Page 8 of A Leaner Meaner Midlife

“Whatever,” Candy shot back, flipping Heather off.

“Going in blind without a semblance of a strategy is a disaster in the making,” Gideon stated flatly.

“This is absurd,” Gabe ground out with his eyes glowing a furious gold. “We’re wasting time. We will leave NOW.”

Gideon eyed my brother then put his hand on his shoulder to calm him. Gabe didn’t have a shred of composure at the moment. He knocked the Grim Reaper’s hand away, walked to the fireplace and glared daggers at everyone in the room.

Gideon’s voice was firm. “We’re on your side, Archangel Gabriel. If you fight your own army, you will lose.”

My brother’s body was tense, and his expression was terrifying, but he wasn’t a stupid man. He nodded curtly at Gideon before he dropped his gaze.

I blew out a breath, hoping Gabe’s love for Tory would keep his temper in check. The Archangel flying off the rails would turn the shitshow into a shitstorm, and that was the last thing we needed right now. I would keep a close eye on my brother. Tory wasn’t the only one in jeopardy. Gram’s un-life was at stake, along with poor Mr. Jackson’s.

“Candy Vargo,” Gideon said, all business. “In the book, where in Lexington, Kentucky did it say the piece of shit dragon would go?”

Thank God someone was making sense. Gideon to the rescue. The Grim Reaper was a brilliant badass with an excellent butt.

And he was mine.

Candy shrugged. “Book wasn’t too specific,” she admitted.

Tim raised his hand. “We mustn’t forget that Agnes’ books were fiction.”

“With a whole lot of unbelievable truth on the pages,” I reminded him, then turned my attention to the Keeper of Fate who now was digging in both of her ears with toothpicks. At the rate she was going she’d be deaf or bleeding from her eardrums in five minutes. She was Immortal. She’d heal, but it would be gross. I wasn’t up for gross right now. Gabe might be hanging on by a thread, but I wasn’t far behind. If Gram got destroyed in the crossfire of Micky Muggles insanity, I would lose my debatably sane mind. “Candy. Think. Is there a chapter that talks about Lexington, Kentucky?”

It would save one hell of a lot of time if we knew where we were going. I’d never been to Kentucky, but I was pretty sure Lexington was one of the bigger cities in the state.

“Nah,” she said. “It was kind of a one-off in the epilogue. Says the dragon was off to Kentucky to live in his castle.”

The trio of sisters, Dimple, Jolly Sue and Lura Belle snorted with disgust.

“Makes sense. I’ll bet the mangled, clay-brained, loggerheaded clotpole insisted on that part,” Dimple snapped.

“Agreed,” Lura Belle growled, her cat-butt lips on full display. “The impertinent, beslubbering hedge pig has delusions of grandeur.”

“Ohhhhhh yessssss,” Jolly Sue added with a shudder. “The reeky nut-hook’s obsessions are many.”

My skin tingled. In my gut, I was positive the Nephilim had just said something important in between the off-color, centuries-old insults. The three old gals were a mess from the transport home, but somehow, they were still strangely put together. With their new lease on life, after their evil curses were removed, they were the opposite of who they’d been only yesterday. All three were very well preserved and expertly coiffed seventy-somethings—who were actually much older. They dressed conservatively and expensively in designer duds. Their newly found improved personalities didn’t erase that they were still pains in the ass, but I’d go to bat for them any day of the week.

“Darlings!” Dirk chimed in, clapping his well-manicured hands with delight. “Do tell. It’s sounds quite juicy.”

“I agree with Dirk,” I said quickly. “Can you expand on what you just shared?”

Lura Belle stepped forward. She was the unofficial leader of the trio. “Of course,” she replied. “Before the fly-bitten mold warp fancied himself a dragon, he used to believe he was the king.”

“Of England,” Dimple chimed in. “Told any fool who would listen that he was the reincarnation of King Henry.”

“The eighth?” Tim asked, paling.

I sucked in a breath and waited for the answer. King Henry the Eighth like to decapitate his wives. Micky Muggles wasn’t married to Tory, but he was unhinged enough to do something heinous to her.

“Yes. King Henry the Eighth,” Jolly Sue confirmed with hiss of disgust. “That pribbling lewdster is batshit crazy.”

“Oh yes! Oh yes!” Dimple said. “I concur. If there’s a castle in Lexington, Kentucky, that’s where the bootless beetle-headed puckling is hiding.”

Lura Belle bared her teeth. The very same teeth that had been instrumental in biting off Micky Muggles’ ass only hours ago. “I say we find the castle and castrate the mewling maggot-pie. Because you beautiful people have given me and my sisters your friendship and trust, we will be honored to remove the offending pecker with our teeth.”

“We will?” Jolly Sue gasped out, turning a bit green.

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