by Lena North
I promptly told him and everyone else what we’d found out.
“I don’t know who that idiot wizard is, but he looked like the kind of man who grabs your butt and pretends it was an accident,” I finished my recount of the happenings.
“Malachï,” Grandma Hazel said immediately. “Funky, fat, orange hair?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “Who is he?”
“He’s the gatekeeper,” Grandma murmured. “Guards the entrance to the wizards’ headquarters, and their vaults.”
“Another stupid spelling?” I asked since Grandma had pronounced his name Malach-ee instead of Malach-ay.
“They have an I, they do that shit,” Grandma Hazel murmured. “They all want to be like Blaïse.”
Bla-eese?
“Grand Master,” Grandma said when mouths opened all over the porch. “His father was the actual inventor of the diaeresis mark, and woo-boy was that old goat a double-prick.”
Aha.
“Excellent,” I said. “Joel? Can you see if you can find out what this Malachï is up to, and then we talk to the wizards.”
“Sure,” Joel said and put his hand in his pocket which I hoped meant his phone was there and not that he felt like fondling himself.
“I thought it was the Az who was Grand Master,” I said while we waited.
“Nope,” Grandma said. “Aïdan is an Azdjakzian, and his family has yielded the power over the Azdjakzian-amulet for centuries.”
“So that’s why he wants to find it,” I murmured.
“Probably. Aïdan has no real power of his own, so without the amulet, the Azdjakzians would be lower level wizards.”
“Asshole,” Joel suddenly exclaimed.
I could agree with that.
“This Malachï person is a naughty boy,” Joel added sourly. “Collects cash from at least fifteen hor –” He cut himself off with a glance at Janie, and wisely amended his statement. “Fifteen places of business all over the northwest.”
“Well, crap,” Grandma Hazel, muttered. “Genie will not be happy.”
“Genie?” I asked as if I didn’t know who the woman with the lethal beetroot homebrew was.
“She’s a crony. Protected by a wizard. Malachï is the wizard who protects her.”
“Poor woman,” Elsa murmured and added. “No wonder she makes sherry from anything she can get her hands on.”
“Okay,” I sighed. “We’ll just go talk to this Blaeeze-dude. Who’s coming with me?”
Hands went up all over the porch.
Chapter Nineteen
Artificial happiness
I’d been ready to go straight to the Grand Wiz and give him a piece of my mind. Grandma Hazel had been right there with me. Joel and Elsa had jumped in the backseat of the pink car, and one of my brothers crawled into the trunk.
Dad and Jackson placed themselves in front of us and wouldn't move even when I hit the gas pedal all the way to the floor. Dirt and gravel spewed behind the car and up on the porch which made Janie growl, something no one heard because of the rumble from Grandma Hazel’s old monster of a vehicle and the roars from the seriously pissed off wolves who had placed their hands on the hood to hold us in place.
I jumped out of the car, and for the first time in my life, I wished I could shift into a wolf. I wished this mostly because when I jumped out of said car, Jackson changed and oh, my, God, he was gorgeous. A huge, gray timber wolf suddenly stood in front of me, baring his teeth and growling softly. All I could think of was running off into the woods with him and never come back to civilization again. Unless someone lured me back with a batch of cookie dough.
“Okay,” Rafael said calmly. “Why don’t everyone just calm –”
Snapping, sharp teeth missed him with two inches, and then an incredibly angry angel charged at the timber wolf. I was pretty sure one of them would get himself killed, although I wasn’t sure which one, and was about to jump into the fray when a loud, shrieking whinny and the thumps of heavy hooves echoed.
Everyone froze.
Elsa had changed too, apparently.
The big, white unicorn moved restlessly around the yard, snorting and stomping. When no one moved, she raised her head proudly and glared at the crowd. Her tail made a wide, graceful sweep and then she farted loudly, spreading glitter and unicorn-dust all over the flower beds. A soothing scent of grapefruit washed over us with the soft breeze.
Everyone promptly did what everyone always did when inhaling unicorn fart; Calmed down and smiled gently. Elsa whinnied again and changed back.
"You can get up now," she said, and since there was laughter in her voice, I looked at what she looked at.
Jackson had changed back too, and Rafael was on top of him, holding a strong arm around his neck in a way that looked weirdly amorous. I was pretty sure it wasn’t, though, and the subsequent man-squeal confirmed my suspicion. They got up on their feet so fast it was a blur and glared at each other.
“Kitty,” Dad barked. “Porch. Now.”
Okay. That was the dad-voice of all dad-voices, and I decided that it would be in my best interest to obey, so I walked up on the porch, sat down and watched the crowd in front of me.
“What?” I asked breezily because this time, it had so not been my fault.
Dad disagreed.
Then he explained in great detail how accusing a wizard of anything without actually having proof of the misdemeanor would get me killed, something which he at that stage informed me sounded like it wouldn't be too bad. Jackson made a scoffing sound and was promptly ordered to visit the bordellos in question to obtain witness statements. Joel didn't stop his laughter in time and was ordered to accompany Jack on his visits. Rafael smiled smugly and was told that his job was to keep me out of trouble until the statements were filed correctly, and if anything happened to me, then my father had no objections to filling a pie with stew made from angel-kidneys. He added that he would decorate this culinary masterpiece with angel-eyeballs or any kind of angel-balls at his disposal.
Rafael winced.
“Dad,” I whispered.
“What?” he snarled.
“You’ve never baked a pie in your life,” I informed him.
He opened his mouth but closed it with a snap.
Then he walked away without another word, and I stared at his back.
“That didn’t go down very well,” I murmured.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Grandma Hazel said breezily. “I’m pretty sure the throttle-thingie in my car hasn’t been stress-tested that way before. Janie got her flowerbeds fertilized, which they needed. And we got to see Jackson and Rafael in a man-hug.” She grinned at me, winked, and added, “All in all, not too bad?”
***
“My peanut is gone.”
I wasn't sure if I was supposed to respond to that, but since the woman in front of me was an excellent tipper, and also a wolf, I decided to make an effort.
“Okay,” I said, which was as much effort I figured a peanut warranted.
“Word on the street is that you’re good at finding things, and I would reward you.”
“Okay,” I repeated, but the word reward did catch my attention.
The deadline for my condo down payment was looming, and I was still short of funds.
“I opened the window for five seconds and whoops. Gone.”
I had already figured out that peanut wasn’t a literal peanut, and wondered what kind of animal he, or she, was.
“And Peanut is your… dog?” I guessed.
The woman was a part of my father's pack, and canines were the prevailing type of pet in that group, mostly since any other pet tended to end up on the grill sooner rather than never.
“Lovebird.”
I blinked.
“Lovebird,” I echoed.
“Agapornis. It’s a parrot. Small, mostly green with orangey marks,” Joel murmured.
“Peanut is turquoise. His face is black.”
“Huh,” I said.
"He's fro
m Namibia," the woman said as if this was an explanation of the coloring of her bird.
It might very well be, but since I was in no way an ornithologist, I had no clue.
“I’m not good with birds,” I said. “Wouldn’t know where to look.”
“He likes peanuts,” the woman said, and added, “And olives. Chips, unless they’re onion-flavored.”
The parrot liked bar-snacks, it seemed.
“But –”
“Just keep your eyes open. He’ll come if you hold out some peanuts and whistle Oh Susanna.”
I was about to decline but was sidetracked when Al walked in, followed by Jackson. The woman murmured her thanks, and I nodded absentmindedly.
“What’s up?” I asked Al.
“I want to go over cover.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve been under cover. Can’t do it anymore. Not after the, uh, incident. I had to explain to my woman why my… thing is red. She did not like that I had to use antiseptic wipes on it.”
Is red? Was it still –
God. I shook my head to stop my brain from delving further into that disgusting topic and nodded instead.
“Okay, sure,” I said casually, and Al sighed with relief. “Do you know what they’re up to?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Can’t tell me what?” I asked.
“They’re –”
Al blushed so furiously I thought a vein in his temple would pop.
“What?”
“Can’t –”
“Can you tell me?” Jackson interrupted calmly.
With a curt not, Al walked over to a corner at the other end of the bar. They sat down and stayed there for fifteen minutes and twelve seconds. I counted. Jackson barked out laughter sixteen times while Al talked. I counted that too.
Al left without looking at me, and Jackson walked back to the bar with a strange look on his face.
“When’s your next break, babe?”
“When Rafael gets here,” Silenus answered sourly.
I turned slowly, but he was watching Jackson with a blank face. Jack raised his upper lip and showed his teeth, which was meant to intimidate, but since he had a piece of broccoli stuck there, it mostly looked ridiculous.
"Boy," Silenus grunted. "I'm older than dirt, and a young whippersnapper with veggies in his teeth will not frighten me in any way.”
I was pretty sure this was the first time anyone had called Jack a whippersnapper. I was also not sure what the word meant precisely, but it did not sound like a compliment.
Jackson did not take it as one, and the rumble in his chest increased in strength.
“Oh, for schmuck’s sake, Jack,” I snapped. “Go brush your teeth.”
He turned toward me, and the rumble was still there, but he'd lowered his lip. I could see his tongue move over his front teeth, likely to remove the offensive and highly surprising piece of vegetable. In an attempt to avoid satyr-blood being sprayed all over the bar, I tried to make light of the whole situation.
"Shoo," I said breezily and waved my hand dismissively.
That had not been the right approach, it seemed, although Joel barked out laughter.
“Hibiscus,” Jackson said sternly.
What in the everloving fudge?
“Yes, Mother, dear?” I chirped in a voice dripping with syrupy sarcasm.
At least, I hoped it did, but Joel was still laughing which made me suspect that it sounded mostly silly.
The stare-down went on for a while but then a familiar warmth washed over us, and Silenus exhaled.
“Boy,” he murmured. “Keep telling you to step up your game. You’re late.”
“I’m early,” Rafael retorted. “What’s going on?”
No one answered, so he repeated his question a few times, to no avail.
Joel caved in first and explained what had happened.
“Broccoli?” Rafael snorted. “Seriously?”
“Or spinach,” Joel confirmed. “Something green.”
I kept staring at Jackson, not willing to give in.
“Kitty,” he murmured softly, and the harshness suddenly left both his voice and face to be replaced by humor. “Would you please get outside so I can explain?”
“Of course,” I said calmly.
“Not sure if you inherited that glare from your father or mother,” Jack said and closed the back door, glancing sourly at Rafael who had exited the place with us.
“Spill,” I said.
“Right. Okay. So, here’s the thing. Apparently one of the girls, or possibly several of the girls helping the elderly in Nowhere told your grandfather that they wanted to, uh… procreate. With him. Told him he was genetically superior.”
I blinked.
“Yeah, babe,” Jack went on with a grin. “Hunter is under the distinct impression that someone wants to have his child. His friends, currently known as Howl and Yowl, got on board and they started a club.”
“A club,” I echoed slowly.
“Yeah,” Jackson was suddenly trying to hold back laughter, failed at it and grinned. “They call it White Supremacy.”
I blinked. And gasped. And blinked again. And gasped again. And –
“What the hell?” Rafael muttered, interrupting what possibly was an eternal loop of flabbergasted blinking and gasping.
I thought about my grandfather who wouldn’t say pow-wow because it might be insulting and tried to reconcile this with the group he’d apparently founded. Then my brain caught up.
“They can’t call it that,” I said decisively.
“I agree,” Rafael said angrily. “It’s really offensive and –”
“Howl’s ancestors escaped from the plantations in the south, and Yowl is Native American,” I informed him.
“Yeah,” Jackson said. “Al thought that the offensiveness of the name might not be entirely clear to them. Howl apparently asked him if his woman would be willing to carry one of his offspring.”
Jackson chuckled while I tried to get my stunned brain to grasp that the old, dark-skinned man had somehow thought it was okay to be member of a group called White Supremacy whilst wanting to have a child with a woman of Indian heritage.
Rafael started laughing, and I did too, albeit weakly.
“Al declined,” Jackson said when we’d quieted down.
“I’ll talk to Gramps,” I said with a sigh.
“There’s more,” Jackson said.
Of course there was.
“Due to their advanced age, they needed a little artificial happiness.”
Artificial –
“Like what? Please tell me they’re not smoking shit. Dad will have an actual –”
“They’re not smoking weed, babe,” Jackson interrupted. “Apparently the doc wrote out prescriptions for them.”
“Prescriptions.”
“For small blue pills.”
Rafael started laughing loudly, and I turned to stare at him.
“Know about those, do you?” Jackson asked smugly.
Rafael stopped laughing immediately.
“What?” I asked, and Jack turned to me with a smirk on his face.
“Viagra.”
Well, Jesus effing Christ.
Now what?
Chapter Twenty
Erections
If anyone ever thinks about talking to their grandparents about erections, I have a piece of advice; Don’t.
It actually started out as a date with Rafael, so the erection part was a surprise. Or, yeah, not really but I hadn’t expected that part to be about Grandpa Hunter, who was our chaperone for the evening.
We went to Bubba’s because it was the only place Gramps said he’d go to and since Dad was standing on the porch with us, and since he was scowling, Rafael sighed and nodded. A small bar in a small town full of werewolves was clearly not where he preferred to go on a date. I didn’t mind because that bar would be full of people I knew, and I was petty enough to want to walk in there with Rafael.
Melissa Moose and her friends, sans the one she lost at the karaoke-event, sat at a table in the center of the room. The only way to stop myself from shouting out a satisfying but smallminded and highly inappropriate, “Whaddyasaynowbeyatch,” was to bite my tongue until I felt the taste of blood.
We moved forward, and one of Melissa’s girlfriends squealed loudly when she got a closer look at Rafael. Since she’d been in the middle of gulping down a deep swig of beer, napkin-accompanied mayhem erupted, and Loosey Moosey had to retire to the restrooms to repair her makeup.
“I don’t like you,” Grandpa Hunter said to Rafael as we sat down in a corner. “But that was hilarious. Might not be a suck-a-duck-evening after all.”
“Grandpa,” I said warningly. “You promised to behave.”
“No.”
Since he actually hadn’t made any such promise, I had nothing else to say and decided to go and get beer for us instead. Rafael went with me, and we had a minor discussion about paying for our beverages. I lost, and when Rafael had paid the openly laughing barman, who incidentally also was Jackson’s second cousin, we had another discussion about who would carry the beers back to the table. This led to a small kerfuffle, and I yanked a beer out of Rafael’s hand, somewhat forcefully.
“Ha!” I exclaimed rather loudly, and accidentally slammed the beer into something soft.
Then Loosey Moosey had to turn around and go back to the restrooms and repair her makeup once again, but she really should have known better than to stand that close to me.
“I’m warming to you, cherub,” Grandpa muttered when we’d gotten another beer and were back at the table.
Rafael seemed unhappy with this epithet, so I decided to change the topic, and brought up the subject of clubs with offensive names.
“Of course I know what white supremacy is,” Gramps said calmly. “We’re reclaiming the name.”
“From whom?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“From the white supremacists.”
