by Chase Connor
“Oh.” Oma blushed. “Figure that out did ya’?”
“I always wondered how some crazy old woman kept this house so damn sparkling clean. I guess Ernst gave me the answer!”
“I suppose…”
“Is that what they all look like?”
“Sometimes.” She admitted hesitantly. “They can look like other things sometimes.”
“Pranksters?” I barked at her. “Was it one of those things I pulled out of the lake last night?”
Oma chewed at her lip.
“Well?!”
“Well, I don’t know!” She bellowed back, though the blush deepened in her cheeks. “I mean, it’s possible.”
“Possible—or probable?”
She was chewing at her damn lip again.
“Great, Oma.” I lost all of my fight and deflated. “One of your little household Gremlins nearly caused me to die of hypothermia and tra-la-la must be a Tuesday, right?”
“That’s not—”
“You keep those things out of my goddamn room while I’m here,” I demanded. “Which won’t be much damn longer! I’m sick of this shit, old woman!”
I turned.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“Back to my room,” I growled. “Tomorrow…I don’t know. I’m sick of your lies and bullshit.”
Spinning back around, I glared at her.
“How could you, Oma?” I demanded of her. “You let me stay here, thinking I’m crazy, that I was seeing things…who would do that to their grandson? That’s fucking sick.”
“Would you have believed me if I told you that werewolves and Kobolds and…other things…are real, Robbie?” She snapped. “Or would that have made me some crazy old lady?”
“Oh, you’re crazy all right.”
“You ain’t seein’ this from my side.”
“You absolutely aren’t seeing it from mine, Oma!” I stomped my foot again but kept my finger down. “I’ve never felt right. I’ve always felt something was off about everything. Especially when I was younger. And you just let me go on feeling like that without giving me a hint about all of these other things going on around me all the time. That’s fucking sick!”
“What—”
“The only time I felt normal was when I was in Hollywood, doing my job. I mean, yeah, that has its own fucked up things, but I knew what those things were. Here—I don’t have the first clue what is real and what isn’t. And you don’t tell me unless I throw it on your bed in the middle of the night.”
“Okay.” Oma rolled her eyes. “Just settle down now.”
“Why would I do you that kindness?!”
“Because you’re my goddamn grandson, and for better or for worse, I’ve always tried to do the best by you that I could, that’s why, ya’ little asshole!”
I glowered at my grandmother as she sat in her bed, the covers tossed back. She looked so small and, for once, elderly, as she sat there, her cheeks red with embarrassment.
“I have so many questions and I don’t even know which one to ask first, Oma.” I sighed.
“Well, I don’t know where to begin either.” She exhaled tiredly.
I stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.
“I’m going back to bed,” I said simply. “Keep…Ernst…and any of those others out of my room. Please.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to worry after blasting his ass into the bathroom.”
She kept her eye rolls and head waggles to herself. Points for Oma.
I nodded and left.
Chapter 12
The library in Point Worth is not very well stocked, so two days later, once most of the snow was melting away and the roads were clear, and the temperature was actually above freezing, I found myself in Toledo. However, once I got to the Toledo Public Library, I was walking up the front walkway and realized that I had a library in my pocket. I was so used to not using my phone for much of anything—a rarity for a celebrity of my age, I know—that I had forgotten that I could Google just about anything. I had sat down on one of the freezing cold benches outside of the library and pulled out my phone. A few seconds later, I had the story about “Kobolds” and witches and werewolves and…well, many other things that were unrelated. Sometimes you find yourself in an internet black hole and you don’t realize you’ve done it.
I thought about the things that I had learned. Kobolds were Germanic spirits that came in three different varieties: those that lived in homes, those that lived in mines, and those that live on ships at sea. Across the board, they were known for pulling malicious pranks or tricks if they were pissed off. However, the household variety were no bigger than small children, wore plain, peasant-like clothing, did household chores for their “room and board” and were generally harmless—aside from the pranks, like getting an adult man to jump in a nearly frozen lake. They could appear in many forms, such as animals, dolls, fire, candles (what the actual fuck), and humanoid.
Before long, I had wandered onto a webpage that talked about how Kobolds appeared in various games, such as Dungeons & Dragons and online RPG’s, and I gave up. There was no reason for me to know anything about games that people used for roleplaying. Even if I had a reason, I surely wouldn’t understand it. Those games were for the smart kids and I was the proud owner of a general equivalency diploma. Not that I was dumb—but I was anything but studious.
Werewolves, when I got on Google, brought up far too many results, and most of those were geared towards fandoms and other craziness. Most of them agreed on silver bullets, changing at the full moon, being bitten being the cause of “lycanthropy”, increased strength, agility, and healing while in wolf form, the normal things one who had seen any movies would expect. Witches brought up similar results. A bunch of crazies claiming to control the powers of the universe or communing with nature spirits or peering into crystal balls and throwing bones and reading Tarot. Of course, I couldn’t really scoff at a lot of it because werewolves had been something I thought was ridiculous to believe in until my date with Andrew. And witches were just crunchy, earthy, groovy people who danced naked under the moon and called themselves “Wiccans”.
I was pretty sure that wasn’t what Lucas had been referring to when he had called Oma a “witch”.
Then I thought about what had happened with Ernst in Oma’s bedroom. I had jabbed my finger at him and he was suddenly flying through the air. Oma had been afraid of me when I raised a finger to her. Had I…done something to Ernst in my fit of rage?
Wait a second—that was fucking crazy. If I had used my finger to propel a Kobold (Jesus, even just saying that in my head made me feel crazy) across a room, that would mean I…
I was so tired. I was tired of being angry. I was tired of being surprised. I was tired of weird shit. I was tired of being Robert Wagner just as much as I was tired of being Jacob Michaels.
That’s when the thought struck me.
You have so much money. Take off. Make a new life under a new name. Who could stop you?
But then I realized that I looked like Jacob Michaels, at least once I gained my weight back. There would be no hiding for long. Surely tabloids and other “journalists” and paparazzo were already looking for me. I hadn’t been photographed in two weeks. I imagined that most of the magazines and online websites were frothing at the mouth to get a photo of me. In fact, it had probably been months since I’d actually been photographed out and about. When I had started to really show my weight loss, my publicist and agent and manager had all agreed that I needed to get myself hidden until I gained weight back. When it had become apparent that I wasn’t going to easily put on weight, I just stayed hidden away.
When my calendar cleared up, I took off for Ohio. And then I found a brand new set of problems. I slumped on the bench and stuffed my phone back into my pocket. I cupped my hands to my mouth and blew into them, trying to warm them against the chill. Upper Ohio was starting to warm up and trying to move into Spring after the last snow, but i
t was still far from Spring-like. We were probably in for pretty chilly days up until at least my birthday, which wasn’t much further off.
I was going to be twenty-seven years old. How does a person find themselves on the downward slope towards thirty and not know who they are, what is going on in their life, who their family is…why was I nearly thirty and completely lost? Why did I have such trouble feeling okay about dating some guy—especially a guy like Lucas? Why didn’t I know more about Oma and the house I grew up in? Why, why, why? I had so many questions and feelings and…I was just tired of all of it.
Coming to Ohio, even though I hadn’t been in a good place in my life, had felt like an exhalation of magnificent proportions. When I had crossed over the state line, especially when I entered Point Worth, I had felt relief that I was home. That I was away from “Jacob Michaels” and that I could be Robert Wagner again. Now, I wasn’t so sure of anything. I hadn’t even gotten two weeks of rest before everything was totally fucked up and confusing and if I was being totally honest, frightening.
That was the thing, though, wasn’t it? I was handling everything remarkably, all things considered. Seeing a werewolf transform before my very eyes, seeing said werewolf get plowed into by Lucas’ truck, having sex with a virtual stranger—many times—seeing my younger self plunge into the lake, catching Ernst in my comforter, finding out Oma was a witch—it all should have sent me off the deep end. I should have been a babbling idiot. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I had driven myself to the nearest mental health facility and asked to check in for the longest stay. But there I was, sitting in front of the Toledo Public Library, calmly considering all things. Nothing was in sync yet everything felt fine.
All things considered, I had to admit, I actually felt like I was at home. Even with all of the craziness going on, I felt like everything was going to be fine. When I had problems in Hollywood, I was at a loss for what to do. In Point Worth, Oma and I could have the worst fights, but I knew we would shout it out and then forgive each other and go back to things per usual. If something weird happened in Point Worth, I’d learn as much as I could, then go back to my normal routine. Point Worth, Ohio just made me feel comfortable, like I was where I was supposed to be. Even when I saw a goddamn werewolf.
Never had I felt that way in California. I’d always felt out of place, never liked any of the people I met, for the most part, and I never knew if I was doing the right things or the wrong things. Everything I did was by the seat of my pants and at the urging and guidance of others. In Point Worth, I knew that I could work my way through anything. I felt…powerful.
But that didn’t make sense. How can one feel powerful just because they are in a certain place at a certain time? A thought suddenly popped into my head, one that I couldn’t push away.
I had slowly, over a decade, become a shell of a human. When I came back to Point Worth, I began to feel better. Being in Oma’s home brought me back to my old self—whomever that was.
Maybe I didn’t know who I was—but Point Worth, Oma’s house, was helping me to discover that. Being home started to bring Robert Wagner back and was pushing away Jacob Michaels, the man I had been pretending to be. I never liked being Jacob Michaels. Ever. Sure, it was exciting to act and sing and put on shows and travel the world. A life spent under the spotlight and in front of bulb flashes was thrilling. But it wasn’t me. Robert Wagner—who I really was—was meant to live behind the scenes. Anonymity and secrets were who I was. Even when I was Jacob Michaels, no one really knew me.
Like Oma, I was meant to have my secrets and keep them. I wasn’t meant for the spotlight. Because, more than a world-famous celebrity, I was something else. I didn’t quite know what that was, but I knew that coming back to Point Worth was going to teach me. Something in my gut told me that the reason I had started to become unwell, to lose weight, to lose part of myself, was that the person I was started in Point Worth. Like Oma, the essence of Robert Wagner was tied to Point Worth.
What did that mean?
Andrew exited his building, still looking worse for the wear. He was limping slightly and his face was a little swollen. If it hadn’t been for his skin coloring, I probably would have seen a multitude of bruises. However, even with his dark skin, I could tell that he was sporting a few, even at the distance of several yards. I was sat on the waist-high planter, my feet dangling as he began to walk towards me, his head down. I held my hands in my pockets to keep them warm as he walked along the sidewalk, his head down to try and avoid the chilly breeze slapping against his face. I didn’t speak until he was within six feet of me. And when I did, he jumped.
“Hey,” I said simply.
Andrew looked up, his eyes landed on me, and his whole body jolted.
“How’re the wounds?” I asked as he glanced around nervously.
“Um…”
“You seem to be getting around okay,” I said.
“Um, yeah, I guess, yeah.” He struggled to find the right words.
“I have questions.”
Swallowing hard, he looked at me, his eyes not quite staying on mine for any length of time.
“I’m sure you do.”
“And I want to ask them in a safe place.”
He looked down at his feet.
“I’m not dangerous now.”
“Were you ever?” I scoffed. “Admittedly, a truck is a big weapon.”
He shuffled his feet.
“I’m not going to attack you.” Andrew looked up briefly, then glanced around. “The moon is waning.”
“Okay.”
Andrew looked thoroughly chastened. Of course, losing control of himself close to the full moon, getting hit by a truck, having to heal, having Oma chew him a new asshole, and getting punched in the face for all of his efforts was probably enough to do that to a person. A lot of activity in a few days’ time, when you think about it.
“There’s a coffee shop.” He gave an upward nod. “We can talk there. It’s usually busy enough that you would feel safe.”
“I feel safe now.” I shrugged. “But okay.”
I’ll blast your ass with my finger. Apparently, I can do that. Did you know that? ‘Cause I didn’t until recently.
Hopping down from the planter, I allowed Andrew to lead me down the sidewalk in the direction he had been headed, though I made sure to keep plenty of space between us. I wanted plenty of room and options if he decided to get handsy again or—I didn’t know if werewolves could randomly get furry. Wikipedia wasn’t really helpful when it came to situations applicable to fantasy colliding with the real world. But, whatever happened, I wanted to be ready to make my escape. After punching him again, obviously.
The coffee shop was around the corner from his office building and while there were plenty of empty tables and booths, there was still enough people about that we were safely still in public. If Andrew did anything, it would be witnessed by several people. Of course, that could also mean collateral damage if it came to that, but, and this was cold-hearted, but I didn’t mind if others got hurt if it kept me safe.
“I’ll buy you a coffee,” Andrew said, but it was a suggestion.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Please?”
“Fine.” I looked at him and his wounded expression. “Just a black coffee, please.”
Andrew nodded and headed to the counter while I selected a booth that was private but still in the line of sight of the baristas and a few other customers. It also had an excellent straight shot to the front door if I had to bolt. I watched Andrew as he ordered, paid for, and grabbed our coffees. He had asked for two black coffees, either to make things easy or to not show weakness by ordering something like a frappe or something frou-frou.
“Black coffee.” He said simply as he put my cup in front of me and slid into the booth across from me.
“Thanks.” I dragged the cup across the table towards myself.
Andrew and I stared at each other for a moment as I brought my coffee to
my lips. It was barely warm. That wasn’t Andrew’s fault, so I just set the cup back on the table.
“I really am sorry.” He began.
“I’m not here for an apology,” I said, keeping my eyes on his. “I want to know why you said I smelled intoxicating.”
Andrew looked down, embarrassed.
“That means something,” I said. “And I think you know what I mean. You meant I smelled…special. Like you’d never smelled another person who smelled like me.”
Andrew sipped at his coffee, his eyes stayed lowered.
He wasn’t going to be forthcoming easily.
“I’m not scared of Oma.”
Andrew looked up at me, shocked.
“So, if you are, you may as well get over that,” I said. “I want to know why you said I smelled special, Andrew.”
“You don’t understand about Esther Jean. She’s—”
“A witch.”
Andrew’s eyes grew wide.
“I’m not scared of her,” I said. “Maybe I’m lucky. I’m her grandson, so I know she would never do me any real harm. At least not on purpose. But I notice that a lot of people around here are scared of her. I don’t care. I want to know things she won’t tell me.”
“Esther Jean would—”
“I don’t give a shit.” I scoffed. “Someone is going to give me answers, Andrew. And it may as well be you since you’re already on hers and my shit list.”
He grimaced.
“I’m scared of Esther Jean,” Andrew said. “Well, I wasn’t really scared of her until I was sure of what she was. I don’t want to be on her bad side any more than I already am.”
I snorted.
“A werewolf scared of a lil’ ole witch.”
He looked down and sipped his coffee.
“Tell me why I smell special.”
Andrew grimaced, obviously having an internal debate, a struggle with himself.
“You owe me.” Maybe that was low.
I didn’t care.
