Page 37 of Jacob Michaels is Not Here

“I don’t—”

“Shut up.” She cut me off. “Obviously, everything is gettin’ back to what passes for normal around here. Just let sleepin’ dogs lie, damnit.”

“No pun intended, I’m sure.”

“Look here, ya’ smartass,” Oma growled at me as she stomped towards the stove and I finally swallowed the mouthful of mostly masticated food. “Why are you gonna go stir the pot when the burner ain’t even on yet? You start the attackin’ first, and he’s gonna bring down any trouble on our heads he can conjure up. Is that what you want?”

“That’s a…messy metaphor.” I rolled my eyes. “Besides, all he has right now is that pack. If we can deal with them, that’ll take the pot off the fire completely. At least for a while. Don’t you want some peace and quiet for a while, Oma?”

“Sure, I do.” She shrugged as she filled the plate and stomped back over to slap it down onto the table in front of me. “But if you go rilin’ up the pack, we ain’t gonna have no damn peace.”

“So,” I was shoving my fork into my food immediately, “you’re suggesting we just sit around and let Jason and his pack expand and see what happens? That’s not very ‘Esther Jean Wagner’ of you.”

I scoffed as my mouth got stuffed full of more of Oma’s delicious cooking. As I ate, all I could think of was how food hadn’t tasted as good since I was a child. Having my memories back reminded me how much I had missed having homestyle cooking. How all the fancy foods in the world, all the expensive plates of…whatever…all over the world never compares to food made with love and attention by a grandma. Even something as simple and humble as eggs, bacon, and hash browns beat nearly anything else in the world if it was made by your grandmother.

“How do you know that doing that won’t help him be released, Robbie?” Oma asked gently, sipping her coffee as I stuffed my face. “How do you know that sliding back into your old self so effortlessly isn’t exactly what he needs you to do? Maybe that’s why he threatened you? How do you know if he even has the power to summon the pack right now, anyway? If he’s trapped, how’s he gonna sic the dogs on ya’? Did that ever cross your mind, ya’ idiot?”

Looking up at my grandmother, my cheeks like a chipmunk’s, I had to admit that those thoughts had never occurred to me. Luckily, since I couldn’t have with the mouth full of food, my eyes did my talking for me.

“That’s what I thought.” She frowned. “You wanna load up for bear and go on the hunt, and you ain’t even thought it through completely. You just want to go off half-cocked.”

I swallowed the lump of food painfully. “Says the lady who shot at paparazzi—not to mention the Irish—with her shotgun?”

“One of them was your idea.”

I shrugged and went back to my food.

“Worked out, though, didn’t it?” I quipped.

Oma was waggling her head again as she brought the coffee mug to her lips. Luckily, she stopped her head movements before trying to take a sip of the scalding hot beverage.

Sitting there, I finished my second plate of food at a slower, but still record pace, contemplating Oma’s viewpoint on everything. My mind was reeling somewhat from the events that had unfolded in the previous (not quite) two days. Something inside of me, a nagging thought, was telling me that I should be stark-raving mad, cackling, flailing, completely broken, by what had happened. Memories that had been stolen from me, events that had been warped in my mind, magics that had been used—just so I could survive—were suddenly un-warped and returned. Within the time it took to snap one’s fingers, everything had been unraveled. My life had been returned to what it had been before I had jumped into the well in Oma’s cellar a decade prior. Should I be falling back into line with my previous life so easily?

When I had been a young boy, my life had been pretty simple. Eat, sleep, go to school, take a bath, play with Ernst, watch T.V. Then repeat everything the next day to some degree or variation. I hadn’t had my mom and dad around since I was very young, but I had had Oma. I always felt loved, cared for, and protected. It was an odd way to grow up, or so I thought at the time, not having a mom and dad, but it was good. As I got older, I realized that a lot of people had different looking families, so I settled into my belief that my life with Oma was no stranger than anyone else’s home life.

Instinctively, I knew not to mention the Kobolds to anyone who did not live in our home, though I would later break that rule with Lucas. I knew that anything unusual—erm, magical—that happened at Oma’s had to be kept a secret. Though I knew this without being told, Oma told me once to keep certain things to myself, and I only had to be told once.

When my teenage years came, and I found that Oma and the Kobolds were not the only magical beings in the house, things got more complicated. At first, the magic was slow to reveal itself. I’d think of wanting a glass of water when I’d awake in the middle of the night…and a glass of water would be on my bedside table. I’d wish that my room wasn’t so dark as I tried to drift off to sleep and suddenly it would seem as though there was a nightlight somewhere in the room when I knew there was none. I’d wish for the hours to go by quicker in school…and before I knew it, the last bell was ringing. Strange, inexplicable things began happening to me, and before long, Oma had to give me “The Talk.”

Not the normal talk teenagers get from their guardians—a much different one. I had known that the strange happenings in Oma’s house, the Kobolds, the displays of magic—all of it was unusual. But I had accepted it. When Oma had pointed out that magic was something passed down to me, it wasn’t hard to accept initially. At first, it was just a fun thing that I could do. Hold out my hand, and the salt shaker would slide across the table towards me. Think really hard about the lights shutting off and they would. Simple, harmless, amazing things. But, then again, Oma had only given me half of “The Talk.” She hadn’t explained that a man in a long, black cloak with a hood would enter our lives. Oma hadn’t said that it was something I should expect. Especially with my parents gone.

That’s when everything went to shit.

Unfortunately, it was after I had drug Lucas into it.

“You know,” I sighed and sipped my coffee as I stared across the table at my grandmother, “if I understood things as I understand them now, this would be a non-issue, Oma. One, I never would have given Lucas a second glance. I certainly wouldn’t have allowed him into this…mess. And I would have just faced…him.”

Oma stared impassively at me.

“But even magic can’t fix that.” I shook my head. “Oh, that it could. Or…maybe if I had been better prepared. Shoulda, coulda, woulda, right?”

Oma smiled sadly at me.

“We’re here, this is the problem, and we have to fix it.” I shrugged. “And I think going after Jason is the best course of action.”

“You sure you’re not doin’ this for other reasons than ensurin’ our safety for a little bit longer?” Oma asked gently.

“What do you mean?”