Page 37 of Jack of All Trades

“Female witch, at that.”

“Yes, she’s old-fashioned. She doesn’t understand all this. She did nothing wrong in her life except marry a man who was ultimately meant for someone else and was harassed about that for years. You can’t blame her for being suspicious of shifters.”

In the loft, Rodney looked around while Maltin went to Jack to help him with the drinks. “How did he change so fast?”

“He’s a witch, honey. You’ll…you’ll see more of that while he’s here. He loves clothes.”

“Well, this is very nice for a…for such a tiny place. Again, where are your servants?”

Maltin handed him the glass of scotch and said, “No servants, Rodney. Until very recently, I treasured being alone.”

“You’d be alone! Servants serve and then leave. Do you mean to tell me you actually clean your own house? Your mother would faint dead away and need smelling salts.”

“Then don’t tell her.”

“I don’t plan to. The last time I gave her bad news, she turned me into a saltshaker and kept throwing bits of me over her shoulder!”

Maltin glanced at Jack and then asked his uncle, “Is that how you dress for cocktails?”

Rodney’s eyes grew as big as saucers, and he shoved the glass at Maltin. “Dear me!”

After spinning around, Rodney was suddenly wearing a rather casual black tuxedo, no tie or vest, the top two buttons on the gleaming white shirt open. “There. Better?”

“Much,” Maltin laughed.

Then Rodney waved a hand over him, then Jack, and they, too, were wearing casual tuxedos. Jack’s was gray, Maltin’s was black, like his uncle’s. “We’re dressing for dinner, too, unless I have to cook for myself. I haven’t cooked in two hundred years, though, so I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No, we’ll order in tonight. I don’t think I have it in me either,” Maltin said, taking Jack in his arms. “Why don’t you go grab the book from the car? I’d hate for something to happen to it, and we’ll read it later.”

Jack nodded and left the loft, and Maltin hurried to explain to Rodney, “He’s very vulnerable right now, Rod. Please, be careful around him.”

For once, Rodney agreed to keep his mouth shut, at least with Jack. “He seems lovely, Malty. Really. I’m happy for you.”

“We don’t really know each other well yet, but I care for him so deeply, I’m not sure of myself around him. He’s terribly special.”

“And the reason you wanted someone with enough oomph to take on his former family. I understand, Malty. I won’t scar the boy.”

“Thank you. Now, how is mother?”

Rodney immediately was back to his usual self. “A flirt. She’s got scads of boyfriends in Europe. Of course, half are after her money, but you know her, once she’s done with them, they’ll be lucky to keep their own possessions.”

Maltin knew his mother well. “Not one will ever realize she’s had the love of her life. No one can come close, I’m afraid.”

“Truer words were never spoken, Maltin. And you, my dear nephew, are the product of it. That’s why she worries about you so much. You’re all she has left of your father.”

He nodded, feeling tears welling in his eyes. “Father was a wonderful man.”

“So, please, tell me about hellhounds.”

They sat on the couch with their drinks, and after taking a sip, Maltin sighed, “We don’t know a lot, yet. We’re tasked with taking supes with evil intentions to hell. Or whatever the underworld is. The librarian told us a bit but gave us a book to explain it more fully. We don’t know much, like I said.”

“Dragging folks to hell, that’s a helluva purpose in life, Malty. You’ve yet to actually shift?”

“Not yet. I thought, possibly, after we…came together. Jack’s had nightmares, but me? Nothing yet. The only time I feel differently is when we’re being intimate.”

“Is that what wrecked the cars?”

“How did you know that?”

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