Making Midlife Madness: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Forty Is Fabulous Book 2)

by Heloise Hull

  “Good God, woman! You can’t go jumping from doorways onto unsuspecting people.”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “They make pills for that,” I grumbled. “Or alcohol.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Right. Well, Rosemary should be in soon. I’m prepping dough for the pizzas. I guess you could stick around for a bit, but no more of that. I’m already on edge. I can’t take demons dropping on my head from above.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Next time I’ll be waiting for you right inside the door.”

  “Yeah, that’s loads better,” I grumbled back into the kitchen.

  Thessaly watched me set everything in precise rows. For the last week, Rosemary had drilled into my head mise en place, which was fancy French talk for “everything in its place.” Apparently. All I knew was that if I didn’t do it like she showed me, she’d go “serious harpy” on me, and I wasn’t quite sure what that entailed. I think it meant she would steal my food and eat it in front of me, which would be seriously harsh.

  I let the warm water proof the yeast as Thessaly watched in fascination.

  “How’s your water and cold phobia coming along?” I asked.

  “If it wasn’t for wanting to make sure your pups are fine, I’m sure I’d leave any day.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Did Coronis tell you about the lantern?”

  My heart skipped a beat. “No. I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning. What happened?”

  “It pulsed red, but she couldn’t feel any malignant magic, so she had me take a peek.”

  “And?”

  “What does a sock on the door mean?”

  I groaned. “Tell me they didn’t both have a girl in their dorm at the same time.”

  “Okay, I won’t tell you that.”

  “Oh God, tell me. What were those idiots doing?”

  “Just one boy and one girl. The other twin had to wait outside in the hall. I can’t tell… Is it human boys, modern boys, or boys in general that are this way? In my experience, it’s just boys.”

  “Yep. Anything with a dick,” I said, kneading the dough perhaps a touch more vigorously than required. Aurick and I hadn’t spoken more than a few customary sentences since our date. We passed each other in the hallway and nodded. He asked me if I needed the blackberry jam at breakfast almost a week ago and I hadn’t seen him since. It was awkward. Now, whenever I had to pee, I pressed my ear to the door before I went out so I wouldn’t accidentally run into him as we both reached for the handle. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if he needed to use the restroom, as I’d never seen him in there, but that just annoyed me, too.

  Thessaly turned her glowing purple eyes on me. “Why haven’t you spoken to Aurick? It’s been six days and five hours since your last full sentence.”

  Damn demons cursed for eternity for not knowing social cues. Fine. That was fine. I had nothing to hide and no obligations to that mummy. Actually, I was beginning to worry he’d left for St. Louis to tell the Council everything. If that were true, though, we’d be swamped with geriatric supernaturals vying with canes and walkers to get into the basilica and see the dying god for themselves. Despite our argument, I doubted Aurick would betray me like that. I hoped I wasn’t a fool.

  “Everything is a little messy right now,” I admitted.

  Okay, this was weird. The last time Thessaly was with a man, she was banished to the sea for hundreds of years. Now I was going to confide in her with some good old-fashioned girl talk? She didn’t even know what a sock on the door meant! Or how to act casual.

  “You know what’s messy?” Thessaly asked, as Rosemary announced her entry and joined us in the kitchen.

  I shook my head. This was either going to be profound or weird as hell.

  “Stars.”

  Weird it was.

  Rosemary and I exchanged glances and shrugged.

  “Stars are big balls of trash,” Thessaly continued. “They’re dust and debris that pulled themselves together to burn for billions of years.”

  “So, if I’m following your line of reasoning, I’m not messy. I’m space trash.”

  “I think the key words here are ‘pulled themselves together’. And I’m certainly not suggesting you’ll burn brightly for that long, either.”

  “Thanks,” I said as Rosemary hid a snort of laughter with a chug of chilled espresso.

  “All you have to do is pull yourself together a little bit. Not even all the way like a star. Forget men. They’re really not worth the trouble.”

  “Truer words have never been spoken,” I declared.

  Two hours later, I was still complaining. “I mean, can you believe he defended a vampire? A vampire! Who bit me!”

  “Incoming,” Rosemary muttered.

  The first customers of the day were queuing outside. I saw Mak at the front of the line. Odd. He was more of a mid-morning customer.

  I brushed a floury handprint from my apron and went to unlock the door. Mak smiled as I held it open for him.

  “Buongiorno, Ava. You look well.”

  “I do? Thanks.” I patted what was clearly a messy hair bun with tendrils escaping from all sides like it was a prison break.

  “Of course. You always do.”

  I tried to come up with a sarcastic retort, but found nothing. Mak seemed so sincere. So I hid my confusion by walking to the register and asking, “Cappuccino and a cornetto?”

  “Did you make them this morning?”

  “They’re fresh, but Rosemary did.”

  Mak gestured to the case. “What did you make?”

  “Testing out if I’m a good cook?” I teased. “I promise I’m not. I follow very strict instructions from a harpy on pain of her stealing my food.”

  Mak laughed out loud at that. “No, of course not. I merely like to eat what was made with the hand of a goddess.”

  “You’ll be disappointed then—”

  “Would you quit flirting and get moving?” a voice demanded from the back of the line. “Some of us would like to not barf before our breakfast.”

  Spryo stuck his head in the door, nudging people out of the way and ignoring their muted protests. He was still naked except for a small crown he’d put around his other head.

  “I really don’t think that can be considered pants,” I said mildly, pointing to the new sign Rosemary had installed. It read, “No pants, no service, no exceptions. That means YOU, Spyro.”

  Mak took his cup and winked. “I better open my shop and let you deal with this. And Ava?”

  “Yes?”

  “I know you’re complicated, but dinner is always on the table for me.”

  “Oh man, bad puns and bad flirting. What’s a girl to say?”

  “Hopefully yes one of these days. I’ll keep asking until it’s an outright no and you put me out of my misery.”

  “I… yes.”

  “Yes to misery?”

  “Yes to dinner.”

  “Joy,” Spyro shouted. “You two can mate later. Now get the hell out of here, Makron. I’m not pretty until I’ve had my caffeine.”

  Rosemary checked on the commotion and immediately went to deal with Spyro. As she passed, though, she quietly asked, “Did you just agree to a date with Mak?”

  I nodded, the conflict in my chest making my eye twitch.

  “Well, this should be interesting,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I laid on my back, my arms splayed out in all directions, a pounding headache at my temples and sweat running off of me in a fairly spot-on imitation of Niagara Falls. “Okay,” I wheezed. “Whose idea was it to hike?”

  Mak’s face blotted out the sun as he leaned over me. He looked genuinely concerned. “Do you need me to call Coronis to airlift you home?”

  “No, no. Just shoot me up with some epinephrine and stand back. You’re a doctor, right?”

  “Not by MILF standards. And also I don’t have any… whatever it was you just said.”

&n
bsp; “Fine. Water will do.”

  Mak dug through his backpack as I listened to the gods-awful sound of happy songbirds. He handed me some water and a homemade protein bar with honey and granola. Then he helped me to a somewhat vertical position.

  I knew I should have pegged him as a gym rat. He was too toned for his age. Rookie mistake.

  “I’m sorry for almost killing you,” Mak said. “When I mentioned a hike, you seemed excited, and I wanted to show you my favorite spot.”

  “For being so old, you’re pretty bad at reading female facial expressions.”

  “You lied about being excited?”

  “Totally and completely.”

  Mak groaned. “Why? Why do women do that?”

  “Same reason men do, I assume. To save face. Now, are you going to carry me or should I find some nice pine needles to make a nest for the night?”

  “I’ll get Coronis,” he said standing.

  I yanked on his hand and brought him back down in a tumble. “No, no. That was another joke. I’ll be fine in a little bit.”

  He pulled out a second granola bar, and we sat munching under the shade of cypresses overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. I had to admit it was probably the most beautiful lookout point in the world. Even Thessaly’s rock appeared picturesque from this height, although I doubted she’d agree.

  “How are you feeling?” Mak asked.

  “Like I probably won’t vomit.”

  “That’s a relief,” he said, coming around to give me a quick shoulder rub. I tried not to groan. If I thought this couldn’t be more embarrassing, groaning would be the cherry on top.

  “Good,” he said, digging deeper. A little groan might have escaped.

  “So, uh, Mak,” I said hurriedly. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “Sure. How far back do you want to know?”

  I pondered for a moment, watching two seagulls hunt the waves. “All the way,” I decided. “Tell me about your parents. If that’s okay? I have this weird fascination about parents, because I apparently don’t have any. Ever. As the She-Wolf, I keep getting reincarnated and growing up thinking I’m an orphan or perhaps a changeling.”

  Mak stopped my rambling. “It’s fine. I would love to. I haven’t thought about my mother in a long time. Not really, I mean. I retrieved my scythe from the island she was banished to, so I think of her daily, but not in any deep or meaningful way. You know how you just walk past the same things in your house day after day, and even if they’re incredible memories, you don’t actively think about them each time.”

  “Yes, of course. That would be mentally and emotionally exhausting.”

  “Exactly. So I think of her in the passive way, but I haven’t really pictured her or remembered the exact tenor of her voice or the honey color of her eyes in… years.”

  He was silent for a moment, savoring the memory. “She was kind. Too kind for what she was.” He looked at me guiltily. “I’m semi-divine. My great-grandfather was Apollo.”

  If my legs and muscles weren’t currently spasming from our Olympic-style hike, I might have jumped up at that. As it were, I merely flopped in surprise. “You’re related to Apollo? Does Coronis know this?”

  “Yes. We fought and healed together during the Archon Wars.”

  “Right, sorry. I know you all have long histories together, and I’m merely an interloper trying to keep it all straight. I thought about an excel spreadsheet, but that seemed a little invasive.”

  He laughed. “And convoluted. The gods were rather incestuous. That spreadsheet would get out of control in one generation.”

  It felt good to laugh. “Very true. What was your mother’s name?”

  “My mother was Makris. I was named for her, if that wasn’t obvious. She was the daughter of Aristaeus, who was the son of Apollo. Aristaeus was also trained in herblore and healing thanks to Apollo, but he had a special affinity for—”

  “Let me guess. Bees?” I asked as a fat bumblebee buzzed around and landed on Mak’s shoulder.

  Mak gently let it climb onto his finger and held it up to the wind. The bee’s translucent wings wavered for a second before it lazily took flight to enjoy the waning days of nectar on the island.

  “They’re like the panda bears of the bee world,” I said, laughing at its clumsiness.

  He smiled. “Yes. They’re quite sweet, once you understand their nature. And yes, Aristaeus was the father of beekeeping. He passed that nature onto his daughter, Makris. And she passed it to me.”

  “I love that,” I said softly.

  Mak handed me another water bottle. “Mother was as sweet as the honey she collected. Her laughter fills my earliest memories. Every day, we were out in the woods, identifying different animals, gathering herbs for her medicines, and simply communing with nature. It was my favorite part of the day.”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  “Not all my memories are. I remember this particular morning. It was sort of hazy out, like there was a great fire burning somewhere. I remember the acrid sting of smoke hitting my nostrils and possibly even a woman’s scream, but that might be my brain inserting what I found out happened later. Memories are tricky things.”

  Uh-oh. I did not like the sound of this. My hand found his knee, and I gave him a comforting pat.

  “Zeus, in his usual manner, had gotten a mortal pregnant. This one asked to see him in his fully divine form and was immediately burnt to ash. Zeus saved the baby, sewed him into his thigh, and gave birth himself. After that, Zeus’s true wife, Hera, hounded everyone who gave succor to the newborn.”

  “Your mother.”

  “She was only one of the many that Hera punished. My mother fed the squalling newborn honey when we stumbled across him in the woods.”

  “No one could see a crying newborn and not try to help,” I said indignantly.

  “Yes, well, Hera banished her to the island where the scythe was hidden. I visited her in secret and managed to steal it during the war.”

  “It’s hard to imagine you stealing anything. Even if the gods deserved it.”

  “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Who was the newborn?” I asked, feeling shame for being so clueless about a history that belonged to me.

  “Dionysus. God of wine and frenzy.”

  “It sounds like Dionysus owes you a debt of gratitude.”

  “You’d think,” Mak said, standing and helping me to my already-stiff legs. “The gods don’t operate with the same morality we do. Even a half-god like Dionysus.”

  “The gods suck.”

  “Ha, yes. Most of the time they do.” There was a definite tinge of sadness to his voice, and I wondered if he was thinking about his mother. Was she divine enough to have been banished with the rest of the gods?

  As we slowly trudged down the mountain, I tried keeping my mind in check, but I couldn’t. Comparing dates wasn’t exactly fair, but at every turn, I was vividly reminded of my first date with Aurick—the little courtyard, the twinkly lights, the game of intellectual chess with a side of butterflies. It made it painfully aware that, while Mak was sweet, he wasn’t for me. Sporty inclinations aside, that spark just wasn’t there, and my heart wasn’t in it.

  The interesting part was, if I hadn’t met Aurick first, I might have gone on a second date with Mak. Who knows? Bee-man could’ve turned out to be the love of my life.

  I sighed. Cursed again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  After the morning rush at the bakery, I dragged myself home feeling aches in places I didn’t know existed. Mak had given me a honey salve by way of an apology for taking me on a triathlon on our first date, and I was looking forward to slathering it pretty much everywhere.

  Like usual, Aurick’s door was shut, so I ran a warm bath and let myself sink into its soothing calm. Nonna had left little bottles scented with orange blossoms and jasmine for the tub. Now, all I needed was a cucumber for my eyes. A book would be nice, but all I saw was that worn copy of the Aen
eid. I did not need more of Aeneas and his shit right now.

  I set a timer for twenty minutes and actually felt a tad refreshed as I rinsed off the bubbles and rubbed in the honey. Immediately, a relaxing sensation erupted wherever the salve touched. “Ahhh,” I moaned. “That’s the stuff.”

  When I finally made it to the kitchen, Nonna and Tiberius were discussing something in low voices. I came to join them and their conversation ceased abruptly.

  “Hey, Mamma. Want a glass of wine?”

  “Sì, grazie,” I said as Tiberius struggled with the cork. Nonna popped it open with a wave of her finger.

  “I’m making dinner. Want to help?”

  “Sure. What are we having?”

  “A specialty pasta called fregola. It’s made from semolina, egg yolks, and a touch of water. Grab that butcher block and wash your hands.”

  “Am I killing something?”

  “No, you want to use wood because it naturally absorbs some of the moisture as you roll the dough.”

  “Oh.”

  “This is real, rustic, home cooked pasta from the islands. Instead of making a well for the yolks, kneading it all together, and letting it rest, you dribble the liquid over the semolina and roll your fingers over it to make little balls. Like this.”

  She continued dribbling and rolling tiny balls, but I had a feeling she was making it look easy.

  “Dribble and drag. Dribble and drag,” she sang. “Your turn.”

  I took the bowl of liquid and tried to shake out a few drops, but a third of it sloshed out. Nonna tutted and then admonished me, “Go on! Stop making faces at me and get to work. It’s not going to roll itself.”

  I had a feeling it could if she snapped her fingers, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I started working the semolina.

  Nonna boiled another pot of water and dumped in half a container of salt followed by a ceramic bowl full of clams. In no time, we were enveloped in a room of deliciously briny steam.

  “I checked on your pups this morning, Mamma.”

  There went another third of the water. “How were they? Getting ready for classes, I hope.”