My Ex-Wife Said Go to Hell

by Zurosky, Kirk

  The Howler took the moment to faint once again into my arms. Molly fixed an evil gaze on me. “She is the mother of your litter?” she said with a sneer.

  “Yes, she is,” I replied, slowly lowering the Howler to the ground. “What of it? And just what is your problem with her? Wait a minute. Did you say litter?”

  “You are still a fool, Sirio—I’m sorry, Sirius, or whatever your name is now,” she said. “Werewolves don’t have just one baby—we usually have eight or nine at once.”

  Eight or nine at once?

  I awoke to Harvis splashing water on my face and Garlic licking my nose and the droplets of water that remained on it. “What happened?” I asked, seeing we were not in the barn any longer but in Harvis’s farmhouse. I could hear the laughter of Oliver, Jova, and Cornelia coming from a different room.

  “You fainted,” Harvis said casually. I was relieved to see him now wearing the breeches he held earlier. Then it hit me again—eight or nine little whelps?

  I shook my head, choosing to process that later. “A man can only see your nakedness for so long,” I said. “All right, what is the deal with Molly and my sweet innocent little flower of a werewolf?”

  Harvis looked like he was about to be violently ill, and I could see he was struggling to find his words. “Molly and your new friend are distantly related. Their fathers are third cousins twice removed, and they lead two rival Packs that stand for two very different ways of life. My dear father-in-law leads the werewolves that honor the old ways by cultivating the earth and living off the land. Your lady friend’s father has abandoned the old ways. He is focused on acquiring as much wealth, power, and riches as he can, just like mortals and goblins do.”

  “Is that really so bad?” I interjected. “Not the goblin part, of course.”

  Harvis shrugged his massive shoulders. “It is for a werewolf. They go around recruiting the young pups with promises of wealth and shouting odd phrases like “free trade for all” and “merchants are not just mortals,” and building ship after ship so they can compete with mortals, goblins, and whoever else is trying to profit from this great earth of ours.”

  “Times change even for immortals,” I said. “Look at the mortals. They have changed this world much even in the few hundred years I have been alive. Again, is that a bad thing?”

  “Is it a good thing?” Harvis answered back. “The old ways say no. There is a word these new werewolf merchants are using. They call themselves capitalists.”

  It was as though even saying the word capitalist was painful for him, but I did not understand why. Actually, I did not understand what the word capitalist meant, but I wasn’t going to admit that. If being a capitalist meant going for the gold, then that was exciting. To me, simple was not better, it was dull and boring. The reality was that a simple life was not going to enable me to support my family. Besides, vampires were generally pretty bad at trying their hands at farming, as we were good at killing things, not growing them.

  “And that is why the mother of my unborn child and your wife hate each other?” I said, eyeing my big friend.

  “Yes, that is it,” Harvis said, not making eye contact.

  I heard more laughter from the other room. Something did not sound right to me. “Well, how come Molly does not hate Cornelia with the same amount of venom I saw directed at the mother of my litter in the loft?” I asked.

  “Uh, yeah, that . . .” Harvis said. “Well, I mean look at Cornelia. She is as homely as they come, not at all like her attractive sister, and all the werewolves feel bad for her with that crippled leg. Can’t hunt. Can’t farm. Can’t defend herself. Probably useless to her father as a merchant. What can she do? And, she is just so nice—how can you not like her?” He finished and looked at me, assessing my reaction.

  “You have been with her, you oversized mongrel!” I hissed.

  “With Cornelia?” Harvis said.

  “You know who I am talking about,” I said, trying to keep my voice low. “The other beautiful female werewolf in this farmhouse that is not your wife—her!”

  Harvis sighed. “Yes, I have,” he confessed. “But, that was two hundred years ago.”

  “Before you were with Molly.”

  “Yes, we all were at Hedley Edrick’s College of Immortals,” Harvis said. “They both liked me, but Molly was a little shy about it, the other one . . . not so much.”

  “That is her style,” I replied.

  “It was just one time,” Harvis said. “’Course, it was my first time . . .”

  “And Molly knows this,” I said.

  “Yes,” he sighed. “That is the problem with female immortals,” he said, gritting his teeth. “When an immortal woman tells you she is never ever, ever, going to forget something, she really, really, means it. Oh well, it could have been worse.”

  I laughed. “How is that?”

  “Well, first off, I had her before you did. No man likes to follow you vampires in the sack what with your legendary stamina,” he said. “And, second, unlike you, I was not a big enough imbecile to have relations with a female werewolf during a full moon.”

  We laughed and clasped hands. “I guess I really do need that education,” I said.

  Harvis chuckled. “My friend, I think ready or not—you are about to get one.”

  Chapter 10

  We spent the next two weeks rebuilding Harvis’s loft, and it was of no surprise to me that Oliver was as good at building a loft as he was at pouring a glass of wine. Harvis had built his barn, the loft, and his farmhouse, and even he was impressed with the ingenuity and attention to detail the big troll gave to the new loft. Truth be known, we had it built in three days, or Harvis and Oliver did, with Jova and me just trying to stay out of the way. The last week and a half, with Oliver’s help, Harvis expanded his barn, farmhouse, and outbuildings. The Howler was holed up in a side room of the farmhouse, while Cornelia tended to her. I had tried to see her several times but had been intercepted by Cornelia, who insisted it just wasn’t a good time. Garlic had taken to lying outside the door of the Howler’s room, occasionally padding in to see her before returning to her post. Molly merely rolled her eyes with a practiced air and busied herself with the chores of the farm and feeding her guests.

  One night we found ourselves by the hearth in Harvis’s now expanded great room, sipping wine and enjoying a late dinner to celebrate the completion of the farmhouse renovations. Cornelia had come to us, telling us that the Howler was not well again, and after kissing and stroking Jova’s face and whispering in his ear promises for later, she departed back to her sister’s room with a bowl of soup. Garlic snatched up a hunk of meat and followed Cornelia to resume her guard duty. I made eye contact with my canine companion but said nothing, since I felt it was an honor to have such a loyal and deadly creature protecting my unborn children from harm. Did Garlic know something that I did not?

  “Tomorrow, I shall take my leave,” Jova said. “I appreciate the hospitality, Harvis, but I need to go to London to meet my ship and then to Lancashire to ask Cornelia’s father for her hand in marriage.”

  I nodded, wondering if Cornelia would be going with him, and so, too, the Howler, or if they would be staying here. I was a bit frustrated at being shut out of the planning. The Howler after all was carrying my issue, and I felt that she should be deferring to me. She wasn’t.

  “And I shall join you,” Oliver replied. “Your craft should be landing at the docks in the next day or two, and I am anxious to recover my wine. From there, I need to return to the Meats and Cheeses, my pub on Fleet Street, and see if my brother has managed to not run it into the ground in my absence.”

  “Why were you in Port Royal?” I asked. “We never did get that part of your story.”

  “Now that is a story as old as the world,” he said. “One day I was walking down by the Thames with nary a care in the world. There was the flash o
f a tail, and then out of the water popped up the most beautiful mermaid I have ever seen.”

  “A beautiful mermaid? You must have had too much wine that night!” Harvis scoffed. “Mermaids have the face of groupers, the personality of river trout, and their privates reek like rotting seaweed. You are telling us one big fish tale!”

  “Come on, Oliver,” I said. “Why were you really in Port Royal?”

  Oliver chuckled and took a sip of his wine. “I know you think I am pulling your legs, but I am telling you the truth, lads,” he said. “Her name was Iyonna. And she wasn’t beautiful, you say? Please! Her hair was the color of sea foam, while her skin was as pure and white as the silkiest sand. And her eyes? Well, her eyes were the green-blue of the Caribbean Sea. She had never seen a troll before and wanted to touch my face to see what it felt like. So, I let her.”

  Jova was hanging on Oliver’s every word, and had inched up to the edge of his seat. I stifled a grin, for the Bogeyman was in love with love. “And, and . . .” Jova asked. “What happened?”

  “You mean after she bruised her soft little hands on his rocky face?” I said.

  Jova and Oliver each gave me a look, and Harvis merely laughed. “Go on, go on,” I said.

  “Well,” Oliver continued, “every day after I closed the tavern, I went walking by the Thames, and she met me and we talked. She was from the Caribbean Sea and had swum all the way to London, following a young mortal sailor she had fallen in love with. He got old and died, and she stayed, too heartbroken to go home.”

  “Aww,” Jova exclaimed.

  “Until she met me, that is,” he said. “One night, she pulled me into the river, and kissed me, and pulled off my clothes, and . . .”

  “And you were quite hard, were you not?” I interjected.

  Oliver turned to look at me, and I braced for the stony punch of the big troll. “Come on,” I protested. “How could I resist? That was funny!”

  Then Oliver tilted his head back and roared with laughter that sounded like an oncoming avalanche. Harvis, Jova, and I joined in—me more out of relief than anything else.

  “Yes, I was, vampire,” Oliver said. “And that little mermaid sang like she had never sung before. But, Iyonna wanted to go home and convinced me to go with her. So I did.”

  “Why did you leave Port Royal then?” Jova asked. “I get the goblin thing. But it doesn’t sound like you are going back to the Caribbean.”

  Oliver shook his head. “I am not,” he said. “Interspecies romance is not easy. We were doomed from the start. Once Iyonna returned to her home, her parents saw to it that she broke off the relationship. It turns out mermaids are prohibited from consorting with land folk. So that was that—I was already making plans to close Death’s Door and return to London when you two louts walked into my bar. Sometimes things just work out. What can I say?”

  Jova sat in silence, staring at the floor. “What if her father doesn’t let me marry Cornelia?” he said, looking up at us with tears in his eyes.

  “Well, you can scare him into next week,” I said. “That will do the trick, I am sure. Once you make a man relieve himself in his drawers, it kind of changes the balance of power.”

  Harvis nodded. “Shockingly, Sirius makes a good point,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said, raising my glass. “Hey, what do you mean shockingly?”

  Harvis ignored me. “Werewolves respect power and can smell weakness a mile away,” he said. “When you go to Lancashire to meet him, you cannot do it as Jova, but rather you must do it as the Bogeyman in all his fear-inducing fury.”

  “I agree,” said Oliver. “And I will give you a nice bottle of wine to take with you—a rare vintage he will know and appreciate. Wine is always a good way to loosen up a person’s hesitations.”

  “What are you going to do, Sirius?” Jova asked. “How are you going to approach her father?”

  “Approach him about what?” I replied.

  Jova looked taken aback. “She is with your child,” he said. “Are you not going to do the right thing and make her an honest woman?” Harvis and Oliver hung on his words. I could see from the look on Harvis’s face that he already knew how I was going to answer.

  “Gentlemen,” I said, “marriage was not very kind to me on the last go-around. To be perfectly clear with you, I do not have any intention of getting married, whether she is carrying my issue or not.” I ignored Jova’s flabbergasted expression. It was like he could not comprehend what I was saying whatsoever. Maybe if he had a little taste of Immortal Divorce Court, he would be singing a different tune. “And since we returned to England, she has been holed up in that side room,” I continued. “So it is not like I have had a chance to see what her plans are at this point, babies or no babies. She is not acting like the woman who slayed ensorcelled goblin warriors with me in Port Royal these many days ago.”

  The conversation came to an abrupt and awkward end, and Harvis banked the hearth for the evening. Then I heard the faintest rumble of hooves pounding the earth. “We’ve got company,” I announced, reaching for my sword and dropping a pair of knives into my belt. Garlic had heard it, too, and raced from her post and out the door, facing the dark forest. She bared her teeth and growled menacingly.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Jova said. But he was the only one that didn’t. Harvis moved with a speed belying his size and snatched up a massive mace as Molly readied her pistols and crossbow. Oliver wielded a large iron crowbar like it was a piece of kindling and smiled down at Garlic as he took his place next to her. “Is it the goblins?” Jova asked. His face grew pale as he finally heard the hoofbeats, which to me now sounded like so much rolling thunder.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said. “But from the sound of it, they are in a hurry, are well armed, and there are at least twenty of them.” Garlic barked in disagreement. “Right,” I said, “At least twenty-five.” I turned to Jova, who now had streams of sweat running down his face. “Go to the sisters—any help they can lend would be most appreciated.” Jova ducked back into the farmhouse—he would be Cornelia and the Howler’s last line of defense. I did not smell the stench of goblins, so against what enemy?

  Harvis began scenting the air, taking deep breaths as the riders came closer. “No, it cannot be him,” he said, looking to Molly, who frowned in disgust. “He never leaves his castle.”

  Molly looked up at her husband. “We are harboring members of his Pack,” she said. “What did you expect him to do? I am surprised it took him this long. Well, Angus always did like to make a big entrance.”

  Bursting from the forest, twenty-five werewolves appeared astride the biggest black Percherons I had ever seen. The leader rode at the forefront, his long platinum hair splaying out behind him like a great mane made of moonlight. A black sword bounced on his massive oak tree of a leg, and at this short distance, I realized that he was even bigger than Harvis. His companions were equally impressive-looking warriors, split evenly between bowmen, musketeers, and swordsmen. He slid down from his horse with an agility that defied his immense stature, and walked deliberately toward the farmhouse. Garlic’s lips peeled back, and a low growl resonated into the silent night.

  The werewolf smiled, revealing a full set of shiny white teeth as he assessed the snarling vampire Maltese, who wisely chose not to attack. “Harvis,” he said in a voice deep and cold as a winter night. “Is this little runt bitch from your and Molly’s latest issue?”

  “You are charming as ever, Angus Blackheart,” Harvis replied, clenching his jaw in anger. “Tread carefully now, as that little bitch has slain bigger prey than you.”

  Taken aback by Harvis’s boldness, Angus sniffed the air and looked at me with his steely blue eyes. “Vampire there,” he said, and took another look at Garlic. “Odd that I also smell another vampire there. Well, no matter, she had better mind her manners and stay up on the porch and not tangle with t
he big dogs. That goes for you, too, vampire assassin.”

  I said nothing but wondered why Angus was here. There was no way he could know the Howler was pregnant. Or was there? I scanned each warrior carefully, looking for some sign of weakness in their stances or lapse of concentration in their bearing. But I saw none. These men were trained professionals, each separate fighting group within the main one focusing on Oliver, Harvis, Molly, or me without using any spoken language whatsoever.

  “Why are you here, Angus?” Harvis said, hefting his mace. “Because if you’ve come looking for a fight, we’re ready to give you one.”

  Angus threw his head back and laughed deeply, although to me it sounded much more like a howl—like father, like daughter. “Bold words from a man outnumbered six to one,” he said. “As much fun as it would be to make a pin cushion out of your mangy hide, Harvis, I am not here to teach you a lesson. I am here to take my daughter home.”

  I moved ever so slightly, drawing the attention of the werewolves assigned to me. Helpful information if a fight was to break out, but what I really wanted to know was what daughter he was talking about. If he knew I had besmirched his little flower, I figured he would have no reservations about showing me his displeasure.

  From the doorway, a figure appeared, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw by its slightly crooked stature that it was Cornelia. Jova stood next to her, shaking ever so slightly as he tried and failed to quell his internal terror. She stepped forward into the moonlight, walking boldly up to her father without any hesitation. Jova had started walking with her, love giving him a small measure of courage that, unfortunately for him, ran out at the edge of the porch.