Page 20 of Jacob Michaels is Trouble

“You’re a goddamn idiot is what you are.”

I shrugged.

“You’re the band on the Titanic, Robbie.” Oma admonished me. “The boat is sinkin,’ and you reach for your violin. No, actually, you’re shooting holes in the deck is what you’re doin’.”

“Nice analogy.”

“And now you act like you don’t even care that you’re helping things along.” Her eyes were wide with disbelief. “What the hell has gotten into you, Robbie? You’re reckless and careless at times, but this is just downright batshit crazy.”

“He had a right to his memories, Oma.”

“It. Don’t. Matter.” She snarled.

“We’re going to have to agree to disagree on this one, lady.”

Oma shook her head, her eyes piercing into me as she considered everything that we’d said to each other. The things I had done the night before—actually, all of the things I’d done since I was a teenager. She was not happy with me. I wasn’t entirely happy with myself either, but that was beside the point. When I was old enough to find out about magic, my family history, what was expected of me, I had been cornered. All I was doing was my best—both to survive and also not go down without a fight.

“So…now what?” Oma asked sharply. “What’s the big plan, Robbie? We’re just gonna wait around until you know who shows up with some strange pack of shifters we don’t even know about? This one over here ain’t even a threat, and we’re havin’ to deal with his bullshit right now. This is one big clusterfuck.”

“It’s not my fault,” I said. “No matter how you slice it, Oma. I’m making things up as I go, sure…but what else can I do?”

Oma sighed and looked down, her whole body seeming to deflate before me as she considered that statement.

“Robbie, no matter what you do…son…he’s gonna come. And you can’t stop it. You won’t be able to stop him. It’s just a matter of when.”

“Then why does it fucking matter that Lucas and I were in the Maumee last night?” I snorted.

Oma shook her head.

“Wait. Are you two talking about the man in the black hood?” Jason grunted.

Oma’s head shot up and her eyes locked on mine. Together, we slowly turned to look at Jason. He had stopped trying to push the table out of his chest to free himself, having realized that Oma’s magic had effectively and permanently trapped him against the kitchen cabinets.

“What the hell do you know about the man in the black hood, assface?” Oma asked him.

“He came to me.” Jason swallowed hard, fear filling his eyes. “Once.”

Oma shot a look at me, which I returned.

“He offered me—the pack—power,” Jason said. “I said, ‘no.’ He…he scared me.”

Oma and I didn’t laugh at Jason.

His fear was well-founded.

“He scares everyone,” I said gently.

“He said his name was Bl—”

“Don’t say that name!” Oma hissed quickly. “Never say that name.”

Again, Oma and I were exchanging glances.

“I didn’t believe him,” Jason said. “I mean, I’d heard stories about…that…but I didn’t know it was more than just a scary bedtime story. Something parents tell their kids to make them stay in bed at night. Are you two not shitting me right now? He—he’s coming?”

For several moments, Oma and I continued to stare at each other, wondering what options we had, trying to speak nonverbally. Finally, I sighed, and Oma flicked her hand, the table sliding slowly away from Jason. Gently, so as to not startle one of us into doing something else to harm him, Jason rose from his chair and stood before us.

“Let’s have a talk, assface,” I said.