Mistakes, Fried Chicken and Unlucky Mermen

by Rochelle Pearson

I dreamt pixelated images. Fuzzy boxes moving, shifting to different corners in my spacious subconscious. I heard muffled voices. A man’s and woman’s. Mine and Lucas? The colors too mashed, and smearing like a messed-up paint palette, didn’t give an ounce of a clue as to a setting or recognizable object. It all construed into a kaleidoscope effect. Completely pointless and so unhelpful.

  “Kokoa,” a voice said through the haze.

  Might as well follow it. I wasn’t getting much luck here.

  I woke to the sun a little farther to the left than before. I squinted to Lucas who hovered above me.

  “How long was I out?”

  “An hour. Heidi called your phone. The spell is ready,” he relayed, excitedly, although nervousness reared. “Piper called too but I didn’t pick up.”

  No time to wallow, I shoved the remaining meaty bites of the chicken thigh into my mouth and ran to toss the trash in the public can. I snatched my phone and purse.

  “Come on!” With that, we were off. My phone also signalled new texts.

  From Piper.

  >WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?

  >GET HOME!

  >PICK UP YOUR PHONE!

  >YOU’RE DEAD LOVELL! DEAD!

  I groaned as I picked up the pace. One problem at a damn time, please.

  ***

  “Oh, good! You’re back! The potion is boiling to its needed temperature and then it’ll be complete.” Heidi exhales, clutching her chest. “Took me a few tries to get it right and...” She looks to Onyx who is zonked out in the chair behind the counter, snoring loud with drool dribbling down his chin.

  Also, his skin was fuchsia.

  Heidi winced. “He was my test dummy and after I successfully removed any accidental creations of instant sleeping side effects and skin discoloration, I’m seventy percent positive it should work.” She smiles. I love my friends, really, even the ones that scare me like the little witch I was blinking at.

  “Why just seventy percent?” I ask.

  “And is the whole skin changing fixed?” Lucas cut in. “Because I look best in blues.”

  Heidi frowns, stomping her right booted foot. “No one said all witches are damn perfect.” She turns sheepish and begins twiddling with the ends of her long hair. “I- I may have misread an herb I wasn’t supposed to use, thinking I needed it, but thanks to Onyx—” we all glance at the twitching, unconscious purple panther shifter, “—I caught my mistake! No biggie! And, and I say seventy percent because this batch hasn’t been tested but I followed closely to the recipe this time.”

  “You’re in luck anyways. I have a merman here that’ll be much obliged to gulping it first.” I slap Lucas’s back. He frowns at me.

  “You’re a cruel individual.”

  “Says you and many other people on this gods-forsaken island.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the potion is done. Heidi ladles it from a portable sized cauldron and into cups.

  We don’t waste time swallowing it—again the liquid spell is odd in flavor and scent.

  Lucas’s must’ve been worse than the first because he doubles over coughing then suddenly straightens and freezes like a statue.

  “His body’s getting accustomed to it,” Heidi explains.

  Lucky’s front door crashes open.

  “WHAT UP, BITCHES?!” Arianna, Adrian’s twin red haired sister breezes in. She catches my eye and squeals.

  “GUUUUURL, I swear you are my hero!” She bounces, gushing. I don’t know what to make of this.

  “Thanks?”

  “You and my brother are so cute with the shit ya’ll do for each other.”

  “Yeah...” I have no idea what she’s talking about and frankly, I’m scared to ask. “Anything for Adrian.” My voice is light. My face, full of false amusement. I add in a humorous snort to the act. Damn, this probably has to do with his text. Now I just want her to spill whatever fucked up beans I’d gotten into involving her brother. Rest assured, my heart is pounding like a person trapped in a room full of zombies. The human’s depiction kind. Grimstone’s zombies are swell folk.

  Ari snickers, elbowing my ribs. “Hey, I can’t say I’ve done something so drastic for I guy I liked and in front of so many people. But you...” she squishes my cheeks in her palms, “...you’ve got some serious, balls. Ginormous cajones. And I’m damn proud.” She continues to gush while I feel every warm blood cell leave my body.

  What. Did. I. Do?

  Ari pulls me to the side next to a bookshelf holding spell books. All joking on her face dulls, she becomes serious.

  “Please tell me it’s not permanent,” she whispers. Okay now I’m ready to shit myself without shame. The word permanent is not something an unexpected person wants to hear.

  Immediately, I drop the act.

  “Alright listen—I have no idea what you’re talking about. Last night I went overboard with the drinky-poos and can’t remember shit. So I ask you as an amazing friend who I hope to gods doesn’t judge me—”

  Ari pales, and goes wide eyed as I grab her shoulders.

  “What did I do that involves your brother?”

  “Oh, gods, you are serious,” she says, between clenched teeth. “Kokoa, what the hell? You really don’t know?”

  “I’d like to!” The outburst came out loud.

  “Come here.” She tugged me through the shop, bypassing Heidi’s raised eyebrows and Lucas’s tin man impression. In the customer restroom, she bent under to each stall to check if we were alone. Coast clear, without a word she manhandled me to face the mirror, and roughly undid my shorts.

  “Whoa! Whoa, there!”

  “Hush.” Ari focused on tugging them down, followed by my panties—

  “ARI!”

  “Shut up and look!”

  I was suddenly spun around, my exposed ass now facing the mirror. Frowning at the female dragon, and her pointed look at the mirror, I followed the stare, twisting my head around—

  “HOLY SHIT! WHAT IS THAT?”

  “Indelible ink, my friend. Thankfully, it appears to be marker and not a tattoo.”

  Hauling my butt higher to see, bold, thick words were scrawled on each cheek.

  On the left: I LUV

  And the right: ADRIAN’S PENIS

  “It... I... OH, GODS!” I scream.

  “My thoughts exactly.” She sighs. “Also, how did you get it to be perfectly written?”

  “I don’t know!” I grumble, concealing the fleshy note in my shorts again. Then it hit me that’s what Adrian and all of those guys, all of those people, saw.

  Had I really flashed an entire establishment and its patrons in freakin’ public?

  I don’t bother on the thought and begin repeatedly slamming my head on the sink counter. Going dizzy and vision blurry, I still hadn’t awoken from a nightmare. I girl can only hope.

  ***

  Memories begin to formulate, gritty though, in the background as we hoof it home. The heat was getting overwhelming and I’d like a cool, quiet area to wallow in my embarrassment.

  At the cabin, stepping on to the porch, something crashes loudly inside. Followed by Piper’s voice.

  “YOU PIECE OF SMELLY SHIT!”

  Lucas wrinkles his brow. “That’s strange.”

  “Yeah, let’s see what the hell is going on—”

  “No, I mean, it’s strange she’d yell that. Isn’t shit already smelly?”

  I don’t answer and just barge in. Lucas stops short as I’d done. We walked right into the aftermath of a tornado.

  “Piper?!” I shout over the ruckus—that being a small goat zipping through the living room and kitchen, hopping and tumbling on furniture. Behind the speeding farm animal, Piper flies after it, her iridescent wings flapping like a humming bird’s.

  “DO SOMETHING!” she yells. Lucas runs into the mix, dive bombs for the little creature, missing each grab he makes.

  “Where did it come from?” I ask. My fairy friend halts and lands an inch before me.

  I’d li
ke to add—completely pissed off too.

  “Kokoa, you’re the one who ordered the damn goat.”

  “Wha—”

  “Some old fart name Herb, a field troll, came by, said he had a delivery for Ms. Kokoa Lovell and dumped Esmeralda in my arms.” Piper gestures to it now while it continues to evade Lucas.

  “Esmeralda?”

  “That’s what Herb called it. Her. Him. Shit, I don’t know! I sure as hell am not calling it Goat 635.”

  Esmeralda finally stops by our feet to lie down. A yellow tag on its ear displays the numbers. A fiery spark of remembrance slaps my face. Those numbers were what I vaguely recalled seeing last night. Originally, I’d thought it was a time.

  “Can you explain why we’re housing a goat?” the fairy demands. Before I can utter an excuse a pounding sounds at the door.

  Gods, what now!?

  I walk to the door, opening it—there—holy shit—was Jonathan.

  The lion smiles wide.

  “SURPRISE!”

  “Jonny?” I blink. Then rub my eyes. No way. He’s supposed to be in Botswana, still.

  And should not be back for another couple weeks.

  “I’m back.” He rushes forward and scoops me up.

  “Uh—“

  “Gods, I missed you.” He roughly nuzzles the side of my neck. Two throats clearing behind us break our PDA.

  I glance to Piper who holds Esmeralda in a struggling grip while the goat squirms, bucking its head.

  “BAAHHHHH!”

  Jonathan points at it, raising a brow. I shake my head.

  “I’ll be out, seeing if anyone wants to buy a damn goat,” Piper grumbles, striding past us. I close the door then turn to Lucas. He shifts on either foot before making a clumsy escape to the deck doors.

  “I’m leaving too. I’ll... take a stroll by the stream,” he says and is gone.

  Facing the feline, I'm suddenly swept in his embrace again, scraping stubble along my neck and cheek. He nips and inhales heavily.

  “Your scent,” he groans in my ear. “It’s all I kept thinking about.” The short trip to my lips ended as he savagely came down on them, cupping my jaw, and proceeding to quite literally take my breath away. I couldn’t keep up with his hungry pace. I went limp against him, ultimately surrendering. Damn, I need this. Too many stares of suspicion and disappointment have left me feeling down.

  But painfully, I pull away from him, though savor the fact he’s here.

  “So... uh, tell me. What brings you home so soon?” I take a seat on the couch and pat the empty space. He beams, taking it.

  “Jeez, uh...” He rakes his shoulder-length hair, rubbing his hands. His excitement radiates like heat off the sun. “Where do I begin?” He laughs making his eyes crinkle. I have to join him; his pure joy was warming me to the core.

  “From the beginning.” I squeeze his bicep. He had my undivided attention. Hello, you thought he wouldn’t? Even with the shit-fest currently taking center stage, I wasn’t a complete bitch to the bone.

  I lean in and smile along with Jonathan as he recounts his days and how he over performed, thus finishing quickly and earning an official position in the Pride Elite. As a (for now) low ranking officer.

  “I’m so proud of you,” I gush.

  “Shit, even if it was a waterboy position, I’d take it,” he explains, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it. I did. He kicks ass. Period. Plus, There’s no argument involving Jonathan Griff and over performing.

  Speaking of which...

  The lion retained a certain look in his eyes, training them on me in slow motion. You know the one.

  The “My bunk bed was empty of a particular she-wolf” look.

  The “I’m starving and you’re looking mighty delicious like a vanilla sundae” look.

  The “Oh, what do ya know? Your bedroom is right over there” look.

  “Kokoa,” he purrs, nostrils flaring, golden stare glowing.

  Abruptly, I’m on my feet, backing away. He follows, stalking close. The idea of a good ol' Welcome Home Slap ’n’ Tickle came—pun not intended—to the forefront.

  Dammmmmn, how I would’ve jumped on the enticing prospect. Pun most definitely intended that time. However, doing any slapping and tickling in the very bed I might have already done so with... Lucas... blew that grand plan to smithereens.

  Yet, a merciful angel saved the day. Their invisible influence caused Jonathan to yawn big. He can’t resist a cat nap.

  “Hey, why don’t you head on home? I’m sure Mama Griff is dying to see you,” I say, leaving no room for possible fornication by hoofing it to the door in case he thought different of it. He nods, sluggishly.

  “Yeah, she’s been hitting my phone up for hours during the flight back.” He bent to kiss my forehead. “Later, babe?”

  “You know where to find me.” I hug him. Another kiss was placed on my nose.

  “See ya, Kokes.”

  “Bye.”

  Find me when the crap storm is cleared.

  Chapter Eight

  I must be falling ill, I think, not in the least excited for my grilled cheese I’d made. I

  blame it on the sudden deposits of new memories.

  Me sitting on the toilet while texting my family the old lies.

  Me going to a barnhouse full of goats and albino gators, and handing Herb two hundred dollars to buy and have Esmeralda delivered.

  Just my luck, I’d crap the night away with a ton of cash I’d stuffed in my pocket.

  Dammit!

  Tossing the sandwich, I slip out the back to find Lucas. Crossing the backyard, and

  into the forest, the ground easy to tread due to the three of us using this route for strolls, my wolf to run or as Lucas has done—make it to the tranquil stream. I’m there now in under five minutes. The bank’s soil is damp. Water trickling in a soft hurry through rocks and small pebbles. The scent of rich dirt and foliage is potent. Inhaling as I stand, my feet sinking into the moist ground, I savor the aroma that nudges my she-wolf to come out and want to frolic in the cool water. A thick, tall canopy of trees block out the light, plunging the forest floor into a cozy dimness. I could see fine, though.

  I could see that Lucas wasn’t here at all. Something sparkly to the right catches my eye.

  “What the...?” Crouching, I sight a trail of gold debris. No, dust. A ton of it speckles

  the dirt. Did someone have a freakin’ glitter-palooza without me? Damn them—

  Wait.

  Wolf nose catches something peculiar. I bring my face closer to the gold dust, knees and

  hands are pressing deep into soil, I sniff.

  My heart is pounding.

  I set aside the nature smells, and instantly I smell Lucas’s breezy salt water scent... and

  another.

  I drag in a heavy inhale, and I regret I had.

  “Gods!” I retch away. Putrefied sweat. Nasty BO. Sour, rotten leaves.

  And dirty money.

  Feeling my eyes widen, they trek the gold bread crumbs yards out, leading to an exit

  towards town. Multiple sized footprints interlaced.

  No more hesitations, I follow it, gathering more of my friend’s scent and its increasing

  release of it—doing so required sudden movement. Like exercising.

  Or struggling.

  Hell...

  “LUCAS!?!” I yell, spinning, and straining to hear anything.

  Nothing...

  Realization hit, the same time a new memory did—

  Humid air and the smell of taco meat is not a good mixture. But I didn’t care. All my attention was on popping the gum in my mouth and Lucas winning this hand. He slaps it and I cheer, sticking my tongue out at the other people in the claustrophobic room. Eric, the piranha shifter, stands by the wall, cheesing like a fangirl and two gorilla faced men in suits flank a red bearded, gold toothed, green hat wearing fella sitting across the table.

  He blanches at the winning cards.r />
  He’s still stuck, frozen, cigar hanging on the edge of thin lips.

  The gorillas growl but don’t do anything when I hop off Lucas’s lap and pick up an average pumpkin size pot of gold. Its weight nothing in my happy arms.

  “This has been fun, Sammy baby,” I say and wink. Lucas leans across the table, to give Sammy’s immobile hand with three fingers a fist bump.

  “Yep. See ya... never!” We laugh and leave the dank room.

  I’m suddenly jerked back into the present. Crashing through the here and now as if I’d

  been asleep. I run full speed to the cabin, whimpering as the growing possibility ebbs my stomach that Lucas was nabbed right under my nose.

  My only thought—where’s the gold?

  I tear up the house, screaming in frustration while doing so. This can’t be true. This can’t

  be my life right now.

  Gods, this is the worst Monday EVER!

  Not finding it, not even one coin, I slump to the floor, head buried in my hands.

  Where would someone hide gold? At least, what natural places would you put it? The bank? A security box? A dragon’s cave? Under the bed—but I already looked... wait...

  A dragon’s cave?

  Oh, no.

  ***

  Do it.

  No.

  Do it!

  Hell to the no.

  Just do it to cover your bases. ALL OF THEM. Lucas could be getting gold coins shoved up his nasal canal and you’re still standing here, nervous to text a man you’ve publicly embarrassed.

  True, I’d been banging my head, willing for the slow-working potion to just provide another memory, an answer, so I don’t have to seek one from Adrian himself considering what I’d done.

  Groaning and five more head bangs, I leave the cabin, walking down the gravel driveway, and force my fingers to type and send him the message.

 
  An instant reply reads:

  >About time. Are you home?

 
  >I'll pick you up in fifteen.