Mistakes, Fried Chicken and Unlucky Mermen

by Rochelle Pearson

  “So fucking stupid,” he mutters. His phone is opened to the call log.

  75 OUTGOING CALLS to... Yasmin.

  “I’m such an idiot.” He slouches back, clenching his scruffy jaw. “I don’t even remember what the hell I said, if she picked up...” Aquamarine eyes widen. “Do you think I told her about you and I...?”

  “Gods, no!” I cut in. “Her and all of our friends would have tracked us down if they knew. Onyx and Heidi definitely would’ve spoke up about it.”

  Lucas nods, slightly relieved. I crush it when I tell him what Veronica said. During, I click off the missed messages, leaving them unopened, proving Lucas is the bravest out of the two.

  The title is soon chucked once we get outside.

  Chapter Six

  On the sidewalk, Lucas nosedived into a trash can. He came up, holding an old newspaper he used to conceal his face.

  “You look ridiculous,” I express.

  “How can I, when you can’t even see my face? Hm?”

  Okay, he had me there.

  An hour of walking the busy sidewalks of Grimstone, and Lucas constantly bumping into people until I rip away the newspaper, we near where we’d began this morning—walking close to Hallow Circle. The completely black, stone tree of Adela—of magic, life, and Unity sparkle under the sun. On the circle’s edge is Lucky Cauldrons. Still no word from the witch, though I wanted Lucas and I to just wait in the shop till she’s ready.

  There’s nothing else to do.

  And frankly, I don’t want to run into a townie saying I’d scaled our tallest building on the island, The Tower, and did the Macarena on the roof with my eyes closed.

  No. Thank. You.

  Unfortunately, getting to Lucky’s required passing Chambers.

  Right foot, left foot, right foot, left....

  Last time I was there, I’d been abducted by Adrian and taken to the VIP door at the back.

  I’m disappointed, given how expressive you were last night...

  I halt.

  Damn my impulsive urges!

  I do an about face towards the entrance.

  “Where are we going?” Lucas jogged to my side.

  “Here.” Odd, as I teeter at the front threshold, feeling now conflicted with dread and regret, the grey ogre I’d once seen who wore an earpiece, clomped in heavy boots into the doorway.

  Uh oh.

  Not even one toe in, the growling beast fills the archway, snarling his one, long hanging tooth.

  “Banned,” he grunts.

  I cock a brow at this dude. “Why?” What’s even odder, my one worded question causes him to blush and look at me like I’m stupid.

  That’s when out of the corner of my eye, the prim and polished island citizens gather behind the front window, inside—all leering males.

  They wink and flash hungry gazes down my body.

  Goosebumps break out all over, as they gesture for more fellow gawkers, as to what has gotten their skivvy attention on yours truly.

  A raven haired, fallen angel—indicated by his black wings—knocks on the glass and licks his lips.

  Not necessary, you creep. Seriously, what’s the deal?

  Lucas wraps his hand around my forearm. He glares at the bunch.

  “Let’s go. I don’t like the way they’re looking at you.”

  “Same.” I revert to the ogre one last time. “Can you tell me why I’m not allowed in?” Banned from another establishment?

  If I keep getting blocked to go places, there’s not going to be anything left besides home.

  The ogre’s growl is deeper than before.

  “Banned.” He huffs again.

  “Okay, great.” Fed up, and not caring anymore, I back away. So does the crowd inside. As the perverts disperse, stunning women step forward. Eye contact is made to every single sneering polished gal. Pearls at their neck, cashmere arms folded—they glare at me in disgust.

  “They seem...” Lucas gulps, “...nice.”

  As far as nice goes with sticks up their asses. I’m guessing they were present during my reason for getting banned.

  I don’t wait for them to leave first. And I sure as hell don’t let the make-up caked on bitches get away with thinking they’re the queens of intimidation.

  I flip them the middle finger and use it to wave goodbye.

  Multi-hued eyes widen in shock.

  “Off to Lucky’s, buddy boy.” I pull Lucas along, not sparing the fuming ladies another glance.

  Yeah, I don’t wear a bazillion dollars’ worth of jewelry everyday or sit with my back straight—but at least my hair color is real.

  ***

  Given the clear route to Lucky’s, we hit an unexpected road block. I read the latest text to Lucas from Heidi that arrived seconds ago.

  “She’s saying the spell requires more time than originally thought and needs another hour–”

  “Another hour?” He balked.

  “She said ‘or so.’ Can’t be too specific. Her words: magic is weird and likes to have a mind of its own. Sorry.”

  Lucas groaned before once again dropping to ground, knees this time, bellowing to the sky.

  “WHYYYYY?”

  Did I mention we were smack dab in the middle of a very busy sidewalk?

  To concerned people, I said, “Don’t worry. He’s just nuts.”

  I managed to rein in Lucas’s loud being and used the next thirty minutes to walk to Grave-Mart. The opposite direction from Lucky’s.

  Once inside the large retail store, its chilly conditioning welcoming against the heat, I practically dragged my friend and his sorry ass towards the men’s swimwear area. We were surrounded by tacky prints. The rack in the spotlight–Speedos. His fave.

  “Here. Pick a Speedo, any junk squeezing Speedo.” I flashed him a smile and waved my arms about like a game show assistant.

  Lucas remained unfazed.

  “Come on, I’m trying to make the best of this shitty situation. Don’t you think I just want to pull my hair out or scream like an idiot in the middle of a public place too?”

  “I looked like an idiot?! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Ugh! This whole day has been idiotic. Just pick a damn Speedo to make yourself happy again.” I yanked a neon yellow triangle off the rack. Lucas clenched his jaw and stared offensively, at my choice.

  “I want this one.” He pointed to an electric blue instead.

  I gave him a trademark slow-blink.

  ***

  Lucas’s recently disturbingly designed Speedo haul turned him into a changed man. A confident man.

  Sort of.

  It’s wrong to remind your friend that scantily clad beach undies weren’t going to erase current sucky problems, including one involving a possible gangster leprechaun who was out to get him.

  I stuffed his Grave-Mart bag into my purse and luckily, after doubling back to the heart of town, lunch awaited on corner.

  KFC.

  Kranky’s Fried Chicken.

  It came at a much appreciated moment. All the walking and verbally soothing and reassuring ourselves was draining. The triple cupcake special seemed a century ago.

  Don’t bother considering the real time since.

  The she-wolf is always hungry.

  We slipped among a crowd at the pedestrian stop light. Ahead, literally in a corner unit on a long outlet strip that ran down the main road, KFC had its doors opened. Fried grease and cooked poultry carried us over the crosswalk when it was time go. Near the end of the strip was where Chambers sat. I ignored its near presence.

  Inside KFC, you’d enter a typical fast food joint. White-grayish, sticky floors, beige-ish sticky walls, a few tables, a stretched ordering counter that stationed several registers commanded by uniformed, hat wearing employees and a growing line to cater to.

  Owned by Kranky Clucker, a grotesque chicken faced man whose cannibalistic ways has blessed citizens with deep fried variants of his kind. Well, non supernatural kind. Nonetheless, Kranky, clearl
y not giving a damn on how creepy that still was–and you never know what really got submerged into the scolding oil–made him a very successful businessman.

  Not that I’d first hand do what Kranky does, it’s just nice others like him would, I mean seriously, there ain’t nothing wrong with fried chicken.

  In the midst of the shifting customer horde, salivating for Clucker’s crunchy goodness, Lucas and I consulted in hushed tones over the items listed above on a large LED menu board. As did everyone else. All concentrated and muttering what to get and its importance palpable. No one wanted to get flustered and forget an item and then have to wait back in that long ass line. The entire seriousness of the process comparable to the human’s placing a dire bet at a derby.

  “Do the breast-thigh combo, Cajun seasoning. I’m telling you it’s a shoe-in.”

  “Lucas I want a guarantee on our side. Besides, we aren’t amateurs anymore. Cajun is too risky. And you’re fartsey enough as it is–”

  “It was once. I farted one time.”

  “Let’s do the large bucket, four breast, two thigh and three legs. The paprika and smokehouse blend. The odds are in our favor with that.”

  Lucas rubbed his chin, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know–”

  “Shhh, we’re next. Be cool.”

  Greeted by a perky, large eyed troll, with big ears she happily said, “Hi! Welcome to Kranky’s! What would you like today?”

  “Hi, I want the–”

  “DO THE CAJUN! DO THE CAJUN!”

  “Lucas!” I growled at him for his outburst. He slapped both hands on his mouth. From behind them, he mumbled a sorry. And “Add biscuits.”

  I shook my head and relayed our order. As well as Cajun seasoning and a four piece biscuit set, and two large lemonades.

  Miming the troll’s perkiness, I happily gave her my money.

  Hey, here at Kranky’s, we’re all winners.

  Once handed the numbered receipt, we knew the drill to stand near the furthest wall, assuming one of the two waiting positions in silence. Either diddling with your phone, or arms crossed, and body swaying side to side while lasering fake mind control to the cooks in the back to have your order done within that very second. Behind my swaying form, the warm air permitted by an open door ceased. Someone must’ve hit the little kick stand, so now just the building’s air conditioning shivered goosebumps on my arms. Warm to cool, open to close this went on, not annoyingly so. There just wasn’t anything else to note at the moment besides the growing disappointment that the register lady hadn’t called my number yet.

  The door unleashed more warmth again, and that time Lucas broke playing an app and muttered an, “Uh-oh.”

  “Hm?” I turned to the direction he worried and there, standing feet away among customers was the fallen angel guy from Chambers, one of the lip licking creeps at the window who leered at me.

  “Think he’s in the mood for chicken?” Lucas asked.

  “Sure,” I reply, unconvinced. The man spotted us. The eerie green reappeared. No, he didn’t look the type to be in elbow deep in grease while wearing an expensive, pressed pinstripe suit. Really, his clothes smelled of a brand new car. I know folks can have their secrets, their indulgent guilty pleasures that no one would have ever guessed. This guy and chicken? Not so much. Maybe practicing pervy sneers in the mirror was his thing. And watching unsuspecting people, in this case Lucas and I. He must have seen us come in. Chambers wasn’t that far; a couple blocks down. Any guesses why he’d make the trip? Hm, anyone?

  The man strode effortlessly through people, his black feathered wings whacking into poor bystanders, who shot him glares. Lucas straightened, edging closer in front of me.

  “Well, well, well,” the man drolls, now a foot away. His scent, whisky and cigar potent, and tarnishing the grand aroma of oily chicken. He trained maroon eyes directly on to me. Definitely, not hungry for cooked bird.

  “You are a dear friend of Adrian’s,” he states. Not asking. I briefly wondered how he knew. “As I am to him. I believe that constitutes you are... to me as well.” He pressed palms together, cocking his jet black haired head. His nails long and pointed.

  Lucas laughed. “The hell she is.” That earned him a severe glare from Winged Man who then easily dismissed him, to smile at me once more.

  “Lord Hammon.” He bowed slightly. “I want us to get more acquainted.” He threw a sneer at Lucas. “Properly and alone.”

  “I’ll pass,” I replied and seriously wondered what happened at Chambers that allowed his approach. Should I just outright ask? Nah, not to him, I don’t want this exchange to continue.

  “Surely as a woman who clearly and most passionately appreciated the opposite sex, in such a... bold way...”

  Huh? Yeah, I do love the opposite sex, true enough, but again, huh?

  I halted the Winged Dude. “Look, you seem like a...” I assessed him, “...like a swell, sophisticated fella. Kudos to asking a woman out in a chicken joint, but I’m not up to making any new friends.”

  Wrong answer. Lightning struck within his dark eyes.

  “Your midnight display, a grand gesture as it was to a very receptive audience, suggested otherwise.” He steps forward, hackling the she-wolf. Jeez, I’ve already had a trying day. It now seems slugging a dude would round it off nicely.

  In a low volume, he said, “The dragon doesn’t have to know I’ve borrowed his pet.”

  “PET!?” I screeched. “Okay, we’re done here, asshole.” My own volume grew loud, succeeding in once again having an entire eatery turn their attention on to yours truly. “Shoo!” I wave him off which he doesn’t take too kindly. But his rising irritation and reaction to being slighted is cut short by Lucas who shoos me instead. Dark blue and green spiky scales begin to emerge and encase his arms and neck. Not good.

  “Hey, man, she said step off,” he said, adding bass to his tone.

  Winged Freak growls. “Pathetic man. You’re just a son of a lowly sea creature,” he insults.

  “Impossible.” Lucas snorts. “My mother is a saint and never a bearer of lowly spawn,” he said matter-of-factly. I face palmed. Good grief, his mama’s boy undies were showing.

  “How about you turn your feathered ass right back outside and into the nest heaven dumped you in,” Lucas suggested.

  Ouch.

  The fallen angel hissed, baring rowed sharp teeth at the rebuttal. Although the traded barbs were interesting enough, I didn’t like the menacing near lunge the man was gearing up to take.

  Then Lucas puffed his chest. “You asked for it.” He executed weird hand gestures, wiggling fingers, flexing his palms. I, along with everyone else watched brows pinched, confused, but ready for whatever magic my merman buddy was going to expel.

  Had to be something fierce since veins bulged from his forehead and his whole face turned constipated red.

  Even the Winged Fella looked worried.

  Suddenly, thrusting his opened hands in front of the Fallen, Lucas unleashed a terrifying mass of...

  Bubbles.

  “Oh, Lucas.” I shook my head. The crowd went back to eating and talking. He sadly watched the limp bulbs drift to a wet death on the floor. Not one made an attempt to land on the fallen angel’s leather shoes. A minor assault it would’ve been, but too much for the pathetic bubbles.

  “Dammit!” Lucas groaned. “That’s all I can do since we’re not near water.” He looked up at the man, addressing him. “But warning, if you want to postpone this until we’re at a more adequate location, beware. My wrath won’t be so gentle.”

  The man becomes disturbed, glancing between the two us.

  “Yeah, what he said.” I glared at him, trying to look tough. Emphasis on trying.

  Which sours and further disturbs the man–an expression broadcasting of such familiarity to me–then turns around and makes haste out of the building without another word.

  “Number 37!” calls a deep voice. I perk at that. That’s our order. At the pick up station is Kranky.
Seven feet wide and wearing a stained apron. He hands over the plastic bag to me and slides the drinks to Lucas but quickly stops.

  He grins, or his version is a grin, somehow, when his mouth is really a fleshy beak. He instead gives Lucas a fold out caution wet sign.

  “For Bubble Boy.” Kranky nods to the little puddle Lucas created. Embarrassed, and again red all over, Lucas takes it and sets it up then snatches the drinks. I join him at the door.

  “Let’s go eat somewhere nice, Bubble Bo–”

  “Don’t,” he snapped.

  Chapter Seven

  Mortis Park was certainly a “somewhere nice.” On a map, it was shaped like a crescent moon, and had a lake with a geyser fountain on the lower peaked curve. Surrounding cafes and less busy entertainment drew people to its thick green lawn and many benches. We settled on the cushioned ground and gorged. My purse supplied extra napkins–I was the type who consistently carried ones from various fast food restaurants.

  We watched in comfortable silence at life passing, jogging, trotting, or flying. Like the beach, a disconnect was present. Every passing minute, a pressure weighed down. A sigh inducing, gnawing sense of cluelessness pestered the forefront.

  I remembered nothing.

  “Anything yet?” I asked aloud, not needing to add more context.

  “Nada,” Lucas responded and frowned at his half eaten chicken leg.

  I don’t say anything else, commencing my feast through a thigh, one-handed, and the other scrolled my phone, willing it to give me answers. All I had logged inside me were a large blurry chuck of colors. Sitting there like an uncloggable turd in a toilet.

  And with that lovely thought, I set my chicken in the bucket. Hands wiped clean, another lemonade sip later, I reclined on to the grass. Eye shut.

  “Wake me when a meteorite is plummeting towards Earth.” The occurrence better than possible truths being revealed after we’d take the spell.

  “Why witness such a catastrophic thing?” Lucas asked, his bewilderment audible.

  “Because I’d like to eat the last thigh before burning to a crisp.”

  ***