Page 18 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

“I won’t, Lena,” I said. “I promise.”

She harrumphed, which was extremely adorable. Ernst looked up at me and winked, sharing an aside about Lena’s prickly nature. I winked back and smiled.

“Lena,” I asked, “did you see where that woman came from this morning before I told you to hide?”

“Nosir.” She stated sharply.

“You don’t know which direction she walked into the yard from?” I asked again. “You didn’t see her wander out of the woods or from around the house or anything?”

“Nosir.” She reiterated haughtily. “I ran ousside when I heard the missus scream bloody mur’er and that woman was stumblin’ up towards the house all nekkid-like.”

“Oh.”

“I think she was already stumblin’ around the yard when I walked down the steps, Robbie.” Oma shrugged. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly payin’ attention when I stepped out of the house. I think when I got to the bottom of the steps, I looked up and here she comes, all naked and burnt up.”

Sighing, I patted Ernst on the shoulder again and stood. He didn’t jump at me rising to my feet, but Lena stepped closer to Oma, as though she needed a shield from my laser fingers.

“Last night, I was attacked by three werewolves in the backyard,” I said, just to hear myself say it aloud. “And I blasted them with a fireball I conjured up out of my freaking hand. I burnt one of them pretty good. Then this person wanders up in the yard covered in burns.”

Oma looked at me, her eyebrows raised.

“Don’t think the Paxil would have helped in this situation.”

Oma rolled her eyes.

“Let’s face it.” I shrugged. “I killed a woman.”

Blasé is my middle name.

“We don’t know that,” Oma grunted.

“We don’t not know that.”

“She probably had her meth lab blow up.”

“On the same morning I roasted wolf people?”

“Werewolves.”

“Semantics. The coincidence is unsettling, Oma.”

“Oh, just settle down.” Oma raised and lowered her hands, urging me to sit.

I didn’t obey. Crossing my arms over my chest, I looked down at her stubbornly, waiting for whatever it was she had to say.

“Look,” Oma sighed, “maybe you tossed around a little fire to save yours and Ernst’s asses. That’s fair play in any book—even the law book. But we don’t know who that naked lady is, let alone if she is a werewolf. And if it was her, well, she got what was comin’ to her, didn’t she? You attack someone on their property in the dead of night, planning to do them harm, they have a right to defend themselves.”

“I suppose there’s logic there, Oma.” I nodded. “But that doesn’t make me feel any better about being a murderer right now.”

“We don’t know that.” Oma reiterated loudly with a waggle of her head. “And even if we did, it still don’t make you a murderer. It makes you a person who was defending hisself. Period.”

“Where would I find Andrew today?”

“Why?” She snapped.

“If you wanna know something about wolves…”

“Don’t you dare.”