What the Hell

by Hunter Blain

  “Dude, I might need to get up and pee. You won’t,” Depweg pointed out.

  “Hey, that’s a hurtful stereotype. I can, um, pee.”

  “Yeah, but it seems to be by choice rather than necessity.”

  “Lilith, fine!” I relented, sliding into the booth. I reached for the trench flaps to pull them out of the way before sitting down, until I realized they weren’t there. Looking down like I had forgotten something important, I remembered I had on a hoodie because that asshole Ulric still had my coat.

  I slid in until I was tightly pressed against the wall as Depweg sat next to me. I took note that his legs were positioned outside the booth. Looking under the table, I saw why. Ludvig’s long, dense, tree trunk legs almost touched the other side. Jeez, Waffle House did not account for larger folks, which was odd to me ’cause we were in America, where obesity ran rampant.

  “Heh, ran,” I said aloud, causing Depweg and Ludvig to glance at me. “Nothing,” I quickly added.

  “Hey, ya’ll. What’ll ya’ll have?” a rotund waitress with a loose Band-Aid on her thumb inquired as she brought up a paper pad.

  “That’s an awful lot of contractions,” I mused, almost impressed by the fact that even in the year — what was it, 2032 or something — that Waffle House still used paper pads to take orders.

  Ludvig spoke without even looking at the menu. “I’ll have twelve eggs, scrambled, three waffles, twelve strips of bacon, six sausage patties, and half a loaf of wheat toast.”

  The woman stared at him in disbelief before Lude added, “Oh, and a glass of milk.”

  Depweg spoke up next, shifting in his seat as if he had been challenged. “I’ll have ten steak-and-egg breakfasts, also scrambled. Medium rare for the meat, please.”

  “Honey, that’s, like, five pounds of beef.”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to watch my figure,” Depweg said as he rubbed his flat stomach.

  She stared at him a moment longer before a look of whatever crossed her face and she wrote down the order.

  I was next.

  “You gonna order thirty ham-and-egg sandwiches, big boy?” she jested facetiously.

  I held up my tumbler and said, “I’m on a liquid diet,” and stifled a laugh. Only I seemed to get the epic joke.

  “What about you, sweetheart?” she asked, turning to the smallest of us.

  Magni pressed pause and looked up at the waitress. “The All-Star breakfast. Eggs scrambled. Wheat toast. Bacon extra crispy, please, ma’am.”

  “Sure thing, sweety. You gotta grow up to be big and strong like these animals,” she said before turning and walking away. Ludvig and Depweg seemed to swell at the compliment.

  “Oh, and a glass of chocolate milk!” Magni called over his shoulder as he resumed playing.

  “You got it, hun.”

  “How are you guys going to pay for all this?” I asked, squinting my eyes.

  Ludvig and Depweg glanced at one another awkwardly before slowly looking my way.

  “I’m just screwing with you guys. Of course, Magni’s got it.”

  “Ha,” Magni said coldly, completely disregarding my comment.

  We sat in silence for a minute, with only the sound of the cook asking the waitress to verify like, four times, and the sounds coming from Magni’s console breaking the quiet.

  “Are you guys ready?” I asked, not knowing what else to say.

  “Of course we are,” Ludvig said confidently, almost annoyed I had even asked.

  “Yeah, man. We’re good,” Depweg added.

  My leg had started bouncing uncontrollably again and was hitting the bottom of the table.

  “Are you good?”

  “Me? Pfft. Yeah, man. I’m like, ultragood. Ya know? I-I-I’m not good, no. No, I’m not. I am worried sick,” I admitted, my leg ceasing to bounce as if my lying had somehow powered my rogue appendage. “I’m not going to be there with you guys, and it scares the shit outta me. I mean, it’s freaking Ulric, and he’s the Grand Master Warlock now. That’s so crazy that you don’t even see that kinda shit on Netflix.”

  “Hu-flix,” Magni corrected without taking his eyes off the screen.

  “Yeah, Hu-flix. Whatever. Point is, this is nuts, man. Like giant, elephant-sized nuts.”

  “I don’t understand de reference.”

  I threw my free hand up while taking a soothing pull from my drink.

  “John, this isn’t our first mission without you. You were gone for a while, and the twins and I were successful in your absence.”

  My eyes flicked to Ludvig for an instant before settling back on my friend. Shit, I wish I hadn’t done that.

  “You are right to point out Ludvig. He took us down. But now he’s on our side, right?”

  “Right,” Ludvig concurred while dropping a lunch box–sized fist on the table. The silverware jumped and the saltshaker fell over.

  “Great. Bad luck,” I lamented as I righted the shaker and wiped the salt off the table.

  “Didn’t think you believed in luck, brother.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I make my own luck. It’s just, I don’t want anything to go wrong tonight.”

  “Then you should have thrown a pinch over your shoulder. But nothing will go wrong. We are experts, are we not? So, calm down and drink your blood.”

  The waitress froze as she was setting down a water and two milks.

  “He’s-he’s just joking,” I added with an award-winning smile.

  “Your teef are red.” Ludvig pointed at my face.

  “Teef?” I asked, keeping my dumb grin. “Shit! Teeth!”

  “Dat’s what I said.”

  I quickly closed my mouth before looking back at the waitress. She shifted from shock to annoyed in the blink of an eye as she placed the backs of her hands on her hips.

  “It’s blood,” I admitted.

  “Honey, this is a Waffle House, m’kay? You think you’re the first vampire wannabe I’ve ever seen in here? No, baby, I’ve seen it all.” She rolled her eyes before turning to saunter away.

  Magni pressed pause and reached for his milk before making a face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I wanted chocolate,” he said meekly as he lifted the cheap plastic glass containing the white liquid.

  “So, say something,” I suggested, not understanding what the problem was.

  “No, it’s fine,” he answered, going back to his game.

  “You know what wasn’t fine?” I whispered to the group. “Her Band-Aid wasn’t there anymore.”

  Three screwed-up faces stared back at me as the first of their food was brought over. I noticed each of them taking sidelong glances at the place the brown bandage had been.

  I took a sip from my tumbler while making an obnoxious smacking sound and breathing out a delighted, “Ahhhhh.”

  Depweg and Ludvig looked at one another before they shrugged in unison and began taking hulking bites. They looked like lions tearing at a zebra. How they swallowed that much food in one mouthful was beyond my comprehension.

  Magni, on the other hand, was closely inspecting his food for any rogue bandages.

  The Band-Aid–less waitress took away just as many plates as she brought over, shaking her head in disbelief. Hell, even I had trouble processing how much the two giant men could eat. Then again, I had personally seen Depweg down hundreds of pounds of flesh in the past; granted, it had been in his wolf suit.

  As the last of the food was consumed by the pair, Magni finished his plate as well, leaving the milk untouched. Ludvig glanced at him at one point and wordlessly asked if he could have it. Magni barely lifted his shoulders, and the Swede downed the glass in two gulps before his apprentice’s shoulders had even returned to neutral.

  Once I paid the shockingly reasonable ticket, I left a respectable tip and headed outside to where the boys stood by the door, holding their distended stomachs.

  “By the way, the Band-Aid was in Depweg’s food.”

  “BLLLLAARRRRGGGGG,” was his respon
se as a torrent of steak and eggs rocketed out from his mouth and nose. He bent over, holding his stomach, and spewed another couple pints of undigested food into the parking lot.

  There, in the middle of the vomit, was a Band-Aid. It still had dried blood staining the once white pad.

  Seeing the bandage in the middle of the parking lot amongst the eggs made Ludvig cover his mouth as white liquid ejected from between his fingers. Bits of egg came with, some of which dangled from his hand as he tried his best not to throw u— He threw up again.

  There was enough meat and eggs to comfortably feed a family for at least a week. You know what I mean? Like, there would be enough leftovers to give to the dog, who would be begging by being as still as possible while staring at the food.

  I noticed Magni had gone several feet away, doing his best to not look at the comical amount of food on the parking lot.

  Unable to help myself, I walked over to him and inhaled deeply.

  “Oh man, you smell th—” was all I could get out before Magni hurled onto his Nintendo.

  “Ahhh,” I exhaled. “Three for three.” I took a sip of my tumbler before whistling Dixie and walking to the Hummer. “You guys coming?”

  The three of them looked at me with scowls so fierce, I think I understood what Caesar felt before the first knife was lovingly slipped into his back. At least they had named a salad after him.

  Magni was wiping his screen off with a look of dismay while Depweg and Ludvig were intermittently spitting, trying to get the last of the taste out.

  Ludvig placed a finger over one nostril and blew, sending out a glob of— You know what? Maybe I should just leave it to your imagination.

  The trio began slowly making their way over to the Hummer, and I dared a look inside to see the waitress staring out with disgusted eyes and a hand over her gaping mouth. I think I saw tears, and all of a sudden understood who would have to clean up the mess.

  “Glad I tipped her well,” I said, climbing into the front seat. “Shotgun!”

  Ludvig didn’t protest as he slid in behind me.

  I sniffed loudly and said, “Gawd! You guys staaaaaank!” before pinching my nose and pushing the button to lower the window.

  We pulled out, heading for home.

  “I’m hungry again,” Ludvig said with complete seriousness.

  “You don’t say?” I responded in feigned shock. “Wonder why that is?”

  I heard the unmistakable click of a gun’s hammer being cocked while the Swede muttered, “Maybe Ragnarök wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “Maaaaaybe a burger or ten?” I quickly suggested, not knowing how serious he was about pulling the trigger.

  “Not a bad idea,” Depweg added. I heard Ludvig holster his weapon again, and briefly wondered where he kept it.

  “Might wanna tell them to hold the Band-Aids,” I helpfully suggested.

  “That’s it,” Depweg barked out. “Go ahead and shoot him.”

  The cabin was silent for a moment before Depweg and I started chuckling. Ludvig let a single burst of air out, signifying his commitment to the joke, while Magni continued to play his little game.

  We made a stop at a nearby Whataburger, the Hummer barely fitting into the drive-thru lane.

  “You want how many burgers?” the voice cracked over the speaker box.

  “Thirty. And make them all doubles.”

  “All the toppings?” the voice asked, accepting the scenario. Then again, being a popular fast-food place in the early morning hours yielded all sorts of funny stories, I was sure.

  Depweg looked at Ludvig, who nodded.

  “Yes, all the fixings, please.”

  “Do you want fries?”

  Depweg glanced in the rearview mirror. I was almost fully turned around in my seat, sipping my drink as I looked at The Three Stooges.

  Magni looked up at me, and I offered my drink to him with an, “Eh?” sound. He declined.

  Ludvig shook his head.

  “No fries.”

  “I wanted fries,” Magni whispered to himself.

  “You need to learn to speak up, bro,” I said to the twenty-year-old. At least, I think he was twenty.

  “Make that one large fry, please,” Depweg added.

  “Thanks,” Magni said softly.

  “No problem.”

  The voice told us the price and we pulled around.

  Depweg looked at me then, and I said, “Oh, right. Hold this,” I instructed Ludvig as I handed him my almost empty tumbler of blood and crawled awkwardly over Depweg, who, to his credit, didn’t protest. He only lifted his hands up to give me as much room as possible. I pretended to fumble and take my time, increasing the hilarity that only I seemed to enjoy. Magni began tittering from the back seat, making me smile that at least someone besides me was getting a good laugh from how funny I was.

  With me sitting in his lap, I touched my phone to the payment processor, pretending to mess up over and over again, until I accidently hit the box and heard a ding, with an accompanying green light. A noise of pouring liquid from behind ceased as a text message popped up on my phone with the automated receipt.

  “Heh, don’t know if I like that or not. What’s wrong with paper?” I asked, looking down at my screen as I wondered how they had even gotten my number.

  “Nothing. Now, can you get off me, please?” Depweg asked as he pushed at me to move off his lap.

  “Oh, alright. You stink, anyway,” I said as I slid back to my side, grabbing the tumbler from Ludvig as I did.

  I brought the tumbler to my lips and took a long pull, pausing after a full two seconds of letting liquid slip down my throat. It . . . it was warm, and tasted . . . off.

  Slowly turning around with a screwed-up expression, I looked at a smiling Ludvig. In the bottom of my vision, I noticed movement and looked down to see him zipping his fly.

  “On da hou—” was all he could get out before I responded with my own, “BLAAAAARRRG.”

  Blood and piss rocketed from my mouth to coat the Swede.

  “Goddammit! Not in the cabin,” Depweg moaned as he pulled up to the second drive-thru window.

  Ludvig’s eyes were closed, and he was intermittently spitting once again, his lips puckered in disgust. His hands went up to wipe at his eyes before opening them to stare at me in utter disbelief.

  “Thank you,” Depweg said as he set the last of the bags in his lap and on the giant center console. “Oh, could we get some napkins?”

  Chapter 19

  After the Swede used an entire rain forest’s worth of napkins, Ludvig and Depweg raced to eat the burgers, as if to see who could get the most down. Magni was able to snag one with his fries without losing any fingers. My tumbler rested in the cupholder next to me as I stared out the window with my cheek resting on my fist. I was chewing an old piece of gum that Depweg had found in his center console. It was stale, but it filled my mouth with aged spearmint instead of the oh-so-yummy taste of Swedish piss. Damn that vengeful Ludvig.

  It had begun to rain, and water droplets were racing down and to the right of my side window as I watched them. It was almost like playing a game of Snake on your Nokia cell phone (ask your parents, kids). Sometimes the water snakes would crash into one another, while other times they’d dart off on seemingly random paths, not daring to touch another of their ilk. I swear, a few even seemed to arc upward against gravity as we drove.

  A blinding flash of lightning was accompanied by a nearby roll of thunder that seemed to stretch for fifteen or twenty seconds.

  “Ominous much?” I asked the universe.

  We arrived at the cemetery gates, and I couldn’t help but feel there was some sort of morbid symbolism in doing so.

  Ludvig got out first, eager to stand in the rain and get the remainder of my drink off him. Magni slid the handheld console under his shirt and immediately started running toward the lair in an effort to not get his Nintendo wet.

  “He should really just walk if he wants to keep that thing dry.” I
pointed to the young man as he disappeared into the gates and the accompanying darkness of the night. There was no moon visible under the thick, black clouds.

  “How’s that?” Depweg asked in a conversational tone rather than a question. He probably knew I just needed to be connected to him in some way, even with something as simple as random conversation.

  “If he were to walk, the rain would only hit him from above, thusly taking a while before his shirt soaked through enough to reach his handheld thingy. But when he runs, he actually hits raindrops at a vertical angle—”

  “You mean horizontal?”

  “Yeah, thanks. Wait, do I? I guess both works if you think about it. Anyway, running means he hits the raindrops that were falling in front of him and on top, rather than just from above.”

  “Good to know,” Depweg said as we both stared out through the windshield at our home, which seemed to melt from the copious water washing down the glass.

  Another crack of thunder rolled, reminding me of Depweg’s growl when we were in Mexico.

  “Hey,” I started with genuine interest, “have you tried, you know, shifting again? Since Mexico, I mean.”

  “No,” he stated flatly, followed by a deep exhale.

  “W-why not?” I already knew the answer but couldn’t help my mouth from forming the question.

  “Because I’m terrified of what I might turn into.”

  “If, ah, if I’m not, like, overstepping or anything, I think having that, um, thing under control would be kinda super awesome. Know what I mean, Vern?”

  Depweg answered by sharply inhaling while letting his hands slide off the steering wheel to smack onto his lap.

  “Yeah, I know,” he responded, as if admitting the truth aloud was agonizingly difficult.

  “Seriously, man. You almost fucking killed me with one swipe of your hand. ’Cause that’s what it was: a hand. It was the freaking size of a cinder block with, like, raptor claws on the end or somethin’.”

  “I got you good, huh?” Depweg chuckled darkly, forcing humor into the tough conversation.

  Ludvig, who had apparently been waiting on us while simultaneously cleaning himself off, saw we weren’t getting out anytime soon and began making his way toward the lair. His giant feet sloshed little tsunamis with every step.