Page 28 of A Leaner Meaner Midlife

I gave her a look. “I wouldn’t call any of this fun.”

She shrugged. “You say tomato, I say motherfuckin’ taaamaaatoe.”

I wanted to shake her, but that would end poorly. Candy Vargo was Candy Vargo. She wasn’t going to change.

We’d made it up the hill and had a decent view of a guillotine. If memory served, she was beheaded with a sword. But then again, I wasn’t well versed in Tudor royal history.

“Tell me what you know about Anne Boleyn’s death,” I said.

“Welp,” Candy said, leaning in. “First off, she was innocent. Died like a true badass on the Tower Green. That fucker Henry called in the sword executioner from France before the woman was even tried. She was convicted on trumped-up bullshit charges ‘cause that randy bastard already had a new wife picked out—charges included adultery, incest, and conspiracy against the King. Asshole wanted sons but kept gettin’ daughters. He’d get pissed and murder his wife to marry another. Stupid asshole… sperm decides the sex of a child.”

“I thought it was a sword,” I said, impressed that I’d gotten one fact correct.

Candy nodded. “Yep. I suppose you could say Henry was being nice. Normally, they had some axe wielding jackhole to behead people. Usually took three to four whacks before the head was removed. The dude from France was an expert. Used a sword and lopped poor Anne’s head off in one blow. All happened so fast there wasn’t no coffin to bury her in. She was put into a box and buried under the floor of chapel back behind where she was decapitated. Really shitty form if you ask me.”

My stomach cramped at the thought of all of that. What was wrong with people?

“Were you there?” Dimple asked Candy.

Candy Vargo looked up into the cloudless winter sky for a long moment. “Unfortunately, I was. Anne Boleyn was my friend. I may or may not have been instrumental in the jousting accident that fucked that fucker up good.”

“I want to be Candy Vargo when I grow up,” Lura Belle announced.

“Shut your damn mouth. I ain’t nobody to look up to,” Candy Vargo chastised the Nephilim. However, the smile she couldn’t hide gave away her delight at Lura Belle’s words.

Gabe scrubbed his hands over his face then groaned. “As much as I hate—and mean hate—to say this, growing up to be like Candy Vargo isn’t such a bad thing. As long as you don’t eat people, you’ll be fine.”

“For the love of everything fuckin’ unnecessary,” Candy griped. “When are we gonna let the past be the past?”

“Let me think,” Gabe said, pretending to put on a thinking cap then wrinkling his brow in deep thought. “Never. We will never let that be in the past. If we do, it could repeat itself.”

“Fuck you,” Candy grumbled.

“The sentiment is returned,” he replied.

“Guys,” I said, trying not to laugh. Cannibalism wasn’t a laughing matter, but in the end, that episode turned out fine. I didn’t know how, and I never wanted to know how, but it did. “Focus on the now.”

“Agreed. There’s a guillotine up there,” Gabe pointed out. “No French guy with a sword in sight.”

All eyes went to the area called Tower Green.

“No one said Micky Muggles was well-read or smart,” Gideon said. “Further proof he’s not the reincarnated version of King Henry.”

I glanced over at him. “Do you believe in that?”

He was quiet for a long beat. “Honestly, I don’t know, Daisy. Kind of a nice thought if it was truly granted to those whose lives had been taken for no good reason, but… I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied with not knowing the answer to the question.”

It was confusing to think about. In my not very religious brain, I’d come to the conclusion that once people went into the Light or the Darkness, they stayed there. The thought that Steve could come back was surreal. Of course, it wouldn’t be him. It would be someone else entirely. I pushed the line of thinking away. Getting lost in what ifs was nuts. No juicy justice boner would be achieved if I wasn’t fully present.

We stayed at the back of the crowd. When Micky Muggles walked out the cheers were loud mixed with equally loud boos. It didn’t throw him at all. He just pumped his scrawny arms over his head and then took a bow. The redneck looked the same. With his mullet and beer belly he personified the sadistic loser he was. Most of his ass had grown back. He stood on the platform where the guillotine was set up and scanned the crowd. His gaze stopped on our group for half a beat too long then moved on.

“There’s no way he recognizes us,” I hiss-whispered to Candy Vargo.

“Not a chance,” she replied. “However, he ain’t as dumb as he looks. We’ll just stay back. Playin’ our hand now without knowin’ where Gram, Tory and Mr. Jackson are, ain’t happening.”

“Agreed.” I looked at the three Nephilim and seriously doubted the wisdom of keeping them with us. We knew Micky Muggles was here. We knew Tory, Gram and Mr. Jackson were here. I’d never forgive myself if Jolly Sue, Lura Belle or Dimple died.

Gideon glanced over at me. It was if the man could read my mind. “Do you want me to get them out? I don’t think we need them and at this point they could be a liability.”

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