Mistakes, Fried Chicken and Unlucky Mermen

by Rochelle Pearson

  Oh, and that temp potion her Auntie Momo is whipping up in the back? It’s just to provide enhanced awareness, nerve relaxation and gear up the memory area in the brain. It’s a low dosage and not the actual remembrance bomb we need. Simply, a minor and required part one till the real liquid spell, part two, is complete later.

  For now, we wait as buddies with patience even though I’d like to throttle it with my bare hands.

  “I’m sure Heidi, will fix... your little problem.” Onyx covers a smirk by rubbing his jaw. I growl at the feline. That only fuels laughter to sparkle his bi-colored eyes. One blue, the other green. All he and Heidi know are much needed events of last night are unaccounted for. I refrained and elbowed Lucas’s gut so he could also leave out the burning reason as to why we were desperate to know. Although, our faces most likely show the lack of sanity, and gnawed lips point to something crazy going down.

  Lucas wanders to a set of shelves, holding miniature carved figurines, hand crafted by Onyx who is a carving beast. Some of the wood decor in the cabin is the creation of his talented hands. I stand next to a blue clothed table that has different sized crystal balls displayed. The globes palmed in metal bird talons are in a sea of glitter and more funky ornaments. Lucky Cauldrons is mystical and unique. Its air smells of herbs and spices; burning incense in each of its three rooms—all loaded with whatever you magically desire. From tiny sacks of moon crystals to aid sleepless nights to dead dried rats for boiling in rank spells that’ll curse your victim hairless.

  Not... that... I know... anything about... that...

  Lucky’s was established in fourteen twenty-two and by the Nightshade coven—most of Heidi’s family and the coven leader—Pebble Nightshade. An Island founder.

  The Nightshade witches treat everyone like their own. That’s why I gravitated to Heidi off the bat. She’s extremely sweet and good hearted and actually tolerates my wild self. Great qualities. Our group of friends is waiting for the day Onyx finally asks her to be his Blood Mate. The two act as if they already are. It’s adorable. No sarcasm there, folks.

  In fact... I may harbor a dust speck sized bit of envy.

  Don’t harp it on, though. I’m all junky and fucky inside. Not mate material.

  My gaze swings to the display case at the front counter. Behind, sits Onyx on a stool. The glass barrier shields bone wands, pyramid shaped glass jars of colorful liquid and large chunks of raw cut amethyst.

  It reminds me of the small crystal wolf figurine Adrian gave me for my birthday. Did he have Onyx specially design it too? Possibly, Onyx is good with cutting gemstones too.

  Fast, heeled steps approach from around the corner.

  “Here we are!” Heidi sings, her rich purple waves swaying down her back as she strides in. Auntie Momo—the burliest of Heidi’s aunts ambles out too, a broomstick in hand, but doesn’t stop for greetings, instead books it through the door, on to the broom and shoots off into the sky.

  “There’s a buy one get one free chocolate-black widow frappuccinos happening at Scarebucks until four.” Heidi explains her aunt’s haste departure. “Momo is a sucker for their arachnid drinks. Here are yours.” She holds two clear vials with white liquid inside. Lucas and I quickly gather around her.

  “I’m lactose.” Lucas frowns at the contents. Heidi opens her mouth to answer, does not, and glances at me, confused for a moment.

  “It-it’s not... milk,” she assures him.

  “Oh, okay, good.” His shoulders ease in obvious relief.

  Onyx mouths a “wow.”

  “Moving along, just gulp these babies down. As I stated before—this is just like a primer, a get ready for the actual potion you’ll need to ingest which will take some time and special ingredients my Aunt Fannie has at her home. I’ll get those once we’re done here. Aunt Tutu should be by soon to help you with the shop, Onyx,” she tells her boyfriend.

  “Alone?” a pale, frightened Onyx asks.

  Heidi snickers, kissing his cheeks and nose. “Hun, you’ve watched the store plenty of times before.”

  “You damn well know I’m not the least bit freaked because of that.” His eyes widen. And I see sweat dotting his brow. Hm, I smirk at him.

  “Sounds like you are gonna have great quality time with Tutu.” I chuckle evilly since the damn panther shifter couldn’t hold back his laughter after hearing our issue.

  Karma is a motherfucking, clutzy bitch in roller skates.

  Aunt Tutu is three feet tall and if you juice her you’ll get pure eccentric with extra pulpy nutso added in too. The thousand-year-old witch has the elbows of doorknobs, a mouth of a sour hobgoblin and wields magic out the wazoo that most times miss their mark. Though she’s powerful and very much experienced, that doesn’t mean she gives a shit on occasion. Everyone in Grimstone knows it’s best to never be alone with Auntie Tutu.

  Just as my trouble-starting self—wanted, Onyx bristles at my quip.

  Heidi hands Lucas and I each a vial and we unplug its small cork. Immediately, I detect notes of mango and roast beef.

  Cool.

  Lucas, the puzzled fella, is troubled again.

  “Drink it so we can get this ball rolling,” I say and make a show knocking it down the hatch. Its weird baked Brussels sprout taste worsens its scent. And slightly burns the throat, but I quickly get over it.

  “How come mine smells like ass?” He’s disgusted and looks to Heidi for an answer. She shrugs.

  “Drinking spells are a phenomenon. Their taste and smell varies to different people taking the same.”

  “But...” He glances at my empty vial that still permeates strong mango.

  “Come on, buddy.” Coaxing gently, I rub his back. “It’ll probably taste a whole lot better than it actually smells.” A glimpse at Heidi’s non-confident face isn’t helping.

  “Hell.” Lucas grumbles then gulps it all. Nodding and smacking his lips—he hands Heidi the vial.

  “Well?” I wait, wanting to know his thoughts.

  “Yup. Definitely ass.”

  The three of us double over laughing, while an angry Lucas storms off and yells, “I HATE YOU ALL!”

  Chapter Three

  Our feet lead us to Mystique Beach. I sigh, feeling a smidgen at ease once my toes—exposed in flip flops—sink into the toasty white sand.

  The fact that it’s Monday morning, a work day, isn’t gonna stop people from crowding the beach for more seaside bliss. Why can’t I be among the laughing bunch of carefree nymphs and mermaids in the water, playing Marco-Polo? I sigh, closing my eyes, absorbing the heat as I recline on one of the pair of beach chairs Lucas brought over. Luckily, his lifeguard position grants him easy access to resources.

  On our walk from Lucky Cauldrons till now, he calmed—basking in the salty sea air, my aquatic friend is in his relaxed, natural element. We’re a few yards from the shoreline. A breeze carried hair across my shoulder blades and cheek, momentarily bringing salty ocean mist and sand grains to brush against my calves.

  I and other people who don’t contain merfolk genes react pretty blasé, noting the air but nothing much more. And if you were preoccupied, playing volleyball, focused on pitching an umbrella, it virtually goes unnoticed.

  But Lucas, his kind...

  I let my eyes drift to him now. He sat, droopy attention ahead, head cocked. To a passer-by’s initial perspective: there sits a tan, spaced out beach bum. It’s in the second glance that you’d witness the change. Lucas’s very being emerging to the surface.

  The body shudders. Tan, pigmented skin pales. A blue, iridescent silver tint spreads along the limbs. On top the shimmering colors are decorated thin lines in half circle patterns. Dark slits erupt on his neck, splitting and gaping open and closed like a mouth, secreting ooze–gills becoming acclimated. Whilst transparent film grows in between the fingers, to connect them to create webbed hands.

  The feet did the same. If he were to submerge in water, even the shallows, letting the candy blue, frothy liquid rush into his por
es, he’d no longer have two legs.

  Beside me, was a merman.

  The shift occurred in mere seconds and was caused by just a misty tendril of air: a light hello from the aquatic deep.

  And once the invisible greeting dissipated, the plain ol’ beach bum returns.

  I may not share the exact slimy experience, but I understand it and have my own furry reactions.

  My wolf and her endless paths through the forest, was Lucas and his sea.

  “I have to fart.”

  And then of course he opens his mouth and ruins the moment.

  “You said we're not telling Piper...” Lucas blew a ragged breath. Head against the chair, I roll it in his direction.

  “Yeah. I think it’s pointless to do so when there’s no evidence.” Yet. If this situation slips, Piper’s reaction would be just like mine if the tables were turned—baffled and disappointed.

  Jealousy not even in the orbit.

  No, us three are a solid unit—falling into bed with the only guy within it (who we look at as a brother) will tremble the unit’s foundation. It’s just a no-no, plain and simple. Our threesome friendship does not, nor has it ever, involved doing the dance with no pants, despite calling it a... threesome.

  A shudder throttles my spine.

  “Agreed. We’ll deal with the truth.” He rakes fingers through his blonde hair. “When it’s revealed, whichever way it goes, I’ll leave it to you. I trust you.” He tries to smile.

  “Okay.” I swallow a lump of groans and avoid the earnest gaze he burns my way.

  The truth—I have no clue what to do after we regain our memory. The churning gut feeling wrecking madness throughout my system is the same that occurred when that rare occasion Mama only baked two pans of her delicious breaded mac and cheese instead of six for family dinner.

  Fracking frustrating.

  Madness.

  Locked away is another face, besides Piper’s, I’d still like to avoid for the time being, until this situation is handled.

  Belonging to a particular artsy vampire...

  “Hey, you know that guy?” Lucas nods to a tall, lean young man—skin of sparkly grey scales, in a shirt and shorts, sporting an orange Mohawk. He bounds closer then skids to a halt in front of us.

  Lucas and I look up at him, waiting. The man smiles, crinkling fish eyes and showing off rows of small razor teeth.

  Piranha shifter.

  “Yo!” He beams, so overjoyed. About what—I glance at Lucas who shrugs—is unknown.

  “Yo,” I say back and that just makes him hop in place, bursting with energy.

  “Like, y’all are the shit. Superman and Wonder Woman. Bonnie and Clyde, the kickass couple of the century. The epic duo of Gotham city—”

  “Sorry, who are you?” I interrupt. Piranha Boy blanches before recovering quickly.

  “E-Eric. Eric Nadando.” He pauses for a reply but doesn’t get one from either of us. “I set up the game, remember?”

  “Okay.” Lucas takes pity, feigning recognition. “Sure.” Apparently, that was enough to lift Eric’s spirits.

  “Yeah! Like, I’m so stoked to see you guys again.”

  Game? See us again?

  “It’s good to see you too,” I say, earning a puzzled frown from Lucas. Hey, I’m stuck on the confused boat too, bud.

  “I was rooting for you the whole time. And man, you had that perfect hand—the royal against his punkass pairs—knocked him off his little green boots.” Eric leans in, suddenly in hushed tones. “But don’t tell... you know who, I said that. Shit, I don’t want that little bastard on my ass, pointing those stubby three fingers at me.” Eric shudders then becomes worried. “Honestly, he’ll be on yours soon. You guys played killer and he’s definitely a sore loser.”

  This.

  Is.

  Not.

  Good.

  “I guess that’s a risk we took,” I say, shrugging, and still playing along although I was losing my damn mind at a very fast pace.

  “And you’re badass for it.” Eric nods, looking impressed. “Sammy is no joke. Well, I guess I’ll leave you two. You’ve got some spending to do of his nice pot of gold y’all won. See ya!” Eric jogged off.

  I bolt out of my chair and round on Lucas.

  “What the fuck?!”

  “Did he just Sammy?” He turns pale. “As in Sammy Three Fingers? We played a game with Sammy Three Fingers the mobster last night?”

  “Calm down! He only said Sammy. He didn’t specifically say three fingers the mobster.” I begin to pace, kicking up sand.

  You’re more naive than before if you’d assume this was a different Sammy.

  Lucas voiced my growing, grim thoughts.

  “What other Sammy likes to play games involving royals and pairs and wears little green boots and has three stubby fingers?!”

  “Well, you know it’s just three on one hand.” I laugh like a lunatic, mind finally going to mush, till Lucas stands and shakes me hard.

  “Kokoa! Get your shit together! Sammy is coming for us! We left the cabin after downing that Viper mess and played poker with... with—”

  “A leprechaun.” I rub my face hard.

  “What’s even crazier—I don’t even know how to play poker!” Lucas exclaims, throwing his hands up.

  “All right, ALL RIGHT! Chill! Let’s figure out what to do next.” Useless words. Unless I actually call on that goblin everyone knows about, who smuggles in Big Macs on the island to get us discreetly transported to Thailand. Actually, that doesn’t sound too bad—no, no, we can’t. Then I perk. Eric could be lying. Yeah, we don't know who the hell he is. He could be pranking people all up and down the beach, saying ridiculous things just to scare them. And maybe we’re the smart ones to not fall for it by pretending to go along with his lies.

  Yeah!

  Yeah...

  But then again that theory would only work if we actually knew it was false. That we actually knew what happened last night.

  Sighing, I drop on the chair, and think all that I’ve heard about the infamous leprechaun. Gods, did we really come face to face—er, rather—his face to our calves with him? Wow, the first time I actually do, I don’t even remember. Anyone who’s walked away from Sammy without a scratch is granted signing rights to the heavens. You’d think.

  Notorious for being petty and having sticky fingers that aren’t missing, Sammy is known on the island to have created a murky reputation by playing dirty, smoothly cheating, avoiding the cops like a true cunning criminal, and swindling countless sums from naive people who thought they had the balls to defeat him. Why should anyone even try? He’s bad news. Period. Yet, somehow, we found Eric who took us directly to the little man.

  We played poker with him.

  Out of sheer dumb luck, we won—oh, the irony, a leprechaun in this case wasn’t so lucky. As well as the time, I’d heard, he had a horrible accident with a meat grinder, resulting to a missing ring finger and middle finger on his right hand. He’s forever to look like he’s holding up a rocker gesture.

  In the end, Lucas and I had walked out with, if Eric is correct, a winning in the form of a pot of gold.

  Sammy’s gold.

  It dawns on Lucas too as his face turns a sickly green.

  “Kokoa? I don’t remember seeing a ton of gold coins this morning.”

  “Me neither.” I gulp which is hard to do since my mouth had gone completely dry and I had no spit left to swallow.

  Thailand isn’t looking so bad after all.

  Chapter Four

  Heidi’s shot of sense juice was working minor wonders. In a way. At least for me; Lucas was still a mess—a sweaty ball of mess thanks to recent developments. What’s to come in the future popped in my head, reminding me that I have a shift at my family’s restaurant: The Growling Grill. I’m scheduled for only an hour. As I told this to Lucas, I also stated I wanted him by my side in case Heidi calls about completing the spell.

  “Like I’d walk around by myself.”
Lucas glances in all directions as we near the parking lot of the grill. “I’m not becoming a sitting duck for Sam to grab me.”

  “We can’t confirm that. Just relax.” I can’t help but look around too.

  “Easy for you to say! You’re not the one who took gold from a mobster leprechaun!”

  “You heard Eric; you won it fair and square.” That was my lame attempt to calm him down. Instead, the merman dropped to the pavement and began rocking in fetal position, muttering “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die by the hands of a three fingered midget.”

  I half drag him to the door, earning troubled glances along the way.

  Inside the restaurant, I welcome its many smells. Smoky barbecue, charred meat, buttery side dishes. The lunch rush was in full swing. Hungry customers fill the lobby, waiting to be seated while folks stuff their young and old faces, chatting away adding to the high noise level.

  Then there’s Uncle Liam contributing to the pollution. On a recently built, wooden platform in the center, stand my uncles. Two sit on stools playing the spoons while, Liam, the Beyoncé of the hillbilly version of Destiny’s Child, stands at the mike, strumming a banjo.

  Debuting yet another horrid pig song.

  “Juicy pig, that big fat pig,

  Got the sucker, that mangy fucker,

  On the ground, I stripped him bare

  Grab by the hairs, he ain’t goin’ nowhere

  Split him open, he’s now my token,

  Grab the heart, that precious heart,

  You’ve skinned him down, now that’s a start,

  Gimme a pan, and make it hot—

  We’re all gonna eat bacon toniiiiight!

  BANJO SOLO!”