Page 23 of A Leaner Meaner Midlife

Candy Vargo exited the minivan and sniffed the air again. “I got good news and bad news. What do ya want first?”

“Good news,” I said as we joined her on the lawn, but still hidden behind the tree line.

“Ain’t no humans in there.”

I heaved a sigh of relief. “Bad news?”

She pulled out a toothpick and jammed it into her mouth. “I detect about a hundred others.”

“All Nephilim?”

She shook her head. “Nope. A gut-punch combo of Demons, Nephilim and a few Angels thrown into the mix.”

Tim stepped out of the car and stared at the replica of the Tower of London. At least, I hoped it was a replica. If that bastard had enough power to plop a chunk of England into the middle of Kentucky… I shook my head. That nightmare-scenario was too terrible to entertain.

“My guess is the word is out that Micky Muggles is going to be granted Immortality,” Tim said. “That would be something many would want to observe.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Aren’t they all aware that’s impossible?”

My mailman buddy pinned me with a gaze. “Micky seems to have borrowed our motto—everything is possible, you just have to believe.”

“He’s shit out of luck on that one,” I snapped. While our motto was inspiring and had gotten me through a lot, it wasn’t bulletproof. If it was, my mom would still be here. My dad too. They were not.

And Micky Muggles wasn’t going to be here much longer if I had anything to do with it.

“This is not good,” Lura Belle said, fretting. “King Henry the Eighth lived here. This is where he beheaded Anne Boleyn. Not good. Not good at all.”

“I don’t like this one little bit,” Jolly Sue muttered. “The haggard, fat-kidneyed, nut hook fancies himself a reincarnation of Henry the Eighth.”

Pressing the bridge of my nose, I made myself stay on task. Freaking out would help no one. In the past the missions had seemed obvious. This one didn’t. It made me itchy and unsure. The feeling was awful. “The plan at this point is to enter the premises and figure out what the hell is going on.”

“Split or stay together?” Gabe asked.

I looked at my friends. “Candy and Gabe stick together. The Nephilim will stay with Gideon and myself. Tim, stay back and keep gathering information. Focus on King Henry, please. We’ll take one hour to poke around, chat with people if you can then meet back at the entrance.”

“Do we know each other?” Candy Vargo asked, looking wildly excited.

I glanced over at Gideon. He shrugged. “My guess is that we’ll recognize some within the walls. Immortals live for a long time. Many know each other. I’d say keep our interactions polite, but not too familiar.”

“One more thing,” I said to Candy. “Can you do something so our power is muted, and our presence isn’t a dead giveaway? With some extra stress on the word dead.”

“Nope, but the Grim Reaper can,” she replied pointing at Gideon.

“Good thinking,” he said. Gideon snapped his fingers and produced a razor-sharp dagger. Without hesitation, he sliced a deep gash into his palm. I gasped as the blood gushed from his hand, but he didn’t even flinch. The love of my life chanted quietly in a language I’d heard him use before. It was melodic and I didn’t understand a word. As the air warmed around us, blood red sparks began to dance on his wounded palm. He raised his arm into the air then slashed it down to his side. The spell hit me like a punch to the gut. I went down along with Jolly Sue, Lura Belle and Dimple like a sack of potatoes. Candy, Tim, Gabe and Gideon were still standing.

Cautiously getting to my feet, I checked to make sure there wasn’t a huge gaping hole where my stomach used to be. Nope. I was fine and so were the Nephilim.

“My goodness,” Dimple said, shaking the dirt off her jeans. “That was unexpected.”

“No pain, no gain as I always say,” Lura Belle grunted as she got up and pulled Jolly Sue to her feet.

“It’s time,” Gabe said, raring to get inside.

“One thing to remember,” Tim commented as he got back into the minivan and opened his laptop. “When magic is being used to create illusions, time runs differently. I’d suggest you work with measured and controlled urgency. A human week might not apply once you are in.”

That sucked. “How will we know?”

“We won’t,” Gideon replied, tucking the dagger into his sock and covering it with his pant leg. “We’ll just work on the assumption that time is of the essence.”

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