Going Nowhere Read online

  Having a paper stuck to my forehead kind of destroyed my chirpy greeting. And got me fired.

  “You started college,” Dad said.

  Yeah. I totally saw where he was going with his reasoning.

  “Yes,” I snapped. “I got kicked out, okay. It's temporary, not my fault, and if you'd just let Joel do his thing I would have been let back in.”

  “Kitty,” Dad said warningly.

  I glared at him and was about to start yelling when a car came speeding down the gravel road. It was a spun sugary pink, and I knew exactly who owned that vehicle.

  “Grandma Hazel!” my brothers squealed, and I was so happy my totally crazy grandmother was visiting that I didn't tell them how ridiculous it was for teenage boys to squeal. Or that Hazel was my goddamned grandma, not theirs.

  I could do that later.

  “Well this is quite a gathering,” Hazel said and watched us as we lined up on the front porch. “Were you expecting me?”

  Her black hair had started to change a few years ago, and she had immediately informed anyone who wanted to listen, and quite a few others, that she wasn't the least interested in any shades of gray unless they came with a hot guy who had millions of dollars, a joke she cackled loudly at even when nobody else did. Hot, gray-shaded guys with fortunes never seemed to enjoy my grandmother's overtures, though, and her current hair color was a pale purple, although it probably had a fancy name like “mauve spirits” or “lilac dawn."

  “Of course we didn't expect you,” Dad muttered.

  “What was that, honey?” Grandma said breezily as if she hadn't heard every syllable.

  “Why are you here?” Janie asked.

  “I need my family around me in this difficult time,” Grandma said quietly and put the back of her wrinkly hand against her forehead in a gesture which could not be described as anything other than fake drama.

  Then again. Fake drama was probably Hazel de Chamontelette-Jones' middle name.

  “What did you do?” Dad asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Hazel.”

  “A small mishap.”

  “Hazel.”

  Dad had to repeat her name a few more times, but she gave in eventually.

  “The high priestess of Nim ordered me to scry because the Azdjakzian amulet is missing and I was apparently the only idiot available to look deeply into the pool of wisdom.”

  There was a long silence, and then I prompted her to go on.

  “Mom ordered you to scry…?”

  “Yes, Kitty darling. She did. And I did. The amulet is still missing, my house has burned to the ground, and…”

  She trailed off, and her mouth quivered. Was she suddenly holding back laughter?

  “What?” Dad barked.

  “Fuschia got singed.”

  “Fuschia got what?”

  “Singed.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Oh, nothing dramatic. She's perfectly fine, Biff. She has no eyebrows right now, but they should grow back. I think.”

  The ensuing silence was deafening, but then Grandpa started laughing. When he did, my brothers did too. Dad tried his best to look serious, but the tips of his mouth twitched, and Janie turned abruptly to look at something inside the house.

  “You think they will grow back?” I asked carefully.

  My mom was very proud of her Nim-looks, and plucked her elegantly arched brows daily, I suspected.

  “Absolutely,” Grandma said. “I chanted words of healing almost immediately, and added a little extra oomph so they should grow back bigger and better than ever.”

  Oh God. My mother the Morticia Adams lookalike with a unibrow.

  “Why are you here?” I asked when the others just kept laughing.

  “Fuschia is not so very happy with me at the moment.”

  This I could easily imagine.

  “Uh-huh,” Dad said noncommittally.

  “I'm sure it'll pass, but I think that it would be wise for everyone if we were… separated from each other for just a little while.”

  “Uh-huh,” Dad repeated.

  “This is the one place where my daughter and son-in-law can't come.”

  She was right about that. When Mom forgot my birthday the first time, Janie got so angry I thought she'd tear down more than our garage. Then she told Dad that if my mother set foot on their land ever again, she'd rip off his private parts and shove them up a place on him where the sun doesn't shine. She used other words that were way cruder, and hair had been spouting all over her body, so Dad took her seriously. And Mom hadn't visited Nowhere once since that incident.

  She still forgot my birthday every now and then, though.

  “Of course you're welcome to stay here as long as you need, Hazel,” Janie said.

  Dad made a hoarse, rasping sound but kept quiet when he saw the look on his wife's face.

  Janie smiled sweetly at him, and added, “Hazel, you're in the guest house. Hunter, you can take the apartment above the garage.”

  What? Wait, no!? I'd planned to stay in either of those. Janie knew what I was thinking, probably because it was written all over my face, and smiled just as sweetly at me.

  “Kitty. I'm sure you'll be fine upstairs in your old room.”

  My old room. Right next to stairs which creaked in a way that made it impossible to sneak in if you by accident ended up coming home late. Or drunk. Or both.

  Janie hadn’t put it as a question, though, so I didn't bother answering.

  “This will be great!” Hazel squealed. “It will be like summer camp.”

  I turned slowly and was about to growl at my grandmother for the first time in my life when a familiar scent hit my nostrils. I couldn't believe who apparently was approaching so I sniffed the air several times, and when my brain had accepted what my nose told me, I looked around to see where he was.

  “Oh. Yeah, Kitty,” Dad murmured. “I meant to tell you. Johnny Twoboats left, and I needed a replacement.”

  He hadn't hired…

  “All of that crap happened a long time ago, sweetie,” Dad said. “I'm sure you've both moved on by now.”

  … shit. He had totally hired him.

  A tall man with blonde, wavy hair in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck walked around the corner. He'd always been handsome, and the years since we last met hadn't changed that, so he still was. Disturbingly so. His features had sharpened, and he'd bulked up. A lot. When he saw me, his mouth widened into a lazy grin, and his gloriously blue eyes twinkled in a way I remembered well.

  “Hey, babe,” he rumbled, and his deep voice sent shivers down my spine.

  Jackson Vik-Hansen was back in Nowhere.

  “Kitty,” Dad said quietly. “This won't be an issue.”

  I wasn't sure if he'd meant for that to come out as a question or an order, but I didn't care. I'd been around Hazel de Chamontelette-Jones my whole life, so I knew how to behave, and said with no small amount of breezy happiness in my voice, “Of course not. Why would it?”

  Then I walked toward Jackson, the man who had been the boy who asked me to my high school prom. And canceled an hour before the event with the excuse that he had the flu.

  “Hey, Jack,” I said sweetly and made my own eyes twinkle as I let them slide over his gorgeousness.

  When I was standing so close to him I felt his breath slide over my cheek, I used as much strength as the wolf-part of me could summon, and swiftly pushed my knee into his crotch. Twice.

  “I told you!” Grandma exclaimed gleefully as Jackson went down, groaning hoarsely and cupping his groin. “Just like summer-camp!”

  Chapter Three

  Jackson Dick-Hansen

  “Come on now, boy,” Dad said calmly. “Up you go.”

  Jackson whined a little when Dad pulled him off the ground, and I smirked.

  I'd whined plenty the night of my senior prom. At first, because I felt sorry for Jack who had come down with a severe case of the flu, and had sounded comple
tely miserable.

  By the end of the evening, the whining had been for other reasons.

  Jackson Vik-Hansen had been the one all the girls chased after, and when he asked me to be his date I played it very, very cool… but squealed like an idiot on the inside. I'd looked forward to walking into the gymnasium with my hand in the crook of his arm.

  Was that shallow? Hell, yes, it was. I'd known it already back then and hadn't cared one bit because I'd never been cheerleader-in-the-movies kind of popular, so it had felt sweet to be asked by someone like Jackson.

  Elsa, Joel and I were mostly ignored back in High School, although not in an unfriendly mean-girls-from-the-movies way. Between us, we mostly knew everyone, and we'd been treated with a fair deal of respect, but it had always seemed as if everyone kept their distance. Of course, my dad was Sheriff Brown, Joel was a widget and Elsa… well, let's just say that unicorns knew way too many secrets.

  My prom night from hell probably hurt more than it should have because in addition to the shallow pleasure I felt when Jackson asked me, I'd also liked him. Not liked him as in sappy-loved him 'til the end of time. But he'd been cool, and we'd laughed a lot, so I'd… liked him. A lot.

  “Are you okay, Jackson?” I asked in a voice full of fake concern.

  “Uhnff,” he grunted, and his knees buckled when Dad let go of him, but he managed to remain standing by grabbing hold of the porch rail.

  “I'm so sorry,” I went on. “You know I have a tic.”

  “Tic?” Grandpa asked.

  “Yeah,” I said and turned to grin at him. “My knee just starts bouncing when I'm too close to an asshole.”

  “Language,” Janie snapped.

  “Sorry,” I said and did not mean it. “I meant when I'm too close to a lying moron.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Jackson asked hoarsely. “Wasn't what you did back then enough?”

  No. It wasn't, not by a long shot.

  “Kitty,” Dad murmured, but I kept my gaze on Jack.

  “She did some witchy crap that put pimples all over my as -” Jackson clamped his jaws together and amended his statement with a glance at Janie. “Sorry, Ma'am. Pimples all over my behind.”

  “They disappeared as soon as you cleared the county limits, didn't they?” I snapped.

  We glared at each other, and the happy twinkle that had been in his eyes when he walked around the corner of the house was replaced with a steely look that I'd never seen before and didn't like. Then he moved one of his legs a little, let go of the porch rail and winced.

  Maybe kneeing him twice had been overkill?

  “Right,” Dad said. “Jackson. I'm sure you want to check on things. You know where the bathroom is. Yell if you need an ice-pack.”

  “He can use my skivvies,” Grandpa offered cordially, and waved his hand to indicate the boxer briefs that were back on his head. “They're nice and warm.”

  Jackson turned his head slowly to look at him, and the steely look faded away from his eyes.

  “Thanks, Hunter, but there's no need.”

  “I can go with you,” Grandma offered happily. “Help you check things out.”

  My eyes popped wide open, and I heard one of my brothers snort out something unintelligible.

  “Thanks, Hazel,” Jackson said. “I think I'll manage quite well on my own.”

  When he turned toward Grandma, I saw that the twinkle was back in his eyes again, and it looked great on him.

  Well, shit.

  “Witches of Nim are excellent healers,” Grandma pushed.

  “I know,” Jack said and looked at me. “This was the last shit I'll take for back then,” he stated. Before I had time to come up with a suitably snappy reply, he leaned in close to my ear added in a quiet murmur, “Forgot how hilarious your family is, though.”

  Then he walked gingerly up the steps to the porch. We watched him in silence, and I decided that yeah. Kneeing him twice had totally been overkill.

  When he was by the back door, he turned and grinned at me. And then he winked.

  Winked.

  After I'd pushed his nuts rather forcefully toward his tonsils and in front of my Dad. His alpha. And boss. Did he have a death wish?

  When the screen door slammed shut, I turned to find my whole family staring at me.

  “Kitty,” Dad said sternly.

  “Daddy,” I said and fought the blush I felt creeping up my neck.

  “Kitty,” Janie echoed, although she sounded exasperated more than anything.

  “That was harsh, Sis,” one of my brothers said.

  “Whatever, Joe,” I said sourly.

  “I'm Bill,” he replied just as sourly.

  I'd known that, but I loved messing with their heads and considered it suitable payback for all the shit they pulled on me.

  “I get that he canceled your prom date, but the dude was sick. I don't think he -”

  Hell no. I hadn't told them what actually happened, but I would now.

  “The fucker,” I said and speared Janie with a glare when she huffed at my choice of word, “called me and said he had the flu. I said I understood and promised to make soup for him.”

  Gramps started laughing, and I rounded on him.

  “Chicken. Effing. Noodle,” I snapped, and he laughed even more for some reason.

  “Okay, sweetie,” Dad murmured, clearly trying to placate me.

  It didn't work.

  “But there I was. I'd spent a gazillion dollars on my dress and hair, and I had put on makeup. I wasn't going to waste all that, and we had perfectly adequate cans of soup in the pantry, so I called Joel and Elsa. They picked me up, and I went to the prom with them instead.”

  They all knew this and were waiting for me to continue, but I paused for dramatic effect. I also needed to calm down because it felt a little bit childish to still be so pissed off.

  “So?” Bill pushed when the silence lasted longer than he was willing to wait.

  “Guess who was on the dance floor when I got there?” I asked sarcastically.

  “No?” Grandma Hazel wheezed.

  “Who?” Gramps asked, and when everyone turned toward him, he added, “What? How the hell would I know who was at that prom?”

  “Jackson Vik-Hansen,” I stated. “And guess how far down Melissa Moose's throat he had his tongue?”

  “No?” Grandma wheezed again.

  “Two -”

  “That was a rhetorical question, Hunter,” Janie interrupted my grandfather's apparent attempt to guess the length of Jackson's tongue.

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, yes,” I confirmed. “Tongue in mouth, hands on ass, rubbing her crotch against his -”

  “We get it, Kitty,” Dad barked.

  I was about to spew out more anger when the door opened, and Jackson stepped out on the porch.

  “Everything seems oka -” He cut himself off when a rumble vibrated through the air. “What?”

  The rumble changed into a low growl. My grandfather, father, and brothers were apparently not so pleased with him, and neither was Janie, but when I heard Hazel chant something under her breath, I decided enough was enough.

  “Stop it,” I said. “All of you. It's bygones. Jack can stay in Nowhere, just don't expect me to be happy about it.”

  Then I marched inside without looking back. The yelling outside started even before the screen door had closed behind me.

  Excellent.

  I sat down at the kitchen table and texted Joel and Elsa.

 

  Elsa replied within seconds.

  Joel chimed in immediately after.

  I asked back.

  SHIT was the commonly used abbreviation of Saint Honoria of the Immaculate Transformation, which was the name of our old high school and also proof that the ancestor of mine who started the school more than a hundred years ago had humor.

  I tapped my fingertips on the worn-down kitchen t
able as I watched the phone and waited for either of them to figure it out. Joel was the one who got it first.

 

  I laughed out loud when I saw his reply, and then we spent a good while coming up with other suitably insulting nicknames for Jackson. It was silly and juvenile, and it totally made my anger melt away. I loved my friends.

  When we were done and had agreed that Fuckson Yuk-Hansen was the winner, the commotion outside had quieted down. The door opened slowly, and I looked up, expecting it to be Dad or Janie.

  It wasn't.

  Chapter Four

  Yowza

  Jack walked into the kitchen, and I let my eyes slide over his tall frame, telling myself it was to ensure that there hadn't been any injury inflicted by one of the five angry werewolves who had been growling at him outside. Or the bear. Or the witch.

  He looked unharmed. I wasn't sure if that was a relief or a disappointment.

  “I apologize for what I did,” he said stiffly.

  My eyes widened, but then I saw my father standing behind Jack, looking like a thundercloud. I suspected Jackson was close to a tragic wolf-mauling, as soon as he'd finished apologizing.

  When the silence stretched out, Dad made an annoyed, huffing growl and nudged Jackson forward.

  “Why did you do it?” I heard myself ask and could have slapped myself.

  I knew why.

  Melissa Moose had been tall, blonde and built, and she might have been called “Loosey Moosey,” but she'd been gorgeous. Slutty, but gorgeous. I had not liked her one bit even before Jack decided to lick her tonsils because she had also been catty and gossipy. She still was, when I thought about it.

  “Jackson,” Dad rumbled. “I think you owe my girl an explanation.”

  “You won't like it.”

  “Spill.”

  Jack sighed and kept looking at me.

  “I was eighteen, alright?”

  “I know,” I said because I did.

  “Eighteen and a boy and stupid. Only had one thing on my mind and I knew you wouldn't...” He trailed off, glanced at Dad and finished lamely, “provide that service.”

  Oh.

  “So, yeah. I was stupid. Melissa called. Said if I ditched you, we would go at it all night. And I blew you off.”

  I blinked. It hadn't been because Melissa was prettier, or funnier, or that he liked her more. It hadn't been me lacking something.