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

by Chase Connor

“I’ve been gone for a spell, Robbie,” Oma said. “But your dad said he had to take care of some things, so he needed me to look after you.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m not as mean as I look.” She winked down at me as I rounded her imposing figure. “Usually.”

  “You look pretty mean,” I admitted though I wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say.

  “I have my moments.” She shrugged sharply. “But you don’t give me no sass, and I won’t sass back. That sound like a fair deal?”

  Thinking about this, I slowly started to nod as I chewed at my lip.

  “Good.” She finally smiled down at me, her arms falling to her sides. “Have ya’ had breakfast, Robbie?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I just woke up and my mom…my mom…”

  She waved me off, smiling, though her eyes were sad.

  “Don’t worry about all that.” She said brightly. “Oma’s here now. And I brought some friends.”

  “Friends?” I asked, my lip chewing intensifying.

  “Wanna see what’s in my suitcase?” She asked, a mischievous grin coming to her face as she bent down slightly.

  “I don’t know.”

  She stood up sharply, her nose hooking into the air haughtily, though she looked down at me through the corner of her eye. That twinkle never went away.

  “Well, maybe I don’t want to show you then.” She waggled her head.

  I couldn’t help it. I giggled. She held her haughty pose a moment longer, then turned her head down to smile at me.

  “It ain’t nothin’ that will bite ya’ none.” She said reassuringly. “Just some little helpers while your dad is gone.”

  “Okay.” I was nodding slowly again.

  “So,” She asked once more, “you wanna see?”

  “Okay.” I agreed hesitantly. “You’re not going to scare me, are you?”

  “Not on purpose.”

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  Oma smiled warmly and turned to her suitcase, bending over to reach for the zipper. I watched with fascination—and a bit of fear—as she pulled the zipper three-quarters of the way around the suitcase, slowly pulling back the flap. At first, nothing happened, but then, ever so slowly, a small humanoid hand peeked out. I gasped, and the hand froze. My eyes shot up to Oma, and she just winked at me. My eyes went back to the bag, and I watched as a hand became an arm, then a torso and head…and a small human-like…thing…stepped out of the suitcase. It was even shorter than me, wringing its hands and looking around, as though unsure of its surroundings. I gasped again as another creature stepped out of the bag, then another…eventually five of these…things…stood in the living room with Oma and me.

  “How did they all fit in there?” I looked up at Oma with saucer-like eyes.

  “Magic, of course.” She winked.

  My eyes met Oma’s, and something passed between us.

  I grinned.

  “Goddamnit, Robbie.” Oma cursed as she rolled her eyes. “Ya’ gotta stop doin’ that.”

  “Sorry.” My cheeks were warm as I winced down at the char marks on the tablecloth.

  “How many times have I told you that you have to control yourself?” She barked, though her heart wasn’t in it. “If you keep doin’ that, people are going to know about you.”

  “Sorry,” I repeated.

  Ernst scuttled under the table and stood up next to my chair, his hand reaching for mine. I did my best to smile at him as he gave me a reassuring look. Oma was snatching the cloth off of the table, yet another blunder of mine that caused damage to something in the house. Ever since she had been trying to teach me how to tap into my magic and control it, all I’d done was mess things up. It was a lot for an eight-year-old to figure out as quickly as she wanted me to do. Magic didn’t like to have people telling it what to do. Sometimes it did whatever the hell it wanted.

  “And you.” Oma’s eyes shot over to land on Ernst, causing both Ernst and me to wince and shrink back, though he refused to let go of my hand. “You ain’t doin’ him no favors treatin’ him like a baby.”

  “Ain’t mean nuffin’ by it, Missus.” Ernst managed. “He’s jus’ a boy.”

  “Just a boy?” Oma rolled her eyes and wadded up the tablecloth. “The two of you are a pair, aren’tcha?”

  Oma gave us both once last withering look before she stood from the table, the bundled-up tablecloth in her arms, and then she marched out the back door. Obviously, she was going to pitch the ruined cloth in the outside garbage so that no one would ever see it and ask questions. Not that we had many visitors—and even if we did, they wouldn’t be going through our garbage, inside or out. I looked down at Ernst, disgusted with myself as he gave my hand a squeeze.

  “It’s a’ight, Rob.” He reassured me, his other small hand coming up to pat the top of my hand while his other held it. “You’ll ge’ the hang o’ it.”

  “I’m awful.” I groaned. “I don’t even know why this matters. I mean…I’m going to end up dead anyway, right?”

  Ernst’s face turned up, and he thumped my hand.

  “Now, don’ go talkin’ like all tha’.” He gave me a stern look. “Ya’ gonna end up ‘owever you wan’ to end up. And ya’ will get the ‘ang of this.”

  “Maybe.” I sighed. “Thanks for…being my friend, Ernst.”

  Ernst’s little cheeks turned pink.

  “What?” I asked, finally smiling at him.

  “Never ‘ad no friend before.” He mumbled. “’Specially with your kind. Nah supposed ta anyway.”

  “Well,” I shrugged, a trait I had learned from Oma over the previous years, “I keep breaking every other rule she gives me. We can break that one, too.”

  Ernst grinned impishly up at me as we squeezed each other’s hands.

  “I’m honored ta be yer frien’, Rob.”

  “Forever, Ernst.” I nodded and leaned down to hug him. “Forever.”

  Like stepping out of a fog, things changed. I was no longer remembering my life as a series of memories or dreams, drifting overhead incorporeally, looking down at the events, but instead stepping up to a stage to watch them be acted out. It was almost like I was walking up to the front row of a theater and taking my seat, waiting for the show to start, but I was the only one with a ticket. I gazed out at the scenery before me as nothingness dissolved and was replaced with vague shapes and blurs, slowly coming into focus.

  The play…maybe movie?...started with a view of a field of lush, green grass, and I immediately knew that I was looking at the land where Oma’s—my family home—should have been. Except there was no house. But there were more trees. The grass looked more…wild. What would once be called Lake Erie was off in the distance. A young girl skipped into frame, but lazily, as if in slow motion. I stared up at the scene as I—sat there, I guess?—and watched the young girl, probably no more than ten-years-old enter the frame of my vision. In the middle of the field, the girl fell to her knees gleefully, then laid back in the grass, staring up at the brilliantly blue, sunny sky overhead.

  Lying there in the grass, the girl’s eyes closed, and she smiled, beatific in her innocence and happiness. I couldn’t help but smile, though in the back of my mind, I remembered why I was experiencing these things. For several moments, I watched the girl in the grass, eyes closed, smiling at nothing…and everything…and then two people stepped into frame. Oma and Carlita. From the girl’s garb and the clothing of the two people I knew already, I ascertained that this had happened so long ago that I had no way of putting a specific date to the events.

  Carlita was the first to open her mouth, which startled the girl, though I couldn’t hear what Carlita said, nor could I hear the girl shriek as she sat up quickly and scurried backward like a crab several feet. Oma stepped forward, her hands out as though to calm the girl, speaking mutely as the girl looked up at the two of them warily. For what seemed like forever, but was probably only seconds, I watched the three of them interact silently, not even one piano chor
d played to this silent movie, and then the girl rose to her feet. She took Oma’s hand with a smile, which Oma returned, and then they walked away, my vision going black.

  All I could hear was my heart in my chest, thuh-thumping for the space of a few breaths before the blackness started to fade away, revealing the same field once again, only at night this time. I gasped, though I couldn’t hear that either, as Bloody Bones stood there in his black hooded cloak, fire shooting forth from an upraised hand at the girl. Oma and Carlita were standing several yards away, near the woods, watching as the girl returned her own magics in Bloody Bones direction. I watched in horror, seeing the toll this display was taking on the child, not much older than she had been in the first scene.

  The fight wore on for several minutes, back and forth between Bloody Bones and the girl, but finally, with what I could only assume was a scream of rage, Bloody Bones was defeated. He reached towards the sky with fury and panic as the ground split open and he was pulled beneath, scratching and clawing, screaming silently at the girl. Once Bloody Bones had been sealed away, the ground swallowing him and sealing after him, the girl fell to her knees, exhausted and bleeding. Carlita and Oma stepped away from the woods, relieved smiles on their faces, as though they would approach the girl.

  Disdainfully, the girl turned her head to glare at the two, making them stop in their tracks, suddenly afraid of this progeny of theirs. With a mouth twisted up in a howl, magic seemed to burst from the girl, spilling out and over the land, sliding over everything in its path. Without hearing a sound, or any narration, I knew this girl was imbuing the land with her magic, sealing Bloody Bones away for as long as the magic could hold. I gasped, though still soundlessly, as the girl fell to the Earth. In direct contrast to how it had accepted Bloody Bones, the Earth accepted the girl, cradling her like a baby in a bassinet, as if lulling her to sleep, slowly absorbing her into the ground, then sealing shut behind her. Magic continued to glimmer, even as the ground sealed gently shut around her body, sparkling over the surface of the land, the trees, the lake in the distance.

  Seconds ticked by as Carlita and Oma stared at where the girl had been, until suddenly, a well slowly sprouted from the ground, growing inch by inch until it was waist-high to a man and as wide as a human is tall. Oma and Carlita stared at this strange artifact, unsure of what to make of it. But when green light began emanating from its depths, bathing the ground around it in a sickly green halo, Oma and Carlita looked at each other with concern.

  These scenes played over and over in front of me, fading to black, reappearing, disappearing, Bloody Bones fighting to his death. But always with a different opponent. Sometimes a young girl. Sometimes a boy. Sometimes a teenage boy or girl. The well stood watch as they met on this field. Then, after several versions of this fight, a house was the backdrop to the fight, with no well in sight, obviously tucked away in its cellar.

  In between each fight, flashing scenes of people peering into the well, their faces illuminated by a sickly green glow, greedy smiles on their faces showed before my eyes. A fight, a different person staring into the well. A fight, a new person going to seek the magic in the well. Over and over, again and again, time passing as battles were fought, and people became greedier and more envious.

  Finally, when the scene faded to black, then slowly faded back to show another fight, and I saw a moonlit night, with my father stepping into frame, I screamed.

  And I finally heard sound.

  “What is it?” I heard my voice.

  Looking around, all I could see was darkness. But I had heard my own voice…well, my younger voice…so I knew that I should be seeing something in this vision.

  “The source of your family’s magic.”

  That was Oma’s voice.

  Slowly before me, like when the vision had started previously, a scene came into view. Barely breaking through the darkness at first, then gradually getting lighter and brighter until I could see what was going on. Oma and I were in the cellar of the house. I was on one side of the well, and she was on the other. Clearly, I remembered the day I had wandered down there—maybe thirteen-years-old—and found the strange structure right in the center of the room. Oma had always told me not to go in the cellar, going out of her way to remind me that I should never go down those stairs. One day, curiosity got the better of me. Though, when I had finally gone against her wishes and Oma had found me, my eyes had been on the well. I had never looked up at her when we spoke in the dank and dark room, instead looking into the depths of the well. Watching this scene replay, from the outside looking in, I was able to watch Oma instead of the well.

  She was smiling.

  Smirking.

  Plotting. She had been plotting.

  Of course, she had wanted me to go into the cellar eventually. That’s why she had kept bringing it up for those many years. Now she had gotten me where she wanted me.

  “Is it always here?” My younger self whispered.

  She shrugged, only acting with part of her body. The smile never left her face as I stared down into the well.

  “It comes and goes.” She said, staring down at my younger self leaning over the edge of the well. “Shows itself when it wants to or needs to.”

  “Why’s it here?”

  “I done told you.” She said. “It’s the source of all your family’s magic. It’s here for you if you ever need it. Unfortunately, some of your kinfolk have been dippin’ into it over the years and—”

  “Dipping into it?”

  She made a crude sound but never stopped smiling. Oma had gotten me exactly where she had needed me to begin moving the pieces on the chessboard.

  “Yeah.” She stated flippantly. “Idiots used some of the magic. Thinkin’ it could give them money or power or some other nonsense that they wanted. They used it for wishes.”

  “Wishes?” My younger self breathed the word, fascinated.

  “Wishes.” Oma reiterated. “Thought the well could solve their problems instead of handlin’ the problems themselves. But wishes are only as good as the person making ‘em. Bunch of idiots. Now, we need to get out of here.”

  “Would it grant me a wish?” I had asked dreamily, staring down into the dark depths of the well.

  There it was. Looking at this scene from the outside, I saw the grin on Oma’s face widen. That’s what she had wanted me to know—she wanted that thought in my head, chewing away at all of my other thoughts for as long as it could.

  “I suppose.” She said, then suddenly the grin was gone. “Now, get off that damn well. We’re going back upstairs, and I never want you to come down here again. Don’t even think about it. Don’t talk about it to no one.”

  “Oma.” My younger self pushed back from the well and looked up at her, my bottom lip jutting out.

  “Don’t ‘Oma’ me, mister.” She jabbed a finger at the stairs. “I ain’t got many rules around here, but this one I mean.”

  “Fine.” My younger self rolled his eyes and started marching towards the stairs.

  As my younger self disappeared out of frame, Oma’s eyes followed him. When he was gone, Oma took one last look at the well, the grin returning to her face. She laid a hand on the edge of the well, giving it a soft pat as she smiled down at it, then she too was heading for the stairs.

  ‘Everything Little Thing She Does Is Magic’ by The Police was playing on the little radio on the kitchen counter when I walked into the room. Bright summer sunlight was pouring through the windows in the house, making everything look white and golden and nearly celestial. All of the curtains and drapes had been pushed back on their rods to help welcome the first day of summer. The house was sparkling clean and smelled of Oma’s favorite lavender cleaner. I staggered down the stairs, all wonky elbows and joints, my hair surely sticking up in spikes all over my head, rubbing my fists into my eyes. My bare feet padded down the stairs and then across the floor of the living room towards the kitchen. It was my last summer before I started Big Boy School. Talks had be
en given to me over and over again about what to expect, the friends I’d make, the teachers I would love, the things I would learn. All I cared about that summer morning was getting some of the food in the kitchen that was scenting the house from top to bottom: bacon and eggs and butter and maple-y goodness.

  When I entered the kitchen, I immediately saw her standing there, back turned to me, poking around in a skillet on top of the stove. My eyes lit up as an evil grin came to my face, and I tiptoed across the linoleum floor in the kitchen, sneaking up on her. I grabbed ahold of her sides, my head barely coming up past her butt, making her scream out in feigned shock. She had heard me walking up behind her, but it didn’t matter. She let my five-year-old self pretend that I had snuck up and startled the daylights out of her. She spun around, hand to chest, gasping as she looked down at me with wide eyes. Then her face broke into a smile, and she dropped to kneel before me. Her arms went around me immediately as she smothered my face with kisses.

  “Good morning, Robbie!” My mother managed to get out between my squealing and squirming as she smothered me with her kisses. “Good morning, my little ray of sunshine!”

  “Mommy!” I squealed, pretending that I wanted to get away, but I was really wanting my mother’s kisses to keep going until I was exhausted and collapsed in her arms.

  I wanted to feel my mom’s arms around me, comforting and loving me, leading me to the table for my breakfast. The smothering kisses and squeezing arms lasted for what was a very long time, but not to a five-year-old. Finally, my mom pulled back, her hands going to my shoulders so that she could get a good look at me. Immediately, one hand went to my head, to try and pat down the multitude of cow-licks in my hair. She smiled to herself as she gave up after a few seconds. My hair never wanted to do what she wanted it to do, and that was a battle she was slowly losing. Her hand went to my chin, pinching it between her fingers as she winked at me.

  “Did you leave your appetite in bed, or is it here with you?”