Page 45 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

“I only got one of them, Oma.” I snapped. “We ran.”

She jabbed a finger at me.

“That sounds more accurate.” She nodded.

“Yeah, well,” I stammered, “I don’t really have a response for that right now. But they knew my name, Oma—not Jacob Michaels. They knew my real name. I’d never seen any of them before in my life. I didn’t know any of those guys. Never seen them before in my life.”

“What they look like?”

“I mean,” I glanced at Lucas, he shrugged, “just normal guys, I guess. All of them had eyes like the wolves the other night and then that dead woman the other morning. Red. Glowing. Kind of. One of them said we had a score to settle. I assume it’s because of what I did to their pack member the other night.”

“I hope you never get called as an eye witness for nothin’.” Oma shook her head in disgust. “Didn’t notice hair color, heights, sizes…nothin’?”

“Well, no.” I sighed.

Lucas was no help. He just looked at me and shrugged nervously as Oma examined us both.

“Eight of ‘em?” Oma set her mug on the coffee table and rubbed her chin. “All fellas?”

I thought about that.

“Yes.” I nodded. “I’m pretty sure they were all male.”

Oma waggled her head.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but the sound of distant rumbling engines sounded outside, far away at first but growing closer. Oma sighed to herself as headlights flashed through the front room windows. She looked up at me and then stood from the couch.

“Stands to reason they’d know more than your name, I guess.” She motioned for Lucas and me to step aside. “I guess we’ll have to talk to ‘em. See what the hell they want.”

“What?” I gasped, refusing to move. “You’re not going out there, Oma. And we know what the hell they want!”

Somehow Oma pushed between Lucas and me in order to get to the front door. Lucas reached down and snatched the shotgun off of the coffee table quickly as I tried to reason with Oma. The engines shut off outside and I could hear doors creaking open. The headlights died off, and the front room was left in the ambient glow of the lamps and fireplace.

“Ain’t no shells in it, Lucas.” She waved him off. “Won’t do you no good.”

“Where are the shells?” I asked desperately.

“Gave ‘em to Lena to hide ‘em, smartass.” She waggled her head. “One of your brilliant ideas—like burning up werewolves and going out to the football stadium at night.”

“You still can’t go out there.” I grabbed her arm. “Those men are not playing around, Oma.”

“Get your damn hand off me.” She snapped. “I can still whip your ass if I have to, Robbie.”

My hand slowly slid from her arm as I frowned down at her.

“I’ll go out here and talk to these fellas and send them on their way.” She gestured vaguely. “I’ll clean up your damn mess.”

“How is this my mess?”

“Ya’ killed one of theirs didn’t ya’?”

“Maybe?”

“You was so certain the other day.” She waggled her head. “I’ll get rid of ‘em.”

“Oma.” I pleaded. “Seriously. Let’s call Sheriff Dennard.”

She scoffed. “Yeah. Get his tubbly ass out of bed and get him over here in under an hour. You go on and do that while I talk to these assholes out on my damn lawn. Probably left tire tracks.”