Page 45 of Jacob Michaels is Trouble

The front door of Oma’s house creaked only slightly as I pushed it open, cautious, attempting to be sly as I made my way into the house in the middle of the night. Darkness, like that in Lucas’ and Jason’s house, pervaded, but my eyes were adjusted to trying to see in the dark now. Cradled in the crook of my arm was the Tupperware I had taken from one of the cabinets in Jason’s kitchen, being careful so as to not drop it. Once I was inside, I gently shut the door behind myself, making sure that a mere click sound was made by the lock engaging. I knew that Oma would not hear the noises of the door opening and closing—I’d snuck in and out enough as a teenager and as an adult to know that. But I didn’t want to wake Ernst or any of the Kobolds, either. Especially Ernst, actually. He’d be inquisitive, and I couldn’t have that.

I didn’t bother kicking my shoes off, though my footsteps would have been lighter if I had. Sticking around Oma’s house was not in my plans, however, and kicking my shoes off just to put them back on in a few moments would only slow me down. Lucas needed me as quickly as possible, so I had to work fast. If I happened to wake Oma or the Kobolds up, that was something that I would just have to deal with when the time came. Until then, I was going to do things the only way that I knew how—like a bull in a china cabinet.

When I got to the bookcase, I knelt down, gently setting the Tupperware onto the ground beside me. The house was as quiet as a grave as I reached down and gently pried the false board away from the bottom of the case. My hands slid into the darkness of that cubbyhole, and my fingertips connected with the old leather of the book. I slid it out of its hiding place and set it onto the floor before me. I didn’t bother pricking my finger and trying to open the book the way that I’d always been taught.

The magic I’d done when I was sixteen fucked everything up.

It needed more than just a touch of my magic.

The book wasn’t going to do anything for anyone until it was satisfied with a significant bit of magic.

With more blood than I could give.

“Thirsty?” I whispered in a bland tone as I picked up the large, full Tupperware container and slowly peeled back the lid.

The viscous liquid inside—Jason’s blood—looked black in the dark of Oma’s house. I shut my eyes for a moment, saying a silent prayer—to who, I wasn’t sure—and tipped the container forward. Blood flowed over the edge and onto the book. Blood I had let seep into the Tupperware from Jason’s open neck. At first, all I could think about was how I was going to make Oma’s living room look like a murder scene—like Jason’s. But when the blood connected with the book, it seemed to disappear into the leather of the old book, as though it was being drunk into the book itself. I smiled to myself as I continued pouring the container onto the book until the very last drop dripped off of the plastic lip of the Tupperware.

Pressing the lid back onto the Tupperware, sealing it tightly, I set it to the side for the time being. The book was heavier than I ever remembered it being as I lifted it from the floor. It was almost as if it had a belly full of blood it was digesting, giving it more heft—though I wasn’t sure that was a bad analogy for what was actually going on. When I brought my fingers to the leather cover to open the book, it gave no resistance. Looking down at the book, I smiled at the sight of the dark shapes and words on the pages that I couldn’t quite read due to being in the dark, but could still see were now there.

The book was no longer hiding its secrets.

All it needed was more magic.

Rising from my knees to stand once more, I closed the book and bent down to grab the plastic storage container from the floor. Creeping again, I made my way to the kitchen and set the book on the counter. I methodically cleaned out the bloody container in Oma’s sink, once again being as quiet as possible, then shoved it into the dishwasher. Either it would be cleaned so thoroughly that no one would know what it had been used for, or by the time someone figured it out, I’d be long gone. Neither situation particularly bothered me in the slightest.

No Kobolds were in sight, and I hadn’t heard a single sound in the process of retrieving the book and washing out the Tupperware in the kitchen. So, when I started to tiptoe back through the living room towards the front door, I was startled out of my skin when the light came on suddenly. I jumped back, nearly dropping the book, when I saw Oma standing by the front door, her arms crossed under her breast, looking at me like I was crazy. Hiding the book or pretending that I hadn’t been creeping around didn’t even cross my mind. I simply adjusted my facial expression to a more normal one.

Not that it mattered.

“Where you been?” She asked.

Simple question.

“Where have you been?” I countered.

“In bed, of course.”

Looking her over, it was evident that Oma had not been in bed. She had on her button-down shirt and jeans, her makeup had not been washed off, her hair was still perfectly coifed. The only article of clothing that indicated she had been ready for bed was the hard-sole slippers on her feet.

“Okay.” I shrugged.

She just stared at me.

“Out of my way, old woman.” I gestured vaguely.

Oma’s eyes grew wide. “You gonna just come home and be bossy and sassy with me? What reason you got to do that?”

“Move.”

“You little—”

“Move, or I’ll move you,” I stated blandly. “I’ve got better things to attend to, lady.”

She scoffed. “Like you could. Where the hell you been?”

“Cutting the head off of a werewolf who had it coming,” I answered. “By the way, there’s crime scene evidence in the dishwasher. You might wanna let it run through a cycle before you use anything out of there. Not trying to be a jerk, but I’d put money on it that Jason had Hep-C or something. Ginga-vita-cockus at the least.”

I started towards the door again. Oma didn’t back down.