, and you did it. Do you ever just listen to what the hell I tell you?”
“I guess I’m just a rebel.”
“You’re a goddamn idiot is what you are.”
I shrugged.
“You’re the band on the Titanic, Robbie.” Oma admonished me. “The boat is sinkin,’ and you reach for your violin. No, actually, you’re shooting holes in the deck is what you’re doin’.”
“Nice analogy.”
“And now you act like you don’t even care that you’re helping things along.” Her eyes were wide with disbelief. “What the hell has gotten into you, Robbie? You’re reckless and careless at times, but this is just downright batshit crazy.”
“He had a right to his memories, Oma.”
“It. Don’t. Matter.” She snarled.
“We’re going to have to agree to disagree on this one, lady.”
Oma shook her head, her eyes piercing into me as she considered everything that we’d said to each other. The things I had done the night before—actually, all of the things I’d done since I was a teenager. She was not happy with me. I wasn’t entirely happy with myself either, but that was beside the point. When I was old enough to find out about magic, my family history, what was expected of me, I had been cornered. All I was doing was my best—both to survive and also not go down without a fight.
“So…now what?” Oma asked sharply. “What’s the big plan, Robbie? We’re just gonna wait around until you know who shows up with some strange pack of shifters we don’t even know about? This one over here ain’t even a threat, and we’re havin’ to deal with his bullshit right now. This is one big clusterfuck.”
“It’s not my fault,” I said. “No matter how you slice it, Oma. I’m making things up as I go, sure…but what else can I do?”
Oma sighed and looked down, her whole body seeming to deflate before me as she considered that statement.
“Robbie, no matter what you do…son…he’s gonna come. And you can’t stop it. You won’t be able to stop him. It’s just a matter of when.”
“Then why does it fucking matter that Lucas and I were in the Maumee last night?” I snorted.
Oma shook her head.
“Wait. Are you two talking about the man in the black hood?” Jason grunted.
Oma’s head shot up and her eyes locked on mine. Together, we slowly turned to look at Jason. He had stopped trying to push the table out of his chest to free himself, having realized that Oma’s magic had effectively and permanently trapped him against the kitchen cabinets.
“What the hell do you know about the man in the black hood, assface?” Oma asked him.
“He came to me.” Jason swallowed hard, fear filling his eyes. “Once.”
Oma shot a look at me, which I returned.
“He offered me—the pack—power,” Jason said. “I said, ‘no.’ He…he scared me.”
Oma and I didn’t laugh at Jason.
His fear was well-founded.
“He scares everyone,” I said gently.
“He said his name was Bl—”
“Don’t say that name!” Oma hissed quickly. “Never say that name.”
Again, Oma and I were exchanging glances.
“I didn’t believe him,” Jason said. “I mean, I’d heard stories about…that…but I didn’t know it was more than just a scary bedtime story. Something parents tell their kids to make them stay in bed at night. Are you two not shitting me right now? He—he’s coming?”
For several moments, Oma and I continued to stare at each other, wondering what options we had, trying to speak nonverbally. Finally, I sighed, and Oma flicked her hand, the table sliding slowly away from Jason. Gently, so as to not startle one of us into doing something else to harm him, Jason rose from his chair and stood before us.
“Let’s have a talk, assface,” I said.
Chapter 4
Oma went about pushing the chairs in around the table after I had centered it back in the kitchen. Jason watched us cautiously from his position backed up against the kitchen sink. Apparently, he thought he could escape down the drain if the two of us decided to throw a bit of magic his way again. As far as I was concerned, he had been lucky that neither of had decided to just burn the whole house down out of frustration. Neither Oma nor I had dependable temperaments, so a ball of fire being slung around the kitchen for nothing more than a table being flipped was not out of the question.
“Acted like you was auditioning for The Real Housewives of Toledo, flippin’ my table like that,” Oma grumbled as she lowered herself back into her chair. “You’re damn lucky you ain’t hurt nothin’. This table and these chairs are worth more than twenty of you. And your pack.”
Jason’s Adam’s Apple bobbed as he just stared at her.
“Come sit down.” I sighed as I lowered myself into the chair across from Oma. “We probably won’t hurt you.”
“To Hell.” Oma snorted. “He flips one more thing, and I’m gonna flip my chicken.”
Jason blinked at Oma, confused, then looked over at me. I shrugged.
“Old people are folksy,” I said. “Or so I’ve been told.”
“Sit the hell down already!” Oma boomed, nearly coming out of her seat with frustration. “If one of us has to tell you again—”
Jason scuttled over—which was quite a feat for someone of his build and ego—and sat down in the chair to my right again.
Stupid, stupid werewolf.
“Anyone need more coffee?” Oma barked, her eyes on Jason, then me.
“I could use a cup,” I said. “Jason?”
He shook his head jerkily.
> Oma got up from her seat, the legs squealing against the floor again, and she set about the task of getting two fresh mugs of coffee for her and me. The three mugs that had been toppled in our little scuffle had somehow found their way into the sink. The coffee that had been inside of them had been cleaned up as well. Either the Kobolds were quicker than even I knew—and even better at making themselves invisible—or Oma had used a few tricks of her own. Either way, fresh coffee had to be poured for the two of us.
“So,” I started as Oma busied herself at the coffee pot, “how do you know about the man in the black hood? And don’t say his name. Unless you want to see him again. Real soon.”
Jason swallowed hard again.
“I don’t know him,” Jason stated finally. “I just, well, he came to me once. In a dream.”
“That’s how he usually travels,” I stated blandly.
“He likes flair.” Oma deadpanned from across the room.
Jason glanced at her before his eyes landed on me again.
“He…he just came to me in a dream.” Jason shook his head, his eyes closing tightly as though trying to drum up an old, painful memory. “Once. I never saw him again after that. But…once was enough.”
Oma had finished pouring fresh mugs of coffee for her and me and was standing next to the counter, both mugs in hand, staring across the kitchen at the man we had just tag-teamed in the world’s quickest fight. Examining Jason, I could tell that he wasn’t lying—and he hadn’t been lying just so we would let him loose from being trapped by the table. Something in his eyes let me know that he had seen the man in the black hood and it had stayed with him ever since. Even without his past memories—what had happened the night the man in the black hood had disappeared—hadn’t erased the memory of the man. Something like that just stays with a person.
I found myself wondering what my options were in discussing everything with Jason so openly. As things stood, he was still an enemy to Oma, Lucas, and me. He may have hidden the bodies of the two werewolves who had attacked Lucas and me the night before, but he had done so with the intent that we would owe him for that service. Altruism had not been his intention when he had offered to help us out of our mess. Additionally, there was still the matter of things Jason had said to me when I had been at his house alone. Obviously, there was some…sexual tension…at least on his part, between the two of us. I hadn’t been candid with Lucas and Oma about what had happened at Jason’s house.