Were We Belong Page 3

  Junior—aka Jacob—held hands with his mate Sandy who was one of my best friends. Since Junior was the Alpha of our pack, he loved to have the first word… and the last word… and lots of the words in between. It was usually something profound… or wildly confusing. He was a brilliant good ol’ boy. This time his assessment wasn’t profound or confusing. It sounded frighteningly correct.

  Everyone I loved and trusted was here… well, everyone except Dwayne. He said he would arrive after everyone was gathered. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to make a grand entrance or if he was still trying on different outfits to impress Belphegor.

  Hank eyed his older brother and raised a brow. “Dude, when you know the entire story, you’ll still think the same thing, but you’ll realize why we’re gonna do it.”

  “Roger that, Bro-bro,” Junior said with a thumbs up. “I’ve got your ass no matter how motherhumpin’ fucked up the plan is.”

  “Thank you… I think,” Hank said with a shake of his head and a grin.

  The power of the group standing in the meadow was insane. We were on the Wilsons’ property. Hank and Junior's parents owned several hundred acres of the most beautiful and lush land on the island.

  Magic hung thick in the air and I wrapped my arms around my waist and breathed it in.

  Dima, the Queen of the Dragons, stood next to her mate, Nicolai. They’d relocated to Hung Island with their son Daniel after the shit show of removing her father from power. Thankfully the evil asshat was now ash and the Dragons were beginning to tentatively join the rest of Were society. After hundreds of years of tyranny at the hands of their now very dead King, the Dragons were wary of just about everything. This was a bad since the freaks were enormous and seriously deadly. However, with Dima running the show, things were beginning to turn around.

  “Well, my nutty friend,” Dima said with a wide smile. “I’d have to say I’m in agreement with Junior on this one.”

  “That you have our backs or we’re too stupid to breathe?” I questioned.

  “Both,” Dima and Nicolai said at the same time.

  “Fair enough,” I replied with a chuckle. “I think we’re off our rockers too.”

  “Why are we all wearing black? Did someone die?” Sadie, my mother-in-law, demanded as she joined the group clad in a Prada black evening gown and stiletto heels.

  Hank and Junior’s mother’s choice of Demon summoning-wear was slightly off since the rest of us were in all black combat gear, but that was Sadie Wilson to a T. She was seriously fashionable. She was also as scary as hell.

  My father-in-law, Jack, was a Werewolf of few words. This was a good thing for their relationship since Sadie liked to talk… a lot.

  “No one died,” I assured her.

  “Yet,” Granny pointed out as she stood next to my mom and dad who took the scene in quietly. They’d been trapped in feral wolf form for decades by some now extremely dead bad dudes. My parents could take their human forms again thanks to Dima’s Uncle Lenny and Junior. Today John and Annie McGee silently watched the scene unfold. My parents didn’t speak much, due to the torture they’d endured. However, when they did, it behooved all around them to listen.

  “That is not a good attitude, old lady,” I said giving Granny the eyeball she’d given me practically every day during my teen years. Now that I was thirty, I felt comfortable giving it right back. However, I took a few steps away from her just in case she felt the need to whack the back of my head.

  “Granny has a point,” Hank said, taking my hand in his. “At least fifty Were are dead from the Devil’s Lettuce.”

  “Also known as Jazz Cabbage for those of you that might have skipped a lot of classes in high school,” I added not making eye contact with Granny. “And Hank, everyone is mostly up to speed on what when down.”

  “Excellent, baby,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Then you understand why we’re doing this.”

  “Umm… gonna go with a nope on that one,” Junior said as the others nodded their heads in agreement. “Not clear on why summoning a Demon named Bel the Whore is going to solve the problem.”

  “Seems to me that the Whore will only compound the issue,” Nicolai pointed out.

  “Okaaay,” I said, biting down on my lips to keep from laughing. This really wasn’t a laughing matter. “Maybe I was talking too fast when I called all of you… it’s Belphegor. Not Bel the Whore.”

  “You definitely said Bel the Whore,” Sandy said, not even trying to hide her laugh.

  “You did,” Granny confirmed.

  “Shit. My bad. It’s Belphegor. Do not under any circumstances call the Demon Bel the Whore. I just don’t see that going over real well.”

  “Roger that. Is the whore the one who created the Jazz Cabbage?” Junior asked, completely serious.

  I rolled my eyes. I was to blame for creating this monster of a misunderstanding. Junior was MENSA but clearly needed everything spelled out for him today. “Junior, it’s Belphegor. Not Bel the Whore. Not the hooker. No nicknames for the Demon. You feel me?”

  “Got it,” he said with a thumbs up.

  “And no. Dwayne says Belphegor is far too lazy to get involved with being summoned to sell drugs,” I finished.

  “Which leads us back to the original question,” Dima said. “Why are we summoning a Demon who has nothing to do with the crime?”

  “Because Belphegor is a necromancer,” Dwayne said as he dropped from the sky mid-flight and landed gracefully in the middle of the circle. “The Bobs want to speak to the dead.”

  “Why?” Sadie demanded, paling.

  “Because they’re douchebags with a death wish,” Dwayne answered, looking around at the group in surprise. “Why wasn’t I told we’d voted on wearing all black?”

  Dwayne was not wearing black. His hot pink skinny jeans, sky blue muscle shirt—a size too small—and jeweled flip-flops were not what I’d suggested to our group for the summoning. Bizarrely, Dwayne somehow made his freaky attire work. The Vampyre was otherworldly gorgeous.

  “I thought… you know… that it was an appropriate color,” I admitted sheepishly.

  “I brought the salt,” Sandy said, holding up a large bucket.

  “I’ve got some candles,” Sadie announced.

  “I found a wand in my pole dancing costume closet,” Granny said, displaying a glittery lavender stick covered in sequins and feathers. “Doesn’t work any magic, but it’s pretty.”

  “Brought some rope for a circle,” Junior said. “Also have a load of two by fours in the back of my truck if you think that would be better.”

  “Better for what?” Dwayne asked, perplexed.

  “To summon Bel the Whore,” Junior answered and then slapped himself in the forehead. “Goddurnit, I meant Belphegor.”

  “We don’t need any of that,” Dwayne said with a laugh and then eyed me suspiciously. “Did you go on the internet, Essie?”

  “Is that a trick question?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay,” I said with a sigh of relief. “Yes. I did. Why?”

  “Tell me this,” Dwayne inquired with a grin, examining all the paraphernalia we’d gathered. “When you research Vampyres or Werewolves on the interwebs, what do you get?”

  “Umm, bullshit?” I answered, realizing my mistake.

  “Yep,” he answered.

  “So we don’t need any of this crap to summon the Bel the… phegor?” Granny asked, disappointed.

  “Nope,” Dwayne said as he kicked off his flip-flops. “All I need is my cell phone.”

  Everyone was silent. Was Dwayne serious?

  “You can just call a Demon on the phone?” Hank asked, shocked.

  “As long as the son of a bitch hasn’t changed his number in the last fifty years, then yes,” Dwayne replied. “I just need to remember the correct area code for Hell.”

  Dwayne stared at his phone and pressed his middle finger to the tip of his nose. We all watched as he began to pace and mumble in a language none of us
understood. “For the love Brazilian waxes, I can’t remember which Hell Belphegor lives in,” Dwayne grumbled.

  “Call me crazy, but I thought there was only one Hell,” I pointed out wondering if skipping class was going to bite me in the ass once again.

  Dwayne paused and glanced over. “Seriously?”

  “Umm… yes.”

  “Oh, Dollbaby, there are tons of Hells. There’s Hell, California—no creepy hotel though. Hell, Michigan—quite cute. Hell, Grand Cayman—that’s the fancy one. Hell, Norway—cold as hell. Hell’s Half Acre, Kentucky—very polite townsfolk. Not to mention Demons also like Red Devil, Alaska and Seven Devils, North Carolina.”

  “Holy shit,” Granny muttered. “Maybe we should have gone to church before this little adventure.”

  “Last time I went to church, it was an all nude congregation—back in the 1930s,” Dwayne mused aloud as everyone looked terrified.

  Dwayne’s stories from his colorful and very lengthy past tended to leave mental scars.

  “It got a little weird when Old Harvey Smarty walked in on that last fateful Sunday. The ancient human bastard had to have been at least ninety-five—nuts dragging on the carpet created so much static electricity that every time he shook someone’s hand he electrocuted them. Blew at least fifty God-fearing nudists sky-high. It was a bloody mess. And that fucker, Harvey Smarty, liked to shake hands. I was the only one that made it out alive. It’s hard to kill someone who’s already dead,” he overshared and then stopped in confusion. “Wait, what does Harvey Smarty have to do with Hell? I mean, I’m sure he went to Hell after detonating all of those Jesus Hesus worshipping folks wearing nothing but their birthday suits.”

  All eyes were wide and on Dwayne. No one was courageous enough to speak. We were all too afraid there would be more to the story.

  “Nothing. It has nothing to do with it,” Hank bravely assured a still puzzled Dwayne. “So you call Belphegor and he just appears?”

  Dwayne sighed dramatically—purely for effect since his lungs didn’t actually function—and shrugged. “If this was a booty call—which it is not—then yes. He would poof right in. Since I’m calling to ask a favor, I have no clue if he’ll show up.”

  “You banged the whore?” Granny asked with a laugh.

  “Yesssssss,” Dwayne admitted with an eye roll and a delighted smirk. “And trust me, you’ll want to bang him too. Belphegor might be a cheating, devious, lazy evil-doer but the boy is hot and hung.”

  “TMI, Dwayne,” I said.

  “Well, it’s true,” Dwayne shot back.

  Sandy, ever the one to railroad the action back on track, pulled a laptop out of her big purse and began typing away. “I have the area codes for all those places. Which one do you want first?” she asked Dwayne.

  “Da-yum, my girl is a sexy nerd,” Junior shouted and smacked Sandy’s ass with reverence and affection.

  “Let’s try the Caymans first,” Dwayne said, straightening his starched muscle shirt and looking nervous. “The asshole likes the beach.”

  And that was when we watched a Vampyre call a Demon.

  The rest?

  The rest was unreal.

  Chapter Three

  “No, Belphie,” Dwayne hissed with an eye roll as he circled his finger in the air making the international crazy motion for our benefit. “And don’t ask me that again.”

  Tension filled my body. Even the summer breeze blowing gently through the fragrant meadow did nothing to calm my nerves. The urge to shift and run until I was too exhausted to think was overwhelming.

  I could feel the stress rolling off my family and friends as we watched Dwayne pace erratically. The potential for this plan to work was slim. The possibility of starting a Zombie apocalypse was large.

  I’d seen the movies. That would totally suck. However, the prospect of even more gruesome deaths and the danger of revealing Weres to the human population were devastating.

  The phone call had been going on for twenty-five bizarre minutes. Belphegor had finally been located in Hell’s Half Acre, Kentucky. According to whispers from a manically typing Sandy, it was about nine-ish hours away by car. If we shifted and ran, it was about five. However, if we flew on the Dragon’s backs it was only an hour.

  “Is this as weird as I think it is?” Granny whispered.

  “Weirder,” I whispered back. And we knew weird. We shifted into animals and lived inordinately long lives. Of course, none of us looked a day over thirty since our aging process was so slow, but Demons were uncharted territory for all of us.

  “How many times do I have to explain this to you?” Dwayne snapped into the phone. “This is not about whether I’m wearing underwear or not. I never wear underwear, but that is none of your business.”

  “Sweet Jesus Hesus on a motor scooter,” Junior said quietly. “Startin’ to feel like we’re listening to a one-sided erotic audiobook.”

  I bit back my groan with effort. However, I agreed. Dwayne had already explained in great detail what he was wearing… twice. Not to mention, he’d been giggling like a teenage girl after almost everything “Belphie” said. Clearly, Belphegor should be named Bel the Whore. And he didn’t seem scary at all if Dwayne’s behavior was anything to go by.

  “Ixnay slovalopa bomp cushky wanamamahama bomp… bomp bomp,” Dwayne insisted and then waited for the answer.

  I think.

  The screaming from the other end of the conversation was loud and clear. Being shifters, all of us had razor sharp hearing. Belphegor didn’t sound pleased. Of course, I had no clue what he was saying since he was speaking the same gobbledy goop Dwayne was shouting.

  “Slompa bomp whompa bomp skitzhazza,” Dwayne snarled. “Blockus nexmus bomp bomp.”

  “What the heck?” I muttered looking around to see if everyone was as confused as I was. I was gonna be seriously pissed at myself if this was something else I’d missed in high school because of my class skipping habit.

  Nope. Everyone looked perplexed… except my mom and dad.

  “Dwayne is speaking Demon,” my father whispered.

  “Do you understand it?” Granny asked.

  “Only a few words,” my mother chimed in quietly. “And don’t ask how we know. That information is best left unspoken.”

  “Roger that,” Junior said. “What can you understand?”

  “Extusmiss noxia bomp bomp butulli, motherfucker,” Dwayne shouted as he began to levitate off the ground in fury.

  Grabbing Dwayne by the pant leg, Granny yanked him back down to solid ground. “Well, I understood that part,” she said with a grin. “Don’t think it’s going the way Dwayne wants it to with Bel the Whore.”

  “Belphegor,” I corrected her, hoping the Demon was too busy hurling insults at Dwayne to overhear Granny’s faux pas.

  My dad gestured for us to back away from Dwayne. Only Granny stayed with him. Someone had to make sure Dwayne didn’t float away.

  Quickly huddling around my parents, we waited. My dad continued to focus on Dwayne and his one-sided conversation. Granny reached over Dwayne’s hand and hit a button on his phone. She was brilliant. Belphegor was now on speakerphone.

  “Floxger bomp bomp yetiwhompas bulzixness,” Belphegor’s irate and high-pitched voice growled over the line.

  “Sheetoxis. Bomp fleupixness,” Dwayne countered, trying to bargain with the Demon.

  There was a long pause while the Demon seemed to consider Dwayne’s request… or ultimatum… or possible threat.

  “Bulifitexi bomp wannamampo exnicisis,” Belphegor said flatly as Dwayne began to pace again.

  “Fwagotti lululana bomp,” Dwayne replied, looking up at the sunny sky.

  “Something about a jailbreak,” my dad whispered.

  “Well, shit,” Hank said, running his hand through his hair. “We sure as hell don’t need to get involved with breaking the law more than we’re already about to.”

  “Amen to that shit,” Junior added.

  “A jailbreak in Hell?” I
questioned. I didn’t like the sound of it either, but we may as well know what we were dealing with.

  My mom shook her head. “Not sure, but I think he said Louisville.”

  “Louisville is in Hell?” I asked, surprised.

  “According to some,” Junior said with a chuckle. “But I’m guessin’ he means Louisville, Kentucky.”

  “Which makes sense since Belphegor is in Hell’s Half Acre,” Dima pointed out.

  “I don’t think any of this makes sense,” I muttered.

  “Glopususis magdeloopa bomp bomp bomp, Hung Island, Georgia,” Dwayne said and then hurled his cell phone.

  The splash as it hit the water sounded distant. However, our hearing was outstanding.

  “We’re near a creek?” Nicolai asked, glancing around.

  “No,” Sadie replied. “The ocean. Of course, it’s a mile away, but Dwayne clearly has a good arm when he’s pissed off.”

  Dwayne closed his eyes and let his chin fall to his chest. His knees buckled and he sank to the ground. Granny patted his bald head affectionately. Dwayne leaned into the woman he considered his mother.

  “Is Belphegor coming?” I asked, squatting down in front of my best friend.

  “He is,” Dwayne said in a tired voice.

  “Is that good?” I pressed, worried for my usually jovial partner in crime.

  Dwayne looked up and gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That remains to be seen. He’s not coming alone.”

  “Explain,” Hank demanded.

  “Belphegor is in Kentucky to break his pappy out of the pokey.”

  “Because?” I asked as my stomach clenched.

  Dwayne eyed all of us with an expression I couldn’t decipher. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Want and need are two entirely different things,” I pointed out. “The question here is, do we need to know? I can say with assurance none of us want to know.”

  “No,” Dwayne said with a slight gag. “No one needs to know. However, I would like to advise staying away from Zeernebooch’s mouth.”