Page 31 of A Leaner Meaner Midlife

“He didn’t mean us,” I said, pretty sure I was right. I glanced over at my brother. His laser focus was on Micky Muggles.

“Welcome to my castle,” Micky yelled to the gathered crowd. “I am the DRAGON KING.”

“Yeah, yeah,” a snarly Demon heckled. “But you’re not Immortal, are ya? You’re just a weak, pathetic Nephilim with an embarrassing haircut.”

The dangerous and despicable audience roared with laughter. Although the Nephilim in the crowd were pissed to be insulted, they laughed as well. If the half-Angel, half-humans went at the Immortals this would turn into a bloodbath.

“He’s a blowhard,” another Demon shouted. “This is bullshit.”

Micky Muggles’ beady eyes narrowed to slits. He might not be Immortal, but he wasn’t without magic. I wasn’t sure if the Demons knew what a powerful, delusional fool they were dealing with. Not that they were anything to write home about…

“SILENCE,” the self-proclaimed Dragon King roared. “Lemme tell you somethin’, you low-life shitasses. I’ve been alive for a thousand fuckin’ years! Show me another weak pathetic Nephilim that’s done that.” Spittle flew from his thin lips and his mannerisms became jerky. “I’m the DRAGON KING. I’ve banged more big-busted beauties than all of you put together.”

“Were they blow-up dolls?” another yelled. “Or blind?”

Micky was about to lose it. “I will not take that backtalk,” he screamed. His face was blood red and his feather-bare wings popped out of his back. They were mangy and molting, but it impressed his low-brow audience. “I will become Immortal shortly.”

He raised his spark-shooting hands above his head. The Nephilim cheered on one of their own. The Demons and Angels grew warier by the second.

“Be ready to take cover,” I instructed my crew then leaned into Gideon. “Did Tim have any clue how time ran in here?”

He shook his head. “No, but from the Dragon King’s deranged claim, it’s running differently. Or, he’s just lost his mind along with control over his army of scum.”

“I’m goin’ for box number two!” a very familiar voice whispered in my ear. “My boyfriend, Bob Barker, always liked box number two better, Daisy girl.”

My joy at hearing her voice ripped through me and a squeak that sounded like I’d swallowed helium left my lips.

Gideon, Gabe and Candy Vargo—who had tears of relief in her eyes at seeing Gram—surrounded us to shield us from any prying eyes. The Keeper of Fate wiggled her fingers and sound proofed the area around us. I got low and gently pulled Gram down with me. My eyes frantically searched her from head to toe to make sure she was in one piece. She was fine. When Mr. Jackson popped up beside her from out of thin air, I held back my startled yelp with effort.

“How did you find me?” I asked, checking Mr. Jackson over. He was not looking great, but his macabre smile spoke volumes about his lovely character. If it was Gargraunch, he’d worked fast.

“Graaaaagrainchah,” Mr. Jackson shared. “Goooodah maaannnn.”

“That’s right,” Gram agreed, patting Mr. Jackson on the back. “Oh, sweetie pie, these ghosts here just break my heart to bits. But I tell you what, it gets my dang knickers in a knot that they didn’t know there was help available. Some of these poor souls have been hangin’ around since the Lord created underpants. I’ve been runnin’ round Hell’s half acre trying to let them know your address, darlin’.”

I gulped but didn’t comment.

“Has to be about three hundred fallin’ apart dead fellas and gals here,” she said, shaking her head in sorrow. “I’ve been busier than a one-legged cat in a litter box.”

“Tory,” I said urgently. “Is she okay?”

Gram’s expression hardened. “Weak but okay for now. That egg-sucking, mullet-wearin’ dawg has been sippin’ on her blood. Keepin’ my Tory from gettin’ back to business.”

Gabe growled low in his throat. The sound was chilling. He turned to face Gram. His voice was the definition of pain and raw fury. “Where is she?”

“Tooooowahhh,” Mr. Jackson said. “Talllah tooooowahhh.”

“Will you take me there?” he asked the kind dead man.

“Yeeeesah!”

I made the calls fast and from my gut. Gabe was too emotionally invested to be rational. Tory needed someone with a cool head and a hell of a lot of magic. I wasn’t sure if Micky Muggles was about to behead someone, but if so, Candy could help me stop it. The decision was made.

“Gideon, go with Gabe. I’ll stay here with Candy.”

“Agreed,” he said. “If… No. When we find her, Gabe will transport her out, and I’ll return to you. I’d like a front row seat for the demise of the dragon.”

“Might need your help with that one,” I told him.

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