Page 61 of Jacob Michaels is Dead

Red eyes peered out of the hood and into the keyhole.

Then I was falling backward.

“Why do you always read this book?” I asked, pointing at the book open in Oma’s lap at my bedside.

I was snuggled down in the covers as snow fell outside of my bedroom window, blanketing the ground outside in knee-high fluff.

“I want you to remember this story, Robbie.” She replied and shifted in her chair, trying not to lose her place in the book.

“Why do you keep it under the bookcase?” I asked.

“Well—”

“And why don’t I ever get to read it myself?”

“Because—”

“Was that mom’s and dad’s book?”

“Why do you have so many questions?” Oma barked, though her eyes twinkled. “It’s just a damn book. It only opens a certain way and only lets certain people tell its story. Yes. It belonged to your mom and dad. And I want to read it to you as often as possible, so you remember the story. Okay?”

I shrugged, smiling.

“Good.” Oma nodded once. “Now, where were we?”

“You were telling me about the witch that The Oracle and The Guardian found who was going to defeat the bad guy,” I replied.

“Right,” Oma said. “Okay, so…”

“Are you Robbie, sugar?” I looked up from my plate of nachos at the Red Rooster Tavern.

It was only a little after three o’clock, and I was supposed to be meeting Lucas for a snack after school. As usual, football practice was causing him to run late, so I had started without him, happy to eat nachos, and wait until he was done. Mr. Kelly—the Kelly’s son who had taken over the tavern when his parents left, and word had was about to sell the tavern to someone else at his father’s behest—let the kids from the school come in for lunches and mid-afternoon snacks, but once six o’clock came, he shooed them all away. The cocktail hours had approached for the adults. When I looked up at the person who had asked me if I was Robbie, I saw a man I’d never seen before standing there. Catching sight of him immediately brought a smile to my face, though his appearance made me nervous.

Dark skinny jeans, fashionable, yet cheap, heels, a chunky burnt orange sweater that hung off one shoulder, a scarf in contrasting pink, and large Audrey Hepburn like glasses adorned his lithe frame. A purse big enough to hold A through F in the encyclopedia was slung over one forearm. He looked down at me, a broad smile that showed his immaculately bright, white teeth shined down at me.

‘My people.’ I had thought.

“That’s me.”

I had almost said it like it was a question.

“Oh, good.” He threw his head back as if completely exhausted and slid into the booth across from me.

Immediately, I looked around, wondering what people would think if they saw my teenage self with a man…like this. He was definitely waving the Pride Flag with every ounce of his being. My eyes grew wide as I realized that everyone else in the Red Rooster Tavern seemed frozen in place. Immediately, I glanced over at the man sitting across from me.

“Wha—”

“Just a little magic.” The man fluttered his fingers through the air with a cackle, then removed his sunglasses. “It won’t hurt them none, baby.”

I couldn’t help but smile, though I was alarmed to hear someone besides Oma talk about magic in front of me.

“Who…”

“Carlos, baby.” He held out his hand, palm down over the table towards me. “But I prefer ‘Carlita’ if you don’t mind. I ain’t got the wig on today, and the dress is at the dry cleaners, but that’s just how these things happen.”

I took her hand, giving it a gentle shake.

“Okay. Carlita.” I slowly nodded. “I am Robbie.”