Page 50 of Jack of All Trades

Maltin didn’t take that lightly. Being upset for his mother could mean the entire estate would be leveled with the snap of her fingers. “Sorry, Mother.”

At the doors, finally, Jackson rang the doorbell, and one of the double doors opened to show a tall, menacing butler in a full tux with tails. “Mr. Pengrove, welcome home. Misters Hilderbrand, Mrs. Hilderbrand,” he said, unmoving from the doorway.

“That’s Mrs. Graves, and my son is Mr. Graves. My brother is the only one still Hilderbrand, or are you implying I had my son out of wedlock?” Trudy asked, pushing past him, and the other three followed her through.

Stammering, the butler objected, “I must announce all guests!”

“Then you’d better hurry, hadn’t you?”

Trudy was tapping her expensive shoe on the black marble floors as Maltin gazed around the foyer. Like Jack mentioned, it was beautiful but cold. There were no flowers or paintings to warm the stone walls, just statues of witches and a cold black and gray world.

When the butler returned, asking with much more respect for them to follow, they left the foyer and traveled through a hallway with impossibly tall ceilings and more marble floors.

Maltin held Jack’s hand tightly, hoping to give him strength as they walked through to a parlor where two people stood tall and forbidding in the middle of a room filled with black and red furniture, right out of some silly amusement park haunted house.

They were both beautiful. Both had pale skin and black hair to match their black clothing. Suddenly, Maltin appreciated his mother’s style and her mothering more than he ever had.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pengrove, allow me to present Mr. Hilderbrand, Mrs. Graves, and Mr. Graves, and you remember Jackson, of course.”

“Jackson, welcome home. You know we like you to call first, especially if you’re bringing guests,” the mother said.

Jack went to her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Sorry, Mother.”

“Please, sit,” the man said, and Jack only nodded to him. What a strange exchange from people that were supposed to be family.

As they sat on the hard couches and chairs, facing the Pengroves, Jack began. “Mother, Father, it’s come to my attention that you were lied to on the day of my birth.”

“Oh?” The mother said, with no real interest. “How so?”

“I’m…I was born to other parents. Your…your real son, he was born…he was…”

Maltin laid his hand on Jack’s to stop him and finished, “He was stillborn. I’m very sorry to you both. I’m sure this must be a shock. It was to Jack.”

They sat together stiffly, but Jack’s father did lay his hand over his wife’s. “How can you know this?”

“Because, Father, I, uh, I’m not a witch, as we’ve known for some time now. I’m actually a…a…”

“Spit it out, Jackson,” the mother snapped.

“I’m a hellhound shapeshifter, Mother.”

Both gasped and paled further if that were possible, and Mrs. Pengrove threw off her husband’s hand. “It can’t be!”

“Oh, it can,” Trudy broke in. “In fact, he and my son are fated mates.”

More gasping and Mrs. Pengrove started to fan herself with her handkerchief.

“This cannot be,” the father whispered. “But it makes sense.”

“Is this why you brought…them?”

The way she said it, like the Hilderbrands were beneath her, Maltin knew at that moment his mother’s mouth was going to start writing checks that she and Rodney would be only too happy to cash.

Trudy stood, and she was stone-cold angry, her face not hiding her utter disdain for the two people across from her. “Yes. He’s told my son how he was treated by you. All because he didn’t inherit your power. How could you? You thought him to be your son, and yet he’s to call before visiting? He’s treated like so much trash on his arrival? You should be ashamed!”

Jack ducked when his mother raised her hand, pulling Maltin down to the black and grey Persian rug with him. “Duck!”

Maltin knew then that the war was about to begin.

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