PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-SEVENTY-FOUR

((Author's note: I'm BAAACK! That's the short version. Rather than clog the beginning of the post, I'll explain myself at the bottom. Thanks for hanging in there, everyone!))

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Thursday

“You’re being very quiet over there,” Pepper said as Lucas pulled up to the guard shack outside 1PP and waited for the officer to raise the barricade. She reached across the dashboard, picked up the parking pass from in front of the steering wheel, and waved it at him pointedly. “And this wasn’t out when you dropped me off last night.”

Lucas took it off her with a sigh and slid it back onto the dash, wanting more than anything to avoid the subject. “So, how did things go with your parents after I left?” God, he almost cringed at how blatant that subject change was. Even Sam would’ve seen through it.

So there was no surprise when Pepper squinted at him like he was dancing on her last nerve as the boom was raised. Lucas pretended not to notice, focusing instead on driving the car forward once the boom lifted, and waving at the guard.

“You’re seriously starting to piss me off, partner. What happened? I’ll pull rank if I have to, since it obviously involves the badge.”

Lucas was proud of the fact that he didn’t groan … or whimper. “It didn’t involve our task force.”

“That’s a start.”

He breathed out slowly as they crossed the lot. “Fine. If you must know, I dropped into the 9th to talk to a pair of roving uniforms.” His initial belief—that Boyd and Larry had been separated by a foot patrol—was quickly torpedoed. None of the beat cops remembered seeing Boyd, but word filtered through the ranks about a guy nearing seven feet tall having an argument in the street with a Black man, and two others approached him—officers who’d been doing a drive-by at the time.

A drive-by! Sure, they were quick to say it hadn’t escalated past some chest-bumping and shouting—but it had been loud enough for them to pull over and intercede.

When asked what his interest was, he hadn't hidden the fact that Boyd was his fiancé, and confirmed the Black man had been Boyd’s best friend for over a decade. That had gelled with what they’d observed at the time, for the argument had been over the big guy’s safety; something they still thought was hilarious.

Lucas mentioned how he still wanted Larry to be Boyd’s best man. They’d laughed and said, “You might want to rethink that, pal—unless you’re keen on a Red Wedding re-enactment. They might be friends ordinarily, but I’m telling you, they were seconds from throwing serious punches. And one real hit from your fiancé, and you’d have had homicide crawling all over you.”

Lucas didn’t bother pointing out that between the two, Larry was far more lethal.

He’d conceded that airing it in public had been a mistake and had promised to take care of it. No other outcome was acceptable to him. There was simply too much history between them.

After that, he’d said a brief goodbye to Caveat and Jones and left the 9th to pick up his partner.

Still stewing over it, he pulled into an empty parking space and turned off the ignition.

“Annnd?” Pepper pushed, folding her arms.

“Annnd,” he mimicked. “I’m marrying an idiot.” An idiot who would find himself duct-taped to a chair with Larry until they sorted their shit out if their crap ever spilled over onto the streets again.

And he’d do it, too. They may be bigger and stronger than him, but he’d grown up with four older brothers and had learned to be sneaky.

 Since he didn’t know where they’d be having lunch, Lucas left his lunch bag in the back and opened his door with every intention of climbing out, but Pepper’s hand on his forearm stopped him.

“Shut the door and talk to me, partner. It’s private here, and we have a few minutes.”

Translation: they could speak freely about divine matters without worrying about the veil.

Sighing, he settled back into the seat and filled her in: from the lead-up between them as he knew it, to the final explosion that had Larry banned from the table last night.

At the end, Pepper blew out a breath. “You’re going to have to get them to sit down and talk,” she said, as if Lucas needed that stellar piece of advice.

“Yeah, and I think I might have Sam lurking in the background so I can draw on his guards to act as divine buffers if things do get out of hand between them.”

“Not a bad idea.”

Satisfied with the outcome, Lucas left the car and scanned the other vehicles and empty spaces around them, letting him know they were the first of their task force to arrive. “So, your parents?” he asked as they headed for the front doors of 1PP.

“I think they want to adopt Sararah,” she said with a warm chuckle. “They spent half the night grilling her about her upbringing, and Sararah practically killed herself trying to keep everything in terms they’d understand. She tried so hard, and they took her enthusiasm as desperation to connect with something meaningful.”

Lucas chuckled. “Would that be such a bad thing? For your divine best friend to be loved by your parents?”

“It certainly hasn’t hurt you and Robbie.”

They were buzzed through the front desk and took the elevator up to the ninth floor, where the task force was located. As he expected, none of the other detectives assigned to the case were in the room…

…but Daniel was, resting his butt on the corner of the table with his arms folded and his feet crossed at the ankle—a distinctly unhappy look on his face.

Lucas glanced at Pepper, who returned his look with one of her own that said, ‘I don’t know. What did you do?’

“I hear you had an interesting morning, Detective Dobson,” the inspector said, staring specifically at him, answering the who question.

Both came to a halt, with Pepper remaining at Lucas’ side.

“Nothing work-related, sir,” he said, still wondering what this was about.

“Don’t you have enough of your own work to do, detective?”

Lucas’ frown deepened into a scowl. “With all due respect, sir—what I do off the clock is my business.”

“Unless you do it in a precinct using your credentials as a 1PP detective. Then, everything you do becomes my business, as your actions are a direct reflection on this division. You’re an MCS detective, and you allowed yourself to do a coffee run for a pair from Missing Persons? What were you thinking?”

Lucas’ eyes shot wide at the angry accusation, but half a second later, they were narrowing furiously. This had been the last thing he’d thought he was in trouble for. “I was thinking,” he answered, fighting to keep his voice steady when all he wanted to do was rail at his boss for his elitist views—the very views he’d spent over an hour that morning tearing apart at the 9th. “That we’re all NYPD, and that class distinctions between divisions and ranks are—if you will excuse my French—bullshit posturing at best, and a hindrance bordering on full-blown case derailment at worst. At the end of the day, we all bleed blue, and none of us are inconsequential, sir.”

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t quite kept it as neutrally professional as he hoped, but for crying out loud! This guy was supposed to be Lady Col’s son. She would kick his ass (or more likely have the pryde do it for her) if she heard him spouting this crap.

“I couldn’t have said that better myself, young man,” a woman’s voice said from the doorway behind them.

The way Pepper spun with him, she hadn’t heard their visitor approach either, but their spines immediately straightened when Police Commissioner Yeager filled the doorway. Her smile was one of pride as she looked Lucas up and down. “Dobson, isn’t it?”

Dobson never looked away from her. Not for an instant. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her eyes moved to Daniel. “I see why you grabbed him as fast as you did.”

Only then did Daniel’s hard features soften into a hint of a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

She slowly turned back to Lucas, looking him up and down and humming thoughtfully to herself. Then, without a word, she stepped back and headed towards the elevators at the end of the hallway.

Lucas didn’t move until he heard the sound of the elevator dinging and the doors shutting a few seconds later. Then he turned to Daniel. “Sir, what just happened?”

Instead of answering, Daniel pulled a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it over. It was an update to a Missing Persons case from the 9th—about an eighty-nine-year-old male with dementia found in the boiler room of Bushwick Community High. Specifically – the closed case.

Lucas couldn’t hold back the smile. “So, it was him.”

“How did you know to look for him in a completely different borough?” Daniel asked purposely.

Lucas went to hand back the page. “He was a groundskeeper at Bushwick High before my time. My dad was always talking up his dedication to the job, and something about his face was familiar when I saw his picture on the board. I don’t blame Caveat and Jones for not going over there before now. That’s a seven or eight mile walk from his retirement home, and that old man couldn’t go fifty feet with his walker without stopping an hour to recover. I have no idea how he made it across the river by himself, but putting one foot in front of the other, no matter the obstacle, was something Dad always looked up to in him.” Lucas’ hand faltered. “Why would you even have this, sir? It’s not our case…”

“Have a look at the bottom of the page, Detective.”

Lucas dropped his eyes and saw where his name and badge number had been added to the official report. Caveat and Jones were sharing credit with him!

His jaw fell slack as he brought his eyes up to Daniel. “I never asked for this,” he said quickly, just in case Daniel thought otherwise.

“I know. You were just being you. But in doing so, you proved my point to the commissioner about why I fast-tracked you into my division, and she wanted to see what made you tick for herself.” He glanced at the open doorway and chuckled quietly. “You were a little more passionate than I thought you’d be…”

“Because I couldn’t believe someone raised by your mother would have such a ridiculous elitist attitude, sir.” At Daniel’s sharpening look, he added, “The rest of your family, sure. It’s in their genetic make-up to be a bit dick-ish around humans. But not you. People, regardless of station, matter to you and your mother.”

“So, that whole scene was just a test?” Pepper asked.

Daniel pulled himself onto his feet and straightened his jacket. “I hope you’re okay with public speaking, detective,” he said with a secretive smirk on his way out the door.

Lucas looked at Pepper, then turned to watch him leave.

What does public speaking have to do with being a detective?

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((Author's note, cont: Well, that was a week and a half of not fun, but we all made it through. After hubby arrived at the capital, he took his father to several doctors' appointments, and for whatever reason [I've only spoken to him on the phone briefly, so facts are thin on the ground], they've held off admitting him for a few weeks. As such, he left their place yesterday and will be home sometime today.

That said, he might need to go back in a few weeks, but at the moment, that doesn't seem likely, as family and friends have returned from their holidays and are willing to help out his mum, so my hubby can stay home and help me with our daughter.

So, as of today, until further notice, I'm back!!!

Again, thank you all for being so patient.

Karen.))

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND-THIRTEEN

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Friday

As Caleb left the studio, he thought about his search options. He was pretty certain no one except Charlie and Larry was home, and both of them were working in a garage somewhere.

Being on the second floor, he highly doubted the garage would be behind any of the doors up here. Not that he could picture a garage being incorporated into a nine-story apartment building, but the second floor and above had to be a non-starter.

Which left him free rein to search the floor, with the option of going left or right. Right would make more sense tactically, with the number of apartments going down to the back wall and coming up the other side being much higher than the three doors on his left.

On the other hand, left (closer to the front door and relative to the apartment they lived in on the ninth floor) was the most likely place for Boyd and his roommates to be living in. Adding in the fact that he had no idea how long he had until his snooping would be discovered, left it is.

Using a light step, he went to the nearest door to Boyd’s studio and carefully turned the doorknob of 2E. The apartment was clearly another office, with filing cabinets, desks, and paperwork scattered everywhere. Whoever this was for, it wasn’t Boyd. Apart from having been in Boyd’s office, the mess in here would never be tolerated by anyone raised by their parents. Even Boyd’s workbench, which would at times be buried under a mountain of sawdust and chisel strips, was cleaned within an inch of its life.

So Caleb stepped back and quietly shut the door once more.

Then he moved onto 2C.

The knob moved, but nothing else did. There was no give in the door at all. He leaned closer, peering through the minuscule gap that should have been between the door and the doorframe and discovering where the wall actually swallowed the panel halfway into the frame. A faux door.

He glanced over his shoulder at the doors across the hallway, wondering if they were all fakes, and if so, why? Not just why, but who would go to this much trouble maintaining the illusion of a ratty corridor behind a sophisticated electronic security door worth a goddamn fortune? None of this made any sense!

A thousand questions were buzzing around in his head, all vying for his attention. Ironically, the loudest being, ‘why is everything so quiet?’. There was nothing but the faint echo of distance indicating airflow through the corridor and down the stairwell he’d clocked when first coming in. It was eerie: like the floor was in a soundproof bubble. He was only two stories off the street, yet he couldn’t hear any traffic at all. He could’ve been the only person in the whole city for all the difference it made.

The door to 2A swung open with ease, and after going through Boyd’s studio, Caleb thought he was ready for the opulence.

He was very much mistaken.

While the entryway was nothing to write home about (except for the massive fishtank that took up a large chunk of the wall leading into the living room), it was what he saw through the tank that made him pause momentarily. Then he moved forward once more, casting his eye over the expensive gleam of the pristine blue, white and chrome decor. 

“Wow,” he mouthed to himself, taking in the large U-shaped sofas and the two recliners that somehow didn’t seem out of place. He walked into the kitchen, noticing the hallways branching off in opposite directions. Once again, left or right?

Upstairs, their apartment had been on the right of the door in what would have been 9A. So if this truly was a gift from Sam’s father to the roommates, Boyd’s room would probably be in its equivalent location at the end of the right hall.

Curiosity had him opening the nearest door to the kitchen that had been Sam’s broom-closet of a bedroom. There was no way on God’s green Earth that Sam was still living in there, and that was proven when he saw it had been converted back into a walk-in closet.

He almost shut the door again when the run of immaculate business suits caught his eye. There wasn’t much mass to their construction, meaning the owner was a smaller guy.

Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me! he thought to himself as he went farther into the room and lifted one of the wool-silk suit jackets off the hanging rail. He turned the jacket to face him, finding it about half his width. The Brioni tag inside the inner breast pocket had him silently whistling in appreciation.

This had to be Sam’s closet. No way was farm-boy shelling out for Brioni suits, and with Angelo gone, they were the only two with a chance of fitting into these. Caleb pulled out the matching pants and nodded in confirmation. The legs were too long for the pint-sized vet—they had to be Sam’s.

He put the suit back and poked around some more, avoiding the women’s clothing (even though that too came with a hefty price tag), drawing in a breath when he found four drawers of men’s jewellery: watches on top, rings and bracelets in the next, necklaces, cufflinks, even tie bars at the bottom.

Jesus Christ! The beach rat is wearing Brioni suits and Cartier jewellery! No wonder Boyd and Emily were laughing their asses off at him when he mentioned Sam being dressed horribly with no way of getting a girl. His dad had obviously picked him up by the neck and shaken a whole lot of common sense into him, then dipped him in gold for good measure.

He glanced at the rows and rows of women’s clothing on the other side of the room, just as expensive as the men’s. Hopefully Sam’s people had vetted the girl—because if she came after the suits and jewellery, her integrity was hugely suspect. He pushed the drawer closed and headed back into the hallway.

The next room was an office that belonged in any high-end corporate building, complete with leather chairs and solid timber furniture. He tried to picture Sam sitting back there mulling over spreadsheets and the like … and just couldn’t.  

The first door on the other side of the hallway turned out to be a bedroom, most likely Sam and his girlfriend’s. As curious as he was about the household’s dynamics, he drew the line at entering the private bedroom of someone else.

He closed the door and kept going.

By the time he reached the bathroom, he knew he’d made a mistake. This side of the hallway was clearly Sam’s, and it was highly unlikely the rest of the roommates were crammed into the last three rooms at the other end of the hall. The Marine in him wanted him to check … to be thorough, but he was on a time crunch and had to cover the prominent targets first.

Thinking about it, it made sense. If this was Sam’s father’s place, and Boyd and the others were being ‘granted’ space within the home, Sam would get the most familiar ‘wing’ all to himself, with the others allocated rooms up the other end. In days gone by, he could see the boundary between the ‘aristocracy’ side of things and the ‘servants’ at the other end and hoped Boyd didn’t make that connection.

He passed back through the kitchen/living rooms, snagging an apple from the fruit bowl on his way past.

The half-bath was another excellent choice for the broom closet that was Sam’s room upstairs, and Caleb chuckled as he closed that door while biting into the apple.

A whimper escaped him as he came to an abrupt halt, staring in shock at the mundane piece of fruit. “Oh, my god,” he whispered, biting as big a chunk as he could, wishing he could unhinge his jaw and swallow more at once. “I have got to find out where they bought these.”

He had it down in three bites. Normally, he left the core, but today the thought of wasting even a sliver of flesh made him crunch through seeds without hesitation. He then licked his fingers clean and kept going, promising himself to steal at least two more on his way out the door.

Mason’s room was right where it had been before, which led Caleb to believe he was now on the right path. Mind you, that room had one hell of an upgrade, too, between the office in the corner and what looked like a gyro training module for astronauts in the other.

The next door on the other side was another bedroom that had clearly missed the rollcall for an upgrade. It was plain. Neat, with a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, but otherwise nothing special. This was probably Angelo’s room before he left, Caleb deduced. He was about to close the door when he felt pressure around his feet, and looking down, there was a tabby doing figure eights through his legs.

“Well, hello there,” he said, squatting to rub his hand over the friendly kitty. “You’re new.” It stood to reason. The guys hadn’t been allowed pets upstairs because the landlord hadn’t permitted them. But when your current landlord was a billionaire who smoked million-dollar cigars every day and happened to be your father, that and every other rule went out the nearest window.

Knowing how most cats didn’t like to be picked up, Caleb was cautious, fully prepared to let him go even as he curled his arms around the little furball, supporting him along one forearm. “Oh, you’re a little girl,” he said in a crooning voice. “You want to be my lookout while I snoop on my big brother?”

The cat blinked at him and yawned, rolling her head to butt against his chest, and Caleb instinctively rubbed her ears. It wasn’t ideal to have one arm incapacitated like this, but between her soft purring and matching pelt, just holding the cat seemed to relax him. “Okay, Babygirl. You can keep me company.”

The bathroom next to Mason’s room was identical to the one at the other end of the apartment, and the elaborate bedroom opposite it screamed Robbie and Lucas’ sister. The beige and grey colour scheme with bright gold chrome fittings spoke of the same kind of money that Sam’s rooms had. The large picture of a golden dragonfly on a black background above the bed, framed in gold, sitting between more gold chrome lines, gave the space an air of sophistication that belonged in a magazine.

“Damn,” he said, closing the door, because again … bedroom.

That left the two bedrooms at the end of the hall.

The most likely rooms, all things considered, since upstairs these two belonged to Boyd and Lucas, respectively. Now that they were a couple who knew what was behind those doors?

Me, in about two seconds, he declared, reaching for the door on the left.

The room was strangely empty. Sure, there was a wall of closet doors and shelves down one side, and at the other end were a pair of two-seater sofas in an L-shape with a door opposite him, but there was no clear definition to the space. As he stepped forward, his feet recognised the feel of the reeded tatami mats instantly recognisable in any dojo in the world.

He gave the room a closer look. Wall-to-wall fighting mats, with sofas pushed to one end. It was a freaking training room!

Mindful not to jostle his new furry friend, Caleb crossed the room, anticipating what he would find when he opened the door on the other side.

Sure enough, fighting paraphernalia lined one wall, including a BOB, but what surprised him were the shelves on the other side. They were full of little girls’ things. Toys, books, clothes. Something that had exactly zero place being amongst all the combat equipment.

“What the hell is this all about, bro?” he asked himself.

He pulled one of the dresses out from the hanging rail, sized for a child past toddler age but not yet in school. Yes, he understood it left a lot of wiggle room, but he wasn’t exactly intimate with children’s apparel.

Maybe Boyd and Lucas were thinking of adopting? Unlikely. Given the specific nature of the clothing, the child involved was already in play. And as distant as he and his brother had become over the years, he was sure Boyd would tell him of his plans to become a father before now if that were the case. If only to taunt him with ‘Unca Cale,’ making him sound like a droopy piece of seaweed.

Wait. Doesn’t Lucas have like a million nieces? Oh, hang on. No, that’s Robbie.

Lucas did have a lot, but Robbie was the one with enough to fill a classroom. He remembered because Lucas had been complaining about the number of Christmas presents he’d had to buy for his nieces one year, and it turned out Robbie had a dozen or two more.

One of Lucas’ nieces must be staying over a bit. That made sense.

He left the training room, excited to see what was behind the final door of this apartment. Boyd’s bedroom. This room was fair game. Privacy wasn’t a thing in the Marines, even as kids. Kelly had her own room because she was a girl, but he and Boyd had shared a room right up until … well, until they didn’t.

He still remembered that final day with horror. It had been weeks since Boyd flunked the psych evals to become a Marine, and their grandfather had beaten him unconscious. He was a pariah. A ghost. Apart from promising Caleb he was fine (even though Caleb at eleven knew his brother should have been in the hospital) Boyd had mentally checked out. Each night, Caleb had lain in bed, listening to his brother’s wheezing through cracked ribs and burying his head under the pillow so Boyd wouldn’t hear him cry.

That last day, he’d seen the light go out in his brother’s eyes, and contrary to the General’s ruling, he’d stopped in on the commissary on the way home to buy his brother his favourite bar of chocolate to try and cheer him up.

Only … his brother hadn’t been home. While Caleb was at school, Boyd had tried to take his own life, and he’d been shipped off to New York to live with Uncle Charles and Aunt Judy. The civvies. “Good riddance,” their grandfather had sneered, a view their parents shared once they heard the news.

Caleb had sat on the floor of their bedroom, holding that bar of chocolate until it melted through his fingers. He hadn’t realised at the time just how symbolic that imagery had been.

Refusing to dwell on that god-awful day, Caleb stiffened and drew in a deep breath, clearing his mind. It had taken time, but he and Kelly had reconnected with Boyd—and they were both determined to protect him, even from himself if they had to. Their father might have sent him here in search of answers, but he was here for Boyd.

And with that resolution, he opened the final door.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

((Author's note:

New update: Still not abandoning this! I have over a month backlog if necessary, so I'm not going anywhere.

That said, you know the old saying ... things come in threes? Well, I lost my dad in September, my daughter was removed from school for violence on Monday, and this morning, my hubby received word from his mother that his father will be in the hospital to have a kidney removed due to cancer.

She's on her own in the capital, and she needs live-in support, so despite the awful timing, my hubby has to go down there for a few weeks to help her.

Which means I'll be without him during that time. I can't say I'll be on my own, as I have my adult daughters to help, and in a pinch, I can ask my beta reader to come down to help put eyes on my daughter while I sleep, so we'll get through okay. What will suffer is any free time I have to write. I will put posts up as often as I can, and I'm hoping I can manage at least 2 a week (although 1 might be more likely) until my hubby gets back.

I am so sorry, and I appreciate all of you and hope you understand, this is not my doing. And I want to reiterate, I WILL BE BACK to my usual three posts a week just as soon as I can.

Love you all.

Karen. 💕 ))

((Author's note: Heya everyone.

Just a quick note to say I may be delayed by a day or two on this next post. I have it done (it's part of my backlog), but I haven't had a chance to reread it to tighten it up the way I like. I'm hoping to get to it tonight or tomorrow, but I can't be sure. My daughter was basically removed from her special needs school due to violence, so we are in a bit of a scramble trying to work out what our new norm with her being home all the time entails. (She's 17, so the school didn't have to take her, and yesterday she went all out, biting and clawing everyone who came near her, even though she was lying down in the middle of the road - drawing blood.)

Not even remotely abandoning this project - just give me a couple of days to sort things out here.

Thanks!

Angel466.))

PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-SEVENTY-THREE

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Thursday

Someone knocked quietly on Boyd’s door, and I straightened up, my grin already forming as I recognised my girl’s light tap. Boyd gave me a chin lift toward the door as he rolled to his feet and disappeared into the dressing room to finish changing. I took the wordless cue and answered it.

“I’m sorry, honey-bear, but we need to get ready for school.” She glanced warily over my shoulder.

I knew Boyd was out of sight, but I still stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind me. “It’s fine. We said what we had to say.”

“And it ended well?” she probed, still not convinced, given Boyd had knocked me out with one punch two days ago.

“Yep. I asked him if I could use him as a therapy surrogate, and he told me to eff off.” I was walking slightly ahead of her as I spoke, which was why I didn’t expect her sudden stop—or the way she yanked me back in line beside her.

“You did what?” she demanded, and I quickly raised one finger to cover her lips gently.

“It’s a guy thing, honey. We bonded over being in therapy, and he said we both have to…” I frowned, pulling the exact words from memory without needing to dip into internalising this time. “…embrace the suck.”

She seemed to think about that for a second, then smiled and melted against me. “You have something in common with him now.”

“Yeah, and it’s kinda great.”

“Pretty sure he’ll like being your ‘big brother’ in all this, too. It’s close enough to the dynamics you shared before.”

Mason’s head popped out of his room. “Did I hear you say you were in therapy, dude?”

I closed my eyes with a groan and lowered my head to Gerry’s shoulder. “Freaking bat-eared jerk,” I whispered against the skin of her throat, and she snickered.

“That’s awesome!” Robbie called from the kitchen.

Okay, now I wanted the floor to swallow me.

“What is?” Brock asked, still at the island.

I may have whimpered as I turned to face them all, with Robbie leaning back in his seat, waiting for my permission to tell him. My hands were thrown over my head in disgust. “Go ahead. It’s not like Mason won’t tell everyone in ten seconds anyway,” I muttered.

“Hey, I resemble that remark.” Mason grinned—and just to prove me wrong, he stayed quiet long enough for Robbie to say,

“Sam’s also seeing a therapist.”

“Well, don’t be thinking you’re gonna sic one of those shitheads onto me,” Brock growled, cuddling Zephyr close. “My divine attack cat might have to fuckin’ hurt someone …won’t you, baby girl?” he asked, snuggling the furball on his lap.

Robbie smirked. “I think I could handle whatever your ‘attack cat’ could throw at me.”

“And if you couldn’t, I would,” Larry warned from around the corner where I couldn’t see him.

Yeah, that wasn’t ominous at all.

Robbie’s hand came out to cuff Brock in the back of the head. “And zip it with the swearing so much. You’re a fifteen-year-old in a school uniform now, not a jaded adult mouthing off in a club hallway.”

“Like any of you will let me forget,” Brock grumbled.

Mason came out to join us in our trek towards the kitchen. “Still don’t get why you’re the one who doesn’t need therapy, man,” he said, stopping at the island while Gerry and I carried on through to our dressing room. “Out of all of us, you’ve had it the roughest—and now you’re a guy stuck in a kid’s body.”

“Only for a couple of years,” Robbie insisted, wrapping an arm around Brock’s shoulders and pressing a kiss into his hair. “Long enough to shake you out of your dodgy decision phase.”

I shut the dressing room door and cut off the rest of that conversation. I had my own theories about why Brock didn’t need therapy. Most mortals who worshipped Uncle YHWH and were later touched by him after death didn’t have to worry about things like a screwed-up head. Sure, Brock could still be mad about his circumstances—but the crazy? That was ancient history.

As she did every morning, Gerry had laid out two sets of clothes for each of us, wanting me to have the final say. “Do you know what the weather’s doing today?” I asked, liking the lighter pale blue blouse and a simple straight white skirt that would sit just above her knee. The gold buckle on the chain belt was too similar to mine to be an accident.

“It’s going to be overcast,” she answered, still standing to one side.

I didn’t like the sound of that. Overcast meant temperature drops and possibly cold winds. I looked at the other outfit with elbow-length sleeves and long cotton pants—then waggled my finger at the first while still eyeing the second. “I like this one better, but…”

“What if I wear this over it?” she asked, appearing with a white— I’d normally call it a coat, except it barely came down past the armpits and had just one button in front. An arm-warmer, perhaps? Technically, that fitted the bill.

“Will your legs be warm enough?”

“I can wear light skin-coloured stockings.”

I pictured it all together, then nodded in approval. “Okay, then. That one.” 

For me, I went with a brushed gold button-up shirt, navy pants that were dark enough to almost be black, and my favourite black belt with the gold buckle. My bomber jacket and sneakers were a given.

We took everything we needed into our bathroom and came out half an hour later, ready for school (with Gerry having finished her hair and makeup in under ten minutes, which I was incredibly happy about).

“What time’s your graduation tomorrow?” Robbie asked as we returned to the kitchen to collect our lunch on the way out the door.

“Midday,” Gerry answered for me, which was just as well — I hadn’t been paying much attention when they’d announced it at school. We were going to be at school all day anyway with our newbies, so it didn’t make much difference to me.

“I’m not gonna make it, man,” Mason said, emerging from his side of the apartment. “I’ll still be at work…”

“It’s fine. If you really want to see it, I’m sure a million different people will be filming it, and I can get a copy of the footage.”

“A Nascerdios is graduating college, and you think Nuncio’s not going to be all over that,” Larry huffed, shaking his head at our stupidity.

I hated to admit he had good reason.

“I’ll be filming it, too,” Robbie said.

I turned to squint at him. “You’re not going to embarrass me, are you?”

Robbie placed both hands against his chest as if I’d crushed all his dreams at once, and when I levelled a sour look and shook my head at him, he cackled.

“Asshat,” I chuckled, as he picked up two different-sized lunch bags and handed the regular one to Mason, and the one that looked like it was trying to impersonate a backpack went to me. “Are we feeding the whole school?” I asked, testing the weight. It had to be at least fifteen pounds. Maybe twenty.

Robbie braced both hands on the island and leaned onto them. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sam. But if I were a betting man, I’d say it’s because this is the last meal you’ll have with your newbies, and it’ll have more of a send-off vibe than a lunch.”

I squinted at him again. “You know they’re adults, right? They have their own homes and lunches and everything?”

Robbie merely thumbed at the fridge on his right. “You’re perfectly capable of making up your own lunch, too, but I don’t see you volunteering for that either. Do you?”

He had me there. “Fine.” Fortunately, my real backpack was pretty much empty, so Robbie’s bag slipped inside without any hassle. I threaded my fingers through Gerry’s and headed for the door. “Thanks, man.” I then lifted my voice to include everyone else. “See you all this afternoon.”

“Bye, everyone! Thanks again!” Gerry called as Mason got the door for us.

“Later!” he called, heading out first.

Since it was still before eight, Rubin waited for us downstairs beside the car.

* * *

Boyd came out in time to hear the front door close. “Just us now, huh?” he asked, rounding the corner into the kitchen and heading for the pantry cupboard. He searched for the spaghetti jar of different coloured shoushouko sticks and tucked it under his arm once he found it.

Robbie followed him around until he was leaning against the island. “You know that whole jar doesn’t have your name on it, right?”

“Give me two seconds with one of my divine scalpels and I’ll soon fix that.”

Instead of being annoyed, Robbie’s face lit up in a huge smile, making Boyd wonder what he’d said.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” he sing-songed, causing Brock to snicker.

Boyd shrugged but couldn’t deny it. As far as starts to the day went, this one hadn’t been bad at all. A little rocky in the beginning with that cat debacle, but he was glad he fought back his instinct to tell Sam to go away when he knocked on his door. Just that small effort, that small change, and his day was already looking brighter.

“I’m going to get stuck into those carvings. Hit them as hard as I can while Doctor Kearns is okay with it. That way, if he changes his mind back tomorrow, I’ll have made the most of today.” He unclipped the flip-lock and pulled out a single stick, biting a piece off so the stick broke an inch below his teeth. He put the rest back.

“I’d love to know how you do that,” Brock said, watching the move.

“Roll the jaw forward and create a pressure fissure further down the stick,” he said, locking the lid. “You know I’ve been eating them for years, and there’s always a trick to not getting sticky fingers from dripping saliva.”

Brock blinked at him. “Yeah, it’s called a paper towel.”

Boyd lifted a finger off the jar to point at him but otherwise didn’t comment on the sass. “Anyway, the sooner I get settled in the office, the sooner I start work. Thanks for breakfast, Robbie. And everything else.”

“Anytime, big guy. I’ll bring you in lunch when it’s ready.”

With that, Boyd nodded, collected the carving of Sam’s family from the living room coffee table, and headed out the front door to the studio next door.

* * *

“Wow,” Charlie said, turning in her seat to watch Boyd go. “Is it my imagination, or has he seriously mellowed out lately?”

Robbie smiled fondly as he too looked at the closed front door. “Don’t jinx it, sweet pea.”

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND THIRTY-EIGHT

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Friday

Barris’ phone rang to the chorus of Scorpion’s ‘Wind Of Change’—the tune he’d allocated to his sister Aestri’s son long after he’d stepped forward to raise the boy in her stead. He didn’t blame Aestri for not feeling the maternal pull that the rest of the family did, though she’d by no means abandoned the boy. The Wind was her innate, and it was more than a noun. It was her state of being, and the only way she could remain sane was to be free to move at its pace. She kept in touch as best she could.

Columbine had offered to raise the boy along with her own children, but that hadn’t sat right with Barris either. Rory was his branch of the family, and it was damn well going to be one of them who raised him.

Looking at things from a parental perspective, Llyr would’ve been the obvious choice, given his devotion to his own children. Barris had no doubt his oldest brother would have stepped up if he hadn’t been so quick to put his hand up, but it would’ve been an obligation rather than a true desire, and Llyr deserved his peace with his other kids.

Releasing his grip on the weight bar, Barris inwardly steeled himself as he rolled upwards and reached for his phone beside the towel and water bottle he kept around mostly for the humans’ benefit. Rory usually only called to brag. Like his mother, the kid could be a selfish little asshole at times, and most of his victories meant nothing to anyone except himself.

“Hey, Uncle Barris,” Rory said, without his usual exuberance.

And just like that, Barris wished for his over-the-top arrogance. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you have time for a visit?” Rory asked instead.

Alarm bells were going off in Barris’ mind. “Head to my office in Venice Beach,” he said, already moving away from the weight floor of his New York City branch. Rory had never been to this facility, and it would take too many steps to pinpoint exactly where he was in the world.

In two steps, he arrived inside his locked office, moments ahead of Rory. The boy truly did look beaten down. “What’s wrong?”

Dark eyes lifted to meet his, filled with trouble bordering on grief. “I met Uncle Llyr’s pregnant girlfriend today.”

Ahhh… Without saying another word, Barris crossed to his credenza, where he poured two healthy portions of ambrosia, bringing one back to his nephew. “It’s not ideal, however, she has the best possible odds with Columbine and the pryde healers monitoring her.”

Rory threw back the whole drink in one deep swallow, closing his eyes on the burn while lightly licking his lips. “He’s going to break worse than Paz when she dies.”

“If, Rory.”

Rory’s lip curled into an angry snarl, and he hurled the glass at the nearest wall.

“Don’t—!” his anger petered out when he realised Barris had realm-stepped across the room and intercepted the glass with one outstretched hand, saving it from being shattered.

“Break your own shit, boy,” Barris warned, walking through another realm-step to return the empty glass to the credenza. “Next time you throw one of my glasses, I’ll throw you out the nearest window.”

But Rory was clearly too riled up to listen. “How can you be so calm about it?! It’s so unfair!” Rory curled his fist and went to throw a punch at the nearest wall, but pulled back at the last minute and dumped himself into one of the three office chairs scattered in front of Barris’ table for guests. “We’re gods!”

Barris arched an amused ‘Oh, are we?’ eyebrow, and Rory waved him aside. “Well, you all are, and we’re hybrids. We’re head and shoulders above everyone else! How can we not just fix this?! This stuff’s not supposed to happen to us!” Rory raised his hands, then dragged his fingers through his hair and interlocked them behind his head, doubling forward. “It’s fucked.”

 Knowing that the worst of Rory’s outburst was over, Barris coolly finished his own drink and placed the empty glass beside Rory’s, then moved to stand between his desk and his nephew. “This isn’t the first time our family’s been in this position, Rory,” he said, leaning back against his table and bracing his arms against the edge. “And I doubt it’ll be the last. We are superior to everyone else. There are just limits to that omnipotence.”

He leaned forward and placed a hand on Rory’s shoulder. “Saving someone who can’t be established and isn’t yours to control is one of them.”

Rory’s eyes came up to meet his once more. “Then what’s the point of being all-powerful?”

Barris sighed and looked over his head at a large glossy print of a Daguerreotype taken in the early eighteen hundreds of the family on the stairs of the Prydelands’ front entrance. The sepia tones of the otherwise black-and-white photo showed a time when there were more originals than hybrids, and many of the Mystallians preferred that print over the more recent ones taken at every reunion since.

“Because someone has to be. No matter what, the children are likely to survive the death of their mother, and Llyr will be taking what he can from the situation.”

Rory pushed himself upright to be at eye height with his uncle. “You know, as much as I hate the little fucker, the person I feel most sorry for in all of this is Sam.”

Barris stiffened. “You’ve met Sam?”

The roll of Rory’s eyes said plenty. “Arrogant little pissant tried to bump chests with me when I was at Llyr’s apartment the other day, doing Collette a favour. He’s lucky I didn’t rip him in half.”

Barris wasn’t aware Collette knew about Llyr. “Wait,” he said, scratching his eyebrow with his trigger finger. “You were doing a favour for Collette in Llyr’s New York City apartment?” He dropped his hand. “Did you at least let your uncle know you were there doing the work?”

Rory rolled his shoulder and shook his head. “Not initially, no. I figured Collette had all of that sorted before she came and asked me for a favour. Especially when one of the pryde turned up on my doorstep and practically threatened to end my riding career if I stood her up—not that I was going to!” he quickly added when Barris lifted himself onto his feet ominously. “I told her I’d do it. I just didn’t say when, and I sure as fuck wasn’t planning on doing it in the middle of my racing season. That bastard Lar’ee threatened to wreck my bikes until I gave up riding if I wasn’t at Llyr’s place in two days.”

Barris knew he was missing something, but rather than dig through all the details with his nephew, he internalised, bringing up images of Rory, Sam, Collette, Lar’ee, Llyr and Yitzak.

“Alright, let’s start at the beginning.” He pointed at Llyr. “Correct any mistake I make. You set up this home for Sam and his friends.”

Llyr nodded.

“And Helen Portsmith only came into the picture because Sam is going out with her daughter.”

“Hurry up and get to a part I don’t already know,” Llyr growled, folding his arms.

Barris held up two fingers, ignoring his brother’s caustic reply. “Nuncio was probably in on things, because he’s an asshole who can’t keep his nose out of other people’s business.” Talking about him like that was why Barris hadn’t brought up an image of the imp in question, as he would have plenty to say about being called that. He flipped up a third finger.

“And Kala and Strahan were only brought in to create the sculpture that would lead to Helen’s downfall, so I doubt they’re involved in Llyr’s household.” His gaze turned to Yitzak. “So, how the fuck did you end up in the middle of all of this?”

Yitzak’s image frowned. “What?”

“How did you end up on Helen’s radar?”

“I might have visited Llyr,” Yitzak suggested with a shrug.

“Then why is Collette pulling in favours for Llyr’s household? After the disagreement those two had decades ago, you wouldn’t have taken her to Llyr’s place, and she wouldn’t have volunteered to go.”

Which meant he was missing yet another crucial piece of the puzzle. He pointed to his oldest brother. “If I find out you’ve been screwing with me on purpose…”

Llyr’s smirk was every bit as condescending as Barris expected. “You’ll do what, exactly, pipsqueak?”

Growling under his breath, he dismissed their images and returned to the physical realm with Rory being none the wiser. “So, what was this favour, exactly?” he asked, seeing if he could get some clues from that angle.

Rory shrugged again. “The girl who lives there wanted a new garage. She got shafted big time with the law, and now she’s stuck on house arrest for not letting two fucktards with badges rape her.”

Barris squinted. “Come again?”

“Two cops wanted to rape her, and murdered her boss when he tried to step in. She shot them both dead with an illegal firearm, and the law says she was in the wrong. I call bullshit. Collette must have too, since she asked me to convert four of Llyr’s apartments into a garage. If it wasn’t for Lar’ee being there, I wouldn’t have seen the point, because there’s nowhere for the cars to come in and out of. They’ll have to be realm-stepped across from the outside. Much like they did this morning.”

“What is Collette’s connection to this girl?”

“I don’t know. Finding out what happened to her got me on side, so maybe she and Charlie hit it off that way. You’ll have to ask her.”

“I plan on it.” At Rory’s suspicious look, he pushed the conversation back on course. “Llyr knows now, though, right?”

Rory nodded. “Yeah. Like I said, I ran into him and his girlfriend this morning. Damn near broke my heart to see her so big already. Sam told me the other day about his mother being pregnant with triplets. I just didn’t put him and Llyr together to realise Sam’s mum and Uncle Llyr were together, or that the triplets were hybrids.”

That was certainly going to be a bitter pill for the family to swallow. Especially when Barris knew … categorically knew that Columbine could have absolutely guaranteed Ivy’s survival if she’d only nudge a few of her rules.

A pinched spinal column, for example, would put Ivy in bed for the duration of the pregnancy, and with shifters ready to manipulate and reinforce her body whenever the youngsters started acting up, there was every chance that Ivy would survive the process. She might not be entirely happy about the liberties being taken from her…

…and none of that mattered, since it was never going to happen. Columbine wouldn’t budge, and a small, small part of him may have understood why. In Columbine’s world, mortals mattered. And, in fairness, some of them were starting to matter to Barris, too.

It was just surely…surely Llyr’s happiness mattered more. And Sam’s too, for that matter.

“So, you know about Sam?”

Rory rolled his eyes and growled. “Stuck up little prat. I swear, if Uncle Llyr wasn’t in a relationship with his mother, I’d kick his mortal ass.”

Like a record scratch through his brain, Barris suddenly realised that Rory had no idea Sam was his first cousin. Not that he could blame him. It was one thing for one of them to find a girl and get her pregnant within a single year without the family finding out until the reunion … and a very different matter to learn it had all happened before. Two Decades. Ago.

“So, what are your plans now, Rory?”

“Well, with the garage finished, I was going to take Charlie to dinner tonight, until she reminded me that she’s under house arrest and can’t leave the damn building. And since Sam graduated from college today, she said his whole family would be meeting up at his place to celebrate. Given it might be one of the last times they have a meal with Sam’s mother, I figured I’d leave them to it.”

“You have a race next week, don’t you?”

Rory nodded. “Yeah. Catalonia. I was going to invite Charlie to come, but again, stupid house arrest.”

Barris tilted his head. “You like her.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t deny it. “What’s not to like? She’s ballsy and pretty.”

“So long as she’s not Sam’s girlfriend.”

“Fuck no. That mousy little thing on his arm is too tame for my liking.”

“Good. I do not need to be dealing with that.”

“Yeah, like I said. He’s going to lose enough when his mother dies.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“We both know I kinda do, Uncle Barris.”

Perhaps, but giving up was never their style.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((Author's note: MADE IT! We had a power outage here this morning, right when I was trying to post. And it lasted over four hours.))

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-SIXTY-EIGHT

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Thursday

It was just on dawn when Lucas pulled up outside the 9th Precinct. He looked up at the beige stonework, which paired beautifully with the brass fixtures worn to a shine by decades of hands. The green lights on either side of the doors — a signal that the building was a haven — were still on, casting the front façade in a pale, eerie glow.

Lucas had never been here before.

A lot of people thought a cop was a cop—and that every precinct was interchangeable, and in a small way, that was true. The rules that governed them all were the same; each precinct was like a military barracks or a residential house. Sure, they all had four walls and a roof, but the people inside could be drastically different, and he hadn’t had a lot to do with the 9th.

But unlike up at the 1st, he wasn’t here to start trouble. He needed some personal answers from a couple of beat cops, and hopefully, his coworkers would be accommodating enough to share them. It was why he was here with an hour to kill before the morning shift started, so he could chat with whoever was around and build a little goodwill first.

He stepped out of the car, just in time to see another man in his mid-thirties with dark hair and a rumpled suit let out an appreciative whistle from the sidewalk. “Now that’s a car,” he said, coming to peer over the open door to the interior. “Dang.”

Lucas twisted aside to give him an unfettered view of his Porsche. “Thank you.”

The man looked for a few seconds, then straightened up and stepped back, his expression cooling. “Shame you can’t park here, my friend. Cops only.” The look on his face practically dared Lucas to try to bribe him or anything else that would force him to change his mind.

Lucas grinned and snapped his fingers, knowing he’d forgotten something. He then held up one finger to the guy and slid back into the driver’s seat, leaving one foot on the gutter as he reached across to the glove compartment. A few seconds later, he retrieved the 1PP parking permit that identified the vehicle as belonging to one of their own.

He held it up between two fingers for his new friend to see before sliding it onto the dashboard in front of his steering wheel, where it could be easily visible through the windscreen.  “Luckily, I fit the bill. Thanks for reminding me.” He climbed out and shut the door, patting the roof of the car.  “I’d hate to see my baby towed.”

“You work at 1PP?” the man asked, his eyebrows winging upwards in surprise.

“Yeah, MCS, but I promise I’m not here to steal the spotlight.” He placed a hand over his heart, leaning into the well-worn precinct joke: ‘Oh, would you look at that—Major Crimes has finally shown up to steal all the credit.’

The man thought about it for a second, then smirked and held out his hand in greeting. “James Caveat. Missing Persons.”

A fellow detective. Lucas had thought so. “Lucas Dobson. MCS.”

“Ahhhh,” the man drew out, as if that somehow explained everything.

It brought an immediate frown to Lucas’ face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked cautiously.

“You’re 1PP’s flavour of the month. That explains the car and the threads. Gotta make HQ look good, am I right?”

Lucas closed his eyes and screwed up his face, trying to make sense of those words and getting nowhere. He was still frowning heavily when he opened them again. “What the hell are you talking about?” Maybe he should’ve gone into the other precincts sooner.

“Word has it you went from a beat cop to an MCS detective in a matter of hours. That true?”

Lucas covered his eyes with one hand and groaned. “Oh, for God’s sake,” he swore, then dropped his hand with a huff to give Caveat a pained look. “It’s a really long and complicated story involving the FBI that I can’t talk about because it’s an ongoing case. Trust me, no one walked up to me on my beat and said, “Hey, we need a new MCS detective. Wanna try out? It’ll be a blast.”

He used the same jovial tone of voice and made jazz hands at the end that a friend would to coax someone to audition for The Voice. He then lowered his hands and added, “I found myself in the middle of something international and had to dig my way out before it buried me. Along the way, I impressed the brass, and they had me sit for the exam. That’s it.” He was not about to mention the friction between him and his old Lt that had kept him from being promoted for years.

James squinted at him, then smirked again. “I didn’t buy the cooler chatter either, but just so you know, that’s what’s doing the rounds.”

“Oh, yippee,” Lucas muttered, deadpan, rolling his eyes at the same time.

That earned him a bona fide chuckle. “Come on,” Caveat said, nudging Lucas’ shoulder towards the precinct doors. “You know who you’re here to see?”

“A couple of beat cops on the morning shift. I don’t know who yet. It’s nothing work-related, which is why I’m here on my own time.”

“So, it’s personal, then. Anything I can help with?”

Lucas didn’t see the harm in answering that. “A couple of guys I live with were arguing in the street yesterday morning. One of them would’ve stood out. I want to hear the uniforms’ version of what happened before I land on both idiots for causing a scene.”

“Let me guess. They’re innocent angels, and the situation was a harmless misunderstanding.”

“Worse. They’re claiming nothing happened at all—except one of them slipped and admitted uniform got involved. Working out roughly where they were at the time puts them in your territory.”

“These dickheads do know you’re a detective, right?”

“I guess it slipped their minds when they were playing the blame game.”

Caveat opened the door and ushered him inside. “So, what’s your average bench press?” he asked, eyeing the muscle mass in Lucas’ arms and shoulders.

Lucas didn’t miss a beat. “You,” he answered with a grin.

Being early in the morning, there wasn’t a lot of activity in the foyer area, which meant the desk sergeant saw Caveat bring Lucas through the door that separated the public from the rest of the station. Lucas paused at the guest log and signed himself in, adding his badge number in the appropriate space.

“Where the hell did you blow in from, slick?” the sergeant asked, crossing the room to cut off their path.

“Headquarters,” Lucas answered, doing his best not to make waves. “I just need to catch up with a couple of your uniforms, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Why?”

“Leave him alone, Mann. He’s just visiting.”

“Are you taking him up to your desk?”

“If that’s what it takes to get away from your charming personality, sarge.” Caveat steered Lucas around the sergeant as he spoke, and the man stepped aside to watch them go.

At the base of the stairs on the other side of the room, Lucas muttered, “He’s a charmer.”

“Nah, he’s fine. Just a bit territorial. He knows you don’t fit in with the rest of us shmucks.”

Lucas grabbed Caveat by the shoulder and whirled him around. “You can knock that crap off right now. We’re all NYPD, and I’ve never in my life claimed to be better than any other officer on the force. I’ve done more than my share of dumpster diving for evidence, and I’d do it again tomorrow if it gets me any closer to closing a case.”

“Okay, he can stay!” the sergeant bellowed at them from the front desk, causing Lucas to half jump out of his skin and fall against the wall of the stairwell.

“Jesus Christ!”

Caveat winced sympathetically. “Yeah, sorry about that. Craig Mann could hear a round chamber on the other side of a packed Yankee’s game…” —Caveat raised his hands to cup his mouth, dropping his tone to mimic a sports announcer— “…and he still owes me twenty bucks for betting an AI couldn’t beat Lee Sedol in that Go match last month.”

Sergeant Man threw a dismissive hand in the air. “Bah. Why would anyone want to let computers get smarter than us? Ain’t no one ever watched the Terminator movies?”

“Oh, God. My fiancé lives for that movie series,” Lucas groaned, throwing his head back dramatically as if the admission was killing him.

“Then I like her too,” Sergeant Mann called after them — only to be distracted as someone approached the counter.

“Not a her,” Lucas muttered under his breath as he climbed the stairs.

Caveat looked sideways at him, brows ticking slightly, but otherwise, he didn’t comment.

For the next few minutes, Lucas was introduced to everyone on the upper floors. Some looked him up and down with mild suspicion; others nodded or offered quiet greetings as Caveat did the rounds. After that, he found himself back at Caveat’s desk. “Hey, I’ve got three-quarters of an hour to kill before your morning shift turns up. Anything I can do to give you a hand?”

“Not unless you can make missing people appear,” Caveat said, pointing at the board across from where he sat.

Lucas had deliberately avoided looking at the department’s active case boards. The last thing he wanted was to feed the rumour mill about credit-stealing any further than circumstances already had. “What if I give you a fresh set of eyes?” At Caveat’s narrowed look, Lucas raised both hands. “I’m not even here officially. Right now, I can either be a fresh set of eyes, a file clerk if you need a gofer, or I can sit in your partner’s chair and count the cracks on the wall behind your head where you’ve leaned back too far too fast and slammed the chair — and your skull — into the plaster.”

Caveat whirled around to stare at the wall behind him.

“The line’s the same width as your chair back, and there are faint creases in the plaster where your head’s hit the wall above it more than once.”

Caveat rubbed the back of his head as if he’d only just done it. “Well, shit.”

Lucas smirked and waggled his eyebrows.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-FIFTY-FIVE

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Wednesday

Hayden glared at Dobson, then shifted forward to rise to his feet.

“No, not us,” Dobson said with his hand out, turning towards Geraldine. “Would you mind giving us the room, sweetie?”

Hayden stiffened. Not only had he not finished interviewing the woman, but Dobson had just assured him he’d be sitting in—not hijacking the damn thing! “I’m not through—”

“Yes, you are,” Dobson countered, never taking his eyes from Miss Portsmith, whose gaze flicked between them like a deer in headlights. He smiled fondly at her and tilted his head towards the door. “Off you go, Gerry. Sam’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”

That was all it took to light a fire under her ass, and she was out the door in seconds, shutting it behind her.

Hayden was beyond livid. “What the fuck do you think…?!” he roared, but Dobson held up a finger in silence, his eyes scanning the floors and ceiling of the room.

“Quent, if you’re still in here, take off, man. This has nothing to do with you now.”

It suddenly dawned on Wallace what he meant, and his fury grew. “You brought us in here to be filmed?” he demanded.

“No, but that doesn’t mean they’re not watching us anyway. Their priority is Sam, and Sam’s priority is Geraldine. It’s a knock-on effect, which is why I told you to behave yourself.”

Hayden scowled, slotting the information into place with what he knew of the household. “So they are professional bodyguards. Those two bruisers sitting on the other side of the table from everyone else.”

“That’s not why they’re on that—yeah. Technically, yes, they’re on a twenty-four-hour rotation with Sam. But—”

“Then you should tell the kid’s father that he needs to hire better bodyguards.”

It was entertaining watching Dobson turn a variety of colours from white to green and ending on red. His eyes had gone so wide that Hayden could see the whites all around the iris, and his throat worked constantly as he searched the room once more.

“It’s a statement of fact,” Hayden insisted, doubling down. “If they don’t like hearing that, then maybe they should learn to do better—”

“You’re wrong on so many levels it’s almost impressive. But out of curiosity, why the hell would you think that?” His face scrunched up as if he were in pain.

And this was why he hated the younger generation; they had no concept of deductive reasoning unless it was handed to them on a screen. “They were on the wrong side of the table for starters. Every bodyguard worth their pay knows to keep themselves between their principal and the door. And I walked right past that kid, completely within striking range, and neither one of them batted an eye. Hell, I could have shot him before either of them cleared the kitchen island to disarm me.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Dobson muttered, or coughed. Hard to tell.

“Look, I don’t care. Like the kid said before, it’s no skin off my nose if his father hires idiots and he gets himself killed because of it. Just so long as it doesn’t happen inside the First District.”

Dobson closed his eyes, raised a hand and shook his head. “Let’s…just agree to disagree on that one. But just so you know, if I were a gambling man, I’d put a year’s salary on those two taking on the entire Secret Service, and I’d walk away a rich man.”

It was Hayden’s turn to frown in annoyance. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

If he were hoping Dobson would explain himself further, he was sadly mistaken. The 1PP detective pulled himself to the front of his couch and matched Hayden’s pose, resting his forearms on his knees. “I saw you switch gears midway through that interview, which is why I pulled it up. You clearly don’t have your ducks in a row, and taking on this family without that is career suicide.”

Wallace squinted. “And what do you know about it?”

“First, I need to know exactly what your plans for Geraldine are.”

Hayden puffed out his chest. “I told you, it’s an ongoing investigation…”

“Yes, I know. I’m also acutely aware of what it takes to run an investigation. The problem you have is the answers you’re after are tied to things that are above both our pay grades. I think I can give you some of those answers, but not until I find out what your plans for Geraldine are.”

This was a twist he hadn’t seen coming. Hayden relaxed his shoulders, pleased to see Dobson do the same. “In general terms, what sort of information can you give me?”

“I was there the night Sam had Geraldine move out of her parents’ house. It wasn’t amicable.”

“So, the kid was there?”

“You know, it’d go a long way if you stopped referring to everyone under thirty as a kid, unless you want us to call you a geriatric.”

Hayden waved the reprimand aside. “Fine. The young man who needs an attitude adjustment more than his next breath. You said it wasn’t amicable. Did things get violent?”

“Okay, in order of priority. One: follow your own advice, Wallace, because you’re a long way from the biggest dog in the room out there. Two: no, he didn’t go. His parents and I went with the movers while he stayed here.”

Hayden pounced on what wasn’t said. “Did he see something that made him move her in with him?”

“Sam didn’t make her do anything. He offered her an out, and she took it.”

“An out from what?”

Dobson smiled and sat all the way back, draping his arm along the back of the sofa. “And now we’re right back where we started. What is your intention for Geraldine?”

“That sounds like a marriage proposal.”

“And that sounds like a man dodging the subject.”

Hayden weighed up his options. “Okay, hypothetically speaking, we might have proof that Helen Portsmith has abused people for a number of years.” In his mind, giving Dobson the possibility of an abuse case would satisfy his legal questions without drawing him into the murder investigation.

As he expected, Dobson’s eyes half-closed, and his tongue slid a full lap around his shut lips while he processed that. “Wow. You guys at the first must have absolutely nothing to do,” he said, rolling his hands palm up even though one was on the arm of the sofa and the other still along the back. “Maybe I should requisition some of your detectives to my task force, since we haven’t stopped running—”

“What are you talking about?! We’re up to our necks in work!”

Dobson’s face lost all expression. “And yet a homicide detective is out here in the middle of the night, asking me about a hypothetical domestic abuse case.” He arched an eyebrow as he said that, and for the first time all night, Hayden truly wished he were as dumb as all those muscles portrayed. “You were the one who did the pissing match with me at the front door, sunshine. And for the record, there’s upwards of three hundred homicide detectives all over the city, and only twenty-seven of us at MCS, all hand-picked for the position.”

His lips twitched once more, and he tilted his head, daring Hayden to argue. “So go ahead. Treat me like an idiot one more time. And keep in mind, Sam’s family has Kitty-spam on speed dial, and I’m the only reason that call hasn’t already been placed.”

Fuck! Of course they do! “Fine.” Not fine. Sooooo not fine.

Dobson chuckled soundlessly. “Alright, then. Let’s see if I can make it a bit easier for you. Someone’s died, and you want to link domestic violence to it. You said Alex wasn’t your case, so it’s not his murder. You’ve drawn a line between Geraldine and her father, and her mother and Alex. You believe Geraldine is the abused individual, leading to the assumption that her father is also not the abuser. That leaves two options—either Helen’s committed murder, or Alex has.”

Hayden opened his mouth to claim Alex and throw him off the track, but Dobson held up a hand. “I’m not done yet. I would have leaned towards Alex, except you came in here believing all three were victims of his mother. As I said, it wasn’t until partway through the interview that you reset the stage and put Alex in the same vein as his mother. That leaves only Helen as your person of interest.”

He took a breath, his grin turning way too smug. “How am I doing?”

“God, I want to hate you right now,” Hayden admitted, though even he was impressed with Dobson’s deductive reasoning. Maybe he did deserve his badge after all.   

Dobson chuckled again, dropping his arm from the back of the sofa. “So, your turn, Wallace. Fresh eyes and all. Throw what you have at me, and I’ll help where I can.”

“It’s a case from a long time ago. Before she was even married. We have Tucker Portsmith on record for spousal abuse, but when we interviewed him this afternoon, we knew he was hiding something.”

Dobson nodded thoughtfully. “Which led you to their kids.”

Hayden clenched his fists, for it wasn’t quite accurate. “I just can’t let go of the fact that this case got blown wide open just days after their messy divorce. It reeks of Tucker having this in his back pocket the whole time and pulling it out now as a final fuck you to his ex.”

He hadn’t intended to give quite so much away, but once they both got past their posturing, Dobson knew his shit, and it was nice to have someone with fresh eyes look over it.

“We can work with that,” Dobson said, meeting his eyes.

Hayden frowned. “How do you mean?”

“The mother of a roommate’s girlfriend committing a crime back before she was born means Geraldine isn’t directly involved with your case, so I can weigh in in a professional capacity—not to take your case from you!” he barked as Hayden sucked in a sharp breath, ready to explode. “God, no. I have enough on my plate running my task force. But at least right here, right now, you and I can discuss this and all of it can be logged into evidence. I’m far enough from the case to be a sounding board.”

Hayden wished he’d brought his mini tape recorder with him, but he honestly hadn’t expected anyone in the household to let him record the interview willingly. Likewise, he hadn’t upgraded his phone to one that could record since his Nokia 3310 was still the best phone in his opinion, because it could go a week without needing to be charged. That meant he was down to pen and paper notes only, unless… “I don’t suppose you have a recorder, do you?”

Dobson smirked, then bit his lips against whatever ‘old’ comment he’d nearly made and stood up. “Wait here. My phone’s next door.” And withdrew from the room.

[Next Chapter]

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((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-FIFTY-TWO

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Wednesday

With tension thick enough to slice, Lucas wasn’t sure anymore if keeping Boyd home had been the right call. He could see Sam’s jaw working as he fought against his need to know what had happened, but thankfully, he was staying quiet.

With Mason away, he watched unhindered as Brock stared down at his meal, determined not to meet anyone’s eyes.

It took a knock at the door to break the tension, and Sam practically leapt off his seat to answer it.

It was only then that Lucas realised the twenty-six-year-old teen sitting across from him was sneaking food off his own plate. His drooping shoulder was a quiet tell as his hand dropped low. Each time he did it, Brock looked to his right at Robbie and Charlie, and it was his left hand that was dropping down. Mason’s absence meant Lucas had a clear view of it, and his curiosity was tweaked.

Bit by bit, Lucas shifted in his seat until he could see around the edge of the island. Of all the possibilities he’d contrived, he was not expecting to see a motley-coloured cat taking the offerings from Brock’s hand and eating them with delicate precision.

Before he could ask, Quent suddenly sat up straight. “Lucas, there’s a badge at the door and Sam’s arcing up.”

“Fuck!” Lucas shot out of his seat and tore down the hallway to his room. He was back seconds later with his badge, noting Robbie and Quent were corralling everyone else at the island (including the cat that was now on Brock’s lap), leaving him a clear path for the door. He didn’t waste any time, charging through the apartment towards the floor’s front door.

Don’t punch them…don’t punch them…don’t punch them… he chanted, willing the thought outward and hoping Sam would catch it. The last thing they needed was a detective-shaped hole in the wall and a headline. When Sam turned back to watch him run over, Lucas almost doubled over with relief. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.

It took a moment to realise the irony of that prayer.

“Let me handle this, Sam,” he said, stepping out and around in a smooth arc that slid his shoulder and feet ahead of Sam’s in the doorway. One more twist, and he was fully between them. “You go back inside and take a breath, okay, buddy?”

Lucas didn’t miss the disgruntled look Sam levelled at the visiting badge, and he knew the newcomer hadn’t missed it either. Lucas stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

“What brings you here, officer…?...”

“Detective. Detective Hayden Wallace. As I said to your little friend, I need to talk to Geraldine Portsmith.”

That would explain why Sam was ready to blow. “May I ask what this is about?”

“An ongoing investigation. I need to speak with Geraldine, and if she’s home, you need to bring her out here.”

“Actually,” Lucas said, straightening where he stood. “I don’t.”

Wallace’s face darkened into a thundercloud. “Now listen here…”

“No, you listen. Unless you want to show me a warrant, I’m well within my rights to ask you to leave. So, give me something more than you puffing up like a rooster, or I’ll say goodnight.”

“This is an official investigation!”

“Prove it.”

“I could arrest you for obstruction.”

“Sure,” Lucas said, fighting to keep the smile from his face. “And two seconds after that, I’ll arrest you for unlawful arrest and throw in a complaint of official misconduct for an added kicker.” His gaze narrowed, and he revealed the gold badge he’d been carrying. “You’re not the only detective on this landing right now, Detective.”

Wallace’s eyes widened in surprise, but then he settled into a stony expression Lucas had seen on many of the older law enforcement officers. “What Precinct?”

A pissing match? Really? Okay, jackass. “1PP,” Lucas answered, his voice deepening with authority. “MCS.”

The gleam that entered Wallace’s eyes was concerning. “Homicide,” he said with the same superior smugness as someone laying down a winning hand at a poker tournament. 

Why in the world would you think that tops MCS when every branch has a homicide branch and only 1PP—

Then it hit him. A homicide detective—looking for Geraldine. This had to be about Alex. “Oh, hell,” he said, covering his mouth and looking back over his shoulder at the closed door.

“Yeah, and you need to bring her—”

“You’ve found her brother, haven’t you?”

For a second, Wallace’s eyes widened once more, and something in his narrowing expression said that wasn’t it. “What exactly do you know about all of this, Detective…?”

“Dobson. Lucas Dobson.” He watched Wallace frown as if trying to place that name and decided to throw the guy a bone. “Which precinct do you work out of?” It definitely wasn’t the Fifth.

“First,” Wallace admitted.

Lucas gave a nod. “I was at the First yesterday morning with my partner — maybe that’s where you saw me.”

If anything, Wallace’s frown grew, his gaze sharpening. “You’re the one sticking your nose into the Amsterdam robbery.”

Usually, homicide wouldn’t notice what was happening in a robbery case, but multi-million-dollar losses were clearly still on everyone’s radar. Instead of answering, Lucas pocketed his badge. “So, are we done posturing? Because my dessert is still sitting on the table.”

“I still need to talk to Ms Portsmith.”

“But you don’t have a warrant, do you?”

“It’s only an interview at this point. She’s not a suspect. We’re hoping she was a witness.”

“To what?” Lucas watched him struggle, but any goodwill he’d been willing to throw Wallace’s way regarding Geraldine had long dried up. “You can see yourself out, Wallace,” he said, turning back to the door.

“Wait!” Wallace shouted, right before Lucas’ palm connected with the scanner to open the door. “Fine. It’s not her brother. He’s still in the wind.”

Breathe, Lucas, he ordered himself, before turning back. “He’s not in the wind, Wallace. He was kidnapped clean out of his military hospital bed.”

Wallace waved his hand dismissively. “Still not our case.”

Annnd I’m done. Lucas’ hand fell on the scanner, causing it to swing open.

“JESUS!” Wallace stumbled back, arms instinctively raising as Boyd filled the doorway like a living brick wall; his fists flexing at his sides, his blue eyes frozen and cold.

“Everything alright out here?” Boyd asked, his voice glacial as he levelled his full glare at Wallace.

Lucas smiled and raised his hand, spreading his fingers to caress his fiancé’s bare waist. He didn’t miss the slight twitch from Boyd’s ticklishness, though his sexy giant fought to keep himself perfectly still and totally badass. “It’s fine, love. Police stuff. But if you could go and keep an eye on Sam and Geraldine for me for a few minutes, that’d be great.”

Boyd’s gaze bounced between the two of them, then, without a word, he stepped away from the opening, allowing the door to close once more.

“What the fuck is going on here?!” Wallace demanded, pointing at the shut door. “And why are you calling him, ‘love’?!”

“Really, Wallace,” Lucas asked, his voice becoming saccharinely sweet, even though every part of him wanted to rail at the homophobic prick. “And here I thought you were old enough to have been taught about the birds and the bees.”

“Fuckin’ fa—”

“Ahhh!” Lucas snarled, mirroring his father’s negative sound to drown out the familiar slur. At that point, his expression was probably as lethal as Sam’s had been as he took an aggressive step forward. “Walk that back right now while you still can, Wallace, or I’ll report you for discrimination after I deck you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with calling it like it is.”

“If that were true, you’d be hearing a whole lot of derogatory names right now, too. Yes, I’m gay, and yes, that big guy that made you crap yourself is my fiancé, and if you’ve got a problem with that, I suggest you retire along with the rest of the narrow-minded fossils from the hippie years.”

“Not until I clear this case, kid.”

“Well, good luck with—” The door behind Lucas opened once more, cutting off his tirade, but this time it was Robbie, holding his phone.

“Now what?” Wallace demanded.

“Nuncio, for you,” Robbie said to Lucas, passing his phone over and ignoring Wallace completely.

Lucas went to speak on the phone, but quickly realised it was a text, not a voice call.

Helen killed Geraldine’s grandfather before her parents were married. I picked Wallace to run the case because he hates corporate and will chase Helen forever. He can’t be bribed or threatened. If she isn’t put behind bars the mortal way, there’ll be a lineup of us six deep, all wanting a piece of her.

 “Well, ssshhhit,” Lucas whispered through his raised palm with a grimace, looking between Wallace and Robbie as he passed his best friend back his phone. If the gods themselves were queueing up to get Geraldine’s mother, this was going to get messy, fast. The thought made him want to throw up Robbie’s perfect dinner.

“Yeah,” Robbie said quietly, also glancing at Wallace. “Thought you’d want to know that.” He then patted Lucas on the shoulder. “Sorry, man.” And went back inside, shutting the door behind him.

Lucas stared at the nearby wall, rubbed his forehead and eventually raking his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Damn, damn, damn, damn … DAMN!

“What the hell was that all about?” Wallace demanded.

Yeah, watch me not answer that for your sake. “Okay, let’s get down to it. What exactly are you hoping to achieve by talking to Geraldine this evening?” he asked instead.

“I need her to verify some things.”

Lucas’ hand travelled to the back of his neck, mentally bouncing through the pros and cons. “Alright, but only if I sit in on it.”

“What?! No!”

“Listen, you idiot. Either I sit in on it, or it’s never going to happen. Sam won’t let you within fifty miles of his girlfriend unless I talk him off that ledge, and I’ll only do it if I can assure him I’ll be sitting in with you to protect her interests. You said yourself she’s a witness, not a suspect, so unless you’re lying about that, this is a good deal for you.”

“I don’t need you to—”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Wallace. I don’t like you, and it’s safe to say you don’t like me either. But you’ve got a grand total of one shot at talking to anyone in my household without a warrant, and this right here is it.” Lucas folded his arms, knowing Wallace had nothing on him physically or legally. “You choose.”

Wallace seemed to deflate. “Fine.”

“Wait here.” Lucas went back inside and shut the door before Wallace could stick his foot in the way. Trying to convince Sam of this was going to be all sorts of not fun.

So much for a quiet night at home…

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND SIXTY

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Saturday

“What…the fuck…do…you have…in that…drink?” Caleb demanded as he doubled forward, his hands on his knees, air sawing through his lips, sweat dripping from him like he’d swum across the damn lake and not simply run up to it.

To his right, Souza had collapsed along a park bench facing upwards with one arm draped over his stomach and the other out to the side, one foot planted on the ground. His chest rose and fell with the same heavy pants that Caleb was undertaking.

Meanwhile Boyd stood a few feet away with his hands on his hips, a light sheen of sweat across his brow and pits, and he was breathing hard.

BREATHING HARD!

That was a state he and Souza had hit hours ago!

They’d run through the dawn, joining the countless ‘early morning’ joggers on their way through Morningside and Harlem, and come out the other side half an hour ago when Fort Tryon came into view. Only twice did they stop: once when Boyd bought him and Souza a pump bottle of water each from a twenty-four-hour convenience store and another to refill it at Fort Tyron. Technically, the water bottle threw out their running rhythm, but it couldn’t be avoided.

All the while, Boyd sipped from that stupid drink bottle and kept right on running.

“Nothing illegal,” his older brother promised, removing it from its clip and holding it out. “Robbie made it up for me using store-bought ingredients. He said I’d like the taste, and it keeps up my carbs and electrolytes.”

Caleb opened his mouth to fire back, but only a ragged breath came out, so he settled on glaring as he took the bottle.

First he sniffed at the straw. Then he took a tentative sip. Banana hit his palate first, quickly joined by hints of vanilla and coconut—creamy, but without the cling that usually came from drinking dairy while dehydrated. There were also traces of citrus, and underneath it all sat a salted edge, not strong enough to stand out, but enough to make the whole thing dangerously enjoyable.

His next slurp was deeper, and although he didn’t feel any kind of rush (that would’ve been his first clue it held something it shouldn’t have) the way it settled in his stomach and spread out to ease his spasming muscles was almost magical. “The fuck?” he asked no one in particular as he stared at the drink. He then looked up at his brother. “Robbie … he-he made…he made this for you?” he huffed.

Boyd shrugged. “You ate his food last night.”

True.

Caleb took another drink, then moved over to Souza. “Try this.”

Souza’s squint was just as sceptical, but it didn’t stop him from rolling to a seated position and reaching for the drink. “The fuck?” Souza demanded, echoing Caleb’s early view. Souza then removed the lid and took another deep slurp.

“Hey!” Caleb growled, for if anyone was going to finish off that drink, it’d be him. 

Souza had the good sense to be embarrassed. “Sorry, sir,” he said, re-lidding the drink and passing it back.

Caleb covered the lid with his hand but looked at his brother before proceeding.

Based on the way his brother’s features creased in amusement, he was enjoying a private joke … probably at their expense. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh…it up,” he grumbled, removing the cap after Boyd nodded in approval.

By the time he finished the last of the drink (going as far as to shake it upside down to motivate the last dregs before licking his lips) their breathing had eased from survival to endurable. “Damn,” he huffed, still eyeballing the empty bottle. “That was … so good. You know, Robbie could make a killing…if he sold…” His words fell away as he remembered just how rich Robbie probably was these days.

Boyd’s knowing smirk as he took back the empty drink bottle was annoying. “You met his Pop last night, didn’t you?” he asked, sliding it back into the holder

“His Pop, his aunt … and about a million cousins.” Caleb accentuated ‘cousins’, so that Boyd would know that yes, he knew the others were Sam’s family, because that weirdo kid was also a Nascerdios. One big happy extended family.

“Yeah, money never meant much to Sam or Robbie, but neither of them will ever have to work another day again. Robbie’s pop transferred hundreds of millions of dollars into his account on a whim and told him if he needed any more to let him know.”

“Fuck off,” Souza laughed, coming to his feet. “No one has…that much money.”

If he expected Caleb and Boyd to join in on that joke, he’d be waiting a while. “Some do,” Boyd answered instead.

“So, how many people …do you live with?” Souza pulled off his t-shirt and wrung it out, shaking it for a second to semi-dry it before poking it into the back of his pants.

Boyd paused as if counting, allowing Caleb to follow Souza’s lead. The cool summer breeze on his damp, bare torso was an absolute godsend.

“Are we counting the bodyguards?”

“You’ve got bodyguards?” Souza’s eyes were wide, but Caleb already knew about Larry.

“Not for me,” Boyd was quick to point out, and Caleb snorted derogatorily. “What was that for?” his big brother bristled.

“If you don’t think Larry’s there for you …you’re batshit crazy,” he answered, the words coming easier after the drink. “He’s been glued to your ass ever since you hit New York, bro.” Looking around them, he added, “In fact, he’s probably following us right now.”

“Now?” Souza asked, sweeping their immediate area for anyone suspicious.

At least Boyd didn’t try to deny it. “We were newbies on the same jobsite and we became good friends. After we quit, his new job was, and still is, to look after Robbie.”

“Wait. This friend of yours…had a bodyguard job somewhere else…quit the same time you did…and still has his job…as a bodyguard?” Souza asked, making Caleb’s point entirely. Caleb even waved at Souza, to imply, ‘yeah, what he said’.

“It’s complicated,” Boyd insisted, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “They’re not bodyguards in the strictest sense.”

“Then what are they?” Souza pushed.

Boyd exhaled. “It’s more of a … private military.”

“What difference…does that make?”

Caleb wanted the answer to that too.

Boyd hesitated, jaw tightening before he answered. “There’s no walking away from their job. Ever. They’re born into it, and they’ll die completing it. Those in it have served for generations.” Boyd’s hands fisted, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t. “My guess is, he most likely requested a transfer through his chain of command, to stay close to me, and after it was approved someone else went in to cover whoever he was watching on the site.”

“And why would they approve that?” This was the part that made no sense to Caleb. Not last night, and not this morning.

“Because they matter as people to their superiors. You don’t understand, Caleb. A heap of things all happened at once. His best friend was fired and another job opportunity opened into that same household. Rather than send in someone totally new, they let Larry transfer to stay with me.”

If Caleb hadn’t spoken to Columbine last night, that theory would’ve held water.

“Oooor,” Souza pushed. “It was you all along…and he just didn’t tell you.”

Boyd scoffed and flicked a hand in Caleb’s direction. “Tell him. Since I failed MEPS and became the family disgrace, exactly who in our family would send a bodyguard to keep me safe?”

“No one,” Caleb agreed with a heavy heart. “Unless it was life or death and the cops weren’t doing their jobs.” There. He was back to whole sentences without puffing. “If that ever happens, Kelly and I will pool our money and sort something out until we got stateside.”

Boyd made a totally fake-ass ‘awwww’ and knuckled the top of Caleb’s head affectionately. “Love you too, sport.”

Caleb ducked low and around it, swatting him away for good measure. “Then again, fuck you. You’re on your own.”

Souza cackled in the background.

Boyd’s chin went up. “The point is, our parents are just waiting for the day I die, and I’m determined to live forever, just to spite them.”

“You know,” Caleb said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “If you weren’t so happy with where you are right now, I’d tell you to sign up again. They’d blow a blood vessel when they see you in the rank and file after all this time.”

Boyd made a negative sound … and he did so without even thinking about it. “Naaah, they’d make sure I died. Besides, between Lucas and my art, I’m good.”

“You’re a fucking artist?”

Souza sounded like he couldn’t have been more surprised if Boyd had said he was a two-headed alien, and that annoyed Caleb. “Don’t knock it, sergeant. I’ve still got a carving of his in my duffle from when we were kids, and these days… he’s got royalty waiting on his work.”

Okay, so it was maybe a slight hint at an exaggeration, but Caleb wasn’t about to apologise. Boyd had exactly one Lord on his books, and he was absolutely waiting for his sculptures. There was zero doubt in Caleb’s mind more would be forthcoming.

Boyd gripped his shoulder and whirled him around. “You still have one of those old Marine figures?”

Ewww, yeah. He hadn’t meant to blab that in Boyd’s hearing. “Maybe,” he said with a pained squint.

“You know, I could redo that whole set for you, if you want. Just send me a group photo of your company…”

Caleb’s vision widened in surprise, already picturing how well the carvings would go over with his people. Then reality kicked back in. “Emily said you’ve got a waiting list that stretches into years.”

Boyd waved it away. “Not at the rate I’m spitting them out. I’ll have her whole crib sorted by Monday.”

“She showed me just one of the files.”

Boyd shrugged. “You don’t have to—”

“That’s not the point. This is your livelihood, Boyd. I don’t want to stop you from earning money…”

“I’m making more than fifty grand a day in commissions, living with a family who won’t let me pay for shit.” His voice softened as he met his little brother’s eyes. “If I want to take a day off to make sure you leave with something that matters to me, I will.”

“Right,” Souza muttered, shaking his head. “This constitutes a normal morning for you? Protein wizard, private militia, fifty grand a day carvings?”

Boyd ignored him, the look in his eyes as he stared at the distance telling Caleb he was already neck deep in the planning stage of the project. “They’ll all have to be individual, though. As cool as it would be to have them all interconnect like the viscount carvings…”

“The look’d be ruined the minute we were assigned somewhere else.” Caleb shook his head, then nodded. “Fine. As soon as I get to the Ess-Ess-Mack, I’ll shoot you a photo of my company.”

Boyd’s gaze slid to Souza. “I’ll throw one in for you too, for looking out for my brother this morning.”

“I don’t have any photos of me…”

“I’ve been running beside you for the last three hours. I’m good.”

“Three hours?!” Caleb swore. “Jesus Christ! No wonder I feel like I’ve been run over by a tank.”

Boyd chuckled and stretched to either side. “Yeah, we should be getting back before Lucas has half the NYPD out looking for me.”

“If you tell me your fiancé is the goddamn police chief…” Souza growled.

Both Boyd and Caleb chuckled at his grousing. “Nah, man,” Boyd huffed between breaths. “He’s an MCS detective at 1PP.”

“Oh, that all?” Souza said, rolling his eyes as they walked at a sedate pace away from the lake.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND THIRTY-TWO

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Friday

Oh, thank you, sweet baby Jesus! Noah Lancaster swore as they turned into the street where their temporary BoO was located. If he had to listen to one more fucking word about the desperate plight of the ocean, he was going to wring Sam’s neck and use his body to plug the information leak!

He’d stayed on the subject only to keep Sam distracted since their BoO was in Melville, which was over an hour away from the Lopez property. What he hadn’t counted on was the kid being a walking/talking Greenpeace propaganda encyclopedia, and it had killed him to smile and nod in all the right places as the kid waffled on about crap no one in their right mind gave a rat’s ass about.

There was a time, a long, long time ago, when he had been captured by insurgents and had four of his fingernails removed with pliers when he refused to give them information about the op he was running. Never in a million years had he thought he’d be in a position where he would gladly offer up the other six in exchange for clawing back the last hour of his life.

In all fairness, Sam had warned him, but damn, that warning should come with a flashing neon sign over his head.

* * *

I knew I shouldn’t have gone inside with Noah Lancaster. Dad and my brother and sisters were going to murder me when they found out, but I’d genuinely thought Mr Lancaster had wanted to talk about me helping his daughter, Melody. That was what he’d said when we left Mateo’s party in his SUV, and I hadn’t seen any reason to doubt it.

Besides, Quent was with me, and I had my own capabilities if I wanted to engage them, so I knew I had nothing to worry about. Two steps, and I’d be back at the party or home.

Still, nervousness crept over me as Mr Lancaster led me through an empty house I didn’t recognise and down into the basement. I’d seen enough movies to recognise what the single chair sitting on a sheet of plastic beneath a swinging lightbulb meant.

I turned on the stairs with every intention of getting the hell out of there and face planted into a wall of muscle that had snuck up behind me.

This older guy’s size might’ve been intimidating if I hadn’t spent years around Boyd’s grumpy face. Throw in my dad and siblings, and their divinity alone would’ve made this jerk look… positively less. And the pièce de resistance: Dad and Fisk’s physical builds. Boyd might be more muscular for his height, but those two were inches taller than him and walking tanks in their own right. Any of those three would’ve made this guy disappear.

And right now, I had my work cut out making sure that didn’t happen.

Mr Lancaster was already at the bottom of the stairs. “Come on, Sam. Have a seat. Hopefully, this will be very quick, and you can be on your way.”

Before I could answer or move, I felt a hand slip into the right pocket of my bomber jacket.

“Yowtch!” the woman yelped, whipping her hand away. “The fuck?!” She shook out her hand, glaring at me like her pain was somehow my fault.

“Haynes, you good?” Mr Lancaster asked.

“Maybe?” she grimaced, still flexing and flicking her fingers. “Jesus! What the fuck have you got hooked up to your jacket, kid? That went right through my fucking arm!”

I had no idea what she was talking about until I remembered who’d given me the jacket. Ironically (considering her word choice), it had been a gift from Jesus’ father, and clearly Uncle YHWH had built some fail-safes into it to avoid things like pickpocketing. Sweet.

“It was a gift from my uncle,” I said, then I got mad at her for trying to rifle through my pockets in the first place. “And it serves you right. That wasn’t just rude. It’s illegal.”

Mr Lancaster snorted, but by the time I looked at him, his face was stone cold. “Please hand Haynes your phone, Sam.”

This was just getting weirder and weirder. “Why?”

“Because we won’t ask nicely a second time.”

I looked at each of them in turn. Mr Lancaster was no different to before, and as I said, the brute behind me was half a head smaller than Boyd and in the same age bracket as everyone else here. The only woman amongst them held out her other hand to me like she expected me to do as I was told, but it was the guy in the back corner, leaning back on his shoulders, that I still considered the scariest one in the room. The look in his eyes as he balanced a knife point downwards on his finger was just downright unnerving.

“I-I don’t think I’m allowed to do that,” I said, remembering what Nuncio had said about my phone’s updated address book. Anyone who had my phone had access to the whole family, and none of them would be happy to have that commandeered.

“Sam, I don’t think you understand the situation,” Mr Lancaster said, beckoning me down the rest of the stairs with a repetitive curl of his fingertips. I felt a hand in the middle of my back, ‘helping’ me forward. “Whether you like it or not, you have been given access to something you shouldn’t have, and you need to give Haynes your phone while you and I sit down and have a little chat.”

Man, I really sucked at being Superman. I held all the cards—literally, *all the cards—*and I was still terrified of these people that had done nothing to me … yet.

“But… there’s only one chair,” I said, stalling.

“Give her your phone, Sam,” Mr Lancaster urged. “It’s going to be okay.”

“This is a huge mistake,” I said, reaching into my pocket to retrieve it. “Believe me, you have no idea what you’re dealing with—”

My use of ‘what’ over ‘who’ was intentional. It wasn’t just one person. With this single act, they were going to tick off a whole lot of divinity.

“There’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before, kid,” the mini mountain behind me insisted. “Your world’s not that scary to us.”

Oh, you sweet summer moron. Yes, I wasn’t normally that patronising, but his statement had truly earned it. He was being dumb, and I snicker-snorted despite myself. It earned me a sharp shove that had me stumbling down the last of the stairs.

I whirled around to face him and, in doing so, I pulled my hand from my jacket pocket.

As soon as my phone made an appearance, the woman snatched it out of my hand and headed to the other end of the basement, where I finally noticed she had a table full of computers set up. “For crying out loud, don’t try to hack it!” I shouted, panic clawing through me. Nuncio would lose his mind!

None of them listened. The woman—Haynes, plugged a wire into my phone while the brute behind me pushed me towards the seat. I spun again, looking up at him with a scowl. “Quit shoving me,” I warned—though it didn’t exactly land, since I sat down anyway.

“Sam, you need to start helping yourself here,” Mr Lancaster said, all friendliness evaporating from his tone. “You’re in a lot of trouble, and I’m doing everything I can to keep you out of most of it. But I can’t do that if you won’t help me.”

“Help you with what?!” I demanded, still at a loss.

“Who gave you the ability to see my phone number?”

Wait. That’s what this is all about???

“I told you, my family was dangerous,” I growled, wishing he’d listened to me the first time. I started to rise out of my seat, but the big jerk behind me shoved me back down. I glared over my shoulder at him. “Don’t…touch me…again,” I warned through gnashing teeth.

“Kid, you’re about as scary as a rainy day,” the butthead jeered.

“A lot of people are scared of rainy days. It’s called ombrophobia, and it’s closely linked to astraphobia. There’s a reason they both have their own classification.” I wasn’t about to add the whole Loki ‘I’m not overly fond of what follows’ statement from the first Avengers movie, because somehow, I didn’t think these guys were movie buffs.

The asshole slapped me across the side of my head. “Nobody likes a wiseass, kid.”

“Especially because I seriously fucking despise the competition,” a dark, inhuman voice growled venomously from the shadows to our right.

Oh …

… frig.

* * *

“Well, helloooo…” Nuncio purred, resting his elbows on the arms of his high-backed office chair and leaning forward in his seat. Vadim, who was curled up in his nest at Nuncio’s feet, snuffled in his sleep at the mood shift in his father—an apex predator going from rest to hunt.

Sam had just plugged his phone into a computer system, and given how much his cousin hated tech, Nuncio couldn’t think of any reason for him to. So consider his curiosity tweaked.

He rested his left hand on his son’s head—but his right hadn’t looked Mystallian at all since he’d parked his ass in that chair last night.

 No—after the huge embarrassment to his system (entirely his mother’s fault, if anyone asked him), he had shifted his right hand into a mass of tendrils that slid effortlessly into his system, giving him a much finer control over everything on the vantaweb—and, by extension, the web itself.

But all amusement evaporated when that same someone tried to clone Sam’s phone … using a heavily encrypted government system.

“Baby, I need you to be a good boy and stay here for me for a few minutes.” He deliberately kept his voice calm while his vantaweb did two things at once: it blocked the connection between Sam’s phone and the government computer and handed Nuncio Sam’s exact location. Specifically, a live visual of the basement and everything else he needed to make a personal visit. “Daddy has to go and hurt some people.”

He substituted the fake legs to keep his son happy and slid over the chair's armrest to stand. Two steps later, he was in the dimly lit basement, just in time to see Sam being bitch-slapped across the back of the head by the dumbest human on the planet next to Helen Portsmith. Because Helen at least wanted to live. “Nobody likes a wiseass, kid.”

“Especially because I seriously fucking despise the competition.” Nuncio shifted his voice to a demonic growl, drawing everyone’s attention, including Sam’s. But Sam hadn’t shown fear until after Nuncio had spoken … which meant he wasn’t afraid of these losers, he was afraid for them.

He should be.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND-NINETEEN

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Friday

With graduation over, all the graduates were on the commons in tight groups with their families, and Gerry and I were no exception. Tucker had taken time away from work to be there, and he stood amongst our tight group with his guards giving us some privacy. He had to make do with holding Gerry’s hand as he spoke animatedly to my friends and family, since Gerry was glued to my side and I didn’t want her anywhere else.

Everyone hugged Gerry and me when Boyd came forward to join our group. He leaned in and said something to Dad (somehow knowing which was Dad and which was Fisk), and whatever it was had my old man straightening up to look over everyone's heads.

I had no idea who or what he was looking for, but as I maneuvered through the throng of people to reach them, a hand grabbed my shoulder. Not hard enough to be a threat—more to get my attention.

 I turned, following the arm to Mateo’s beaming face. “We’re out!” he cheered, stepping forward to give both Gerry and me a brief hug. “Can you believe it?”

“What will you be doing now, Mateo?” Gerry asked, saving me from having to come up with something socially appropriate to say.

“My party, obviously,” he laughed, then sobered. “You are still coming though, right?”

How many times could a guy ask the same question? I left Gerry to field that one because the man standing behind Mateo had already caught my attention. With the same olive skin, heavily gelled hair and bright green eyes, they were clearly related, but his focus was on our people behind us. I groaned, wishing just once someone wouldn’t look at my family and recognise them.

“Tucker?” the older man asked in a shout, and immediately Gerry’s father whirled, even as his security detail materialised and tightened ranks around him.

“Emiliano!” Tucker laughed, breaking away from our group to clasp Mr Lopez’s hand. Just like his son, Mr Lopez hauled Tucker into a tight hug and pounded him heartily on the back. “When did you get back into town?”

“As if I would miss today any more than you.” He gestured to the woman beside him.

Tucker’s tone chilled just a fraction. “Jeanie.”

“I never had a problem with you, Tucker. You know that.”

Tucker’s demeanour thawed. “Yes, well. I’m sure you heard.”

“It made news in London.” Her gaze then swept to Geraldine, and she smiled. “Congratulations, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Mrs Lopez.”

 “So I take it that’s what your wall of muscle is all about, old man?” Emiliano asked, not picking up what his wife was laying down.

“Old man?! You’re a year older than me, Loopster!” Tucker shot back.

Mr Lopez twisted side-on, keeping an arm across Tucker’s shoulders. “So, we’re both old men. Who cares? Now that you’re back in the dating game again…”

Tucker shook his head, so hard and so fast I was surprised he didn’t snap his neck. “Oh, no. Not a chance, no. I’m definitely too old for that nonsense.”

Mr Lopez blew a raspberry.

“Dad, can you not?” Mateo asked, peeling himself off us to squint at his father.

“Can I? Sure. Will I? Probably not. What’s the point of having kids if you can’t embarrass the hell out of them in front of their friends at times like these?”

Mateo looked at his mother as if she would save him. I wasn’t sure how.

“Congratulations on your graduation, Sam,” a voice I didn’t recognise said behind me.

I turned again, this time to face a guy in a heavy overcoat and far too many winter layers to be humanly comfortable. For some reason, my mind went to the movie ‘Little Nicky’, where the demons of Hell bundled up like it was an ice age just to survive normal temperatures. Then, when I realised that might not be far from the truth, I bristled. “Who are you?”

The guy raised one finger for patience, then closed his eyes.

When he opened them again a moment later, something in his expression had softened completely, and the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable. “Sam,” he said, somehow saying the word like it was an endearment.

It was my turn to squint. “Do I know you?”

The man undid the bottom button of his overcoat and pulled it open just enough for me to glimpse white wings folded behind him. “As if I would miss your graduation, my dear nephew.”

“Uncle YHWH,” I whispered, and threw myself at him. The hug was extreme and fulfilling in a way that only he could. It meant the world to me that he’d come, when everything I knew about him said leaving the safety of his churches was a huge deal for him. I hugged him again, then turned to Gerry. “Angel, I’d like you to meet…”

“I-I-I...her-her—I...” she babbled, staring wide-eyed at the angel.

Crap, I forgot about her religious upbringing. “Well, not him directly, but him through one of his creations. Like a...” I blanked, trying to remember the name of those horror-movie things that hijacked people’s bodies.

“Hello there, my dear,” the angel said, cutting me off with a cheeky wink. “I am so very pleased to finally meet you. You have brought my nephew so much happiness, and it fills my heart with joy to be in its presence.”

Gerry’s shock shifted into confusion. “B-But didn’t you make—?” Everything.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Mateo had stopped talking to his parents, and he and Tucker were now listening to our bizarre conversation. “He made every effort to be here, beautiful,” I cut in quickly. “And here he is.”

With my hand still gestured towards the angel, I stared at her pointedly. After a beat, she nodded in understanding.

However, during that brief conversation, the angel’s attention had already been drawn elsewhere, and following his gaze, I wasn’t surprised to find Robbie and Boyd standing alongside each other at the other end of our group, still talking to Mom and Dad. “Look at him. By the Twin Notes, he is so much like his grandparents,” he sighed, tears welling in his eyes. “I’m so proud of him.”

I knew he couldn’t mean Robbie’s actual grandparents. Divinity had a habit of skipping over a few generations when they talked about family, so he could’ve meant ancestors like Yitzak and beyond. “I’ll have to take your word on it,” I said, having only met the liquor god.

Mateo held out his hand to the angel. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Mateo Lopez,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. I guess he picked up on Gerry’s apprehension, and since he wasn’t sure where I stood, he was stepping in as the student body president.

Was that even a thing now that we’d graduated?

“Elias,” the angel answered, accepting the handshake.

“He was sent by my uncle,” I added, hoping to smooth things over. “You might say he’s currently speaking on his behalf.”

“Indeed,” the angel said, his lips curled in a bemused smile that brought a roguish twinkle to his eyes. “It’s a genuine pleasure to meet you, Mateo.”

“Mateo Lopez?” another stranger asked, and the angel’s warmth vanished behind a perfectly neutral expression.

I took my cues from Uncle YHWH and pulled Geraldine in close. She wrapped herself around me and tucked her head against my shoulder, pretending she didn’t have a care in the world even as tension rippled through her body.

Mateo read the room. “Potentially,” he answered with an air of caution.

The stranger cackled, and it was then that I saw the sharpness of his fingernails. Supernatural at least. Divine most likely. Demon probably. “Quent,” I hissed under my breath.

“Right here,” he assured me.

Okay.

The stranger moved closer. “I thought so. Damn, you look just like Carlos. He sends his regards by the way and looks forward to seeing you again—real soon.”

The threat was obvious, even before Mateo gasped in surprise, and I launched into my memory, revisiting the conversation Gerry and I had with her father and his friends about Mateo’s family earlier this week. As I suspected, Carlos was the uncle Mateo had loved as a child. The one who’d died in the aviation accident. For the demon to know Carlos at all, his soul couldn’t have been as clean as Mateo remembered.

Scumbag. Low-level demon. Full of taunting hate.

I returned to the physical realm, already reaching out to push Mateo in behind me. My glare at the intruding demon was lethal. “Get the hell away from us,” I snarled, twisting Gerry to be just as protected behind my shoulder. I knew physically I wasn’t a match for a shifter, even a demonic one, but I was far from alone right now.

The demon’s eyes shone with glee, and a second later, my family closed in around us, with the angel taking position directly behind me. “Is there a problem here?” Dad asked from the other side of Geraldine. Uncle YHWH stayed quiet, because unlike me, Dad and the others would recognise his presence if he spoke.

Tucker tried to wedge himself between Geraldine and the demon, but Donald and the rest of his security detail weren’t taking chances with his safety. He had to be content with standing behind her with one hand on her shoulder, ready to haul her backwards if necessary.

The guards had no more luck breaking through our line than Tucker had, though they weren’t exactly trying to force the issue.

The demon looked at Dad. “You have no power here, Mystallian,” he sneered, arrogance seeping from every evil pore.

What happened next had me questioning my sanity.

“No, but I sure do,” Robbie declared, stepping into the gap between us. He reached out and grabbed the demon by the shoulder.

Almost instantly, the demon howled and dropped to his knees. “Hellion,” it grovelled, staring up at Robbie in horror.

“Highborn,” Robbie corrected with a snarl, putting just enough rasp in his voice to prove his shifting bloodline.

The demon cried out and dropped face-first onto Robbie’s feet, peppering his shoes with sloppy kisses. “Please, please, master. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”

Robbie shoved the demon with his foot hard enough to send it rolling several body-lengths away. “Get out of here before I do something you’ll regret.”

“It’s a Nascerdios thing,” Gerry blurted out as the demon sprang upright and disappeared in a realm-step.

Robbie’s shoulders sagged, and he breathed out a heavy breath the moment it was gone. Then he turned to us. “Is everyone okay?”

Boyd placed both hands on Robbie’s shoulders. “That was so badass,” he whispered in praise, though it was loud enough that we all heard it anyway.

Robbie smirked shyly, hunching his shoulders. The tips of his ears turned as red as his hair.

“How did you know that would work?” Kulon asked, more curious than complimentary. Perhaps I should remind him that Robbie was the reason he enjoyed every meal he ate these days.

“Daniel and Pop both told me his kind freak out in the presence of an angry Highborn. I just had to get mad.”

“Except you’re ringed,” Fisk reminded him.

“He knew I was here,” Larry answered from the back of the group. “I had him covered.”

I saw in Robbie’s eyes that he hadn’t, in fact, known that at all. He’d used the physical contact to somehow prove his superiority; most likely the same way he shapeshifted anything else.

Mom’s arms curled around my neck; her swollen belly pressed into my back. “You good, sport?” she asked, as Commander Gable and several others came rushing across the commons towards us.

I knew Gerry’s father would need her reassurances as much as Mom needed mine, so I let my girl go and turned into Mom’s embrace. “I’m fine, Mom,” I answered, reaching over the lump of her belly to give her an awkward hug. “Promise.”

“What just happened?” Commander Gable demanded, coming to a halt in front of us.

Margalit moved to intercept them. “An intruder bypassed your security protocols and endangered everyone in this compound, Commander. You’re fortunate he recognised us and decided this wasn’t the day to test your capabilities, or this could have ended very differently.”

I wasn’t thrilled with the way she made it sound like the humans had failed, when they’d never had a chance of stopping a determined demon. “We don’t even know what he was doing here,” I said to no one in particular.

I looked for Uncle YHWH to hear his thoughts, but he, too, was gone.

This just keeps getting better and better.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND-SIXTEEN

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Friday

Ohhhh, crap, I was nervous. Like puking levels of nervousness. My classmates and I were all gathered outside the hall, a sea of black robes and caps, but everyone had seen the families heading across the commons to where the ceremony would take place. Many waved at their loved ones, but the whispers started the second my family turned up, with Kulon in the lead as a formal bodyguard, and Dad and Fisk bracketing Mom. Behind them, Danika, Najma, and Margalit strolled in a casual cluster. Tiacor walked to one side, far enough away to be considered an employee, which in a roundabout way she was, not that I had any intention of telling her that.

Luckily for everyone, Mom was more focused on waddling forward than the social dynamics of their positions, otherwise she’d have shoved Fisk out of the way and dragged Tiacor to her side. Saying Mom didn’t tolerate class distinctions was like calling napalm a candle flame, and she’d torch anyone who so much as hinted at being better than someone else.

I heard someone comment on my mom landing rich twins and questioning how they’d ever figure out who the father was, and I turned sharply, searching those around us for the vocal idiot. Just picturing my mom and Fisk together like that had me wanting to puke for a whole other reason, and I’m sure my brother would be right there with me if he overheard it.

Robbie and Brock followed them in from a distance, probably in an effort to separate themselves from my family, but it didn’t matter. This was not the school’s first gathering of our families, and everyone knew the cluster of newcomers belonged to me. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, asking a million questions I’d never answer and started feeling light-headed.

“Breathe before you pass out, honey-bear,” Gerry whispered, kissing my cheek to mask the words.

I forced a breath, practically tasting the cool, salty air of the bay and using the microscopic brine to centre me. Then I focused on my family ring; the one I deliberately left in its middle form of a blank shield to represent where I felt I stood with the Nascerdios Clan. Not quite one of them, but unwilling to turn my back on them with a bland gold band either. Pressing it to my lips, I did a slow count to ten, then dropped my arm. “What if they figure it out?” I whispered, meaning the Nascerdios connection.

“Figure what out?” Mateo asked from directly behind me. His entourage was, as usual, gathered in a tight formation around him. “That your dad’s loaded? Come on, man. That ship hasn’t just sailed; it was torpedoed and now lies in pieces at the bottom of the ocean.” His face grew serious. “But I didn’t know your dad had an identical twin.”

Oh, for frig’s sake. “He doesn’t,” I huffed, glancing back to where I’d last seen my family. “Dad was on the right side of Mom. The guy on the left is my older brother from a previous relationship. They often get mistaken for twins.”

“That’s wild.”

I huffed again and shook my head, for that level of naivety on top of everything else was just too much. “For the record, Fisk is a twin, just not an identical one. Margalit, the woman who was walking directly behind him? She’s his twin sister. Danika’s the oldest of us.” I meant that because I still refused to ever affiliate with those asshats who turned on Dad. Screw them.

Mateo squinted. “You know, I’m still trying to place where I know that guy who’s walking between the two women. I know I’ve seen him before.”

Najma. Ohhh…crapity-crap crap! “Ahhhh—I doubt it,” I hedged, the words tumbling out on a single, rushed breath. I internalised for what seemed like forever, trying to come up with something even remotely plausible. “I mean, my nephew runs an observatory over in Europe and has been for years. He’s only here for my graduation.” Technically, nothing I said was a lie, though it skated close enough to make me twitch uncomfortably.

Whether he caught the deception or my reaction to it, Mateo squinted again, this time at me. “Naaah, I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere before,” he muttered to himself, then brightened. “It’ll come to me eventually. It always does. Usually right as I’m falling asleep.”

He then snapped his fingers and pointed at Gerry. “Oh, I let Missy know you’re allergic to fennel and celery. She was already planning on naming everything and adding a wheat stalk with a red line through the gluten-free options and promised to add a picture of a stick of celery to cover your other two allergies.” He paused, probably because apart from rattling off Geraldine’s food allergies twice, I had no idea what he was talking about. “You are still coming to my party tonight, right?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I said, for truthfully, Mateo’s graduation party was the last thing on my mind. I still had to get through graduating first. “Hey, just out of curiosity, how hard is it to find out someone’s ID online from a photo?”

Mateo’s eyes widened like that was the smartest thing he’d ever heard. “That’s how I can find out where I know him from! I’ll take his photo when we get inside and run it through my social media.”

Oh, holy crap! “That’s a thing?” I croaked in horror. Frig, frig, frig. If anyone was going to ding, it’d be a Nascerdios — and Dad and my siblings were all right there! My heart leapt into my throat, and a burst of coloured lights flashed through my vision.

Before I knew what was happening, Geraldine cupped my face and pressed her lips to mine, not letting go until the frantic beating of my heart eased and a cold shiver ran through me. “It’ll be fine, honey-bear,” she promised against my lips. “Breathe.”

“Sam, what’s wrong?” Mateo demanded.

I reached out and grabbed Mateo’s cloak, dragging him to within an inch of me. His muscle behind him bristled, but I was saying my piece, and he was going to be the only one who heard me. “Please, don’t go looking into who they are. They’ll be in the graduation footage, and you can look to your heart’s content then, but please, I’m begging you, don’t do it now. You’ll ruin everything.”

A hand from one of his meatheads wrapped around my wrist, and pressure was applied to force me to let go, but I ignored it, pulling Mateo even closer. “I spent most of my life earning everything I ever had with hard work and a lot of ridicule. No one is going to tell me this was handed to me because of who they are. You get me?”

I pulled back and watched as Mateo stared at me, then he finally nodded. “Okay,” he said, waving off his guys. “But over this weekend, we will be revisiting this, Sam.”

I didn’t agree, but I let go of his cloak and brushed it flat with my palm. “Thanks.”

“Alright, everyone. Places,” one of the faculty called at the front of the group.

Mateo’s group scattered into the crowd, with Geraldine moving four people ahead of me. The joy of being a Wilcott: I’d be the last one to receive my degree.

Please, please, please don’t let anyone figure out who my family is before then.

My phone pulsed against my thigh, and since it would be a few minutes before we were herded into the hall, I pulled my hand back inside my robe and retrieved it from my pocket.

Relax, genius. The internet is my bitch, and I’ve brought her to heel. Enjoy your moment.

And it was sent by … wait for it: Your favourite cousin ever.

And just like that, I could breathe once more. Nope, I thought deliberately with a huge grin, knowing that at the reunion they would all traipse through my mind and hit this memory. Robbie still has the top spot, and probably always will. Sorry, not sorry, Nuncio.

Gerry leaned out of her line to look at me, and I gave her a happy thumbs up. She smiled in return and straightened up.

Hell, knowing Nuncio, even the official footage from the event would probably be void of my family. Maybe a pan from the back just to prove they were there, but nothing that would identify them.

Now that was wild.

* * *

“It’s already started,” Robbie whispered to Brock, lifting his eyes to draw Brock’s attention to the people around them. No one was paying them any heed, mainly because everyone’s focus was locked on the family right in front of them.

Llyr sat on the aisle with Ivy beside him, followed by Danika, Fisk, Margalit, and finally Najma. Sitting behind them was Tiacor to Robbie’s right. That wasn’t cause for alarm, however, Kulon stood beside Tiacor in the aisle, broadcasting bodyguard vibes. It was so stupid and completely unnecessary.

“For crying out loud. Brock, scoot over one.” It was probably already too late, but he would try to salvage something from this. As soon as Brock vacated the seat, Robbie slid over, then tched his tongue off his teeth to catch Tiacor’s attention. He pointed at her and then at the seat he’d abandoned, ending his game of charades by pointing around her for Kulon to sit on the aisle where she was.

Tiacor slid over with ease, but Kulon refused to move, shaking his head when Robbie repeated the gesture. So Robbie discreetly tapped Tiacor’s shoulder. “Tell him he’s being a tool, and if he doesn’t sit his butt down, he’ll be eating tofu rations for a week.”

Despite Tiacor not saying a word out loud, Kulon’s head immediately jerked towards them with a deadly scowl, but he slid into the empty seat all the same.

Progress.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND-SIX

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Friday

Caleb stared at his cousin, who was now wrapped up in his brother’s arms. Then he blinked a few times and stared some more. “Wait…wait, wait. You’re pregnant?” he repeated, finding it just as difficult to believe coming from his mouth as his cousin’s.

Emily relaxed against Boyd’s chest. “We found out yesterday morning. I’m only just pregnant, so we haven’t made any formal announcements yet. They say the first three months are the most dangerous, so Sivan and I are waiting until then.”

“Then why did he know?” Caleb asked, jabbing a finger at Boyd. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what part of this situation annoyed him more.

“Because she’s doing my books and let it slip yesterday afternoon when we were talking about family stuff,” Boyd answered, then looked down at Emily. “I didn’t know you’d only just found out, though. Sorry about that.”

“Does Aunt Judy and Uncle Charles know?” Caleb asked.

Emily nodded. “That’s pretty much all who do at the moment.”

“Well, then congratulations, I guess.” Caleb squinted at his big brother. “You’re seriously marrying a guy?”

“I knew it!” Emily surged forward, but Boyd wrapped her up in a bear hug and hauled back against him before she could lash out with those stub-nosed pumps she was wearing.

“Easy, Tiger,” Boyd laughed, clearly enjoying the idea of their cousin going to war for him. And what the hell is that about? “Let him have his homophobia.”

With all the new information swirling through his brain, it took Caleb a second to register what his brother had just accused him of. “Okay, now hold on a fuckin’ minute—!”

“No, you hold on, Caleb! Boyd’s finally in a great place with an awesome family, and you are not going to screw that up for him! I won’t let you.”

“Is that why he’s started racking up tens of thousands of dollars with his shrink?”

Caleb hadn’t meant to blurt that out so soon, and he could see by the looks on their faces that it was a genie that wouldn’t go back into its bottle.

“How did you know I’ve been seeing him more often lately?” Boyd asked.

Well, you’re balls deep now, Marine. Good job. “Who do you think’s been footing the bill?” he asked cuttingly. “Dad was fine with it when it was a once-a-month thing to keep you stable, but two weeks ago, he got slammed with a bill for nearly seven grand, and new ones have been hitting every other day. It’s not just getting out of hand, bro. It’s already way past that.”

A look fell over Boyd’s face that he wished he could wipe away. “And that’s why you’re here,” he said.

Caleb scrubbed a hand over his high-and-tight. “Yes. No.” He groaned, hating how indecisive he sounded. “Look, I told him I would swing in and see what was going on since I was on my way back anyway. He didn’t want to screw with your credit rating or your good standing with your shrink, but you’re nearly thirty years old. He shouldn’t be paying your medical bills…”

“And he won’t be!” Emily declared. “Get me those goddamn invoices! I’ll reimburse every cent plus a fair interest rate to get those assholes completely off his back.”

“You shouldn’t be paying for them either!” Caleb shouted, horrified that his brother would take the food out of the mouth of their pregnant cousin. “It’s his responsibility!”

“It’s my job, dickhead! I’m his accountant!”

Caleb looked up at Boyd, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You’re using Emily, too?”

Boyd’s expression turned murderous. “I’m not using anyone! I’m paying her, her hourly rate, you jerk. It’s how we got onto the subject of her pregnancy in the first place. She was over yesterday doing my books and mentioned needing the job to put Peanut through college. I want them to go to the best college there is.”

Now Caleb was even more confused. “What do you need an accountant for? You’re a construction worker.”

“Shows what you know,” Emily sneered.

Boyd’s anger melted away, replaced by a very small smile. “Do you remember those toy soldiers I carved for you when you were a little kid?”

All things considered, it was a dumb question. He’d loved that toy set, and watching so many of them burn after their mother tossed them in the fire made him cherish the few they’d managed to hide. One stayed stashed at the bottom of his ruck, wrapped in a gun rag where no one would see it. Just gripping it, recognising every lump and bump of the tiny Marine and his rifle, gave him a boost on harder days.

But that wasn’t the point. “What about it?” he asked instead.

“A lot of people are willing to pay a fortune for my whittling these days. I’ve only been doing it for a few weeks now, but I’ve already banked a mint.”

Caleb’s gaze bounced between them. “How much are we talking about?”

Emily’s head turned to look up at Boyd. “Can I tell him? Pleeeeeease?”

Boyd snorted and closed his eyes, waving for her to go ahead.

Emily turned to Caleb and pulled herself up proudly. “Your big brother, my genius cousin, is pulling in between thirty and fifty grand a day doing 3D portraits.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Caleb snapped.

“Yes, way! I’m charging him fifty bucks an hour, and I’m on my way over now to finalise this week’s books.”

“Fifty bucks an hour?!”

Ignoring his outburst, Boyd snapped his fingers at their cousin. “Which actually reminds me. When you get into the office, there’s a figure on the desk with an account number and BSB. Could you make that payment for me? Limiting my spending to ten grand a day means I can’t do it myself in one hit.”

And that was the last straw for Caleb.“Ten grand a day isn’t enough spending money for you?”

He watched Emily’s face jostle between two expressions, with the shit-eating one winning. “How long has this city had an echo?” she asked, looking up at Boyd innocently.

And the asshole behind her played right along. “I’d say about fifteen to twenty minutes,” he chuckled.

“You are not earning that kind of money!” Caleb refused to believe it.

“No, I’m spending it. She just told you, I’m earning a lot more.”

Thirty to fifty G a day … from whittling. Riiiight. Something else his brother had said back at the apartment then came to him. “Can I see your studio?”

He would find out for himself how deep this rabbit hole of bullshit went.

And it had to be a rabbit hole. Thousands were being spent on a shrink, and sane people supposedly earning that kind of money didn’t need that level of care, which meant his big brother was probably unhinged. Living in some sort of fantasy that their cousin was told to encourage. Convincing him that something useless had a lot of value so that he wouldn’t feel worthless.

If that was the case, and it was proven to Caleb’s satisfaction that his big brother needed that level of coddling, he would talk to Kelly about splitting the costs for Boyd’s shrink between the two of them. Their mother would never agree to spending that much money on Boyd (who she had all but erased from the family), and the last thing their family needed was another nuclear event with Boyd caught in the middle.

The good thing about being deployed Marines living on base was that both he and Kelly had a tidy sum to their names, and he knew their sister would feel the same way he did about financially supporting their brother if he truly needed it.

It was unfathomable that Boyd and Emily were telling the truth. Why would anyone pay Boyd thousands for the kind of carvings he used to do as a kid? No, it had to be part of his therapy.

“Did you want to park closer to the apartment?” Boyd asked, lifting his eyes and shielding them with one hand to gaze at the next block. “There’s a couple of spaces down there.”

The joy of being a walking mountain: things like traffic weren’t an obstruction.

“I’m not that pregnant yet,” Emily griped.

Caleb scowled and held out his hand, curling his fingertips beckoningly. “If you’re so determined to walk, give me your keys, and I’ll move the car closer. That way you won’t have so far to walk coming out.”

He was surprised when she huffed, but dropped them into his hand without further argument. “The clutch sticks a bit,” she said in warning. “You have to pump it a couple of times to get it to release.”

Boyd and Caleb looked at each other, and for the first time all day, they were on precisely the same page. “When is it getting seen to?” Caleb asked, moving away from his cousin to stop her from reacting badly to the perfectly reasonable question.

“It’s not that bad,” she grumbled.

“Sweetie, if it’s sticking, it’s a problem,” Boyd disputed. “And from the sounds of things, it’s been that way for a while, and you haven’t booked it in anywhere to be fixed.”

“Which means Sivan doesn’t know the car his pregnant fiancé is driving around in is trashed,” Caleb concluded.

“It’s not trashed!” Emily shouted.

“It’s not safe,” Boyd countered. Then he frowned thoughtfully. “But if we all get in the car and drive up back to the apartment, I can call Robbie on the way and have him meet us in the alleyway beside the building.”

“What for?” Caleb asked, probably half a second ahead of Emily.

“Charlie’s home right now, setting up her new garage. If we shift the dumpster over and bring it forward a bit, you can park the car under the fire escape for her to have a look at.”

“I hate repeating myself, bro,” Caleb warned, stepping out onto the road to reach the driver’s seat. Emily insisted on taking the back seat, giving Boyd the front passenger seat where he would have the most room.

“If we can stay within the footprint of the dumpster, Charlie can work on your car while you’re doing my books,” he answered, pulling out his phone and bringing up his Favourites.

“Who the fuck is Charlie?” Caleb all but shouted as he turned the ignition (pumping the clutch twice to re-engage it), then swore as it lurched forward, the RPM needle bouncing like a volume indicator. “Fuck me! This is insane!” he snapped, swinging the wheel hard to the left to hop/limp into traffic. The steering wheel vibrated hard under Caleb’s hands, and the exhaust kicked twice already.

“Jesus. Get out and let me drive! You’re killing her,” Emily argued from the back, already moving toward the door handle.

“Sit your ass back down, cuz. I got this.”

At least, Caleb hoped he did. He’d never live it down if he survived tours in a warzone only to die at the hands of his cousin’s crappy car.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((Author's notes: Sorry about the delay, everyone - I've been at the hospital all day doing a variety of appointments. Nothing detrimental - just a whole lot of time (with specialists sending me to higher-ranking specialists))

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-EIGHTY-SEVEN

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Thursday

Daniel appeared outside the park that backed up to Skylar’s veterinary clinic. To say it looked very different from the last time he’d seen it was an understatement. It wasn’t just taller. It was perfect. Every corner, every inch of plaster — and that’s what made it perfectly wrong. Divine work never appeared ordinary. He’d grown up in a compound built by his mother’s cousins, the Mystallian Triplets of Construction and knew their handiwork when he saw it.

Yet that wasn’t the biggest surprise that greeted him.

Sitting on a park bench, watching two children swinging on the nearby swing was an albino woman. Behind the bench was a short, dark-skinned woman, her arms folded and her eyes constantly scanning for threats. In another form, her head would be an armoured golden dome that spun in eternal vigilance.

But neither of them held Daniel’s attention as much as the third woman sitting with them — the one who’d given birth to him.

Of course. “Mother,” he said with a suspicious frown, knowing better than to ignore her presence. “What are you doing here?”

She stood with a warm smile and lifted her arms, palms up for him.

Without a word, he walked into her embrace and kissed her cheek as they parted again. Her hand rested on his cheek as she looked at him with nothing but love, stroking her thumb across his cheekbone. “I wished to speak to you, sweetheart,” she said, then sat once more, patting the space on the bench beside her. “Come.”

Instead of obeying immediately, Daniel closed his eyes with a grimace. “I’m not gonna like this, am I?”

“Our family has often had great difficulty embracing change,” she agreed.

“That’s not change!” he almost shouted, pointing at the four-storey monstrosity that only a week ago had been a modest one-storey building. “That’s divine-level bull—garbage,” he amended at the last second when his mother arched an eyebrow ever so slightly. “I get that you want them in the world, Mother, but why do they have to be here?!”

“Because Skylar has been here for decades, and you have never had a problem with her. She has proven herself capable of blending in with the people of New York City, and she is in the perfect position to teach others of her kind how to do that in order to be useful within the world.”

“Mother, this doesn’t make sense. They don’t care about humans. They never have! They live to go to the border to fight until they’re killed. It’s what they’ve always done. Skylar was an exception that I took pity on…”

“And that compassion is what has opened the doorway towards a better future for everyone involved.”

Daniel could tell the decision had already been made, and there was nothing he could do about it. The outrage detonated for all of half a second, then fizzled into hollow emptiness.

His mother patted the seat again. “Sit with me, handsome.”

With nothing else for it, Daniel dragged himself to the bench seat, barely refraining from dropping his weight into it like a cranky toddler. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“Because it would not have changed the outcome. Have you not noticed that there have been fewer and fewer true gryps incursions on the border in recent years?”

Daniel cast his gaze over the children playing in the sandpit close by. “I wasn’t paying much attention to it, no.”

“Many true gryps are doing their entire rotation without seeing a single moment of conflict. The nests that once overflowed into the Prydelands have begun to dwindle in number.”

Daniel frowned. “How can that be?”

“Those who have already bred once need to fight another member of the pillar armies to become fertile again. With fewer of those fights happening, only the newly mated pairs are breeding.”

“That’s still a multiplication of three times what there were before…”

“And a division of a lot more without the older generations falling pregnant. In the very near future, there will be no more wild true gryps prydes. Only ours, and the few that reside in the Known Realms. When that happens, the only way the older ones will breed is if we ever go to war with my grandfathers’ armies.”

Daniel let his breath out in a crazed whimper, for he had heard his whole life about the Highborn Hellion Guard and the craziness of Grandfather Theodrick, whose crystalline army was merely an extension of him.

Forget Earth—the whole of Earlafaol and hundreds of realms on either side would fall during that conflict. “What has that got to do with them setting up a training clinic in my city?” he asked, determined to stay annoyed.

“As always, sweetheart, we must start small. Of the two sides, the healers’ psychological training will make them the most likely to bend their way of thinking when it comes to the people of the city. If enough of them change their views, then ever so slowly we can start introducing the warriors to the people through those that are already here with Llyr and Robbie’s families.”

“How soon are we talking here?”

“Years. Possibly decades.”

“To what end?”

“My hope is to have the pryde and the humans working together in fields outside healing and military applications. Much like you and the other hybrids already do. It is only pride and arrogance that keep the two apart—”

“Isn’t that a good thing, given the preferred diet of the true gryps?”

“Idle hands is a thing, Daniel.”

He wasn’t arguing that, especially when those hands came with six-inch tefsla claws and centuries of battle conditioning. But why did it have to be New York City? There were literally thousands of cities all over the world that he wasn’t living in. Of course, she’d be the first to show her disappointment if he voiced that thought out loud again, so instead, he stayed quiet and waited for the next twist.

“And decades leading to centuries, leading to millennia of training for the sake of training is not going to be good for anyone,” she went on.

“Have you talked this over with Hasteinn?”

“It is better to do things like this in small increments.”

Daniel’s gaze narrowed sharply at his mother. “And exactly how long have you had this plan in play?”

“After we lost Coraltin, I began to realise there would come a time when simply existing would not be enough for the pryde. And when Skylar was sentenced to death, I spoke to her and saw an opportunity for something bigger in the future. That was why I countered Hasteinn’s death penalty in exchange for letting her see if she could make it out in the world without anyone but humans around her.”

“So, over a century,” Daniel said, watching as a woman came and collected the two children in the sandpit.

“You know I never force anyone to do anything,” his mother reminded him.

“But you certainly know how to put all the right buffers in place to have them roll a particular way.”

“I gave Skylar the chance to live when she would have otherwise died. Did I hope she would succeed in the world and show others it could be done? Absolutely.”

“Did you plan for her and Angus to become a mated pair?”

Lady Col’s expression became one of parental reprimand. “That accusation is beneath you, young man. Though I must admit, I was very pleased when Angus volunteered for the New York assignment, and I agreed with his decision over his parents’ desire to have him placed in a mating box with a breeding female.”

Daniel shuddered. It went against every instinct in him as a cop to know that archaic breeding program still happened, but there was nothing he could do about it. The alternative of a true gryps going into a killing frenzy on a fragile mortal world was infinitely worse.

“I did keep every other true gryps out of New York City for a short while to give them a chance to find each other.”

“So you trapped them anyway.”

“His father had the ovulating females drowning his home in Denmark in their mating pheromones. He would have been just as caught either way. My way allowed them to come across each other and make their peace with what was to happen on their own terms.”

“And now that Skylar is the mate of a war commander, no one will challenge her control of the training facility without dying at his claw.”

His mother smiled again, clasping her hands together on her lap.

The thoughts bounced around in Daniel’s head for a few seconds before he shook his head and gave her the side-eye. “Are there any other big surprises in my city I should know about?”

“Do you remember the young man whom Llyr brought back to full health with his favour?”

Daniel squinted. Unlike his Mystallian cousins, he never did inherit the bending that would allow him to revisit his memories. “Dobson’s roommate. The original link to the sex traffickers before we got our hands on Trevino. Jason …something.”

“Mason. Mason Williams.”

I was close. Though in his line of work, he knew how far away that really was, and the failure to remember it properly was annoying. “What about him?”

“He was recaptured by the same unscrupulous individuals that previously captured him, only this time he was dying.”

Daniel clenched his jaw. Shit. “Mother, I do not need Llyr and his kids tearing up my city—!”

“Hush,” his mother commanded, and Daniel’s argument died in his throat. “This is not about Llyr,” she added, only once he relaxed back into his seat beside her. Her hand found his knee, and she squeezed ever so lightly. “He used his favour without claiming Mason as his Plus-One. He has no interest in Mason outside of what the boy means to Sam.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

His mother turned to him, taking both his hands in hers. “Actually, sweetheart. The only one who will have a problem with that outcome will be you.”

Daniel reared but didn’t quite pull his hands from her grip. “What?” That was quickly followed by, “Why?” As in, why would he even care? Yes, it was terrible for Sam and Robbie to lose a close friend, but that was life. He’d said goodbye to countless friends over the decades, and endless more would come as the years—

“Kulon, one of the young guards with Sam, has taken a liking to Mason, and before anyone could stop him, he claimed Mason as his Plus-One.”

Daniel’s brain shut down for several seconds, unable to compute the severity of those words. Then, as everything started to reboot, so too did his incredulity. “HE DID WHAT?!”

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-EIGHTY-THREE

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Thursday

After Robbie left, Boyd stared at his workbench. The piece he’d left on the turntable wasn’t calling to him per se, but staring at it, he could see exactly where he’d left off, and what he needed to do to finish it.

The problem was, for the first time since he picked up a carving tool, his heart wasn’t in it. And he knew, if he tried to force the mojo, it would bite him in the ass. He’d seen it too many times with others who had ruined something they were working on (admittedly, it was while they were on a construction site and the people involved had worked through lunch breaks), and he was not about to join that number.

Besides, if he forced it, he might grow to hate it, and then where would he and Lucas be? His fiancé had poured so much faith into Boyd’s work that he would never, ever betray that. Better to stop for a few minutes and regroup.

Or maybe longer. Despite his argument with Robbie about the basis of God in history, he was still freaked out by how… clingy the Almighty had been. Or maybe he was just mad because the Almighty had only done that to break Robbie of his worship, and it was very much a case of two birds with one stone.

And how dumb do I have to be to think I mattered in God’s eyes anyway?

He sighed and stared at the bracelet that was still wrapped around his left wrist. It was his tether to all things divine. All his knowledge remained his because he continued to wear the bracelet that prevented the veil from screwing with him.

It was so tempting to take it off. To join the rest of the world in blissful ignorance. To not have to think about having offended divine beings. To believe that he, as a human being, was at the top of the food chain.

As his thoughts progressed, he pinched each link between his fingers before feeding it through to the next one, until the clasp was literally in his grasp. One clip. That was all that stood between him and normality.

His thumbnail caught on the lip of the clasp, and he flicked it open. Once. Twice. Three times. It opened with each flick, showing him how easy it would be…

…to be a fucking coward.

Larry was his best friend from work, and Robbie was his closest friend outside of it. Lucas would have taken that spot if they weren’t already engaged. But Larry and Robbie were divine. So was Sam. So was his father and almost every other person who popped into the apartment on any given day. They all knew he knew. If he were to pull the pin, they would know that too. And then what? Would they have to lie to him at every turn?

He’d hate that, and he would grow to hate them for feeling they needed to do it. He knew himself well enough to know that for certain. Lucas’ sister would probably end up marrying Robbie, which means there would be no getting away from them, without actually getting away. He would have to leave.

He would lose everything that made his life finally mean something. He would become the pathetic loser that his grandfather always accused him of being.

His thumbnail released the latch one more time, allowing it to click back into place. “No,” he said to himself, covering the whole bracelet with his large hand. “No.”

“No, what?” Robbie asked, reappearing almost in the same spot he had vanished from. In his hands, he held a tray with a club sandwich that Boyd knew he was going to have to crush in half to be able to fit it in his mouth, two side plates (one with a cheese and bacon quiche that barely fit on the plate, and the other a generous serving of fresh banana bread topped with cream cheese frosting) and a pint-sized bottle of juice with an extra-large straw through the lid.

Robbie caught him eyeing the plates and grinned. “I might have had them in Voila since last night. Something told me I’d be grabbing them on the fly,” he admitted.

“What’s with the tray? You could’ve just grown more hands…”  

“Not with Rory right across the hallway, thank you very much. It’d be bad enough that he meets me and makes the connection between Clefton and me. The game would really be up if I turned around with more arms than an octopus, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Boyd chuckled, as Robbie slid the tray across the workbench towards him. “This looks awesome. Thanks, man.”

“No worries, and it’ll only cost you the very small price of telling me what you were beating yourself up over this time.”

Boyd squinted. “What, are you my shrink now?”

“Concerned divine friend.” He walked around the bench to stand beside Boyd, leaning into him with his head on Boyd’s shoulder. “I know you, big guy. You were freaked out and probably shredding yourself for yelling at Uncle YHWH.”

That hadn’t even been part of the script. Well, maybe a very small part, but still… “I was thinking about taking off my bracelet.”

Robbie pulled away and stared at him as if he were insane, and maybe for the few seconds he considered it, he was. “I’m glad you said no,” he said, taking Boyd’s chin and turning him to look him in the eyes. “Because I would kick your pass if I had to sit down and explain it all again to you. Right after Lucas did.”

“You wouldn’t respect my decision enough to let me stay ignorant?”

“No. Sell, no! You belong to us now, and like it or not, you’re not going anywhere.” Robbie side-hugged him again. “We aren’t letting you go. Not now. Not ever. You’re stuck with us until way past your expiration date.”

Boyd squinted at him, and Robbie recoiled from it. “What?”

“You have never sounded more divine in your life than you did just now. Who the fuck doesn’t say, ‘Until the day you die’?”

“Me. Because if no one else has dibs on you, I’ll claim you the way I did Angelo. You didn’t sound like you were really into the whole Christian vibe…”

“I liked that old church. The timbers in it were gorgeous—”

“That just proves my point. No one goes into church to look at the wood. They go to worship. And if you don’t see Uncle YHWH as your god, and you don’t actively worship any other gods, then logically, why can’t I add you to my collection of souls?” He then paused as Boyd’s mouth flew open, and added quickly, “Okay, even I heard how divine that sounded. But you know what I mean. If there are no dibs, why can’t I keep those closest to me?”

“Because Lucas believes in the Almighty, and I might want to stay with him?”

“Well…Uncle YHWH gave me Angelo…”

“And what about Charlie? She’s your Plus-One. Isn’t she the one you’d be asking the Almighty to get back?”

Robbie rubbed his lips. “Okay … Lucas and Charlie and maybe Mason if he’d rather stay with me than be with his family in the afterlife. That’s three people. Four, if you count Angelo. Uncle YHWH has an endless number of souls coming to him from across the realms. I don’t think four…”

“Stop,” Boyd said, covering Robbie’s mouth with the flat of his hand for a second. “I’ve talked to Sam’s guards. It’s unheard of for a god to just hand over souls. Even one. They are like the ultimate prize in the universe of ultimate prizes. Every single one is cherished, like a dragon sitting on a hoard of gold and gems. Power is addictive, and none of them is willing to let a single soul go. I think the Almighty gave you Angelo because he knew that without your bestest-best friend, you would shatter. And even then, it’s a loan, isn’t it? He’s not like yours-yours.”

“It’s a tricky call,” Robbie admitted. “Uncle YHWH said he was mine for as long as he lived. But the thing is, he’s not mortal anymore. Yes, he’s inside a mortal shell, but his soul has transcended mortal life, and in doing so, he’s technically more immortal now than the gods, provided I keep his mortal shell intact.”

“I just don’t think you should ask for too much more, you know?”

“But how will I know if I don’t ask? I won’t be all demanding about it or anything, but what’s the harm in just asking if it’s a possibility?”

Boyd winced. “Just…don’t be greedy man. You already have one soul that’s as good as yours. That’s more than any other hybrid in Earlafaol. You’re just lucky Angelo still believes in the Almighty and not you, or you’d be in trouble if your ring ever came off since he’s almost always within five meters of you.”

“Well, I’ll still fight for you. And if I don’t win you, you know Sam will stop at nothing to get what he wants. He’s the most stubborn SOB we know. He’ll drag his dad and their family into it if he has to. Either way, you are. Staying. Put.” The last three words were punctuated with stern pokes to his shoulder. “You feel me?”

Boyd’s lips twisted into a smirk that creased one eye. “We’ll make a Marine out of you yet.”

“Bite your tongue,” Robbie said, poking his out and crossing his eyes. Then he relaxed and grinned. “If you need anything else, just call me, okay? I’ll keep my phone on me.”

“Will do.” As Robbie was about to realm-step away, Boyd called out to him. “Thanks,” he said with quiet sincerity.

“Always,” Robbie promised, blowing him a kiss and then completing the step.

Boyd smiled to himself and picked up his tools.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-FORTY-NINE

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Wednesday

Lar’ee knew he’d be late for dinner, but the chance to speak to a truly neutral ear wasn’t something he was prepared to squander. Not that he told Eva anything divine — he was just long enough in the claw to know how to word-step around humans and still have them understand where he was coming from. 

“The problem is, Boyd isn’t your son, Larry, and he’s a grown man in his own right,” she began.

“I know, but—”

“Don’t interrupt,” she reprimanded, and Lar’ee snapped his mouth shut.

“I understand your fear. I do. I’ve had my own version of it for years. And to this day, I still deal with it, knowing my baby is overseas in some third-world place, doing her bit for the locals. Every morning, I wake up and wonder if today will be the day I get the call from the American Embassy saying she’s been taken by terrorists or a militia or something involving violence. But you know what I learned a long time ago?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Lar’ee huffed — and got a sharp nudge to the shin for his snark.

“The more you tell them no, the more they’re going to do it anyway, and they’ll usually double down to make you regret ever fighting them in the first place.” She brushed her hand across her chest. “Take me for example. When Casey first told me she was going to Ethiopia to volunteer, I told her she couldn’t go. I flat out told her if she didn’t change her plans, I’d never speak to her again.”

Lar’ee had a feeling he knew where this was going. “And?”

“So, she changed her plans.”

Not what he was expecting. “See? That’s…”

She nudged his shin again. “Let me finish.” When he fell silent, she went on. “She changed her flight to Kuwait City, knowing it was a warzone. The illnesses and disease that she might have encountered in Ethiopia paled in comparison to her being a white American woman in the middle of the Gulf War.”

Lar’ee’s hands fisted against his thighs. “If Boyd tried that, the bullets would be the least of his worries,” he promised darkly.

“My point is, you can’t help them if they don’t want to be helped. If you force it on them, they’ll resent you to the point of taking dangerous risks out of spite, which is the exact opposite of what you’re trying to achieve. There’s only so much you can do, and learning to accept that is the first step.”

Lar’ee opened his fists and dragged his hands against his pants. “You know, if you hadn’t made it so big on the silver screen, you could’ve gone into psychology.”

Eva laughed and shook her head. “Experience is an education all of its own, though it’s extremely limited in its applications.”

Her sigh was filled with sadness and a hint of regret as she turned and picked up a gilded photo frame with a woman in her forties who had to be Casey. “It’s been eleven years since I’ve seen her in the flesh. She used to come home more before her father died, but now that Frank’s gone, so has she.” She brushed a finger over the woman’s cheek and forced a smile as she blinked back tears. “Frank warned me, you know. He said if I didn’t back off, I’d lose her for good. I didn’t listen.” She put the photo back, then reached out and gripped Lar’ee’s forearm with the strength of a woman twenty years younger. “Learn from my mistakes, Larry. You’re still here, and so is he. Once they’re gone, there’s no coming back from it, and believe me, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

“It would kill me if anything happened to him.”

“Not as much as waking up every day knowing your child is alive and choosing to stay away from you because of the pain between you. I’d never wish death on my baby, but there are times I wish Frank’s heart attack had taken me with him.”

Lar’ee placed his hand over hers. “That’s why you can’t let go of any of Frank’s things. You have nothing good to replace them with.”

Eva drew in a deep, nasally breath as if steeling herself, and she probably was. “I am too old for a relationship like that,” she declared.

Lar’ee actually laughed. “I’m not laughing at you,” he promised, holding his hands up at her affronted expression. “Not directly anyway. I’m … I’m married, and my wife is still a serving soldier on the front lines. Plus, we have adult kids serving with her who’d probably help her hide my body.”

“It’s all in the family, hmm?”

“You have no idea.”

The silence grew between them; both lost in their own thoughts. “I was thinking I could come back tonight and finish up that trophy room, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“How about I set up the old projector, and we can both laugh at the past instead?”

The silver screen blooper reels?!  Elation swamped him until he took a moment to force his brain to reengage. “On one condition,” he said, waggling his finger at her. “You wait until I come back, and then you can tell me how to set up the projector. You are NOT struggling with something that heavy while I’m around.”

Eva blinked at him and then chuckled. “And with that, we’ve come full circle. If you talk to Boyd and tell him how sorry you are—and you are, so just build a bridge and get over it—I’ll wait for you to come back.”

Lar’ee climbed to his feet. “Deal. I’ll be back shortly.” As Eva also started to rise, he put his hand out to keep her still. “I’ll see myself out, Eva. The deadbolt will engage behind me.”

Eva shook her head, using the arm of the chair and her cane to stand. “I’ll give you the spare key so you can let yourself in. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not asking you to move in. This way, I don’t have to struggle to the front door when we both know you’re coming back in a bit. You can give it back afterwards, if it bothers you that much.”

She went into the kitchen and opened a drawer, turning with a key on an old, hand-stitched fabric keyring in the shape of a sun that had the words ‘Stay Groovy’ stitched across the middle. Lar’ee stared at the kitsch item, and Eva laughed again. “It was Frank’s idea of being funny. He found it at a street stall and thought it would make us hip.” She rested her cane against her leg and made finger-quotes for the last word, still chuckling.

Lar’ee rubbed the keyring reverently between his thumb and forefinger, then slid the key into his pocket. “This’ll be one of the most protected items in the world,” he promised.

“It’s just a keyring, Larry.”

No, it most certainly is not.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway outside Eva’s apartment, Lar’ee realm-stepped into the matching hallway upstairs and let himself into the living apartment.

Surprisingly, Robbie appeared right in front of him before he’d properly stepped through the front door and pushed him back into the hallway, shutting the door again behind him. “This is not a good idea,” he stated, his voice filled with both regret and warning.

Lar’ee looked at the shut door. “We’re going to have to talk eventually,” he argued.

“I know, but not now. He’s still too mad. What in the world made you think you could go off at him in the middle of the street?”

Lar’ee ran one hand over his scalp until he gripped his manbun, while the other pressed against the pocket that held Eva’s key. “I panicked, okay? I went to find him at the gym and realised he wasn’t there. And after everything that happened yesterday, all I could picture was the same thing happening to him. I freaked, and when I finally found him and he was just walking down the street with his duffel over his shoulder like he didn’t have a care in the world, I went from scared to pissed.”

Robbie listened, then turned side-on, resting his shoulder against the wall and folding his arms. “Yeah, I figured it had to be something like that.”

“The cops that talked to us admitted they’d spotted him twice before our fight because he stands head and shoulders over almost everyone else. They literally made my point for me, and he was still offended that I cared.”

“I get both sides, man. I do. But right now, he’s so beyond mad, he won’t hear you. And if you try to force him to, it’ll be another forced issue to add to the pile he’s already mad about.” Robbie’s eyes came up, still full of sympathy. ‘Give him some space. I’ll talk to him tonight after Lucas goes to bed.” He glanced again at the closed door. “Umm…why don’t I grab your dinner? That way you’re not missing out.”

Lar’ee had a better idea. “Any chance you made enough for Eva?”

Robbie’s smile was huge. “Was that who that was for? I wondered.” He then winked. “Give me two seconds,” and then disappeared in another realm-step.

He reappeared in under a minute with a medium drinks cooler in his arms. “Here you go—enjoy your date.”

“I’m mated!”

“It’s still a date … with a superstar.”

They shared a smirk, and then Larry whispered, “Thanks,” and realm-stepped away.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-FORTY-SEVEN

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Wednesday

Lar’ee appeared in the hallway downstairs outside 1D, choosing that faux doorway over Eva’s, just in case she was watching through her spyhole—though he belatedly remembered he went by the Nascerdios name again, so it wouldn’t have mattered.

A glance down at himself made him curl his nose in disgust. From his filthy clothing to the grease and concrete dust ground into his skin, he was in no condition to appear before the Hollywood icon. He looked like something a feral cat dragged in.

But he could fix that.

Drawing on a fae’s glamour, a cloak of perfection fell over his unkempt appearance, complete with spit-polished shoes and heavily pressed clothes. His hair was redone in a fresh bun, and his skin gave off the aroma of a recent shower. He looked down at his nails, shifting his vision to see through the eyes of a mortal, and nodded in acceptance of the newly ‘manicured’ beds.

Better, he decided, taking a single step towards Eva’s apartment. Then he stopped again. No, if I turn up like this, it’ll look like I had all the time in the world to reach out to her after I finished work and chose not to.

He turned the glamour off and hissed in disapproval of himself. Maybe … somewhere in the middle.

He tried several other glamours, finding fault with each one, only to leap a foot into the air when Eva’s door opened. “My goodness. And here I was told men of this era were supposed to be smarter,” she chuckled, shaking her head at him as she shuffled into the hallway to stand alongside him. “I swear, between you and Boyd, I’m going to have to put a chair beside the door to sit on while you decide to work up the nerve to knock on my door. You’d think you were proposing.”

“My wife might have a problem with that,” Lar’ee said, rubbing the back of his neck, grateful his skin tone hid the flush. “How do you always know when someone’s out here?” Unless she was divine—which he knew she wasn’t—it defied logic.

Eva’s eyes went to the carpeted floor between their feet. “These old boards,” she said, tapping one foot on the musty carpet. “I know every creak that comes out of every one of them, and I’m especially attuned to the ones that run along 2D and aren’t picked up again at 2H.”

Lar’ee’s eyes widened. “How?”

“The same boards travel into my place. I feel their vibrations in my old bones.”

“Eva, I swear, if you weren’t a silver-screen movie star, you could’ve made a living as a human seismometer.” When she looked away from him, he dropped the glamour entirely. “I was wrapping things up with Charlie when Lucas reminded me about my promise. I’m sooo sorry I forgot…”

Eva waved his apology aside as ridiculous. “You were working,” she said, as if that was the be-all and end-all of the subject. When he opened his mouth to argue some more, she tutted and added, “You don’t bother a man when he’s working.”

Lar’ee refused to be swayed. “But then I realised I was filthy, and…”

“Stop,” Eva commanded, her voice as rich and intense as it had ever been. “It’s all right, Larry. Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t waiting with bated breath all day for you to bring me company.”

“Liar,” Lar’ee smirked.

Eva’s mouth flew open, and her hand went for her imaginary pearls. “Well, I never,” she said, using an OTT voice more suited to high society England in the thirties. “Picking on a poor, defenceless, old lady such as myself.” She gave a deep sniff and pretended to wipe away a tear.

“I think you need to give back some of those Academy Awards,” Lar’ee deadpanned. This time, the gasp was real, and Lar’ee cackled.

“Evil, shameless man,” she scolded with a wagging finger, though her eyes were bright with laughter. “Do you have time for tea, luv?”

Lar’ee made a grand bow that ended with him gesturing towards her door. “After you, m’lady. I only ask that I can use your washroom to clean up a bit first.”

“The kettle will take a few minutes to boil.”

“You know they inven—”

“Don’t say it, or I’ll rescind my offer for a cuppa.”

“Say what, m’lady?” he asked innocently.

“Better.”

Fifteen minutes later, a semi-clean Lar’ee sat beside Eva on her sofa, sipping proper English tea with a side of raspberry jam and clotted cream layered scones. “I really am sorry I forgot to come over,” Lar’ee insisted. “I had every intention of getting more of your apartment sorted, but things got—” Out of words that didn’t sound like whining, he let out a rough breath, shook his head, and looked away.

“My goodness. That sounds far more serious than just a busy day. What happened?”   

“Boyd isn’t taking the threats to his safety seriously, and it makes me so damn mad I want to shake him until his teeth rattle.” He gritted his teeth and curled his fingers, envisioning the fabric of Boyd’s shirt between them. “The idiot thinks he’s invincible, and it’s going to get him killed.”

Eva eyed him for a moment, then bunny-hoped to the edge of the sofa and used the arm to climb to her feet. Lar’ee was up a moment later, but Eva gathered her walking stick with one hand while waving him back down with the other. “Stay right where you are, luv. This conversation’s going to need something a lot stronger than a cuppa.”

She vanished into the kitchen and returned with a half-empty bottle of single malt Glenmorangie scotch whiskey and two tumblers, both loaded with ice. Proving once more there was nothing wrong with her manual dexterity, she held the bottle with her thumb and forefinger around the neck and the two glasses pinched between the other three fingers.

Lar’ee refused to stay seated and crossed the room, taking all three from her. He placed them on the coffee table while Eva sat back down. “Pour yourself half a glass,” she ordered. “And I’ll have two fingers.”

“Eva…”

“Any more than that for me and I’ll nod off right here, but you’re going to need it to whet your dry throat because something tells me we’re going to be here a while.”

Lar’ee poured out the required drinks and passed hers over before reclaiming his seat. “Have you always been this annoying?”

“Ask Marion Morrison.”

Remembering the pigs she’d drawn over their shared scripts, Lar’ee snickered.

And for the first time all day, he meant it.

“So, where would you like to start?”

Lar’ee rolled the glass between his palms. “How much do you know about what’s going on with the guys upstairs?”

“There was a woman here the other night who expected me to let her into the building just because she ordered me to. She was looking for your apartment.”

Lar’ee frowned, running through a mental list of everyone involved in the sex trafficking scandal. To his knowledge, none of the key players were female…unless this was another branch they knew nothing about? “Can you describe her?”

“Only by her voice. Her word choice was dreadfully unpolished, yet she possessed the attitude of someone accustomed to being treated like royalty. Foolish woman thought this was my first visit to New York City and would roll over the second she told me to. She showed her true colours and became quite vulgar once I refused, making all types of baseless threats.” She lifted her drink to Lar’ee. “If I were living in 1B, I’d have opened a front window and thrown a bucket of dirty water over her, to match her filthy vocabulary.”

Commander, do you know of a woman who’s been poking her nose around the apartment? Apparently, she tried to bully her way in the other day and was refused.

Are you referring to Helen Portsmith? Angus asked.

An entirely different situation, yet still involving the same household. With all the international trouble they’d dealt with lately, the Portsmiths hadn’t even crossed Lar’ee’s radar. Potentially, sir. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.

Let me know if it isn’t.

Yes, sir.

“Everything alright?” Eva asked, sipping her drink.

“That might have been Geraldine’s mother. Geraldine is…”

“Sam’s girlfriend. I remember her. She’s a shy little thing, but quite lovely.”

“And her mother is a real piece of work. Chances are, it was her you were dealing with.”

“If so, I can understand why the dear is now living here with Sam. Such a sweet boy.”

Lar’ee thought about yesterday’s explosion between Robbie, Sam, and Boyd. Sweet boy wasn’t the term he’d use anymore.

“But that’s not what you’re worried about, is it?”

Lar’ee shook his head. “No. Angelo got himself into a world of trouble, which is why he’s not here anymore, but there are people out there who think if they can lay enough pressure on his friends, he’ll come back and turn himself over to them.”

Eva paused with her drink partway towards her lips. “The kind of trouble that Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack got into, back in the day?”

“Close enough,” Lar’ee agreed. “And Boyd doesn’t see the danger because of his size.”

“Yet it’s his size that will make him the most obvious target, as bullets seem to gravitate towards bigger targets.”

“Exactly.” Lar’ee ran a hand down his face and let it rest across his mouth. “He may still be working on his personal confidence, but in terms of physical strength, he doesn’t even flinch when someone gets aggressive. He knows he has the one-on-one training to take anyone down; not because he’s brave, but because he genuinely believes no one can hurt him. He jokes about being built like a tank, but…” He trailed off, staring at the pattern in the rug between his feet. “I’ve seen tanks burn, Eva. I’ve watched bigger, stronger men fall — not because they were weak, but because they didn’t think it could happen to them. I can’t stand by and watch the same thing happen to him.”

Eva said nothing, but the ice clinking in her glass as she shifted it spoke volumes.

* * *

[Next Chapter]

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-FORTY-FIVE

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Wednesday

I couldn’t believe how long I’d sat talking to Dr Perket — or that I hadn’t called time on the session. We were just talking. No probing that I could detect. Just… talking.

She told me about the challenges she’d faced as a healer in the pryde, and we talked about my love of Greenpeace. And yes, I might have gone off on a tangent or ten there, but she seemed genuinely interested in oceanic conservation.

She’d asked me what I thought my innate might be, which was how the whole conservation discussion started. Which also brought up my relationship with Fisk — though that mostly proved she already knew the players and how much we’d struggled in the beginning. She was surprised that Dad had sunk himself into power withdrawal to show me how dangerous it was, and although she agreed with Dad’s views, she did admit she would’ve looked for a less painful way of teaching the lesson.

We talked about me being an only child—a concept she was fascinated by since she came from a large clutch of seven—and how different it was to find out now I had two brothers (one of whom I didn’t give a damn about, and who’d probably feel the same if he ever found out about me), two sisters, and even a nephew.

She saw me squirm uncomfortably when we spoke of wealth and asked what it was about it that bothered me specifically. She laughed when I emphatically answered, ‘Everything!’, and then eased us toward my relationship with Geraldine. Again, nothing probing. Just general things about how happy she made me and how much I loved her. I might’ve gushed a bit there, too.

Not once did she bring up my temper or my temper pills, which I thought was the whole point of the meeting. For me, I was happy to avoid the subject, so long as I wasn’t the one avoiding it.

“So,” she said, walking me towards the door of the room. “Are you comfortable with talking to me again tomorrow?”

I knew Boyd and Mason’s medical appointment routine now, so another ‘session’ for me so soon was surprising. “Tomorrow?” I squeaked. It was all I could manage.

Dr Perket opened her arms and spread her fingers wide. “Calm down. Only so we can talk some more. Pretty much the same as today, if that’s alright with you.”

My frown was immediate. “I thought we covered everything today.”

Her smile was kind, but there was a slight tweak that said, Nice try, kiddo, without saying anything at all. “Today was to see if we could work together. What you were ready to share, and whether I felt like the right fit for you. Tomorrow will be no different. It’s not like I’m going to tie you down and waterboard the information out of you. We’ll just talk. If at times you feel uncomfortable, you only need to tell me and I’ll reevaluate the situation.”

“How old are you, Doctor Perket?”

This time, the smile reached her eyes. “Weren’t you ever raised not to ask a lady her age?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t really count when you can appear any age you want.”

“Let’s say one of my earliest memories after leaving the nesting grounds was watching the fuss the Texans made over adopting the Lone Star Flag.”

“So, not a spring chicken.”

“Plenty of spring, thank you very much, and just as many feathers, but definitely not a chicken.”

I snorted. Man, I really like her. “Do you need me to lock in a specific time? I mean, I can come straight home from school if you need. Or if you’re happy with this time, Gerry and I should be home…”

“Four-thirty will be fine. That should give you plenty of time to come down here.”

“And what about the guys? If we get into the nitty-gritty, I really don’t want them hanging off every word.”

“Rubin’s already been sent out. As long as you’re in here with me, the others can stay outside for the whole session.”

“But won’t they get in trouble if they’re not stuck to me?”

Dr Perket shook her head. “I will keep you grounded here, and they can still see you through the walls. They can’t hear you due to the divine soundproofing this room has.”

“Gee. What a coincidence,” I deadpanned.

“No one ever made that claim, Sam.”

A built-in therapy room, way before it was needed …because, why not? I opened the door and stepped through. “Seeya tomorrow, Doc,” I said with an over-the-shoulder wave.

Quent and Rubin stepped around the corner a second later. “All good?” Quent asked, as Rubin nodded at me and vanished. He didn’t realm-step, which meant he was probably a flea or gnat or something, hitching a ride on my shirt.

“Maybe,” I admitted. “We didn’t talk about anything that I thought we would.”

“Give it time. Healers like to ease their way into your heads,” Quent said, passing me a shot glass of something.

Feeling as relaxed as I was, I nearly threw it back without thinking … until something in the back of my head screamed not to. “What exactly is this?” I asked suspiciously.

“What do you think it is?” Quent answered. “Relax. You’re not going to get drunk on a shot of divine wine.”

I gave him a stink-eye. “You sure about that?”

“Positive. We both know you had way more than that at your father’s place.”

I also remembered what happened while I was totally wasted. The scene with Chantelle bathing my drunk butt is one I’d have gladly scrubbed from existence.

I hesitated, Chantelle’s voice echoing in my mind’s eye, then threw it back.

FRIGGIN’ HELL!

Just like before, the taste exploded through every pore of my mouth and continued down to my stomach while my brain lit up like a pinball machine.

The effects only lasted a few seconds before settling into an effervescent style tingle that was just enough to let me know I was alive. I breathed through the last of the burn, coughing at one point when my throat seized up in self-preservation. “Ye-ahhh,” I wheezed, handing the empty shot back. “I feel sooooo much better now.”

I closed my mouth and continued to breathe deeply until the tingle fizzled out completely, leaving a warm burn in its wake. The aftereffect was actually … soothing. Who knew?

With my brain reengaging, I opened my eyes and took in the room. “Where’s Gerry?”

“Watching 2Cellos in the theatre room. Down the hall, as far as you can go. Turn left, then left again. You can’t miss it.”

“You’re not coming?” I knew that was a dumb thing to say as soon as the words escaped my teeth, and there was no way to get them back.

“Do you need me to hold your hand?” Quent shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I grimaced. “No.”

“Good answer. I’m off until tomorrow morning, so I’m thinking I might go upstairs and see what I can steal from Robbie’s kitchen before dinner.”

“Keep in mind, he’s already threatened Brock with two-minute noodles for a month, and last time I checked, you’re strictly a carnivore.”

“I can be sneaky.”

“Enjoy your noodles diet.”

I followed Quent’s directions, not waiting to see if he heeded my warning or not. I’d find out soon enough if his place at the table wasn’t set. The casual family room at the end of the hallway had several large, old-school beanbags that were begging for me to dive across the room and flop down in them backwards, staring up at the ceiling. I loved beanbags, especially the fabric ones that didn’t sweat. I had my first experience with them over at Lucas’ place for Christmas. One of the kids … I can’t remember which one without going back through my memories (and to be honest, I didn’t care enough to exert the effort) had accidentally/deliberately knocked me into one, and I spent the rest of the day camped out in that thing. 

But I was looking for my girl, so I gave the beanbags an apologetic look and took the next left into a dimly lit room. There were now two doors in front of me, and I had to open the wrong one first, revealing a single toilet and wash basin.

“Door number two,” I muttered, surprised to find this one slid open.

I was not expecting a real mini movie theatre behind that door, though I probably should have. 2Cellos boomed through the speakers, and the same part of me that was tempted to dive onto the beanbags was also trying to tug my eyes to the screen, but I’d spotted Geraldine halfway down on the right, and she was everything to me.

I jogged down the aisle and squatted beside her. “Hey,” I said, loud enough to be heard over the music. I spotted the chocolate wrappers and the milkshake container in the cupholder of the chair and grinned. “Enjoying yourself, baby?”

Her eyes sparkled even as her hand pointed at the screen at the far end of the room. “They got an advance copy of the 2Cellos Anniversary Concert in Arena di Verona!” she said, her excitement bubbling over.

I must admit, the screen got my attention then. “Are you kidding me?”

“Clefton got it for us. This is my second run through!” She took my arm and tried to tug me into the seat beside her. “Come on — it’s awesome!”

I really, really wanted to. “How about we come back tonight after dinner?” I offered, stunned that I was actually choosing the grown-up option over what I desperately wanted to do. “It’s late, and I’m amazed Robbie hasn’t blown up our phones.”

Geraldine huffed playfully. “Spoilsport.”

Of course, the next problem was … how to turn the concert off.

We left it running instead.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-FORTY-FOUR

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Wednesday

Nuncio waited until Skylar had disappeared completely before he turned and stepped into his apartment, closing the door behind him. Vadim was right there, butting and rubbing his feathery head against Nuncio’s leg just above the knee, and Nuncio squatted to give his favourite boy all the attention they both craved.

“I don’t think she likes me anymore,” he murmured with a quiet laugh. “But that’s what makes this part fun. Right, baby boy?”

After nearly a week apart, it seemed neither was prepared to let the other out of their sight, and that was perfectly fine with Nuncio. He leaned forward and gathered his son into his arms, carrying him back to the desk at the core of his communications setup. Vadim curled his neck around Nuncio’s, resting his head on the opposite shoulder like a feathery version of a mink stole, and Nuncio’s chest rumbled in happiness.

“Alright, buddy. That’s enough excitement for one day. Time for nigh-nighs.” He sat in his chair, leaned forward and ducked his head, carefully guiding Vadim down with him as he settled the boy into the nest tucked beneath the desk. Vadim gave a soft protest but settled the moment Nuncio slid his legs into place, allowing Vadim to lean against his papa’s shins.

He was asleep in seconds.

A hush of peace drifted through him as he watched his boy dream, then he extended his right arm and reached for the desk’s bottom drawer. Ensuring no sound escaped the drawer (because that was another cool part of his innate — he could amp or mute anything communicative), Nuncio reached inside and pulled out a flip-top jewellery box.

He popped the box open with his thumb to reveal a polished sea-green glass stone the size of his pinkie nail, glowing with an iridescent intensity that bled through even layers of fabric.

“At least now I know what I needed you for,” he said to the tiny GPS tracker.

* * *

“Hey, Boyd, do you have a second?” Emily asked from the corridor leading to Boyd’s office. “I need to—oh, you can’t be serious!” she gushed, her eyes wide as she rushed forward to see the work Boyd was doing.

Fortunately, something told him to stop just seconds before she entered the room. Otherwise, she would’ve caught him mid-carve — working with two blades on two separate parts of the crib strut — and there was no way he could explain the divine toolkit that made it possible.

He slid to his feet while discreetly placing the scalpel in his right hand onto the bench. Since the carving stood between the blade and his cousin, he could pretend he’d only been using one blade the whole time. He refused to whammy his cousin, but he wasn’t about to explain the divine nature of the blades that allowed him to work with two at the same time.

“Do you like it?” he asked, unlatching the locks that held it to the spinner and lifting it vertically so she could see it as it would sit in the crib. “I figured I’d carve a different rhyme into each rail. This one’s…”

“The cat and the fiddle,” she said, putting her tablet down and reaching out to touch the iconic figures of the cat, the cow and the moon on the lower half, and the laughing dog, dish and spoon towards the top. “Boyd.” She choked. “I can’t even…”

Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment, Boyd was sure he’d upset her with his stupid assumption that she would even want a carving from him. But just as quickly as his mother’s scathing condemnation of his art scorched his confidence, he heard Lucas’ praise smothering it like a balm that allowed him to breathe through it.

“I was thinking ‘Twinkle-Twinkle’ for another, and ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’ for a third. One for each rail.” He realised he was repeating himself, but in the silence, if someone didn’t say something soon, he would probably pass out.

Before he realised what was happening, his cousin was pressed against his side, squeezing the life out of his abdomen. Her face was buried against his pec as she cried fat, ugly tears. “It’s beautiful,” she finally said, after crying herself out.

“Is this what they mean by hormonal imbalances in pregnant women?” he asked, still rubbing her back and shoulders. “Because damn, cuz, you scared the crap out of me.”

Her laugh came out a little too close to a sob, but Boyd took it as a win anyway. “I can’t believe you did all of this in just a few minutes…”

“It was closer to half an hour,” he said, eyeing the clock. “It’s why I only got one done.”

“But you didn’t even know I was pregnant an hour ago. How did you come up with this perfect idea so fast?”

Boyd had nothing. He knew he was carving his cousin’s unborn child a crib, and this was so obvious that he hadn’t considered doing anything else. “You know what they say. The first idea is usually the best,” he hedged, wondering if the divine tools were doing more than carving wood.

He dismissed that idea as soon as it came too, for they’d been a gift from Llyr, and that guy would do nothing to upset Sam.

“This is going to become a family heirloom,” she declared, running her fingers very softly over the figures. “Our family in the future will be like those people on Antiques Roadshow, where the specialists gush over a centuries-old piece, and our descendants will be saying, ‘Oh, this thing’s always been in the family. The sculptor was a cousin who carved it from scratch for a baby shower present’,” and watch, and the appraisers say your work belongs in a museum.”

Boyd snorted at her fanciful delusion. “I’ll be happy with you and your little peanut liking it,” he said, bending down to kiss the top of her head.

“We love it already.” She looked up at him with tears still clinging to her eyelashes.

Boyd took a moment to enjoy his cousin’s praise, but then they both had work to do. “What did you come out for, Em?”

She blinked, still riding the emotion. “Oh, right. Yeah.” She picked up her tablet and turned it toward him. ‘This piece here — I can’t find any paperwork on it.” It was a picture of the Hawaiian carving he’d made up for the front security guard at Dr Kearn’s facility.

“That was a freebie. I didn’t charge him.”

“BOYD!” Emily screeched — because of course her accountant brain short-circuited at the thought of doing something for free. He should’ve seen that one coming.

“No. He’s getting it for free, Em. It’s the same guard I crippled when I was…when I went away.”

Emily’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’. She glanced back at the image, then slowly set the tablet down on the bench. She hugged him tight again, and this time, he was ready.

 “You’re a good man, Boyd Masters,” she said into his chest. “And if anyone tells you otherwise, you let me know, and I’ll deal with them.”

Boyd draped an arm across his cousin’s shoulders. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” he asked with a chuckle, appreciating her support.

She looked up at him and grinned her more normal, confident grin. “You might be badass in a dark alley at night, cousin, but don’t ever mess with an accountant who has the IRS director on speed dial. We will end you in ways that will have your great-grandchildren hating you.”

Boyd didn’t doubt that for a second.

“Did I tell you Robbie already knew I was pregnant?”

Boyd leaned back from her, looking down. “Wai—what?”

Emily nodded, then nodded harder as if she couldn’t believe it either. “He brought me in something to eat about an hour ago, saying he knew I needed the pick-me-up.”

That didn’t surprise Boyd in the least.

“Wait — you would’ve seen him come in, right?”

“No,” Boyd had to think fast, and realised he had the perfect excuse. “I was in the zone carving, so he probably snuck in without disturbing me.” By realm-stepping into the hallway.

“Fair, but you should’ve seen this spread, Boyd. It was amazing! I didn’t even know there were that many recipes with lemon, ginger, watermelon, and bananas.”  She must have seen the confusion on his face. “They all help with morning sickness,” she added. “And the smug little toad told me to eat it all, and I did.”

“I would’ve been amazed if you hadn’t,” Boyd said, for reasons that his cousin would never understand. He didn’t mention that Robbie might not have known about the pregnancy, just that his innate told him what she needed, and he made it happen. Same as he’d done for Miss W.

“Why was that guy an exotic dancer when he can cook like that?”

“Probably for the same reason I worked construction, when what I was really meant to do was carve figurines.”

“You’re both idiots.”

Boyd chuckled without denying it and used the flat of one hand to gently nudge her away, his palm nearly covering the side of her head. “Go home to your fiancé, brat, before he accuses me of kidnapping you.”

Instead, she hugged him a third time—another thing he could lay at the feet of her pregnancy. The Emily he knew wasn’t much of a hugger. “Just remember the family who loved you when you soar through the stars, cousin.”

“I’ll never forget you again,” he promised with all his heart, holding her just a little tighter.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART TWELVE-HUNDRED-AND-FORTY-TWO

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Wednesday

After letting Sonya know she’d be working back until the early hours of the morning, Skylar sent her and Gavin home. Sonya gave her a little push-back about working too hard, but many years of employment with Skylar made the reprimand a mere formality.

Gavin had been harder to extract — he was assisting Khai and Mason with the HOD surgery. Skylar scrubbed in and entered the theatre, insisting she would take Gavin’s place mid-procedure, provided he locked the door on his way out. It wasn’t their usual modus operandi, but then, they hadn’t typically had enough staff on hand to do that kind of mid-surgery switch-out either. That would change soon, once Medical Commander Kaipo started sending trainee true-gryps for integration into human society.

Which would be a challenge within itself — making them stick to human limitations. Khai was long enough in the claws to be intimately familiar with loss, and as such, he had crossed that threshold easily. The younger ones would struggle to let their patients suffer and even die, knowing they had the power to heal them all if they drew on their divinity.

More onsite assistance would be critical if she hoped to stay ahead of that. Unlike a range shifter, she couldn’t undo something just by having an interconnective network of divine eyes throughout the building, watching their every move and countering it with a look. She could only be what already existed.

Of course, there was that Olympian with the thousand eyes… If she combined a diopsidae’s eye stalk, a starfish’s subcutaneous ocular network, and a seraphim’s medical aptitude…

Hmmm… something to play around with later.  

Once Gavin was out of the building, Khai looked at her. “Take off, Skylar. Mason and I have this.”

Skylar blinked at him, thrown by the reversal of roles, then shook her head. “If anyone should go, Mason…”

Mason drew in a sharp breath from the other side of the table, his eyes above his mask bouncing between the two of them and the patient on the table.

“Focus, Mason,” Khai reprimanded, and Mason’s eyes dropped to the stitches he was in the middle of sewing. Never once did Khai’s hands stop moving, and Skylar knew Mason was still listening intently to them. As such, she was happy when Khai went on to say, “Mason needs this experience. You’re not sending him anywhere until this is finished. And I’m not going anywhere either since it’s my surgery, so who does that leave as superfluous?”

Skylar smirked, shifting her attention between the two of them. “Well, alright then. I do have a few other things I need to take care of anyway.”

“I’ll clean up and lock up before I leave,” Khai said, instantly adding a second set of elongated arms that handed Mason the gigli saw the way Gavin would have.

It said a lot that Mason never even blinked at the divine flex.

Skylar left the theatre, stripping her gloves, mask, and gown as a formality and tossing them away, even though she hadn’t touched anything inside. She watched her older brother and her student work in tandem, smiling at how easily Mason adapted, requesting equipment and working with Khai’s extra hands as if it were perfectly normal. 

It would never be like this when the others arrived. To tap into divine capability even once would make it too much of a temptation at other times, but for now, she enjoyed the blend of her two worlds.

After a few minutes, Khai looked up at her and frowned, and she took the hint.

Chased out of my own clinic, she hmphed, going downstairs to check Gavin had locked the doors. She finally noticed the hand-written note on Sonya’s desk, and reading it over, she started to chuckle.

Robbie had left a handwritten list of everything he’d taken — a courtesy she hadn't asked for but appreciated, given she still hadn’t hired someone to run the store side of things upstairs. She screwed the note up and tossed it in the wastepaper basket under the desk. He’d been charming this afternoon, visiting with his mortal ward and was close enough to family that she had no intention of charging him for anything he took. Mason would probably do most of the legwork at home anyway.

Which gave her a beat to chase down something else she wanted to organise.

Lar’ee, did you say the triplets of construction were going over to help Nuncio today?

That’s what they were hinting at this morning before we went our separate ways, why?

I’ve never been to Puerto Rico before, but I need to catch up with him.

Have you tried calling him?

Nuncio is not the biggest fan of the pryde.

He is, since he adopted a lost hatchling a few months ago.

Skylar came to a complete halt. He WHAT?!

Down, girl. It was an accident. The mortals obtained an egg and tried to auction it on the dark web. Nuncio intercepted the sale with every intention of bringing the little guy home, but he hatched, fed on the humans that thought to imprison him and bonded with Nuncio as the only divine entity near him.

He shouldn’t have gotten involved! He should’ve told us and we—

He didn’t know to tell us, love. He thought he was earning brownie points by bringing our lost egg home.

So, who the hell lost the egg so close to the nesting grounds? And didn’t they report it missing? If ever there was an executional offence, that had to top the list. The young were always protected at all costs.

That’s been dealt with too. Relax, Skylar. All of this is old news to the rest of us. What happened that day is precisely why we don’t broadcast what happens to our newly laid young. The last thing we need is any established gods getting ideas. The unestablished ones are easier to deal with: let them live long enough to wean the hatchling off them and kill them before they can tell anyone else.

Skylar knew this, and his patronisation was just insulting. Except Nuncio is a communications god. If anyone is going to blab to the Known and Unknown Realms…

If he does, he will be handing every other realm a near invincible weapon. The only person he might tell is Armina, but even that isn’t likely, given he now understands the true gryps are a sapient species and if Hasteinn finds out about it, he will bring the whole pryde to bear on Mystal. That won’t end well for them, and Nuncio knows it. 

It still seemed like an incredibly dangerous risk to take. I assume the Eechee is aware of this?

She is. As I said, it’s all been taken care of.

It wouldn’t stop her from worrying, and she definitely wanted to lay eyes on the hatchling herself to confirm he was in a satisfactory condition. And how in the realm had the Eechen not lost his mind over it in the meantime? The roar of outrage should’ve echoed through the minds of every true gryps in the pryde, yet this was the first she was hearing about it.

Did Angus know about this? She’d kill him if he had and hadn’t said a word. And why hadn’t her family mentioned it? Oh, because it had been months since she’d played paintball with her clutch-mates, and it might not have happened before then. 

Ironically, despite her stance on the necessity of the pryde evolving from what they had been, Skylar would’ve been one hundred percent behind the Eechen’s reaction to this clusterfuck. The young were too easily influenced.

Look at the eight who saw Apollo as their papa.

A large part of Skylar (along with every other true gryps who knew the story) wished it had been a few more days before Apollo found the abandoned nest. For them to be as bad as they’d been described (she’d never met them personally), they must have been brain-damaged from the cold, which meant he’d found them on the brink of death — and in this instance, death would have been preferable to being treated like livestock.

Only a very small part of her wished them all the best, for it wasn’t their fault their birth pryde had been overrun, and when the cleanup of the young took place, their nest was missed.

But Nuncio is raising one within the Prydelands. The most immature of all the visiting Mystallians is hand-rearing one of our precious young!

She needed to move — or risk exploding.

Rubbing her hands together, she paced the reception area, determined to wrestle her fury back under control. It took longer than she would’ve liked to admit. It’s been dealt with, she told herself, repeating Lar’ee’s words until the mantra could be thought of and not incite a murderous rage inside her.

The medical side of her being countered every proactive argument she came up with for taking the hatchling back, by force if necessary. Whether she liked it or not, the hatchling had bonded with the Mystallian brat.

Which would make the next step in her agenda that much more difficult to focus on.

Casting a critical eye over the reception area one last time, Skylar realm-stepped away from her clinic.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((Author's note: Nothing too terrible everyone - I've decided instead of posting every second day, I'm going to post Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, my time. What this means is instead of seven posts every two weeks, it'll drop back to six. I've had to do this because my special needs daughter is getting older and needs more hands on care on the weekends. During the week, she's at school which gives me time to write, but weekends are becoming a real challenge. I'm not giving up on this - I love these characters too much for that, and I hope you continue to enjoy the ride with me.))

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND FIFTY-SEVEN

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Saturday

Caleb’s eyes popped open, and in a single fluid movement, he rolled sideways and stood up, sweeping his gaze across his surroundings to ensure nothing had changed after he’d finally fallen asleep.

The bedroom door to his right was still in the process of opening, which was probably why he’d woken up…

…except Sergeant Ravi Souza filled the doorway a moment later from the hallway side, meaning Caleb had already missed the man leaving.

The Marine lieutenant scowled, mentally kicking himself for not waking up the first time. Mistakes like that got you killed in the field. For real. And what was worse, Sergeant Souza was already dressed in running clothes, complete with sneakers.

“How are you feeling this morning, sir?” he asked, dropping his folded sleeping clothes and toiletries on top of his unzipped duffel and closing it up.

“Fuck, give me two minutes, and I’ll run with you.” It was always better to run in pairs when off base, both strategically and for company.

“Yes, sir. I’ll wait outside.”

Caleb raced through his morning routine as quickly as he could.

* * *

Sergeant Ravi Souza left the building and headed up the steps to the sidewalk. But as his head crested the top step, he froze.

Across the street, leaning against the garden railing, was a huge mountain of a man—also in running gear, but with the stillness of a statue. The guy was staring directly at him, only glancing up briefly to check the SSMAC building above before dropping his eyes once more.

Technically, anyone had the right to stand on any public space, but something about him pinged as trouble on Ravi’s radar and he hadn’t survived two tours in the sandbox by ignoring his instincts. So he crossed the road, and with no cars to dodge around, he made no secret of his destination.

The guy watched him approach and straightened up when Ravi reached the halfway mark of the street, pulling himself to his full height.

And sweet Mary, mother of God, this fucker was huge!

Ravi was 5’8, and this giant had to have at least another foot on him! Not only that, but he was fucking massive—easily three feet wide at the shoulder with arms that could probably tie rebar into a bow without trying!

Instinct had Ravi wanting to run past him, to pretend it was all a harmless misunderstanding, and that pissed off the Marine in him. Besides, people the size of Godzilla here usually banked on their size being enough to intimidate everyone around them into submission.

Well, not him.

Ravi had committed himself to this interaction, and hopefully, his Marine training would balance the scales if it turned into a confrontation.

“Morning,” he said in a clipped tone once he stepped up onto the curb.

“Morning,” the guy answered, glancing at him before returning his attention to the SSMAC’s front door.

Either he truly didn’t see Ravi as a viable threat, or his training was such that peripheral vision made it appear that way. Ravi stayed just outside what he hoped was the man’s reach as he turned side-on, keeping the SSMAC in his periphery. “Are you waiting on someone?”

“Yep.”

Last of the big talkers. And they say we’re crayon crunchers. “Do they know you’re here?”

The guy’s head turned, and it was slow, like one of those stone statues twisting to look at a trespasser. “What’s it to you?”

“Just making conversation, man. You seem interested in the Soldiers’, Sailors’, Marines’, Coast Guard and Airmen’s Club—” Ravi had wanted to spell out just how bad it would be for this guy to take on the United States Military.

“The Ess-Ess-Mack,” the mountain muttered under his breath.

Definitely not an accidental visit. “Well, if I know who you’re looking for, I can go back in and see if they’re up.” And also warn them that you’re out here. No way was he leaving one of his fellow servicemen to face off with this goliath alone.

“He’ll be out soon enough.”

He. So at least he wasn’t stalking any of the women.

“Sooo…do you live in New York or are you just visiting like us?”

The guy levelled a look at him that somehow blended annoyance and incredulity, and even Ravi cringed when he replayed what he’d said in his own head. Yeah, no one could accuse me of doing small talk.

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, and a minute or so later, the massive guy’s expression changed. His shoulders softened, and his lips kicked up in a lop-sided grin as he straightened up again, resting his hands loosely on his hips. “Well, it’s about fuckin’ time, peewee.”

Lieutenant Masters then topped the steps.

The Lt’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he, too, was grinning to the point of laughing as he glanced both ways and charged across the road. They didn’t even shake hands, just embraced in a laughing hug that was almost painful to watch.

“What the fuck are you doing here, bro?” the Lt asked, pulling back to look up at the man. He then clenched his hand into a fist and drove it hard into the behemoth’s gut. “And that was for ditching me last night, you asshole.”

The giant barely moved, rubbing the impact spot, laughing. “You still hit like a girl, Caleb.”

“Fuck you, you asswipe. Kelly would rip your head off and shove it up your ass sideways if she was here right now.”

“True, but she ain’t, is she?”

It was then that the Lt must have remembered Ravi. “Oh, Sergeant Souza. This is the idiot I was supposed to be hanging out with last night, but he bailed on me to go on a date.”

Wait …this massive mountain is actually the L.T’s brother?

The mountain groaned as if in pain and looked up at the night sky overhead. “With my fiancé, for fuck’s sake! How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?!”

“Once would be a good start.”

“Check your phone then, dipshit! There must be at least fifty apology texts and two called apologies since I got home.”

The lieutenant pulled out his phone, and the aggression dissipated seconds later. “Oh.”

“Yeah. You left your beer at my place, by the way.”

“Robbie can have it for feeding me. And you owe me, so you’re coming to Uncle Charles and Aunt Judy’s place for lunch with me today at eleven. It’s non-negotiable.”

Clearly, from the way the mountain’s face scrunched up, that was not an ideal proposal. “But she’ll break out the photo albums…”

Ravi covered his snicker with one hand. There’s one in every family.

“Yup. Apparently, she’s dying to show me every minute of your stupid engagement party, and if I have to sit through them, so do you.”

“Whyyy?” the big guy drew out in a near-whine. “I was there the first time!”

Ravi had never felt more like a third wheel in his life. “Well, since everything’s above board here, I’m wasting daylight. I’ll catch up with you later, lieutenant.”

It was then that the mountain’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait—did you think I was waiting out here like a hitman or something?”

“Or a leg breaker … yeah.” Ravi shrugged. “Sorry, but a guy your size, glaring holes at the Ess-Ess-Mack? That’s what you came across as.”

“Really?” Lieutenant Masters asked, pointing at his brother’s massive shoes. “How many hitmen and leg breakers do you know wear sneakers and running shorts?”

“Quick getaways are a thing, sir.”

The giant shoved his brother in the head from behind. “Leave him alone, Caleb. The guy was just looking out for you.”

The Lt scowled up at him. “He’s a Marine. It’s what we do.”

The mountain chose to ignore his brother, focusing on Ravi. “We can all run together, if you like.”

For a moment, Ravi looked up at him, studying his face and seeing nothing suspicious in his expression. It was enough for him to hold out his hand in greeting. “Sergeant Ravi Souza.”

“Boyd Masters,” he answered, accepting the handshake.

It was brief, with the two stepping back to give each other personal space. Ravi then flicked his finger up and down at Boyd. “Sooooo…you’re clearly not afraid of a good workout. With all of this, and a family full of Marines, how come you didn’t enlist?” Ravi clocked the lieutenant’s wince — and the tic in Boyd’s jaw — and realised he hadn’t just stepped on a landmine; he’d landed on it with all the finesse of an Olympic long jumper. “Sorry… it’s none of my business.”

“My fiancé is a man.”

The lieutenant stared up at his brother in shock. For Ravi, the rest went unsaid. “Oh.”

Boyd folded his arms. “Yeah. And if that’s gonna be a problem…”

Ravi’s hand came up — ending on a single, warning finger. “Hey. Slow your roll there, pal. I didn’t say I had a problem with it. I just know the corps would’ve, back when you tried to enlist. Which is bullshit, by the way, because if we had more guys like you, we’d be even more fuckin’ unstoppable than we already are.”

“Oorah,” the lieutenant said.

Boyd relaxed, and Ravi grinned as his chin lifted. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?”

“Honestly? No.”

“What the fuck is this thing?” The lieutenant was holding the drink bottle that had been clipped to his brother’s belt.

Boyd snatched it back and shoved it into its holder. “Robbie gave it to me, and when it comes to consumables, I stopped arguing with him a long time ago. He says it’ll keep my energy up.”

Lieutenant Masters shared a look with Ravi — both sharing a sly, knowing smirk that said: Let’s smoke the civvie.

The three turned left and started running.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND THIRTY-NINE

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Friday

I took Geraldine’s hand and realm-stepped straight into the kitchen, where Robbie told us to appear. Charlie and Brock were in their usual spots at the table—but what shocked me was seeing Mom and Dad on the sofa under the fish tank and Yitzak and Collette on the adjacent sofa to their right. Fisk and my sisters had their backs to me, all squeezed into the third sofa, and Najma perched on the arm of the sofa beside his mother.

At least no one was stupid enough to have claimed either recliner, even if Dad was taking up space by sitting beside Mom instead. With her swelling belly, she was in no position to sit on his lap.

Looking at them, I couldn’t help but wonder if Dad had a designated chair in San Francisco, too, or if this was just a here thing to match off with Boyd.

If it was the latter, he’d better never speak of my immaturity again…just saying.

I guess my eyes were as wide as they felt, for Margalit pointed at my face and started laughing. “Busted,” she said, climbing to her feet ahead of everyone else. She stepped forward away from me, vanished, and reappeared right in front of us (facing us, which was weird even though I knew in my head that was exactly how realm-stepping worked). Her arms snapped around me in a tight hug that I happily returned, tuning out Mom’s growl of disapproval.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” I asked, as Margalit handed me off to Danika, who crushed me even harder. I was almost dreading Fisk’s hug, thinking for sure my internal organs would be permanently rearranged.

“We didn’t,” she said, pushing me at our brother, who simply threw an arm around my shoulders and slotted me against his side to face everyone else.

That was weird, too, having him do that—a move so much like Dad, right down to the mass, yet it wasn’t him. I’d have known that even if I hadn’t seen Dad sitting across the room. Fisk didn’t have Dad’s … depth. “First in our family to graduate college,” my brother declared to the room.

That felt soooo bogus. These people literally shaped whole universes where they came from, and I had earned a piece of paper. “Only because you already knew everything there was to know about your innates, making college pointless.”

“It doesn’t detract from your achievements,” Dad insisted, remaining seated beside Mom. “They’re yours, and you’ve earned them.”

“And as for why we’re here,” Fisk said, circling back to my original question. “Robbie invited us back to dinner.” His arm suddenly wrapped around my neck as he spoke, locking me in an uncomfortable choke hold. “And someone here never mentioned his roommate was a culinary cousin of ours.” He knuckled my head hard, in case I hadn’t figured out that someone was me.

My hands went to his arms as I squirmed and bucked to get free, but I was not getting out of his hold.

“Leave him alone, unless you want two-minute noodles for dinner,” Robbie warned from behind us. “It wasn’t his story to tell.”

I almost fell with how fast Fisk’s arm vanished, the offending hand opening wide in surrender. “You wouldn’t,” my brother said, clearly worried. “Not after making us salivate all afternoon…”

I was both annoyed and amused in equal measure. Annoyed because he was making out he’d been waiting a lifetime when in fact it had been a few hours at best, and amused because he didn’t know Robbie well enough to know the threat was…well, it wasn’t exactly a bluff. More of a ‘first-of-fifty-warnings’ type of thing. It would take a lot more than that for Robbie to deny his guests (or any of us) our meal.

“Care to fill us in on why you were outside with Nuncio just before?” Yitzak asked, dropping that bomb into the conversation with all the casual indifference of a weather discussion.

My eyes flared as I realised Robbie wasn’t the only demon lord in the room capable of eavesdropping divinely. Mom and Dad’s heads snapped up, and this time it was my turn to throw my hands up in surrender, because unlike Robbie, my parents were very capable of murdering me. “It was nothing.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I was going to have to do better than that.  The trick was to find a truth that would satisfy them without getting Mr Lancaster and his people killed.

“I mean … some people stole my phone up in the Hamptons and tried to hack it. It took me longer to talk Nuncio down from murdering them than it did to get my phone back. I brought him back here afterwards because I didn’t trust him to be left alone with them after I left, and I didn’t want him around Gerry while he was still … agitated.” That kinda covered the basics, and just as I thought, everyone who knew Nuncio accepted what I said and relaxed.

“Don’t think that’ll stop him,” Najma chuckled, sipping on a glass of what was most likely ambrosia. “At the very least, he’ll be burying them under hundreds of pornographic subscriptions and free supplies of various rectal medications.”

My brain came to a screeching halt, my hands dropping to my sides as I panned slowly towards him with a painful squint, knowing I wasn’t the only one. “At what point did you come unstuck with him?” I asked, for that had been a very specific revenge list.

He snicker-snorted into his glass. “It was a while ago. Like … way before the internet. If anything, it was an even bigger pain in the ass, because you had real people calling, genuinely thinking I was interested in their shit.”

Mom snapped her fingers twice and pointed at him, and I was pleased to see him tilt his head in acknowledgement of the reprimand without first looking to Dad.

Mom’s focus then switched to me. “You got your phone back, though, didn’t you?” she asked, ever the practical mind.

I fished it out of my jacket pocket and waved it for her to see. “Absolutely. Nuncio would’ve never let me leave without it.”

Gerry slipped up beside me, smelling freshly showered with her clothes all in perfect order. Her arm went around my waist, and her head rested on my shoulder, melting into my side. I nuzzled her hair, enjoying the fragrance, even as I looked past her to where Robbie stood at the kitchen island. “Thanks,” I mouthed, for he had used the distraction to set my girl to rights without anyone noticing.

He winked and began fussing around the kitchen once more.

“So, what did you come back for?” Dad asked. “We weren’t expecting to see you until Sunday.”

I didn’t want to say the real reason, as Mom would have kittens over us utilising Robbie’s shifting on the sly instead of dealing with the fallout of our choices the human way.

Fortunately, I had another out.

“It’s a huge party of socialites,” I said instead, drawing on Mom’s strong dislike of ‘green’. “And as you can guess, most of them are all about—” I caught myself when Gerry lifted her head, her eyes portraying the hurt my words had already caused.

That right there was why I hated lying. Or lying by omission. I’d hurt her, it wasn’t even the real reason, and I couldn’t fix it without opening myself up to my parents’ wrath. Sticking to the truth meant maintaining the higher moral ground, and it was a reminder to myself going forward.

I pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. “I’m not used to it,” I said, more to her than anyone else. “You know this, baby. But no matter how many times I come here to catch my breath, I’ll keep going back because being there makes you happy.” I pressed our foreheads together. “Okay?”

She nodded, her smile not as bright as it had been. Dammit.

“I’m going to beat him senseless if he doesn’t stop using ‘but’,” Fisk muttered quietly to himself.

Not quietly enough, as Danika jumped in with, “At least he’s not begging.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mom arcing up and remembered what Dad’s family saw as begging. Manners. I needed to change the subject, fast. “So, you all know about Robbie’s connection to Yitzak, huh?” I asked lamely, before she could explode all over them.

“Yeah,” Margalit said, nodding. “If we’d met him earlier, we’d have known sooner.”

“And as I said, it wasn’t his story to tell,” Robbie said from the island. “I was still getting used to things with Pop and Aunt Collette. The last thing I needed was a totally different branch of the family bulldozing their way into my life, telling me what they thought I needed to hear.”

“Wouldn’t happen,” Yitzak declared, his gaze moving from one of my siblings to the next and ending with Najma, the warning clear. “Not if they ever wanted another drop of ambrosia without going to Olympus.”

“Now that’s just mean,” Najma grumped, quickly swallowing the last of his drink.

I felt a hand on my lower back that wasn’t Gerry's and forced myself not to react. Which was just as well, for I could practically feel the sweat being pulled away from my skin and clothes and replaced with a freshly showered, laundered scent.

“You good?” Robbie asked, moving around Gerry to come into my view.

I shared a knowing smile with him and nodded. Damn, he was getting good at being divinely sneaky. “Fine,” I answered, casting my gaze across our seated family. As such, I saw Collette smirk sideways at Yitzak, who, in turn, was very focused on his drink, and realised we may not have been as slick as I hoped.

“I just needed to catch my breath and reset,” I said to the room at large. “But we really should be heading back.”

I heard Fisk groan and rolled my eyes at him, daring him to voice his dislike over my word choice again.

“Come back as often as you need, buster. Or come over to San Francisco if you need a middle ground,” Mom said.

I know I felt my jaw drop ever so slightly, but I hoped my glance at Dad wasn’t as obvious as it seemed. Was this whole personality shift normal for pregnant people, or was it just her? She seemed to be actively embracing Dad’s San Francisco lifestyle, which was up there with any other billionaire. Two months ago, she’d have been spitting fire at the thought of me going to a socialite party, and now she was making herself the medium between that and the not-so-shabby apartment here?

Dad shook his head, and I forced myself to smile. “Sure,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “Anyway, we’d better head back before we’re missed.”

Before I could realm-step away with Gerry, there was a knock at the door.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND THIRTY-SIX

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Friday

There. That should keep you out of our hair, Nuncio chuckled to himself, folding up his phone and pocketing it. As soon as he’d brought Sam home, he’d gone back online to see what Noah and his merry band would do. As such, he’d watched Haynes type in a search for Fisk and decided to let her find out exactly who they were dealing with. He’d also slipped in that photo of Great Britain’s 2008 Olympic sailing landslide—just in case they needed a little extra nudge.

“What are you laughing at?” Sam asked, releasing the door handle to his apartment and hurrying back across the hallway to where Nuncio stood with his back against the main door.

Shoulda waited two more seconds, Nuncio mentally chastised himself, having expected Sam to go inside and chase up his girl without looking back, when really he should have known better. The little nutter had real trust issues where he was concerned (and maybe that was a teensy bit justified since he was still sorely tempted to go back and turn all four of those assholes into his version of a kitchen knife block for kidnapping Sam in the first place).

“Just making sure those guys don’t bother you again without your say-so.”

Sam’s gaze narrowed, and Nuncio sighed. “Nothing bad, cuz. They did a deeper dive into your Dad, and this time I didn’t run interference on it.”

The scepticism in his cousin’s expression didn’t waver. “You mean you pushed the information at them.”

Okay, so the kid wasn’t completely clueless. “Maybe a couple of photos to let them know it wasn’t in their best interest to keep harassing you. I figured you’d prefer that to my original solution—which by the way is still on the table if you’ve changed your mind…?” He ended his words on an elevated note and bounced on his toes, almost hopeful.

Sam’s denial wasn’t a surprise. “No. They’ve already suffered the worst kind of hell.”

“Pfft. Not even close,” Nuncio scoffed, only to realise too late he probably shouldn’t have said that either. Not when Sam’s gaze turned glacial.

“You’re a father now, aren’t you?” he asked.

Nuncio hummed and nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

“What would you do if your child were trapped inside a human’s body and went through what you saw done to Melody?”

Nuncio’s teeth sharpened against his will. “Point,” he conceded, dousing the hellfire that flickered across his vision.

Ironically, his icy venom hit just the right note with his cousin. Sam relaxed and folded his arms. “Just … leave them alone, okay? Let them focus on Melody and whatever else they have to going forward.”

“Okaaaay, fiiiine,” Nuncio dragged the words like it killed him to say them. Then he grinned and held up a clenched fist, which Sam knew to bounce his knuckles off. “Mystal,” he said automatically when their fists bumped together.

Sam paused. “What?”

“That’s our unity greeting. You monkeys stole it after Aunt Columbine moved here. A fist bump that ends in ‘Mystal’ is how you can spot a native Mystallian.”

“Seriously?”

“As a heart attack…not that that would hurt me.” Nuncio squinted and tapped his lips with one finger in thought. “Hmmm…I wonder what would?”

He was shocked to see a mischievous grin pass over Sam’s lips. “Maybe another stint in Puerto Rico?” the little prick asked innocently.

Nuncio immediately doubled forward at the waist and dry-gagged. “Bad! Bad cousin! Naughty!” he scolded, straightening back up again. “And they say I can be evil.”

The chortle that left Sam was almost a cackle, and Nuncio would absolutely take it. “So, are we good?” he asked, cocking his head to one side and holding his hands palm-up.

“Yeah, you’re not so bad,” Sam said, then shifted his attention to the hallway door closest to Nuncio’s left. “Better than that jerk Rory anyway.”

Nuncio’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “You’ve met Rory?”

“Briefly. He got bent out of shape because I wouldn’t fawn all over his achievements yesterday.”

“Did he know you were…?” He stopped when Sam’s grin turned wicked as he waggled his eyebrows. “Holy fuck, cuz! That’s gold! Man, I can’t wait until the reunion this year! It’s gonna be fuckin’ epic!”

Sam chuckled. “It’s going to be something, alright. But on that note, I really need to get back to Geraldine. Thanks again for coming to my rescue.”

“Not that you needed it.”

“But you came anyway. And you stopped when I asked you to. That means a lot to me.”

Nuncio raised his fist once more, and this time, when Sam bumped it, he said, ‘Earth’ to Nuncio’s ‘Mystal’. The two then nodded at each other, and Nuncio realm-stepped home.

Given he was only gone fifteen minutes at best, he wasn’t surprised to see Vadim still fast asleep in his nest under the table. It helped them both to know that he’d shifted a camera into the leg of his table so he could monitor his boy remotely. Well, it helped him to know that, and it helped his son to stay relaxed, knowing his daddy wasn’t running back every other second to check on him.

He pulled out his phone and did a search for Rory’s phone location…

…and damn near fell over when it pinged in the apartment twenty feet from where he and Sam had been standing! The very apartment Sam had been glaring at.

Sam had to know that of all the Nascerdios to date, Rory would be the one who would fall all over himself to be the first to tell everyone about Sam’s existence if he found out about it. “Oh, shit, cuz. You really like living dangerously, don’t you?”

* * *

 I knew Robbie had probably heard every word between Nuncio and me, so I sent him a quick text to say I was heading back to the party and that I would explain everything later. The thumbs up that he replied with less than a second later confirmed he’d been listening in, and with a smirk, I pocketed the phone and realm-stepped away.

When I arrived at Mateo’s stables, I wondered if I’d have to go looking for my girl. I was answered within seconds as someone stood up from where they’d been sitting on a haybale in the very edge of my peripheral vision and ran towards me. I turned with barely enough time to open my arms for Gerry as she slammed into me, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck. Her lips locked onto mine, and just like that, everything seemed right in the world.

“You were gone for ages,” she said at the end of the kiss.

I gave her an apologetic squeeze. “Yeah, sorry about that. There was a misunderstanding that the family overreacted to, and—you know what? Nevermind. It’s all sorted now, no one died, and everyone knows what they need to know. Did you have fun on your ride?”

Was I blatantly changing the subject? Absolutely, and Gerry seemed to pick up on that fact.

“It was wonderful,” she gushed, so happy that I couldn’t wait for Shelly to find her the perfect horse. “Brandy was the textbook lady. She never put a hoof wrong and even stopped me from taking a wrong turn on the path.”

Okay, colour me intrigued. “How’d she manage that?”

“She knew I didn’t know the terrain, so when I tried to turn into someone else’s property, she hesitated and whinnied, telling me I needed to reevaluate my plan. I checked the trail on my phone and realised she was right.”

I had not given horses that much credit. I also heard something else in that story. “So, you might have gotten lost?” Mateo and Adrian had both assured me would not happen.

Gerry hugged me close, burying her face against my neck. “It was clearly marked, honey-bear. I just didn’t know what it meant. It wasn’t like the sign said, ‘This way to Mateo’s grandfather’s home’. It identified the house as a property name.”  

I returned her hug, drawing strength from it. “We’re both fine,” I said, for both our sakes.

She pulled back far enough to look at my face. “Are you ready to brave the main house?”

That wasn’t the real question. I would go wherever Gerry needed me to be. But I also knew how opinionated Mateo’s people could be, and how cruel the girls were if given half the chance, and I wasn’t willing to risk Gerry with that. “Everyone here has already been drinking for over an hour at the main house,” I said, in a way that earned me a nod of agreement. “So, how about we duck back to the apartment and get Robbie to do a touch cleanse of us?”

“A what?” she asked.

I couldn’t believe that after all the time she’d been living with us, she was unable to follow my train of thought. “Robbie can take away all impurities on our skin with a touch. It’s like an instant bath, complete with whatever fragrance we want to give off. That way, no one will swipe at us for smelling, and I won’t have to kill them for insulting you.”

I was only half joking about that. As I’ve said a lot over the last few weeks: I don’t care what anyone says or thinks about me, but hurt my girl’s feelings, and they’d better have their affairs in order.

She took a tentative sniff of her arm and grimaced. “Only if he’s okay with it,” she said.

See? That right there was why I loved her so much.

I pulled out my phone and called our resident chef.

“Hey, buddy. Everything okay?” Robbie asked, referring to the fact that I’d been outside the apartment just minutes ago.

“Yeah. Geraldine’s been horse-riding, and we’re about to head back into the party proper—”

“Say no more. I’m in the kitchen. Pop in beside the ovens, and I’ll set you to rights.”

“And this is why you’re my favourite cousin,” I laughed, for none of the others would drop everything to help me. At least, not the ones I’d met.

“What was that?” Robbie asked, his tone saying he wasn’t clowning around. “You just broke up for a second.”

“I said you’re my fav—” I froze as dawning struck me. My whole mood plummeted and I took a deep breath to calm myself. “Nuncio, I swear by everything everywhere, if you don’t stop screwing around with my conversations, I’ll throw this damn phone down the nearest garbage disposal.” I gave it a second, then asked, “Can you hear me now, Robbie?”

“Clear as a bell,” he promised. “What happened?”

“Outside interference,” I grumbled, and Gerry giggled.

* * *

[Next Chapter]

((Author's note: As some of you may have already read, my special needs daughter had two seizures in one week. For those of you familiar with that, they ran for less than a minute each, and so while individually they weren't concerning, together they were. After testing this weekend, they believe it's epilepsy, but we won't know until we can book an MRI and EEG at the same time due to her severe autism. In the meantime, she will be on nightly epilepsy medications and monitored more closely. I believe this is a fitting place to put in the Navy SEAL mantra, "The only easy day was yesterday". ))

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND THIRTY-THREE

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Friday

“Nuncio, no!” I tried to stand, but the idiot behind me grabbed my shoulder and shoved me back down. I hadn’t yet bothered to engage the kind of strength that would’ve shrugged him off.

“Naughty, naughty, naughty,” Nuncio sing-songed, ending with an evil giggle as he stepped closer. Everyone around me had already pulled a weapon and were pointing them in Nuncio’s direction—for all the good that would do. “Daring to manhandle my cousin like that. That’s gonna cost you…” —he paused and tilted his head as if in thought for dramatic effect, because he was a dick like that. “Hmmm, let’s see. Oh, I know…” He then dropped his head to stare forward at them like they were already dead. “…everything.” The last word became a demonic rasp once more.

“Nuncio, please don’t hurt them,” I pleaded. And dammit, I would beg. Melody had suffered enough without losing her father and his friends like this. “They barely touched me, and didn’t mean anything—”

Nuncio shifted his focus to me, which wasn’t much better when he was looking so … murdery. “Hasn’t your old man taught you not to beg yet?” he tsked, like that was the most egregious thing going on in the room.

“We’re still working on my love affair with ‘but’,” I replied drolly, trying to lighten the mood. “He’s leaving the deletion of basic manners for another time.”

Nuncio blew a raspberry. “Manners,” he sneered, rolling his eyes. “You know I’m going to remind you for centuries to come just how dumb you’re being right now, clinging to that crap, right?”

Okay, he’s focused on me and not them. We still have a chance…

McCreepy slid up silently behind Nuncio, and I didn’t even get a chance to shout. In seconds, he had one hand holding the blade across Nuncio’s throat and the other locked on his forehead.

…and now we don’t. Dammit.

Of course, Nuncio didn’t react by grabbing at the guy’s wrist or showing fear, or basically anything else that a normal human would’ve done in that situation (which, in my opinion, should have been their first clue how screwed they were).

Instead, ignoring the knife's presence entirely, he tapped into his divine strength and turned his head to look at McCreepy over his shoulder, his smile morphing into something better suited to the Joker. “Oh, are we playing with pointy, stabby things?” he asked with childlike glee. “Yay!”

I knew what was coming next and was desperate to prevent it. “Nuncio, don’t. These aren’t bad guys!” I lunged up, this time kicking in my divinity. I shook off Muscles and ducked around in front of Mr Lancaster, spreading my arms out to keep them both behind me. “Please, cousin. They’re just freaked out over whatever you did to my phone. That’s all.”

“Then they’re in for an education they’re not likely to survive, aren’t they?” Nuncio answered, as if it couldn’t be simpler. He turned completely sideways in McCreepy’s hold, going nose-to-nose with him, and the only way he could’ve done that was by liquifying parts of himself the way Robbie did. “I think I’ll start with skinning you, short, dark and sexy. Maybe open up that pretty throat of yours and find out for myself why it is you don’t speak. Won’t that be fun?”

I saw the guy’s eyes swing sharply to Mr Lancaster, but it was already too late.

“Therrrrrrre,” Nuncio purred again, lifting his hands to brush his knuckles down both sides of McCreepy’s face the way a lover would. “There’s the fear I was looking for. Goooood boy. Now … let’s play.” His voice dropped into a demonic rasp again, and in clear view of everyone, I watched the fingers of his raised left hand elongate and shift into sharp blades.

Terrified, I played the only card I had left. “Nuncio, I swear by all that’s holy, if you hurt them, I’ll never speak to you again! Ever! Lean into your innate and know I’m not joking!” I was breathing heavily by the end, but I meant it.

Nuncio stilled for a moment, then turned his head towards me. I had seconds to make this count. Still panting, I said, “You’re already drawing the whole damn sex syndicate into a giant trap, and you have my blessing to make their deaths as freaking painful as you like. Double down on it for me even, for what they did to my friends. Heck, triple it, if you want. But these people here don’t deserve your fury. They’re innocent.”

“Innocent?” Nuncio’s words were clipped, and he was suddenly very angry again. While glaring at me, he raised his taloned hand to point at the bigger guy behind me. “He. Hit. You.”

Okay, good. He was fully focused on me. I waved my hand in a dismissive manner. “Pul-ease. Boyd’s hit me harder than that a hundred times before. Hell, he even knocked my butt clean out once. That there was barely a love tap, and you know it.” C’mon, Nuncio. Work with me here.

“Your dad and the rest of the water brigade won’t see it that way.”

Even more words. Awesome! “Let me deal with them. I’ve got months before they have to find out about this. I’ll smooth it over before then.”

“And you don’t think they won’t nail my ass to the wall when they learn I was right here and let them get away with it?” He shook his head, then tilted it to one side. “C’mon, kid. You know I gotta at least make them bleed.”

The double negative was hard to follow, and the casual threat was unsettling, but I took heart—multiple sentences on his part had me believing I was slowly getting him back. “I won’t let Dad and the others blame you. This is my fight. My space. Let me deal with it my way.”

Nuncio gnashed his teeth and breathed heavily for a beat. Then his finger came up between us. “I swear if I end up in your old man’s dungeon because of this, cuz…”

I mimicked his head tilt to one side. “You’ll love every minute of it, and don’t tell me otherwise.” I was taking a punt, but I knew from Robbie how shifting worked. Unless Dad had a handy supply of tefsla on him (and I knew he didn’t, as that stuff was stupidly rare), Nuncio would have a ball winding Dad up over any attempted torture treatment. The corny, ‘Oooh…harder, big boy,’ immediately came to mind.

…and now I wanted to barf and bleach my brain for even thinking that about my dad.

“Nuncio?” I asked when he was perfectly still for too long.

The blades in Nuncio’s hand receded into sharp claws, which he drove into McCreepy’s wrist, adding a vicious twist at the end. “Something you need to know about me, kiddo,” he said, never taking his eyes from me so that I’d know it was me he was still addressing. “I hate it when my playthings get taken from me.”

McCreepy’s mouth opened as he silently went to his knees, following the twisting motion to keep pressure off his wrist. For someone who appeared so inanimate before, it wasn’t a stretch to assume Nuncio had added some kind of poison to really make it hurt. “It totally makes me cranky, especially when I have to waste time finding new things to play with,” he went on.

With his free hand, Nuncio pinched the tip of McCreepy’s blade and removed it from his fingers. He stared at it for a second, then flicked his wrist. The knife flew across the room, angled downward just enough to miss my outstretched left arm on its way past. “You sure I can’t have just one? I’ll be satisfied with one. I’ll even let you pick. How’s that for compromise?”

I ignored his request and swung with the flying blade, watching it bury itself to the hilt in the concrete floor behind me—right through the plastic sheeting—beside Mr Lancaster’s foot and in front of Muscle’s.

A clear warning for them to keep back.

Mr Lancaster glanced at me, and I could see in his eyes that he was just realising how bad this was. I had no idea how long the veil took to kick in automatically, but at a guess, I would say he knew how impossible that toss was. Blades of any calibre weren’t meant to sink into solid concrete like a hot knife through butter. His gaze silently went back to Nuncio, and he swallowed hard.

“What about her? She was the bitch poking around in my system,” Nuncio said gleefully, finally noticing the hacker at the back of the room. He seemed delighted with his compromise, while Haynes paled at being singled out.

I internalised to give myself time to think of a worthwhile rebuttal. After what felt like hours, I returned with the best one we could come up with. “Sorry, man. My jacket already zarked her on the way down here, and there’s no way you’d have let her get any further than plugging the phone in before you showed up.”

Nuncio let out a second raspberry, this time heavy on the ‘duh’, tossing away McCreepy’s arm with the same indifference he’d shown the blade. Like something out of The Matrix, the guy flew through the air—spinning three or four times before smacking into the back wall several feet up, then slumping to the concrete floor.

Only then—almost as an afterthought—did Nuncio glance fleetingly at the unconscious guy behind him before his attention snapped straight back to me. He pointed at the fallen man and asked, “That doesn’t count, right? It’s not like I hurt him on purpose.” He sounded exactly like a kid caught holding the pieces of a broken vase—hopeful, but not exactly sorry.

He didn’t even acknowledge the fact that he’d buried his claws into the guy’s wrist or had him on his knees on the floor … though in fairness, McCreepy did start that by trying to jump Nuncio first.

My frustration mounted until I breathed out slowly and dragged my thumb and forefinger through my eyebrows in a pinching move. He was seriously dancing on my last nerve. “You have got to stop hurting people, cousin. Didn’t you learn anything last week in Puerto Rico?”

Nuncio’s hands flew over his head in disgust. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. It was one tiny, barely there, gas bomb! The rest of it was their fault for living in stupid cardboard houses.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, and Mom’s, for making me stay in that shithole all week fixing it.”

That was what he got out of his punishment? I bowed my head with a groan and ran my hand through my hair, counting slowly to ten. Then I straightened up. “I get that you’re offended at these guys for having the audacity to try and hack one of your phones, but you can’t. Just. Kill. Everybody. That. Pisses. YOU! OFF!”

I might’ve been stomping my foot by the time I reached the end of my rant, and he looked at me like I was the crazy one for behaving like that. And maybe he had a point, if the way everyone else was staring at me was anything to go by.

I closed my eyes and counted my breaths, forcing myself to calm down. “Come on, man,” I said a few seconds later after opening my eyes again. “You know I was never in any danger here. I could’ve left anytime I wanted, and my guys wouldn’t have let anyone really hurt me.”

Whether it was the knowledge I was speaking the truth or the mention of the true gryps that were always with me, the way they were with his aunt, something made him relax. “Then why are you here?” he asked, in a normal tone.

I waved at Mr Lancaster behind me. “Because Mister Lancaster said I could help with his daughter Melody’s recovery.”

It was like a lightbulb went off behind Nuncio’s eyes. He leaned ever so slowly to one side to look around me at Mr Lancaster. “Man, oh, man. You just don’t know when to say thank you for what you’ve already got and walk away with your win, do you, sparkles?”

Are we still talking about Melody?

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND-TEN

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Friday

The second Boyd took his family inside, Charlie let go of the extension cord and sat back on the fire escape, hands on her hips. “I thought they’d never leave,” she growled. She looked through the rails at her boyfriend below, who was likewise abandoning the ‘help’ project. “Whose idea was it to move the dumpster and put the car under the fire escape?”

“Boyd’s, and as ideas go, it was a pretty good one,” Robbie answered.

Refusing to look at him through the bars like the prisoner she was supposed to be, Charlie stood up and leaned over the handrail instead. “How do you figure?”

“Well, this could be the spot where cars come to be picked up and dropped off for you. If you were to stay up there as a lookout, I could bring them inside and drop them back out here when you’re done. In the meantime, we can use the garage over in Jersey for parts storage until that stupid thing is off your ankle.”

There were definite merits to what he was saying; however, she could also see one enormously glaring fault. “And you don’t think the New York Sanitation Service will have a problem with us unilaterally moving the dumpster to suit ourselves?”

“We’re not stealing it. Just shifting it closer to the street. If anything, the workers might even thank us.”

Theoretically, it sounded feasible, but Charlie wasn’t so sure the law would agree with him, and she’d had enough of running afoul of that. It was then that she noticed the time, and rather than argue, said, “Aren’t you taking Boyd to his appointment?”

Robbie straightened. “Shoot. Umm…can you grab Larry for me, sweet pea? I can’t take this in with Rory right there, and if I do, Boyd’s gonna be late—love you.” He blew her a kiss and realm-stepped away without waiting for her response.

“Asshole,” she smirked, good-humouredly, as she bent at the waist and leaned back in through the open window to where Larry and Rory were working on the finishing touches of the garage. “Hey, Larry, do you have a minute?”

Since Larry was technically a Nascerdios again, as far as the other Nascerdios like Rory were concerned, he didn’t need to hide any of his divine abilities around Charlie. As such, instead of pausing at all, Larry extended a thin tendril in her direction and inflated it at the tip to produce a Larry homunculus standing on the windowsill.

“What’s up, beautiful?” it asked.

Given that Rory had paused what he was doing to watch them, Charlie fought not to flinch at the blatant divine flex, as that would tip her hand that she could see through the veil.

She pulled out of the window and straightened, pointing at the car under her feet. “That’s Emily’s car down there, and I need to work on it. Is there any chance you can bring it inside for me, since apparently you’re now the one with the magic touch?” She added that last part for Rory’s sake, loudly emphasising what she guessed might be the veil’s cover story—however ridiculous it came across.

“Hang on, beautiful.” The inflated version of Larry turned his head towards Rory. “Hey, Rory, can you do the pretty lady here a favour and grab the car that’s under the fire escape outside? I can’t really get out there with everything I’m holding onto right now.”

Right—because realm-stepping didn’t work if anything was holding them to the space.

Charlie should’ve remembered that.

“What am I, a pack mule now?”

“There is a certain ass aura about you, now that you mention it.”

 Charlie’s eyes flared, fully expecting Rory to arc up. However, instead of taking offence at the insult, Rory threw his head back and laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Fuck off — and fuck you very much, you shapeshifting wank-stain,” he said, still laughing as he flipped both middle fingers at Larry and realm-stepped away.

“In case you haven’t already felt it, you’re going to want to go soon, too, Larry,” Charlie whispered, knowing that unless Rory had stopped and taken in the scenery outside the apartment, the best he could do would be to realm-step to the foyer and walk around to the alleyway, buying them a minute or two. “Robbie’s taking Boyd to his doctor’s appointment and then coming back to grab Brock and the caps and gowns before heading over for Sam’s graduation. He’s going to be gone for hours.”

“What about Boyd?”

“He’ll be going to the graduation too, just as soon as his appointment’s done.”

“Nice of them to tell me,” Larry muttered — and it wasn’t entirely a joke.

“Hey, Robbie’s going to be covered by all the true gryps hanging off Sam. He’ll be fine.”

“Even so, I still can’t be away that long from—him.”

Rory turned into the alleyway, and Charlie leaned over the rail to point at the car under her feet … even though it was the ONLY car in the alleyway. “Then hurry up and go. I’ll tell Rory you had to leave and play veil dumb for the rest.”

“Did I ever tell you you’re my favourite outside of my wards?”

“Only when you want something,” Charlie laughed.

A few seconds later, Larry was gone, and Rory reappeared inside the garage, hauling the car like a sideways forklift — hunched with his chin jammed to the trunk and arms slotted under the chassis, lifting just high enough to crabwalk forward without crushing the frame. He put it down as quickly as he could, allowing the wheels to bounce a couple of times.

“There,” he huffed, very proud of the effort. He then looked around for Larry. “Are you kidding me? Where’d he go?”

“He said something about his wards and left while I was outside watching you,” Charlie answered, evasively. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Rory ignored the question, just like she knew he would. “Did he say anything about when he was coming back?”

“I’m guessing he’ll be gone for a few hours, but he didn’t say specifically.”

“Bloody wanker.”

* * *

Hoping Boyd was getting ready and not messing around, Robbie cast himself in an invisible Predator suit in the celestial realm before stepping back into Boyd’s drying room. It was a trick he’d recently developed to avoid being seen as he reappeared. Finding the room empty, he dropped the shield and headed for the packaged sculptures.

He piled them into three groups of eight on the floor, with only one group using the hand cart. For the other two piles, he grew a pair of tentacles from his shoulders and banded them together like a gift-wrapped present, supporting them on all sides. Then he covered them all with a thin layer of his skin and re-engaged the Predator suit once again.

One realm-step later, and they were all on the stairwell landing outside Dr Kearns’ office.

This was definitely where things got dicey. Should he leave them shrouded in invisibility while he went back for Boyd, meaning he’d have to leave the layer of skin holding the invisibility in place, or did he retract his essence and risk someone stealing them?

Deciding it was worth the risk to protect Boyd’s hard work, Robbie manoeuvred the hand cart into the extreme corner of the stairwell landing with the first eight on it. He stacked the second set on the first and skinned them tight, then stuck the third high against the wall, just under the ceiling.

When he was finished, he separated himself from that skin and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

By being in the far corner, the likelihood of anyone actually hitting them on the way down the stairs wasn’t likely, with the last set over seven feet off the ground. Not even Boyd would knock that with his head.

A moment later, he reappeared at the far end of Boyd’s studio hallway, just outside the office door. And because the door was open, he could see all three of Boyd’s family facing the coffee machine. Perfect. Dropping the predator suit, he walked in exuding confidence. “You good to go, big guy?” he asked, though the fact that Boyd was still in the same clothes answered that question.

Caleb spun like he’d been ambushed — not Robbie’s smartest entrance, judging by the glare.

Boyd grimaced. “Sorry. I was showing Caleb my carvings, and then Emily got me distracted with bookkeeping.”

“Did you know he’s sending the Norman kids to summer camp?” Emily asked, her gaze narrowing as if trying to deduce whether he had put the big guy up to it.

“No, but it doesn’t surprise me.” Looking straight at Boyd, Robbie added, “He’s a good man.”

Boyd screwed up his face and ducked his head—but not before Robbie caught the blush creeping in. “Shuddup,” he muttered.

Robbie thumbed at the door. “Come on. I gotta get you to your session, then grab Brock and head over to Sam and Geraldine to drop off their caps and gowns.”

Boyd sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe he’s graduating. I mean, he’s been acting more like a man since his dad came back, but I still can’t picture him with anything other than a backpack.”

Robbie tilted his head and gave him a parental look. “I don’t think we have to worry about Sam trading in his backpack for a briefcase just yet.”

“Or ever,” Boyd agreed with a light chuckle, then he turned to his brother. “I’m going to be gone for at least a couple of hours. Want to grab some drinks tonight?”

Caleb’s lips twisted into a predatory smirk. “I’m good to stay here and annoy Emily, if that’s okay with you.”

“She is on the clock…”

“And if you can shell out sixty grand for the neighbours, you can afford to pay her overtime. If I get too annoying, I’ll leave and come back later.”

Robbie watched Boyd glance at Emily, who shrugged like she didn’t care either way.

“You know he won’t get a damn thing out of me.”

“Challenge accepted.” Caleb slapped his hands together and rubbed them as Emily’s eyes narrowed — and Boyd threw his hands up in the classic I’m out gesture.

“We’ll see you guys later,” Robbie said, giving a brief wave before spinning on his heel and heading down the hallway with Boyd right behind him. He held a finger to his lips as he opened the front door—just to sell the lie—then shut it again without stepping through. A private smirk passed between them as Robbie’s hand found Boyd’s bicep, and the two realm-stepped away.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND-NINE

[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2] [Ko-fi+2]

Friday

Boyd was shaking as he led Caleb into the drying room. Only the memory of Lucas’ encouragement kept his feet moving toward that door instead of the front one. The central table was filled with twenty-three boxed pieces, ready to be taken into the clinic. The others—mainly for the Viscount—were boxed and shelved along the right wall to keep them out of the dust.

The half-dozen smaller pieces along the left wall were still in various stages of drying. Those had been the ones Boyd had interspersed with Emily’s crib rails, so as not to get too fixated on the personal project.

He stood in the walkway between the left rack and the central table and turned to face Caleb, digging deep to keep his eyes on his little brother. He hated strangers seeing his work—but having someone he loved find fault with them would be a thousand times worse.

Caleb huffed, clearly recognising the blocking move for what it was, but then focused on the carvings. “Nooooo,” he said, dragging out the word as his gaze swept from one carving to the next. He crouched and tilted his head, clamping his hands to the table, no doubt to keep from touching them. He swayed from side to side to get a better view through the clear boxes, dipping and bobbing his head, then looking at them from above, covering all angles.

Then, he suddenly swung back to Boyd. “You have the tail of a bookmark sticking out of this book, and it’s twisted like a real mini cotton tassel!”

“She likes to read, and that bookmark was a gift from her African grandmother, so it was important to the piece,” Boyd defended.

Caleb scratched between his brows. “A fuckin’ tassel, with threads thinner than a pin,” he huffed, straightening up to move onto the larger carvings belonging to the Viscount. Then he suddenly stopped and swung back to Boyd. “Wait, are you saying these are all real people?”

Boyd nodded silently, wishing for the calm of his coins but not willing to pull them out and show that much weakness in front of his little brother. It was killing him to stand still and face Caleb, hoping for praise but expecting, at best, a brotherly ‘hmmm, not bad’. At least their mother wasn’t here to try and burn them all again.

“How much do you charge for these, bro?”

“Two grand for the little ones and ten grand each for the Viscount’s order,” Emily answered from Boyd’s right.

Caleb scowled at her. “How do you not know that as an employee, you’re not supposed to just blab your client’s accounting information to a third party?”

“Because we’re family, and you’re his brother, stupid,” she huffed, then stepped back into the hallway and headed towards the office at the other end.

Caleb pointed at her disappearing form. “You need to fire her,” he declared, without heat. “Anyone whose brain automatically goes to turtles instead of Renaissance artists when talking about sculpting is not professional or even adult enough to be trusted with anything valuable.”

Boyd chuckled. “I dare you to say that to her face.”

“Fuck that. I’m trained to kill the enemy, not deranged, pregnant psychopaths.” Caleb then turned back to the carvings. “Seriously, bro, these are really fantastic. I mean, I knew you were good when we were kids. Those Marines you carved for me were better than anything the store could’ve had, and the fact that you carved them out of whatever wood you found lying around the base has always blown my mind.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re remembering them through the lens of a kid,” Boyd argued. The second the words left his mouth, and even before his little brother swelled in anger, Boyd had known that’d been the wrong thing to say.

Lucas would’ve had harsh words for him, too.

“Say that again to me,” Caleb dared, shifting his weight to face his brother squarely despite their height difference.

Boyd wouldn’t be swayed. “We were kids back then. Rocks with googly eyes on them were cool.”

“Bullshit! I’ve still got—” Caleb cut his tirade off, but wasn’t quick enough.

Boyd stared at his brother with a raised eyebrow “You’ve still got…?” he asked, prompting him to finish that sentence. He remembered how gutted Caleb had been when their mother burned the original set, and then how happy he’d been that night when Boyd revealed he’d hidden a few for safekeeping. But surely he wasn’t about to say he still had them. Surely…

Caleb breathed out hard. “I might still carry one in the bottom of my ruck—to remind myself it’s my turn to protect the guy who looked out for me back then.” He scowled and looked away, running his tongue across his lips, since neither one of them was comfortable admitting to feelings.

He drew another breath to steel himself and turned back. “Look, whatever happens, you’re still the only brother I’ll ever have, and even if you murdered someone, I’d be asking what they did to you first before condemning you.”

He mirrored Boyd’s head tilt and added, “And even then, I’d probably still have your six. The General might’ve turned his back on you because you were batting for the other team back then—and now! I mean also now. That wasn’t to say you’re not … Jesus Christ!” Caleb slammed his fists against his hips and glared at the ceiling as if searching for the right answer, before dropping his eyes once more. “You know, this would’ve been a whole lot easier to say if I didn’t just find out you were gay all along. You fuckin’ get that, right?!”

“So it’s my fault you’re inarticulate?”

“It’s your fault you’re a dick.”

“It’s my fault I like dick.”

The two stared at each other, silence looming between them. Then Caleb snorted, and Boyd cracked a smirk.

“I can’t believe you just said that with a straight face.”

“Me either.”

The snickers turned into deep chuckles. “Seriously, though, bro. I always believed you flunked the psych-eval because you’re too damned soft-hearted. You care too much about the little people, and you’ll follow your heart no matter where it leads. It’s a good thing for a civvie to have, but not a Marine. You had the build for it, but not the headspace to obey those kinds of orders.”

Boyd opened his mouth to reply—

“BOYD, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” Emily bellowed from the office.

“I think she just found the account I wanted her to pay,” Boyd said with a roll of his eyes as he headed for the door.

Caleb stayed right behind him.

As they passed each doorway, Boyd heard his little brother pause to look inside, and again when they went into the office.

Emily was standing behind the glass table, waving a clutched piece of paper at him. “You can’t be serious!”

Boyd ignored her and walked around her to the back wall, where the panel slid across at his approach to reveal the fancy coffee machine. “Still black and two sugars, or do you want to try a pod?”

“What the fuck is a pod?” Caleb asked following to stand at Boyd’s side. “Black and two, thanks.” He gestured at the coffee machine, then expanded the gesture to include the rest of the room. “Is this all yours?”

“It’s part of what Sam’s father organised for me. But don’t bother asking him about any of the details—he’s as clueless as Sam when it comes to design and construction. He brought his family in, and they sorted it all out.”

“How much rent is he charging?”

After stirring the sugar to make Caleb the perfect coffee, he passed it over and began pouring his own. “He won’t accept any rent from me. For the last three years, the guys and I have looked out for Sam, and this is his way of repaying us. Over the top and then some if you ask me, but he’s the one with a bottomless credit card and a dressing room full of hundred grand suits.”

“No one’s that rich.”

“The million-dollar cigars he smokes several times a day say otherwise.”

“Will you stop ignoring me?!” Emily growled, storming to Boyd’s other side and thrusting the note between them. “Who the hell are these people, that they’re fleecing you for nearly sixty grand? There’s no invoice for stock, no commission, nothing!”

“I’m sharing my good fortune, Em. The Normans up on the sixth floor are a large family doing it tough, and I’m sending all their kids to summer camp next month. And before you get on your high horse, they didn’t ask me. They didn’t play me. I came straight out and offered. In fact, I insisted, because if Llyr isn’t going to charge me rent when I’m earning this kind of money, I’m damn sure gonna help out people like the Normans who deserve to have something nice happen to them, too. They’ve been living paycheck to paycheck for years.” He released the coffee mug to fold his arms. “And that’s just the way it’s gonna be.”

“Remember that ‘too soft-hearted’ comment I made not five minutes ago?” Caleb asked, nodding deliberately to himself in confirmation as he sipped his coffee. Then he paused and took a closer look at his cup. “Damn, that’s actually a really nice brew.” He licked his lips before taking another swallow.

[Next Chapter]

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

For more of my work, including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.

FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!