Page 46 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

“Mrs. Wagner—” Lucas tried to help, but Oma had already reached for the knob of the door.

My grandmother flipped the porch light on and swung the door wide until the knob bounced against the wall behind it but not hard enough to leave a mark or indention. Lucas and I chased after her. We didn’t want to go outside and face a group of men who were out for our blood, but we couldn’t let my grandmother do it on her own either. Oma walked across the porch and stood at the top of the steps, her arms crossing over her chest and coming to rest there. Lucas and I ran up behind her, Lucas taking her right side and me taking her left.

Three late 80s model single cab pickup trucks had pulled up in Oma’s yard, all in a row, side by side. All of the men had climbed out and lined up in front of the trucks in a wide arc, surrounding the front porch. I reached out to grab Oma’s arm but she gave me a look, and I pulled my hand away as though I had been slapped. Lucas glanced at me, fear in his eyes as Oma crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the men. There should have been seven men in the yard since I had wounded one of them when I climbed the fence to get out of the stadium. A quick count let me know that there was exactly eight men standing before us.

All of the men, now that I had time to look at them without the immediate danger of being hurt, looked strikingly similar. All of them had dark hair, though some of them had long hair, some short, some nearly buzzed to their scalp. Some were tall, some were average, but they all had a generic look to their faces—if it weren’t for the red eyes. The porch light shining on them made it harder to tell if their eyes were actively glowing. They all wore jeans and denim shirts with familiar tan coats thrown over them to ward off the early Spring chill in the air.

“Well,” Oma looked out at the men, “it’s a little late to be comin’ for a visit, boys. But if I’d known you was comin’, I’d have baked a cake.”

“Esther Jean.” The guy at the center of the arc of men stepped forward.

“Put one foot on my steps and you’ll be running with three paws come the full moon, Jason Morris,” Oma replied blandly.

The name sounded familiar.

Jason Morris chuckled but didn’t move any closer.

“Whatchu boys doin’ on my damn property?” Oma asked, her hands movin’ to her hips. “Pretty sure I told you if I saw you on my property I’d have to do somethin’ about it.”

“We don’t have any quarrel with you, Esther Jean.” Jason, the obvious leader, replied. “We’re here for Rob.”

“Well,” Oma said, “that’s unfortunate since he’s on my damn property, ain’t it?”

“Esther Jean—”

“You don’t show me the respect you was raised with, and I’ll take two of your damn paws, Jason Morris.” Oma snapped.

“Oma,” I grumbled.

Jason Morris seemed to flush, but he didn’t snap back at Oma or make a move towards the porch. All of his cohorts seemed to snicker, though they did their best to hide it.

“Mrs. Wagner.” He said finally. “We don’t want to cause trouble.”

“I don’t need no damn puppies thinking they can piss wherever they want.” Oma snapped. “You started your damn trouble when three y’all wandered up into my yard and tried to attack my grandson. He was just defending himself.”

“He’s been hurting weres,” Jason replied evenly.

“Only when they attack him.” Oma waggled her head. “Stop actin’ like y’all ain’t got no damn sense, and maybe you won’t get hurt.”

“Bullshit, Mrs. Wagner.” Jason spat, suddenly very angry, though he was smart enough not to move a single inch forward. “He hurt Andrew and he hurt Katie.”

Andrew said he only talked to other werewolves about shop. I suddenly realized that he had told more details than needed.

“Andrew got handsy with him and then tried to make him dinner.” Oma shrugged. “And I’m assuming Katie was the naked girl who wandered up into our yard the other morning. She tried to attack him, too. Along with two more of y’all. If y’all came that night to get revenge for Andrew’s boo-boo’s—I’ll be talking to his sorry ass about this, by the way—then you was misled. Andrew is perfectly fine. And, technically, Rob ain’t had nothin’ to do with Andrew gettin’ banged up. This one here ran into him with a truck.”

Oma hooked a thumb at Lucas.

Lucas was ashen as he swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Fine.” Jason snarled. “He’ll take the punishment for Andrew and Rob will take the punishment for Katie.”

The rest of the pack snarled along with Jason. Seeing eight grown men snarling like wolves in human form, along with the sound of it, made my stomach drop.

“One you bastards gets even the slightest bit furry,” Oma warned, “and we’re gonna have another damn barbecue right now.”

Oma raised a hand, and the snarling stopped. One of the guys actually yipped as though he had been kicked.

“We’re owed justice!” Jason snapped.