Page 41 of Jacob Michaels is Dead

Lucas was looking at me desperately, his eyes welling with tears.

“Well, I don’t really care about Andrew, but—”

“Ya’ should.” Oma snorted. “He’s been tryin’ to help me make you leave this town again to make it safer. S’why he was a douchebag to ya’. Why he attacked you. He could control his damn wolf—don’t be ridiculous. He did that because I asked it of him.”

“Then why’d he ask me out on a second date?” I growled.

“Because he probably figured you’d put out?” Oma threw her hands up. “That’s none my damn concern! And, right now, it shouldn’t be yours, either. Are we goin’ down in this damn cellar so I can give you two idiots back your memories, or are we gonna stand up here in the world’s most boring circle jerk until he shows up to kill us all?”

Lucas was holding my one hand with both of his, tears silently trailing down his cheeks as he thought of his grandfather, Jackson Barkley, possibly being dead. I gave him the most understanding, warmest look I could muster, and he just nodded at me. I turned to face Oma once more.

“Lead the way you insensitive old hag.”

“Fine.” She snapped, turned on her heels, and stomped towards the kitchen.

Turning to Lucas, he just shook his head, letting me know that it was not the right time to try to comfort him. Nothing I could say would have made him feel better about what Oma had just said anyway. Instead of saying anything, or trying to hug or kiss him, I stepped towards the kitchen, dragging Lucas behind me. As we made our way into the kitchen, Lucas shuffling his feet, Oma was swinging the cellar door wide and heading down the steps. I stopped for a moment as I looked at the dark opening that led down below and swallowed hard. The best I could hope was that we got into the cellar, and Oma removed…the veil…she had placed on Lucas and me. Then I could fight Bloody Bones.

What the actual fuck?

That was the best hope I could imagine? Some crazy scheme that seemed like a fever dream?

As Lucas and I descended the stairs cautiously, ours heads whipping around, trying to watch our backs, fronts, and sides at all times, I knew that the best-case scenario in this situation was still a shitstorm. No matter how the pie was sliced, it was still going to be bad. Oma was standing in the middle of the cellar, where the well had once stood, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting on us when we stepped down onto the dirt floor of the cellar.

“You look like the Cowardly Lion and The Scarecrow off to see the Great and Powerful Oz. Where’s Dorothy, ya’ assholes?”

I ignored her.

“Carlita was The Oracle.” It wasn’t a question. “Like The Oracle—from your little story.”

“Wasn’t a little story.” She barked, her hands lowering to her sides.

“Whatever.” I waved her off. “So…you’re not my grandmother.”

“I’m not.” She said finally, her voice bland, as though she had to force herself to be emotionless.

“You’re…The Guardian, I assume?”

She nodded. “Found the first witch, and I’ve been comin’ back and dealin’ with your dumbass family every time Carlita—The Oracle—sensed he was going to return.”

Oma sighed, her eyes flashing to Lucas.

“Maybe,” She stated wistfully, “if this night had any chance of turning out any other way than I know how it’s gonna turn out, you could-a taken her spot, God rest her soul.”

Lucas frowned as he chewed at his lip.

“Ya’ got the gift.” Oma shrugged. “Your foresight and all. I can kinda see her magics already trying to attach themselves to ya’ now that their original vessel is gone.”

“What?” Lucas whispered.

“If they had enough time, and I thought we’d make it through this night, I’d imagine I’d be helping a new oracle learn his craft. To help prepare us for the next battle.”

“What does that mean?” I asked for Lucas.

“Your boyfriend has the gift.” Oma waved a hand at him. “Came from the same magics that made me and Carlita. Now that Carlita’s gone—I know she’s gone, I can’t sense her anymore—her magics will probably try to find a new oracle to inhabit. I imagine it would be Lucas. Ain’t nobody else in this town got that kind of gift—or the wherewithal to use it as intended.”

“So…Lucas would be your other half when this is all said and done?” I laughed bitterly. “And I’d just be the witch that gave his life so you could keep on watching Bloody Bones rise, and witches fall?”

“’Bout sums it up, yeah.” Oma shrugged. “It’s the way it’s always been.”

“I’m glad to see it pains you.” I rolled my eyes.

Oma glared at me, though something in her eyes told me she wasn’t mad. She was bitter.

“Just,” Lucas interrupted before one of us could say something snarky to the other, “give us back our memories. Lift the veil…or whatever.”

“Gladly.” Oma nodded and stood up straight, squaring her shoulders.

Lucas and I kept our hands locked as Oma squared herself and planted her feet, her arms reaching out towards us, one hand pointed at Lucas, one at me. Then she smiled.

“This might sting a little.” She chuckled.

Then there was a flash.

And a sting.

Oma didn’t always lie about everything.