Chapter 24: Strange Happenings

Dorthy was the best in the business. She had her shit on lock and got the job done. There was no negating such facts. She went to school for it, graduated with honors. Dean’s list all four years. Yeah, Jasper loved her setup and preparedness. She came ready with binders and folders, swatches, and textures. Buck appreciated her drive and passion to help their clients. He loved Dorthy’s work ethic and attention to detail; the woman was thorough.
But, he could do without her and Trey’s shit. They made a beautiful couple and put three gorgeous children through college. They were raised right, but things turned sour after them babies left home. They were off doing big things while their parents made a mess. Thirty years of marriage down the drain because Dorthy slipped.
Buck didn’t hate the girl for what she’d done to his grandson, but he sure didn’t like her, or the fact that she was with child, again. This would be baby number four and they weren’t even together.
Dorthy didn’t want Trey.
Fine.
Why fuck around, though, if that was the case? Buck didn’t understand it one bit. These kids and their foolishness. Trey loved her; he was a good man who didn’t deserve to have his heart destroyed like this.
And yeah, maybe Buck had something to say. Mayhap he was feeling a way about it as well. Trey had told them to stay out of it, and Buck was trying.
Goddess help him, but he kept his mouth shut as the women discussed paint options.
He smiled, meandering in the living room. There was still so much work left for them to do. New floors, plaster, beams, and even the foundation was shit. Buck had every intention of finishing before winter. The weather was calm at the moment, but it’d turn come November.
Buck had no real reason to stick around, but was forced to stay. She wouldn’t let him leave. Jasper paid him no mind and didn’t have to. Her presence was enough. Her dapper attire fucked him up from the door. A woman who looked good in anything was his weakness. Putting that shit on with confidence. She even had unmitigated gall to add a splash of something dark, spicy, and sweet.
It was her syrupy, hot, honey butter lilt and laughter tugging on his belt. Succubi were unintentionally cruel and reactive. He knew how this worked, but Jasper was like no other. He’d experienced their demonic curses and enchantments. There were none between them. She hadn’t tried to hook her claws into his soul quite yet, but she’d wanted to, he was god damn certain of it.
To keep himself steady and aware, Buck decided on a walkabout. The house was decent in size and compartmentalized like any proper old-world home. Room within a room. Pocket doors, ninety-degree angles, and an outstanding turret. Two floors and an attic he’d rather not check up on. Buck ambled and re-assessed. There was something nostalgic about them dusty, creaky homes. He could just about smell allat lemon wax and cigar smoke beneath mold and stagnant water.
He’d do his ultimate best to keep her bones; they were good, he sensed it much. On the second level, he ventured into the half bath, smelling those critters. “Y’all had better behave this round and—well, I’ll be.”
Buck noted their abandoned lavatory condo and spotted black granules. Curiosity bugged the hell out of him, so he answered its call, dabbing the dust. A brief sniff told a somber tale.
“Rest with the soil,” Buck muttered. Somebody done killed the little bastards. Which was actually against the law. Faerie of all species were to be left alone, according to the Queen Creed. Vampires, fairies, fae, and weres were safe in Ravensguard. It was neutral ground and oftentimes, a haven for those in need.
An annoying squeal and holler called for attention. Buck huffed and jogged down the rickety, warped staircase.
“Where’s ‘at god damn container?!”
“The kitchen,” Jasper announced. “Maybe.”
Hustling around the corner, he cracked his gum and gritted his teeth. Buck searched what was left of the kitchen. “Where is—” He spotted a pea green casserole dish and snagged it with two fingers. It’d been through hell.
Patience lacking, he dashed through the back door, cleared the steps in a single bound, and followed the trail he’d made.
Sissy Perkins was a difficult resident. He’d seen her at town hall meetings complaining about mismatched flowers, grass two shades darker than verdant, large dogs and their shedding on the sidewalk, wing mottling, and the smell of airing buds in bloom. Mind you, airing buds were essential to sprites, as they were a mating season indicator. There was absolutely nothing to be done about it.
“Ah, Mr. Sunside,” Sissy’s fingers flexed, reaching for her property. She snatched it when able. “Thank—what the hell happened to it?”
“Wicker spider guts.”
“Yeah, yeah. Ugly critters.”
She examined the dish and snarled, resembling a sneaky kingbird snake. They were highly poisonous, the size of a sheep dog, and killed their prey by laying eggs in its mouth. Their main line of defense was mimicry and camouflage.
“When are you gonna start working on this place?” Sissy asked, snippier than a jackal ope. Eyes on Jasper’s place, she scowled. “It’s bringing the entire neighborhood down.”
Buck nodded, gaze locked onto the duo up the street. They were nosy and chatty. “Don’t you worry, Ms. Perkins, we gone get this place cleaned up.”
“Hope so, I’m sick of looking at it.”
“Have a good one, now.”
She gave a curt nod and scurried off, joining her little friends. Buck stood watch and fetched his phone. After a quick swipe, he stabbed Jo’s precious baby photo. Two rings later, the young man answered.
“Funny, I was just thinking about you, Papa.”
“Somethin ain’t right with Sissy Perkins.”
“This ‘bout that cult shit?”
“Hell yeah.”
“How you know?”
Buck popped his gum and tipped his hat to them, weird humans. They blanched and got the hell on. Most knew him by first name and reputation instead of his title.
Buck didn’t play about his family nor the fine fae of Indigo Plains. And most humans were trouble, more than they were worth. Of course, the ones in his family tree were swell, but he was wary of those he didn’t know. The flock with bias, prejudices, and such, he loathed. If not for the appearance of an odd, freak tear between worlds a millennium ago, humans would’ve eradicated their own species at some point. Buck was sure of it.
“‘Cause I know,” Buck said, snapping gum. “The magic on her smells old, and Chessie said Jasper’s house is cursed and been cursed.” He seethed at the thought of somebody taking advantage of Jasper. His bones creaked, and ears itched. He was ready to tear a hole in somebody’s ass. “I’m about to head on over to Hawke in a minute.”
“Ohhhh shit. I heard he was the one to put up that house.”
“And didn’t think twice about taking her money. I’mma get every dime back, too.”
“Don’t hurt him, now, Papa.”
“I ain’t making no promises.” Buck snapped gum, grinding his teeth. “Get on up here and do some investigations.”
Jo cackled like he was getting his feet tickled.
“Now what the hell is so funny?! Get your silly behind over here and do some sheriff work.”
Buck cussed as his demand only made the boy giggle. Heading back towards the house, he kicked up dirt. It was dry as hell, damn near white.
“Papa, we aren’t detectives. What are we supposed to be doing?”
Buck shrugged and dropped to his haunches. No bugs meant no sustenance. He scooped a handful of craggy soil and sniffed.
“This smells bad. Like somebody done died. No silt, minerals, or bacteria. It’s cursed, alright.”
Buck stood, shaking his head. “Look, Jo. I just need to know what’s going on with Sissy Perkins and nem.”
“Shit. You got cause, Papa?”
“Yeah, cause I said so.”
Jo smiled, and he didn’t have to be in the man’s face to know it. “I’ll send Powell. He’s got senses for shit like this.”
“Good.” Buck stalled on the back porch and tapped his boot. “How’s Numa. You never said nothing, but I was worried about him.”
“Ah, you know. He’s good, good. Misses his Mama. But you know.”
It’d been two years since Jo lost his wife and they lost a great-grandchild. The pain never vanished. It was much like an angry tide. Ebb and flow. Buck found it hard to speak about the ones they’d lost. Two. Carter and Mary. He missed them. Numa was a grown man by the time his mother married Jo, but he was part of their family.
“We all do.”
Jo cleared his throat and sighed. “Alright, Papa, I got actual work to do. I can’t be running my mouth all day. “
“Yup, I love you, boy.”
“Love you too, Papa. I’ll call you if anything comes up.”
“I’m sure it will.”
“Bye, old man.”
Buck grunted and ended the call. He ain’t like this picture one bit. It smelled worse than it looked, and he had half a mind to do some investing of his own.
Hitting a quick one-eighty, he thought better of it, for now. Powell was good at his job, and Buck was certain the old wolf would find something worth a damn.

So, here’s the thing, I love buck and his grouchy self. He’s definitely our grump, but he’s so soft on the ones he loves. He goes the extra mile and doesn’t play about who he claims as his family. You fuck around with them you might lose your life. Okay? I will say, the tension between Jasper and Buck is getting on my last nerves! But, I don’t know, I feel like the payoff will be great. As I have said before, I’m a panster, and I am following along with y’all. Jasper is putting this man through it. There is something in the air about her, and he’ll find out soon enough what that is. Veteran fantasy/paranormal/monster/vampire/shifter romance folks already know what time it is. Fated what? Exactly! Anyway, thank you so much for reading. You’re amazing, truly. I hope you have a wonderful week. Give yourself grace! Oh, one last thing, drink your water, love. It’s right there, I see it. Don’t let that ice melt! Byyyeeee.

Neon Red: Chapter 7

“Ndari, he’s in my house. I swear to god.” Max paced in her room, kicking clothes and shoes from her path.
“I can’t believe this, so he—”
“Yes! My dad hired him as a private accountant.”
“The chances.”
“Right,” she said, stunned that her father appointed the man who just asked for her number as a joke. It was a jest. Maybe a bet of some kind. He was definitely pulling her leg. The scarred one. Puffing on her vape pen, Max stared at the latest painting.
The results were shit.
She tried to capture Low in a state of euphoria and failed. He’d love it, but she was gonna burn this piece of awful or throw the ruined lambskin in a wood chipper..
“I just can’t wrap my mind around this. My Dad didn’t know, bruh.”
“It’s nuts, babe. He’s fine, though.”
“As hell. And he look soooo good in a suit.”
Shaking her head, Max inhaled blueberry-flavored smoke and spoke on exhale. “I can’t even be in my own home right now.”
Ndari giggled in her ear. “Why?”
“Because I don’t need him humiliating me.”
“Whyyyy would he do that?”
“Caus—” A beep sent Max sprinting for her phone. “Oh shit, it’s Low. I gotta go.”
“Alright, hon, keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
She tapped the green circle and answered with a smile.
“Wus up, baby?” Low’s voice stoked all them feel good vibrations.
“You are never gonna guess who is at my house.”
“Ronald Isley.”
“I wish,” she snorted. Being older than him, her cougar ass could give Ronny the ride of his life. “Nah, Red.”
“No, Teddie, cut lengthwise len—yeah, like that. Who?”
Rolling her eyes, Max groaned and threw the pen on her vanity. She dropped into a chair and examined the mermaid on her neck. Her hair needed shading. A brighter purple. Maybe fuchsia. “Red, as in big ass, fine ass Red.”
“Ohhhh shit, did he follow you home? Hol’ up. Is he stalking you?!”
She laughed and said, “Nope, my Dad just put him on, bruh. I guess he’s an accountant or something.”
“Whhhhat.” Low scoffed. “A calculator corporal?! How somebody like him work a pussy job like that? What a damn shame. Aye, I’m finna come over.”
She nodded, fiddling with her septum ring. A new one was indeed on the way. “I heard that. Bring your fine behind on. I need you here with me in case he tries to hit my line.”
“You might as well giv—”
“Hurry up, Low!”
With a tap to her earbud, she killed the call and shot to her feet. Max jumped to it, ran ass in the bathroom on a slide, and dashed to the closet.
There were only minutes to spare since Low lived nearby. In her dressing room, she lost the SpongeBob onesie and exchanged it for something decent. Purple leggings and a cropped, sleeveless mock-neck thing.
Feeling cute, Max sprayed her throat with Shalamar and slipped into a pair of furry slides. Back in the washroom, she put the straightener to use real quick. It may have been time for a cut. Too long and too much dye was required.
With her hair done and bone straight, them deadends touched her waist. She didn’t wear it straight often; her curls were too healthy for that. Plus, dual tones popped after a wash and go.
“Okay.” Back in her bedroom, she marched to the dresser and ripped open the top drawer. Its deep belly was filled with sunglasses. She had a menacing stare, as some have said. Max was an old woman who had come to love certain things about herself. The eyes were a sensitive topic. She still had issues accepting it. Her mismatched set was worse than back-rolls and a wonky leg.
Some glasses were tucked into cases, both hard and soft. Others had no case at all. Her collection was a colorful menagerie of generic no-name, Prada, and Ray-Ban. She had about a dozen that were well over fifty years old, and ten she had bought days ago. Max re-upped on shades damn near every night. Online or in-store, somehow, she had a new pair daily.
Max went for steampunk dystopia. The metal rimmed goggles would block peripherals, but so be it. They were also highly reflective, which she loved.
Once donned, she slammed the drawer and twirled. Low lived nine minutes away, and given how he drove, she should have known better.
The man barged right in and froze.
Max dashed for the canvas, stood in front of it, and smiled. “Get out! I’m coming.”
“What is that?”
“Nothing.”
“You lying.”
Stepping over her clothes, he grabbed Max by the shoulders and lifted her like one would a toddler.
“Haaayyy!” she shouted. “I’m ‘bouta mess you up.” She kicked his thighs and growled until he put her down.
“Max…this is fire.”
“No. It’s not. And I didn’t even want you to see it. Asshole.” She scowled and sneered. “You’re invading my privacy. Bringing your bad energy in here. I just smudged my space.”
“I’m taking this home,” he whispered.
She tried not to grin and failed the mission. Of course, he wanted it, Low loved her art.
“I messed up some on the grill part. Don’t think I got the correct shade of gray for your eyes either.”
“It’s fine, perfect even. But put it somewhere else before Tracy comes up in here.”
“Right.”
Max loosened latches and plucked the painting. She stashed it in her closet for safekeeping and hurried back.
“Okay, now get out.”
“You need to clean your room,” he barked, kicking her things. “This don’t make no damn sense, Max. You a hunnit years old, bruh.”
“I’m a creative! I don’t have time to clean, now go.”
Shoving his butt with a foot made him stumble and laugh. She closed the door and was met with her father’s displeasure.
“Elliot, I didn’t know you were stopping by. Tomorrow night, we have a run to make.”
“Sure thing. Just text me.”
“Excellent. And why are you wearing those in the house, Maxine? Is it because of our guest?”
“Duh,” she replied.
“After the stunt you pulled, please. I will lock your bank account.”
Tracy had the capacity to be a reeeal jerk. “Sorry, Dad.”
“Hm. Elliot, would you care for a bite, libations?”
“No, I’m good, Tracy.” Her dad nodded and turned on his heels. Low leaned into her ear and whispered, “This is why I said you need to move out. He treats you like a child. And what stunt? What you do now?”
“Nothing, and shhh.”
He mumbled and cussed. Low hated how cooped up she was, and how Tracy forgot her age sometimes. Her father had been strict and judgmental her entire life. And yeah, her mental state took a blow every single night. But right now, Max didn’t have many options. There was more at stake than her pride.
“Come on,” she ordered. Tip-toeing ahead, Max fought a rising urge to giggle like an idiot. She stopped, looked back at Low, gripped the handle as tightly as possible, and twisted. It turned silently, thus allowing her the ability to peek into Tracy’s office.
She couldn’t see anything.
“Where is he?” Low asked and was too damn loud.
“Are you trying to get us caught, shut—”
The brass was ripped from her clutches and god damn, his zipper was in her direct line of sight. Snapping upright, Max retreated, bumping Low’s hard body.
Red was a lot bigger.
She was stuck between two males who were well over six feet tall, and being five-three, she was positively dainty.
“What the fuck are y’all doing?” Red asked.
“Don’t be rude,” Low commanded. “We was coming to say hello, witcho mean ass.”
Red filled the doorway, just like Low. And her homie wasn’t even Pureblooded, hm.
Not so big now, huh.
Max felt better for Low, honestly. Purebloods thought they were superior to all others, or so she was told. Never talking to one on a personal level, until now.
His fierce, golden gaze traveled between them.
“Are you two joined at the hip?” he intoned. “Do you go everywhere she does?”
“If I did? What business is it of yours?”
Max smiled and pursed her lips. “That’s right, so what if he follows me like a stray?”
“Hol’ on, Max. ‘Cause you taking the shit too far, per usual.”
Jack, Jacob, crap…what was his name?
“Look here, Jack,” Low interjected. She found it hilarious when they did shit like think the same but on different wavelengths.
“Only my mother calls me Jack. Don’t say it again.”
Low chuckled. “Wait. Is your name Jack? For real? I didn’t even know.”
“She knows my name.”
“I don’t.”
“I told you my name.”
Max grimaced, twiddled her matte black nails, and clicked her tongue ring. “I forgot it. So…”
“She ain’t good with names.” Low snorted and knocked on Max’s skull. She swiped and smacked his hand. “Her short-term memory is terrible, bruh.”
The male cocked a brow and said, “You forgot my name? I don’t think that’s ever happened before. Listen, if you two are only fucking—”
She shoved the strapping stag while Low shushed him.
“Get your hands off me,” he balked, wiping the stain her hands left behind.
“Sorry. Look, don’t go saying that out loud, okay? We are not together. Me and Low. Not a couple. And definitely not, fucking.”
“Annnd, that’s your name? Low?”
Low ate it up. “Ohhh yeah, it’s on my SSI card.”
“You got a problem,” Red clipped.
“So do you.”
This was weird, but Low’s expression made their standoff quite interesting. She’d play Red like a god damn violin if need be, and if big Irish over here was feeling froggy, it was about to go down.

Low swung a telling eye to Max, stomped around the red-haired monster, and collapsed onto the lived-in oxblood armchair. This was a fun experiment. Scanning Tracy’s new office, he smirked.
“Daaammmn, it’s clean in here.”
“It is,” Max said, clearly amazed. “There are books on the shelf. Oh my god, did you do this?”
“Your pops is a slob.”
“She got it from him.” Low threw in his unwanted two cents and grinned. Predictable of her to snarl and hiss. “Don’t show out in front of company, Max.”
“So she’s not always like this?”
“She is, I just ignore it.”
“Now you’re lying,” she snapped.
Low smiled and showcased the golds she loved so much. Within the awkward silence, he pulled free a book and cracked it open. “I’m more of a Langston man myself. I don’t like non-fiction.” After a few boring words leaped from the page, Low closed the hardback.
“You’ve read Langston Hughes?”
He pushed the leather-bound novel back in its place and nodded. “Yup. Listen, what we told you, keep that to yourself. ‘Ight?”
While Red’s attention darted between them, again, Low considered their new acquaintance.
“Ohhh, so daddy doesn’t know.” The male smirked as most demons do and stuck both hands into pressed wool pockets. “He wouldn’t approve, or something to that effect. I get it. Sad. What a way to live. But if you two—”
“No.” Max refused for a third time as she dropped to a crouch. “Holy crap, you’ve been busy with his finances.”
“She’s free to fuck whomever, as am I.” Low carried on their conversation, keeping his voice all the way down. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. “We, aren’t a thing. She do her, I do me, etc.”
Taking another L wasn’t on the calendar for this year.
“That’s amusing and—don’t touch that,” Red yelled, spooking Max. She flinched and knocked a perfect pile of eight by eleven folders on they ass. Low thought it was hilarious, but Red, did not. Purebloods were high-strung, arrogant, and bat shit. He’d been around them his whole life. Aged Purevian males, in particular, were the worst.
On the other hand, a big ol’ angry vampire was fun to poke. Also, they’d occasionally put you in a sleeper hold and smash until you slipped into a coma.
“Oh my god, I spent an hour on that shit. I’m gonna lose it. You are costing your father money right now.”
“So, he good, he can pay for it,” Max stated plainly, glaring at her house guest. “See, I can fix it.”
“Maybe don’t touch anything else.” Red became rather agitated. Low caught a notion that this here male was a neat freak, on some ‘dont leave no fingerprints on my glass’ type shit.
Red squinted, flexing his sharp jaw. “I feel like you’re gonna make it worse.”
“No look, I can do it.” Max gathered papers with a cute smile and stacked them. “Maybe I can be a receptionist.”
“Where?” Red asked. “Harley Davidson?”
Low cackled. “Cold blooded, bruh.”
Max was tough as boiled shoe leather when provoked and had an angry streak to match. You know, ‘cause she was so tiny. The small ones always had something to prove. They were mad, ferocious spitfires. That’s why he loved short women. His shorty wasn’t insensitive, but she’d make damn sure to hurt your feelings.
And as Max painted on a fake smile, she shoved another pile. Then a second. She emptied folders and shuffled them shits like dominoes.
“He he he, funny times over, Carrot Top. I can still tase you.”
Standing tall-ish, she shrugged while the fair-skinned vampire flushed a brighter shade of red. His hair wouldn’t be outdone; it was the same hue as a ripe pomegranate.
“Do you dye it?” Low asked.
“What?!” The accountant snapped and scowled at Low. “What are you talking about?”
“Your hair?” Low gestured to his own durag. “Do you dye it to get it that red?”
“No.”
“Wild. It’s heavy white people shit. What is you? Irish or Scottish?”
“He’s magically delicious,” Max belted. “A bowl of L-”
“I swear to god, if you say—”
“What are you going to do exactly?” Max canted her head and grimaced. “Are you an abuser? Because if so, that’s deplorable behavior.”
“I got pahtna’s who can fit you with a toe tag for nothin’.” Low wasn’t playing with them words. “Believe that. So the choice is yours, pretty boy.”
Red anchored a steely gaze upon Low and tweaked a brow. “Are you threatening me, halfbreed?”
Thinking about it, Low admired the coffered ceiling, his boot-clad feet, then Max.
Meeting Red deadass in the eyes, he nodded. “Yes, I am.”
GQ here was a paper pusher. A Pureblood, sure, but still just an accountant. Age didn’t correlate with wisdom. Old heads were often taught quick lessons by a hungry YN who’d do the most to eat.
Red didn’t seem the type to scrap with the likes of Low. Most halfbreeds cowered under a Pureblooded male’s scrutiny. Not him. Low wasn’t intimidated by no fucking body.
“Wus good witchu, pimp?” Low asked, knowing the dapper white man wouldn’t comprehend his query. As his eyes narrowed, Red smiled and popped them dimples. That was some sexy shit to say the least.
Mister number cruncher pivoted and refocused on Max. “Get out.”
“You’re in my house.”
“I’m in your father’s house, now get, out.”
“I can make him fire you.”
“I don’t care,” Red said. “By all means.”
After two long strides, his wide frame fell into the squeaky executive chair and rocked. “No sweat off my back. I’ll get paid for my time regardless.”
Low slapped his thighs and pushed off. “Let’s go, baby, ‘fore he has a cornea.”
As he opened the door, Max paused and threw a salty look at the tight-ass accountant. “Don’t get testy, Big Red, I’ll take it to hell and rip your dic—”
Low yanked her mouthy self by the collar.
“I’m gonna kill you!”
Holding her two feet from the floor, Low glanced at the vampire. “Don’t worry, she’ll warm up to you.”
Max screamed and kicked as Low closed the door. “Put me down!”
He dropped her.
“Gently, would have been nice!”
“You want that man to murder you? ‘Cause if you keep talking, he finna pop off, then I’ma retaliate and thhhhen I’ll get pinched. Who’s gonna take care of my brothers? See the snowball there?”
Max grumbled and stalked to the kitchen. Low followed and stopped at the fridge for a quick bottle of B-positive.
“You so ill-tempered,” Low said.
“I’m not.”
“Please lie to somebody who don’t know you.” On the counter, he found sugar and snagged it. “What you do earlier, anyway?”
“I accused him of stalking me, and I guess I said something about calling the police. Then I questioned his intellectual status.”
Low laughed curtly, shoveled a tablespoon of C & H, and poured it in his blood. “Whew, you might regret this.” Five more were added before he twisted the top back on and shook it.
Facing Max, who sat on the island enjoying a blueberry scone, he winced. “Disgusting.”
“It’s a delicacy.”
“Anyway, he’s feisty, bruh.” Cracking the top again, he swigged, and Max shuddered.
“You are the only vampire on the planet who adds sugar to blood, and drinks it cold. You committing a sin and upsetting our bloodsucker ancestors.” She shook her head and bit into a real cardinal sin. “Like, it’s abominable what you be doing. Weirdo shit.”
Swallowing, the revival began. He liked sweet blood, okay. What was so wrong with that? Low drank cold blood for hella long. Back when he was living on the streets, and it was hurricane season… a living hell. You break into the blood bank and take what you can get. True, it’d be easier to bite any old body, but he vowed a long time ago to never hunt again…ever.
“Says you,” Low deadpanned, “Who deep throats anything blueberry.”
“Yeah, and? That’s normal. It’s good for you too.”
“When you add refined sugar, flour, and butter, that healthy factor is out the window.”
She shrugged. “It ain’t for a lack of trying.”
Max giggled and stuffed the rest in her talented mouth. Fuck, he hated sneaking and creeping. Lying to his employer wasn’t a safe bet, but such is life, right?
After finishing sixteen ounces of revitalizing power, Low rinsed the mason jar and put it in the dishwasher. “I hate the sunglasses, they ugly.”
“Much like you, fat head.”
He double-backed and stood before her. A war raged within as he fought an urge to kiss the ornery devil. He loved the tiny stud in her full and fluffy bottom lip. Low never felt it when it was pressed to his. And when she wore the black lipstick he loved? Max was untouchable.
“I don’t like that neon yellow durag. You look like a highlighter, bitch.”
“Why you gotta put extra on it every time?!” He frowned. “Do I ever call you a bitch? Nah, you’d be hollerin’ if I did. You get on my ghat damn nerves.”
Max popped a shoulder and jumped off the counter. “It depends on the context, Low. And it ain’t extra when I’m telling the truth.”
“Shutcho mouuuuff, stubborn ass, that’s your problem, bruh, you talk too much.” Following her onto the patio, Low figured he probably did look like a lost puppy. “I swear, you ‘bouta make me smoke…”
“Annnnd? Bye!” Max scoffed, whistled at Jaya, and smiled at him. “We got steaks up in the deep freezer. You wanna grill some later?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The back and forth never ceased, but there wasn’t a soul he felt more comfortable with. As Max cheered on Jaya, for a record-setting lap, his stomach dropped. If Tracy ever found out, it was a wrap. He’d give Low the boot and make damn sure Max never spoke to him again.
Tracy let him know early on that Maxine was off limits. Forbidden. But Low ain’t listen, and the girl wouldn’t take no for an answer. Their vibe thrived from the start, shaking it was hard. Both parties tried and failed. More than once. They decided mutually to cut ties on four separate occasions. Shit flopped. So, he and Max said to hell with it. Letting worrisome thoughts go, he trekked back into the house, in search of the high-priced T-Bone’s Maxi loved.

Oooooookay, this is chapter 7! If you missed it, just know, I posted the wrong one last night. What a mess, I know I already said it, but I am so sorry. Anyway, this is where we are at. I like to call them the Troublesome Trio. If you stick it out and follow their journey, you’ll understand why. These three are headache-inducing, cute, adorable, aggravating, and have sooooo much to learn. I hope you enjoyed their not-so-meet-cute. Anyway, I really hope y’all have a splendid week. I’ll see you in a bit. Thank you so much!

Chapter 18: Of Teas & Curses

“Goddog,” Buck mumbled, missing the mesh bag by a whole hell of a lot. “Get off it, old man.” After the pep talk, he nabbed his pipe and puffed for a moment, glaring at a wooden box filled with bags. The festive months lifted his spirits, and typically, getting a head start on Chrismassy things made Buck happy. Of course, the women had ruined his favorite hobby. “Shiiiiiit.”
“What’s wrong, buttercup?” Totti asked, patting her ruffled skirt. “You love working on holiday specials.”
“I do, but it’s our house guest that’s got me in a tizzy. She’s working my last nerve, too.”
“He wants to fuck heeeeeeer,” Torti sang.
“I do. He ain’t lying. Thing is, she ain’t available.”
Totti shrugged and said, “Well, there’s other bees on the bud, honey. You know this.” The wee betty landed on the mushroom-shaped bowl of his pipe and placed hands on her narrow hips. “Y’all are mighty generous with your bed, never too picky either. Go find someone who is available.”
Buck canted his head, brows knitting. “But I don’t want nobody else right now. She’s my fancy at the moment, Totti. And you know how I get when someone grabs my attention.”
“True, but if she’s not into it, then you have no choice but to accept it.”
“You ain’t lying either.” Buck took to his pipe, and Totti pushed off, then flitted about. “I gotta respect her wishes, and I do, but she lost a bet.”
“What a fucked way to go about getting what you want,” Torti said, jumping into a pile of crackly mint leaves. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you a cunt.”
“Thank youuuuu, I love you too, Buckley.”
The mini man and miss wore the same attire at all times, preferring tunics and fluffy dresses. Because Nieema loved them more than most, she made their cute garments. Other sprites thought them weird for adopting “primitive fashion trends”. They were nudists by nature and didn’t see the point in covering their bodies.
Buck didn’t care, but not everyone shared their love of running ‘round the forest booty naked.
“She agreed to this bet,” Buck amended, setting his pipe on the table. “Jasper could’ve said no.”
“You could’ve not offered,” Torti said, grinning like Carl’s raggedy ass. The sprite ducked into the pile of leaves and popped up, tossing them in the air. “Ugggh, I love fresh mint. This shit clears my skin and guts.”
“I don’t need to hear ‘bout your guts, Torti. Please do shut the fuck up.”
“As much as I don’t want to agree with the village bitch,” Totti chimed, “I must say that was mischievous of you.”
“Would you look at that, I’m living up to Mama’s expectations.”
Torti and Totti spat in their palms and flapped their wings three times. “No, no. We shall not speak of her in our sanctuary. Don’t go there, buttercup.”
“Sorry,” Buck muttered.
He quieted and let nature speak for him. The homey treehouse was a living entity, groaning and shifting as Buck shuffled from shelf to shelf. He hummed and two-stepped as soft, deep lofi played from the small speaker on the kitchen counter. It was wedged between canisters, candles, and teacups.
The art of tea making soothed his spiraling thoughts. One-hundred sachets later, Buck yawned and scratched the base of his left antler.
“These ‘bouta shake loose. Another week or so.”
“Yaaaay!” Torti circled Buck and clapped in his line of sight. “You hear that, T? We’re getting new mattressessss.”
“That is lovely, mine is getting lumpy. I can barely sleep.”
Buck was all about resource and reuse. Nothing in nature goes to waste. Even the velvet on his antlers. It made for great bedding materials. The sprites loved how soft it was, and he didn’t need it after a time. Hank, on the other hand, hated how he gave it away for free… and to sprites of all people.
A repetitive tapping at the door made his mouth and ear twitch. “Come on in.” The visitor chirped and wobbled on through the revolving window pane made for avian and sprite folk alike.
“You late,” Buck snapped. The colorful bird didn’t pay him any mind, chasing Torti around the tree house. One day, they’d stop flirting and be done with it. Chessie was married but free to fuck. He was polyamorous; his husbands were not. Two men shared Chessie; they didn’t even live together. It wasn’t no shit Buck would volunteer for. Their polyam structure was completely different. They were on the same highway but in two different lanes.
Buck surveyed the spice wall and pulled a shimmering purple blend. Magical spices added a kick to his tea, and he thanked Maggie by giving her twenty percent of his earnings. Crystal powders carried magic well and were often safe to consume in small, measured doses.
“Chessie! Stop foolin about, now. I got shit to do.”
The twittering tropical sea bird trilled and flapped his wings until they were no longer visible to the naked eye. The frenetic motion helped the man shift. Watching his transformation was kinda like staring at the sun. Glaring and powerful, an impossible glowing orb evolved into Chessie Tideway.
He was a short, lanky gentleman with burnished brown skin and white freckles. His curly hair and eyes resembled the island waters in which he was born. Warm, shallow tides had been kind to him, giving his complexion a dewiness most paid for. The personable fellow had been his best friend for almost three hundred years.
“Woooo doggie, I tell you!” Chessie ambled on over to the icebox and grabbed them both a chilled longneck. He cracked them open with his sharp teeth and chucked tops into the bin. “Bruh, that house is a piece of shit. I mean, it’s ready for a nice wind.”
“I know it.” After sprinkling the powder over the basket of tea bags, he accepted the frothy, autumnal hops. Clove and Creme were his favorite. “Hawke gon’ catch his death one day behind his trickery.”
Chessie swigged and burped, sitting his bare ass down on the couch nearest to Torti. There wasn’t shit a sprite could do for him, at least nothing Buck could figure.
“So, what you find?” Buck asked.
“What didn’t I find? A charred wicker spider out back, your construction buddies milling about, writing shit down. Then, sometime after sunset, people start peeking into the house. You know that weird white lady who be giving vendors at the farmers market a hard time? Wushuname…uhuh—”
“Sissy Perkins.”
“That’s her, yeah. She was looking all in the window with some other folks. That didn’t seem odd to me until I noticed how all of them was wearing the same bracelets with scribbles on them. Prolly some cult shit.”
Buck snagged his pipe and added the magic powder, clove, Pixie Dash, and dried bubble flower to the bowl. He stuffed, struck a match, and puffed.
“What about the curse?”
“Ohhhhh,” Chessie tipped his beer and tapped Torti on his tiny head. The man screamed and bit the tip of Chessie’s finger. “Tell me you love me.”
Torti made a gagging sound, and his teeny body shuddered. “Even if I liked giants, you wouldn’t even make the top fifty on my To Be Fucked list.”
Buck leaned against the counter, arm under his elbow, holding the pipe to his lips. Smoking was another hobby, one to soothe and mellow. It softened the mind and body, allowing him to create in peace.
“The house got about five curses on it, I’d say. Residuals from the last done spoiled the soil and water. I took a sensor charm up in there, and that motha fucka turned red instantly. Ain’t nothing good ever happened in that house.”
Chessie scoffed and sprang to his feet, heading for the icebox a second time. He threw away the empty bottle, plucked another, and some fruit.
“Back in the day, a warlock lived there. They ran his unhinged ass outta town, but still, don’t nobody know what he did in there. For a while, the mayor wouldn’t let citizens anywhere near it. If I was Ms. Marrow, I’d bulldoze the whole thing, start fresh, and ward the grounds.”
Buck grunted at the thought of all that work. It’d be hell, but quite possibly worth it. Jasper’s safety was important, for whatever reason he’d yet to scrutinize, but refused to ignore what he felt when in her company.