by Lena North
“You don’t recognize me,” the man said conversationally, although a little breathlessly.
“No,” I panted and increased my arm movements as if this would make my speed increase, which it didn’t.
“I’ve bought drinks from you at Tiaso’s. I hang with the bears.”
He smelled like a regular, and I assumed he meant The Bears MC, who were garden gnomes, and not actual bears. They’d had a vote on the name, and The Gnomes MC had not won. Neither had The Goblins MC, and The Hobbits MC’s was protected since the days of Mr. Tolkien, who had been friends with a lot of creatures and also incredibly foresighted in his trademark applications. At a loss, the garden gnomes had approached the grizzlies who charged them an annual fee and let them call themselves bears.
I did recognize the man vaguely when I looked at him again.
He looked like the ordinary dude he was, which meant he stood out in Tiaso’s. His average brown hair was average length. He wasn’t skinny but not overweight, not buff but clearly not a weakling. Plenty of tattoos on his arms but not on his neck or face. Sweet smile. Just a regular regular. He also tipped well and never puked on the floor or fondled the dancing girls against their wishes.
“I’m Kitty,” I wheezed out.
“I know. Wouldn’t have pegged you for a runner, though. Not with that butt.”
He wasn’t wrong, but still.
“What’s wrong with my butt?” I asked, turning left to follow a yelping Pookie who went in a full arc around the base of St. John’s bridge.
“Not one thing whatsoever, which is why I didn’t think I’d find you here, jogging.”
Oh.
“Thanks,” I hissed and tried to increase my speed as we crashed through the rhododendrons again. “I’m chasing a dog,” I shared and pointed at Pookie.
“Why don’t you just call for it? It’s a nice dog. Been running around here for a while.”
“Really?”
“Would have taken it home with me but we have two cats, and they don’t like canines.”
I could have told him that canines didn’t like cats right back.
“Huh,” I growled and tried to see where Pookie had disappeared.
“I think it sleeps over there.”
The man pointed toward some bushes by the river, and I veered off immediately. I couldn’t care less about Pookie, at all, and was rapidly approaching a severe bout of hypoxia, so when I reached the bushes, I fell to my knees.
Tiny stars twinkled in front of my eyes. My breakfast was about to appear for a second introduction. And I needed to pee.
“Hello.”
Well, hell. My running companion had followed me in under the bushes, it seemed. He was nice, and he had pointed me to where Pookie apparently had made himself a home, but right then I didn’t want to socialize with anyone. I grunted noncommittally and prepared to say something as soon as I caught my breath.
“If you die, can I have your body?”
What? That hadn’t sounded like the runner at all.
I raised my head and stared at what looked like a homeless man. His hair was long and straggly, his brown clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed in the last decade and he was missing one of his front teeth. My gut clenched immediately when our eyes met because the red glitter in his indicated with no uncertainty that this was, in fact, a ghoul. His high-pitched, hyena-like giggle confirmed his ghoulishness.
I moved backward slowly, hoping that moving would assure him that I was alive. Ghouls feasted on flesh from dead humans, or if they were in a pinch, on any kind of flesh as long as it was dead. I smiled, hoping that smiling flesh of the alive variety would be off-putting.
Then something caught my eye.
Next to the ghoul’s skinny left hip was a square leather pouch. A wristband was attached to one corner, and the ghoul sat on it.
“Look!” I shouted and pointed at the river.
The ghoul didn’t move.
“I’d rather look at you,” he hissed. “Tasssty.”
Or she hissed. It was actually not easy to tell the difference when it came to ghouls.
“I’m not dead,” I squeaked.
“You will be.”
Well, yeah. A couple of hundred years from now. Or seventy, at least.
“Move!” I shouted.
When the damned thing didn’t do what I asked it, I shoved. Since he, or she, was skinny, he rolled right into the river. I grabbed the bag and turned toward the sounds of moving feet behind me.
“Found it,” I called out to Joel and Elsa.
They grinned at me and slowed down but their broad smiles suddenly froze, and they stared over my shoulder. I knew what was there because I smelled it, but I still looked. The ghoul was apparently unhappy with being shoved into the Willamette River. Water plastered the thin strands of hair to its gray cheeks, the clothes dripped muddy water on the ground, and then it opened its mouth to hiss out something unintelligible.
I screeched loudly, and both Joel and Elsa immediately added precisely as loud and hysterical screeches. Then we ran again, up toward the car this time. The bag thumped against my hip, and I heard a soft snorting sound I knew meant Elsa was preparing to change into a unicorn, which would take care of the ghoul but a big, white and glittering horse with a horn in her forehead would undoubtedly be somewhat hard to explain in case a regular saw us. Which they would. The ghoul chased us for a while, but its smell faded away, so I was pretty sure it had given up, and as we approached the cars, I slowed down and turned around.
Cathedral Park was empty except for an elderly lady who was walking a small pink poodle.
“Let’s go to Tiaso’s,” I wheezed out, and reached for the handle to get into my car.
“Uh, Kitty, there’s a minor thing you should know…”
“What?” I asked as I plopped my aching backside into the driver’s seat.
The smell of dog urine filled my nostrils immediately.
“We found Pookie,” Elsa said.
“Couldn’t fit him into my car,” Joel added.
Oh, crap. Literally.
Chapter Twelve
Karaoke-nightmare
“Gramps!”
My voice was both loud and desperate because I had no clue what one would wear on a karaoke-night at the community center in Nowhere. Polyester pant-suits would be my guess, but since I would rather be dead – and possibly eaten by a ghoul – than donning myself in one of those, I was at a loss.
“What?” he yelled back from the porch.
“Clothes?”
“Optional!”
Eek! Naked karaoke?
“Red tee and jeans or yoga pants and a flannel?” I squeaked.
“Tee and jeans!”
“Loose or tight jeans!?”
“Tight!”
Shit. The last had not been yelled by my grandfather.
Jackson Vik-Hansen had apparently arrived early.
I dressed in a bright red, tight crop top with a print announcing to the world that I was wild, and a pair of jeans. And no. Not the tight ones, but the low-slung loose ones which made my butt look pretty awesome. Jack might have spent more time discussing how he shat after Indian food than sharing every nuance of our kiss, but he’d still kissed me. With lots and lots of tongue.
When I reached for a pair of silver hoops to put in my ears, my gaze fell on the pile of cash on my nightstand, and since I knew my brothers well, I pushed it into a drawer and put a few of my silver bracelets on top. The triplets were a lot more werewolf than me so they couldn’t move the silver. Ha.
I had all that cash for two reasons.
One; I returned Pookie and got the finder’s fee. I tried to not accept it since I’d been the one who’d scared the stupid animal into befriending a ghoul and living the high life on the banks of Willamette River. His owner cried crocodile tears of joy, refused to take no for an answer, and pushed the money into my hands. Joel and Elsa got their share, but there was still a considerable sum for me.
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br /> Two; I returned the leather-murse to Gabe. He tried to get out of paying by ordering me to not request a reward. I stared at him for a while, and he sighed deeply. Rafael laughed and handed me another heap of cash. Three-way split ensued, and I added to my pile of rent money.
Gabe sighed again, and I grinned at him.
“Fugly bag, Gabe,” I shared.
It wasn’t ugly exactly, or at least not compared to other manbags I’d seen. It was clearly expensive, and the leather seemed to glow with a golden light.
“I like women who do what I tell them,” he retorted.
I knew he did. Angels were pretty rare, but everyone knew about them, and especially girls who had fathers like mine. Rafael had said he was half satyr, though, and I’d had no clue what that was, but Elsa had explained about them being the followers of Bacchus. Everyone totally knew who Bacchus was, mostly because if there was a party and it was a great one; he’d likely organized it. He was apparently in rehab, but he was according to gossip scheduled for an appearance in one of the weight-losing reality shows in another month, so he was probably drying up according to plans.
Rafael was half of each but seemed to take after his father’s side more, at least appearance wise. He would have looked a lot less hot with thinning hair and a potbelly.
“I wonder why Kitty doesn’t obey you,” Elsa said thoughtfully. “You are both angels, so she should. I’ll investiga –”
“Arch.”
“What?”
“I’m an archangel.”
The way Gabe raised one brow when he announced this was snooty enough to rival my mother, although not on par with the Az.
“You can stay here and discuss lineage if you like, but I’m going home,” I shared. “In Grandma’s pink car which smells of dog urine.”
“I’ll take you home,” Rafael murmured. “Someone will clean the car and drive it up to Nowhere tomorrow. Consider it a part of your fee.”
“You can’t kiss me.”
He blinked.
“Just saying,” I added and glared at Joel who was chatting with a cute and suitably slutty biker-babe, although still listening in on what I said so he was also laughing.
“I won’t,” Rafael said calmly. “Not before the second date. That was the agreement with Vik-Hansen.”
They had agreed when –
“Okay,” I said quickly before either of my friends could share that Jack apparently was sneaky like… a wolf.
We talked about the ghoul on our way back to Nowhere and he, or she, was apparently the reason Gabe had been there with the rocks in the first place. Ghouls had problems with sacred artifacts, and since St. Johns bridge was pretty danged special, they wanted to make him find alternative living accommodations. Rafael walked me to the door, pecked my cheek, and left with a grin at my brother Tom who was watching us whilst snickering in a teenagery and hence moronic way.
I worked the day-shift the next day which sucked because bikers slept during the day. Or drove their bikes. Or whatever, but what they did not do was drink beer, so the tips were abysmal, and I hadn’t been in a good mood when I went home to get ready for goddamned karaoke.
When I’d brushed my hair, I walked downstairs and out on the porch where Jack and Gramps were waiting. Elsa had bowed out, and Joel was not going to join me on what he said sounded like, “A date from hell.” Jackson’s brother Parker might be there later, though, and I looked forward to that. I hadn’t seen him since he joined the navy several years earlier.
Gramps was dressed up in black suit pants, a paisley patterned, turquoise silk shirt with a yellow handkerchief in the pocket and an enormous, matching yellow bow-tie. It looked like he was wearing the enlarger-thingie again and it stretched the pants to the max.
Yikes.
***
“Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema comes walking…” Gramps crooned, off-key and also a little off beat.
He added something that was a feeble imitation of a moonwalk, which made the crotch-enlarger slide to the side to settle on his hip, and I was pretty sure I’d die. Jackson was suddenly breathing hoarsely and choppily through clenched teeth, and I didn’t dare to look at him.
The ladies attending the karaoke-nightmare at the community center cheered and wiggled their butts, likely thinking it would make them look either tall, young or lovely. It did neither, but it was not for lack of trying. The nurse from the old folks’ home out by the creek was acting as emcee, and when the horror was over, she aimed her eyes at Jackson and me. Jack shook his head slowly. Mrs. Ratched turned to me, and I growled softly. She looked at Jack again and raised a brow.
“Later,” he stalled, and added when she aimed a death-glare at him, “Want my brother to be here.”
“Huh,” Mrs. Ratched huffed, but then three women started punching buttons on the karaoke machine, and she got busy trying to assist with their song choices.
There was a small kerfuffle which the three women won, and then we watched in stunned silence how a group of ancient, skinny-wrinkly and white women belted out that it apparently was raining men. Next up was one of the speedo culprits from my parents' front porch who thankfully was fully clothed this time, and he did a surprisingly good rendition of Born to Run.
Melissa Moose walked in halfway through the song with a bunch of girlfriends, sat down and winked at Jackson, pretending she hadn’t seen me. Grandma Hazel breezed through the door shortly thereafter, accompanied by Genie Decateur, and they were both purple mouthed. Then Parker Vik-Hansen walked in, surveyed the gathering and started laughing.
He was still laughing when he hugged me, slapped Jack on his shoulder, and sat down. Then he laughed some more.
“You gonna sing?” he asked his brother with a smirk.
“I will if Kitty does,” Jackson said with an identical smirk.
Aha. So, I’d be singing that evening, apparently, and post-haste too.
“Baby, baby, baby, oh…”
My head snapped around, and I watched with narrowed eyes how Loosey Moosey sauntered toward Jackson, ignoring everyone else. She made all the moves one would expect.
Shimmy down and up again; Check.
Wink in a ridiculously exaggerated way; Check.
Pout and wiggle her butt; Check.
Push her cleavage into his face; Check, although, at this stage, Parker burst out laughing so she lost her salaciousness and accidentally slapped Jackson on the cheek with one of her oversized knockers. Jackson shifted backward and closed his eyes, but I could see his black tee move at the waist, so I suspected he was laughing too.
When Melissa had walked back to the makeshift stage, hair-toss, and wink over her shoulder and all, I moved. Grandma Hazel cheered loudly, and the elderly crowd who all had watched me grow up chimed in. I hoped nobody would have a heart attack from my performance.
The piano intro was perky, so my audience started clapping their hands, and it took a while before the words I sang registered. My voice was clear and innocent, and I smiled sweetly while I skippy-danced happily over toward Melissa and her friends. Then the chorus hit her, and the audience with all the force I could put into my admittedly rather excellent voice.
“Fuck you. Fuck you very, very muuuch. ‘Cause we hate what you do and we hate your whole crew so please don’t stay in touch...”
Thank God for Lily Allen.
Within seconds the room erupted in cheers, and by the time I got to the second chorus, everyone sang along. I’d moved away from Melissa and was facing a large group of mostly old shifters who enthusiastically belted out the words fuck you with me. Unfortunately, it seemed that they had grievances to settle and they started pointing at the ones who over their long lives had done something offensive.
One woman leaned close to another to roar fuck you in her face, and spittle accompanied the message. That earned her a fist in her belly. Several others were screaming, and it all escalated into mayhem when one man tried to pull the hair of another and accidentally ripped o
ff his postiche. Two other men were tumbling around on the floor, kicking Jackson’s grandmother’s wheelchair hard enough to push it straight into the cake table we hadn’t even started on. She screamed and wiped at the frosting spread out over her face, Grandma Hazel was laughing hysterically, and Genie Decateur cheered but moved on to take a deep swig from a flask that I suspected contained beetroot sherry. One of Melissa’s friends decided at that moment that she didn’t like Loosey Moosey either and started poking her in the chest, singing along with me when I hit the chorus again. Jackson and Parker dove into the fray, trying to separate people but there were too many fights, and then Jackson was pushed into the sherry flask, so his hair got streaked with the pinkish-purple liquid.
I didn’t know what to do, so I kept singing, and since the equipment seemed to have been set on repeat, I restarted when the song did.
Someone must have called the emergency number because right in the middle of repeat number three, my eyes met those of my father. He was standing in the door surveying the scene in front of me with a look on his face that could only be described as astonishment.
“Fuck you,” I sang, although my voice wavered slightly when his brows went up.
Then he calmly walked over and pulled the plug. Silence ensued immediately, everyone froze, and after a stunned second their eyes turned to me.
“What?” I asked weakly.
Parker started laughing again, and after a while, Grandpa Hunter chuckled from his position underneath three other old dudes on the floor. The bald man looked at the wig he held in his hand and started laughing too.
“Never liked this one anyway,” he snorted.
“You look better without it,” Grandma Hazel said reassuringly, although she did it laughing so I wasn’t sure she meant it.
He looked like an egg, so I was pretty sure she didn’t, actually.
“Woo-boy, this frosting is fantastic,” Jack’s grandmother suddenly squealed, and I thanked the divine powers it was his happy grandmother who had decided to attend the evening, and not the one who already gave me the evil eye.
