Page 23 of Jacob Michaels is Trouble

I stared back at her, thoughts of witches on my mind.

Pushing away my questions—for the moment—I squinted at Jason.

“What do you mean you were supposed to make him part of your pack, Jason?” I demanded. “Who told you that was something you were supposed to do?”

Jason’s head fell back in defeat and he stared up at the ceiling, as though saying a silent prayer.

“When I told the…guy…that I didn’t want his offer of power, he got mad, okay?” Jason explained, almost pleading for understanding. “I guess not many people turn him down and when they do, I guess it pisses him off.”

“Yeah.” I nodded slowly. “He’s been pissed at my family for a while now.”

Oma agreed with a firm nod.

“Yeah.” Jason shrugged. “He told me that he was going to destroy my pack, make me watch…then he was going to kill me. I mean, this was a…a…dream, right? But I knew he meant it. I knew that the next time I would see him it was because he had come to kill me and my guys, right?”

“He doesn’t make idle threats, no,” I replied.

“Before I could tell him I was sorry and that we would accept the power—or ask what could be done to appease him—he offered a solution, Rob. He told me if I did him a favor, he would leave us alone forever.”

“What favor?” I asked, leaning in.

“He gave me a name.” Jason nearly shivered.

“Lucas Barkley?” I seethed.

Jason nodded.

Glancing over at Oma was all I could do to keep myself from instinctively punching Jason is his, well, punchable face. Oma looked as though she had picked up on the fact that I was feeling murderous, her eyes warning me to keep myself under control. When it came to magic, Jason didn’t stand a chance against me, most likely. In a fistfight, he’d probably kick my ass. So, it wasn’t fair to punch him in the face and then defend myself with magic. Even if he had been begging to be punched in the face for over a decade.

“Get out,” Oma answered the two of us when my eyes stayed on hers. “And don’t come back ya’ miserable little shit.”

“What?” Jason squeaked.

“Get the hell out of my house, assface.” Oma turned her head to growl at him.

In the corner of my vision, Jason made a movement as though he might protest being told to leave Oma’s house. Another sharp look from her made him rethink his decision, and he was quickly removing himself from his chair. Oma’s eyes followed him as he got up, pushed his chair back in cautiously, and moved toward the backdoor. My eyes stayed on Oma, keeping tabs on her as well as following Jason’s movements by following her eye movements. Then I heard the backdoor squeak slightly, and a fresh Spring breeze met the back of my neck.

“We’ll talk soon, Rob.” Jason had the nerve to speak. “You still owe me.”

“We’ll see about that,” I answered simply, my eyes still on Oma.

Jason’s footsteps sounded, the door closed, and Oma and I were left staring at each other once more. Thoughts swirled through my head, and I couldn’t separate one emotion from the next, so I simply sat there, staring at Oma with her staring back for a moment before I lifted my coffee mug to my lips. My hand shook slightly, and I had to pause for a moment to collect myself before I took a drink so as to not spill the steaming liquid down my front.

Oma sighed to herself and brought her own mug to her lips.

Once upon a time, I had been a sixteen-year-old kid with two very different and tough choices. Neither of which had been acceptable to me. So, I had made a new choice for myself. A choice that no one in my family before me knew was even an option. And my memories had been stolen from me. Sure, that had kind of been the deal when I had made the choice I had made, but with those memories back, I had even more questions than I had before I had jumped into the well in the cellar the first time.

“Oma.” I managed to speak without my voice cracking. “I had a dream last night while I was at Lucas’.”

“Yeah? So?”

Thinking of what I had seen in my dream, I felt my ability to speak being siphoned from me like water from a well. The scene of the darkened child’s bedroom, being inside of a body I was unfamiliar with, feeling the ice-cold floorboards beneath my feet, the throne of bones, the hooded figure, the red eyes…it was all too much for me to verbalize. The fact that something inside of me told me that it wasn’t so much a dream as a memory made it even more challenging to consider speaking of it. Worst of all—it wasn’t one of my memories. It was someone else’s.

“I—I need the book to not be blank,” I said. “I need to see what is inside of it again.”

Oma pushed her chair back and stood up gruffly, her coffee mug held in her fist like a shield.

“Well, good luck with that.” She snorted as she made her way to the counter. “That thing’s been as stubborn as you for the last ten years.”