Page 47 of Jacob Michaels is Dead

“Good.” She finally smiled down at me, her arms falling to her sides. “Have ya’ had breakfast, Robbie?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I just woke up and my mom…my mom…”

She waved me off, smiling, though her eyes were sad.

“Don’t worry about all that.” She said brightly. “Oma’s here now. And I brought some friends.”

“Friends?” I asked, my lip chewing intensifying.

“Wanna see what’s in my suitcase?” She asked, a mischievous grin coming to her face as she bent down slightly.

“I don’t know.”

She stood up sharply, her nose hooking into the air haughtily, though she looked down at me through the corner of her eye. That twinkle never went away.

“Well, maybe I don’t want to show you then.” She waggled her head.

I couldn’t help it. I giggled. She held her haughty pose a moment longer, then turned her head down to smile at me.

“It ain’t nothin’ that will bite ya’ none.” She said reassuringly. “Just some little helpers while your dad is gone.”

“Okay.” I was nodding slowly again.

“So,” She asked once more, “you wanna see?”

“Okay.” I agreed hesitantly. “You’re not going to scare me, are you?”

“Not on purpose.”

I shrugged. “Okay.”

Oma smiled warmly and turned to her suitcase, bending over to reach for the zipper. I watched with fascination—and a bit of fear—as she pulled the zipper three-quarters of the way around the suitcase, slowly pulling back the flap. At first, nothing happened, but then, ever so slowly, a small humanoid hand peeked out. I gasped, and the hand froze. My eyes shot up to Oma, and she just winked at me. My eyes went back to the bag, and I watched as a hand became an arm, then a torso and head…and a small human-like…thing…stepped out of the suitcase. It was even shorter than me, wringing its hands and looking around, as though unsure of its surroundings. I gasped again as another creature stepped out of the bag, then another…eventually five of these…things…stood in the living room with Oma and me.

“How did they all fit in there?” I looked up at Oma with saucer-like eyes.

“Magic, of course.” She winked.

My eyes met Oma’s, and something passed between us.

I grinned.

“Goddamnit, Robbie.” Oma cursed as she rolled her eyes. “Ya’ gotta stop doin’ that.”

“Sorry.” My cheeks were warm as I winced down at the char marks on the tablecloth.

“How many times have I told you that you have to control yourself?” She barked, though her heart wasn’t in it. “If you keep doin’ that, people are going to know about you.”

“Sorry,” I repeated.

Ernst scuttled under the table and stood up next to my chair, his hand reaching for mine. I did my best to smile at him as he gave me a reassuring look. Oma was snatching the cloth off of the table, yet another blunder of mine that caused damage to something in the house. Ever since she had been trying to teach me how to tap into my magic and control it, all I’d done was mess things up. It was a lot for an eight-year-old to figure out as quickly as she wanted me to do. Magic didn’t like to have people telling it what to do. Sometimes it did whatever the hell it wanted.

“And you.” Oma’s eyes shot over to land on Ernst, causing both Ernst and me to wince and shrink back, though he refused to let go of my hand. “You ain’t doin’ him no favors treatin’ him like a baby.”

“Ain’t mean nuffin’ by it, Missus.” Ernst managed. “He’s jus’ a boy.”

“Just a boy?” Oma rolled her eyes and wadded up the tablecloth. “The two of you are a pair, aren’tcha?”

Oma gave us both once last withering look before she stood from the table, the bundled-up tablecloth in her arms, and then she marched out the back door. Obviously, she was going to pitch the ruined cloth in the outside garbage so that no one would ever see it and ask questions. Not that we had many visitors—and even if we did, they wouldn’t be going through our garbage, inside or out. I looked down at Ernst, disgusted with myself as he gave my hand a squeeze.